Turton - Always yet further away (Ava's IC)

[Worlok]

The door wouldn't budge, yet did not appear to be barred from the inside, which would really have spoken volumes about the pennant's mind. More so even than that thing about the garden gnomes. Oddly enough, the door to the house itself had been open, and the doorbell panel had been marked as currently undergoing repairs, so it was not exclusively Mr H's fault that she had made the trip up the stairs for nothing. The envelope affixed to the doorknob in front of her, affixed to it on a length of cheerfully crimson string, promised to hold some answers, and judging from the silence in the house - only occasionally broken by the clamor of a car passing outside, for the effects of the rush hour were not as apparent here as they'd have been just two blocks further south - that was a perk they had over the neighbors.

The scent of the seemingly ancient building would seem to indicate that it all could need a capably-swung rag and bucket one of these days, and its sorry state made it painfully apparent that there would likely be very little in terms of a burglar's bounty here to be claimed. But then again, it could just be that this was a bad time in more than one regard, and under filth and dust, this was the ruin-to-be of something that would, no doubt, have been priceless to live in a houndred years ago. A hint of darkness made itself comfortable along the hallway Ava was standing in, indicating that the sun had set for good, and somewhere, probably yet another bunch of stairs above, a dulled and muffled crash could be heard briefly, before silence settled once again.

[JonRG]

Ava sighed and, setting down her cleaning supplies, grabbed for the note. "Oh, what the hell is this?" she muttered, tearing at the red string. "Awesome. I just love draggin' my ass out here to, yanno, not get paid. Ava scanned the note and barely flinched at the thud echoing upstairs. Hey, hey burglars! This guy has stuff! I'll even clean up after you! ... Nah, can't think like that. Sean'll get all frowny. Plus, yanno, I'll get deported. Hell. Nevertheless, she felt with her left hand for her lockpicks and balisong.

[Worlok]

The red string gave way without much in the way of resistance, and the thump upstairs was followed by another, somehow more insistent-sounding one, before a similarly muffled shout could be heard. From downstairs, there was a cry for "SILENCE!" in Kurdish, and the repeated banging of something wooden against a wall.

As for the note, it seemed to have been written per typewriter, and read as follows:

Here Henderson Had To Leave On Business Future Is At Stake Dear Girl Do Not Be Mad At Me Left Keys With Neighbor Mister Yildirim Second Door To Your Left The Banging Is Just A Kind Of Music Do Not Mind It I Should Be Back Soon I Swear

Mr H

And as the last line was read and her hand could assure her that, yes, the lockpicks and balisong were still in place, the banging and thumping above and below had, in fact, died down.

[JonRG]

Kurdish, eh? Sound like fun people. Sarcasm did little to quell the memories of her father teaching her some phrases he'd picked up in Iraq. Focus... Ava chuckled at the typewritten words. It was hard to stay mad at someone so frickin' adorable and old. She briefly contemplated using her lockpicks, but there was no sense in risking arrest or irreparable damage to save herself a minute, tops. Ava sidled down the hall, and rapped on the aforementioned door.

"Mister Vildirim? It's Ava from Maid to Order. Mister Henderson said I could get a spare key from you?" She waited, hoping this wasn't all a waste of time.

[Worlok]

A voice responded: "Coming!" Yet it took a full thirty seconds before there was any more tangible reaction, and in the mean, there were two more thumps, one more shout, one more cry for silence, and the telltale sound of large amounts of glass crashing and breaking somewhere upstairs. As if synchronised with that last one, what would appear to be a somewhat oversized letter-slit in Mr Yildirim's door opened with the creak of something that had not been opened in too long, and another length of the cheerful red string appeared, affixed to it both a key and a crucifix. "Here you go. But it's Yildirim, Yil-di-rim. Turkish, see?" the voice added - now that there was no longer an inch or more of wood between its source and her, she could tell that it was an oddly melodious, if kind of coarse voice, and its owner could hardly be that much older than her. "Not bad, it happens. Used to happen to Mr H all the time, you see?" The way he emphasised the name seemed to imply that he was drawing air-quotes there behind the door for some reason, yet as there was nothing to see of the man, it would likely remain a mystery. "But anyway: Untie the string on the key, leave the crucifix where it is, alright? I'll pull it back in. Once you're done, bring the key back, I'm here all night, you knock again." And then, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and keep the door closed while you work. The draught's a bitch in these old buildings, see?"

As he said that, the wooden knocking sound that had previously accompanied the cry downstairs had picked back up again, this time beating something that could almost be described as a sort of rhythm, with something that sounded a lot like some sort of animal cry answering from behind a door - painted bright red and hence an oddity among the unassuming dark-brown doors the other flats appeared to have - just down the hallway. Mr Yildirim seemed to be far less at ease than his voice would imply, the string and its appendages did shake an awful lot.

[JonRG]

Weird dude. Must be hella scared livin' in a place like this. Ava held the crucifix and deftly untied the key. "I'll be sure to do that. Thanks, Mr. Yildirim." All right. Gettin' paid to-night. She strode back to Mr. Henderson's door and, grabbing her bucket, slid the key in the lock.

[Worlok]

As key slid into lock, the noise died down immediately, no more knocking, thumping, shouting, crying, howling, shattering or other noise. Upstairs, where the "kind of music" had come from, there was silence, just like downstairs, where the cries for silence had been. Whatever had caused the commotion behind the bright red door here on this floor now was calm as well, and from Mr Yildirim's flat, there was only the occasional sound of someone pacing up and down, almost inaudible. Instead, the short and soft click of the mechanism doing what it did, and the merest hint of a squeak as the door opened.

What lay behind was a rather impressive sight: Mr Henderson had apparently forgotten to turn off the light, and the small room that Ava now saw before her was hence bathed in a sickly, yellowish illumination, reflected off several mirrors to both the left and right, and breaking itself in the facets of an immense crystal lighter suspended beneath the lamp itself, above, that took up most of the headspace the relatively high ceiling might otherwise have allowed. Every single non-mirror surface, walls, ceiling, and floor alike, was covered in planks of the same simple, grey, wood-like material, and yellowing newspaper cutouts and photographs were hung all over the place.

Right across from the doorframe in which Ava stood, there was another one, yet without a door in it - instead, it appeared to be a sort of curtain, composed entirely of thread and bottlecaps, hanging loosely in the ever-so-slight draught that passed. No garden gnomes to be seen so far, just an ever-so-helpful note reading "Please Remember To Close The Door" right next to the doorway, and a very simple, empty coatrack to the left. What lay behind the curtain also lay in darkness, hindering a closer first impression, and a strange, moldy smell now tinted the air.

[JonRG]

Ava sighed with relief when the shouting stopped. While she didn't mind starting in on some Kurdish prick screaming at his wife, it would cut into her apartment cleaning time... of which she would need a lot. Henderson was some kinda - oh, what were they called? - hoarder or summat. Ava skimmed some of the articles and photographs. If her client was some kind of serial killer, she'd rather know before he came back and she was deep into cleaning.

Once her examination was done, she grabbed her broom and got to work. Ava debated, as she swept, whether the insanely large number of mirrored surfaces also fell to her responsibility. I'll see how I'm feelin' after I'm done with this other crap.

[Worlok]

Both the photographs and the cutouts certainly seemed most strange, if not necessarily creepily so: Mainly they would appear to be what a long life dragged in in terms of memories, and the vast majority of the poor-quality, black-and-white pictures depicted people in costumes or uniforms, smiling or waving or posing with items of all designs. One showed a man with a distraught expression on his face, gazing far past the camera and into nothingness while clad in archaic airman's gear. Another showed what would appear to be a bunch of soldiers - or policemen, possibly - wearing incredibly convincing monster masks along with their uniforms and apparently goofing around with some blind lady and a birthday cake. Yet another just depicted several old women on a bench, and one a remarkably, not to say freakishly, muscular individual with a long, dark beard and a tommy gun. The others opened a time capsule onto similar scenes, but nothing entirely out of the imaginable. Roughly half of the people depicted had crosses drawn over their chests with blue marker, but that was their only notable quirk.

As for the newspapers, they were mostly written in some strange language and alphabet, apparently detailing the exploits of a young man who, judging by the various illustrations and photographs, had been an outstandingly successful athlete in his day and age. Only one of the smaller ones was in English, titling "Blind opera singer on camelback bravely arrests flying bank-robber in the Alps!" and promising to tell "The whole story on pages 10 to 12!", yet not a single one of those three pages seemed to be pinned anywhere in the vicinity. Among the newspapers, there were dated concert tickets, food stamps, several recommendations and important-looking documents of the kind a person aware of imposing impressions might hang on their walls. Nothing entirely strange.

Cleaning went well enough, the mysterious obsession with mirror glass apparently having its border beyond the curtain, and passing into the realm of the garden-gnomes: Standing in line and formation all over the floor, the impressive amount of wall-mounted and even stand-alone bookshelves, and next to the obviously ancient bed, the garishly painted and yet oddly cheerful-looking little guys served valiantly as doorstoppers, book supports, simple decoration and in one notable instance - the gnome in question wearing archaic mountaineer's gear - as some sort of mechanism designed to raise and lower the curtains on the windows on the easternmost side of the room. Others were posited as if on a leisure walk along the brimmingly full shelves and chests-of-drawers, looking amazedly at the record player on the night table, holding up open books or studying the unending wealth of paperwork on the walls. If one of them could be said to be an ad-hoc odd one out, it would most likely have been the child-sized one kneeling across the room from the doorway, aiming an unloaded, but very real crossbow at it, likely for all eternity.

Then, there were books, simple trade paperbacks as much as old, weighty, leatherbound tomes secured with individual locks and chain systems, among records, CDs, video tapes, old comic books and some postcards, all neatly sorted away, but dusty ere she was through with them. What all these things had in common were their poor state of repair, the juryrigged nature of their construction or packaging (more than one of the bookshelves had obviously once been some sort of wooden crate) and their obvious and debatably venerable age and werewithal. The lamp on the ceiling didn't work, in that it did not exist, Mr H having apparently seen fit to bolt his only - and rather luxurious - Persian rug onto a surface where it would not be stepped upon, and only a number of smaller lambs in the corner provided real light when the switch was flipped, seeing how the curtains had been lowered. It was a strange, strange place, no question, yet somehow possessed of a certain charm.

Two more doors led from this curiously staffed bedroom into the neighboring rooms, yet they were locked, and apparently not the intended targets of Ava's cleansing attention. As she went to work, some strange, high-pitched instrument began being played somewhere in the house, and a muffled voice somewhere else, and further away by its lacking clarity, started to sing, notably in the same melody as the instrument, yet likewise with no discernible level of skill. Some old Arabic song, something about climbing mountains and not having much to talk about. Other than that, there was an air of expectant peace about everything, and with it a certain, not entirely-unwelcome silence.

[JonRG]

Ava clucked her tongue. Good. He's weird, but probably harmless. She made note of a few of the more interesting ones. Shawn always had cool stories to share about his job. Maybe she'd be able to one-up him this time... Once the floor was swept and the windows were cleaned, Ava set her sights on the garden gnomes. They stopped being incredibly terrifying after the second or third one. She even giggled at the little marksman with the crossbow, pulling out her cheap phone to snap a photo of it. Shawn, consider yourself thoroughly schooled. Whip this out over a couple of joints, and they were gonna absolutely die laughing. Good frickin' times.

The books didn't really interest her. It wasn't that Ava wasn't a strong reader or anything. Doing was just more of her style than sitting around and thinking about it. The rug on the ceiling, however... Ooh, that's either legit, or H crossed paths with a very good forger. She hummed a few bars of the Arabic tune while she polished another gnome. This is by far the craziest place I've ever cleaned. Except maybe the meth lab. Ava eyed the two locked doors. Maybe that's where all the serial killin' happens... Good. Less I know, less likely I am to wind up as a lampshade. Enough with the paranoia. Mr H was just a sweet eccentric old man with an odd taste in decoration. Probably.

Ava scrubbed furiously at a gnome's little red cap, trying to shove memories of cold, dark dungeons from her head.

[Worlok]

As the clean-up-job continued, so did the music outside, occasionally interrupted by the same kinds of clamor she had already heard before. Mr Yildirim was now loudly arguing with someone over the phone, judging by the lack of audible responses, his rapid Turkish making it hard to follow the things he said. And for a moment, it was as if heavy, slow and slurching steps resounded way out in the hallway, or the stairwell even, eliciting frenzied barking and yipping from somewhere behind another door.

All of that, however, was easily ignored when deeply immersed in such a task, and more easily yet once a closer look at some of the garden gnomes could be taken: Not only were their only common trait the bright red caps, but apparently, the crafter had taken great care to set each and every one up with a unigue and surprisingly realistic face, their get-up motley and thrown-together, but nothing one would expect on a garden-gnome. A fair share of them almost looked militaristic, others were decked out in green shirts reading slogans in various languages, the marksman himself, upon a closer look, seemed to have something shifty about him, a look of determination. And one, mayhaps astoundingly, looked like someone she knew, in that it appeared familiar, yet with one of those faces which you can never quite place.

And even such observation might well have been cut short when, just between Yildirim and her, in one of the side-rooms of Henderson's flat, someone knocked on the door from the inside of what one would have guessed was but a closet, not another flat.

[JonRG]

Ava chuckled at another slogan as she cleaned. "I went to their gardens just before the evening..." Frickin' Top of the Mountain was gonna be stuck in her head all night. Ava was grumbling a few curses in Arabic when the knocking started. Dafuq? The rag dropped to the floor, and she unfolded her balisong in the blink of an eye.

"Who's there?" She tried to sound calm, but Ava had to admit. Something freaky was goin' on.

[Worlok]

As the rag dropped, so did the trapdoor it had been hiding, and a crude wooden stepladder suddenly extended into the room from the one above, along with a veritable shower of confetti, dead moths, and dust. No garden gnomes had been harmed in the process, but the cloud came to settle all over, ruining the cleaning work of half an hour. There was no reply from the closet, merely continued knocking, and as if that wasn't quite enough, a veritable nightmare of thrashing, thumping, hooping, howling and cursing erupted out on the hallway, and from behind every door along it, swelling to almost deafening levels before stopping as swiftly as it had begun. Both the music and Yildirim's ranting halted immediately, and someone somewhere in the house screamed "REALLY? I LEAVE FOR HALF AN HOUR AND NOW THIS?" in accented Arabic.

Then, the lock on the door from which the knocking had come clicked softly, the knocking ceased, and the door swung open the least of bits, now merely leaned-on, still covering what lay behind it. Other doors could be heard opening and closing, there was yelling, and a multitude of heavy steps resounded from the general direction of the stairs, rapidly coming closer. It was then that Mr Yildirim could be heard again, apparently rather livid, and shouting accordingly, to a reply of muffled complaints and "But!"s in several languages...

Had the marksman-gnome always been facing her?

[JonRG]

Mother fu- Well, it's not my fault that Mr. H had a badly-secured trapdoor to the upstairs. Because that's a perfectly reasonable thing for a person to have.

Ava winced at the shouting. What the FRICK is goin' on here? Is everyone in this house COMPLETELY INSANE? At this point, the mysterious knocking door opening of its own accord seemed almost laughable. To hell with this. I'm not leaving without gettin' paid. She held the knife flat against her sleeve, and glanced about the room, particularly the now-dusty floor. After all, someone had opened that side-room door.

"Come on," Ava growled under her breath, "I ain't afraid of no ghost."

Sorry, those of you who (also) have the Ghostbusters theme song stuck in their head. I could not help myself. :smallbiggrin:

[Worlok]

There was silence in the flat of Mr Henderson, and outside, vague hints of a multilingual conversation could be made out. It would not appear like anyone had reacted to her, however. No reply, no comment, no voice, and no breathing except her own. It would seem as if Ava was fully alone in here, with only the irresponsive figures of the clay-made gnomes for company and audience. At least one thing was certain now: The marksman-gnome had not moved an inch, and was still facing the door, his weapon in his hands and keeping his mouth shut.

Until someone did reply: "Oh. Also gut, zat Thadäus no ghost ist, huh?" The pronunciation of the words "also" and "good" was odd, off, even, and the name, pronounced "Tah-deh-uhs" in the stranger's halting mannerism, seemed to indicate that English was by no means the speaker's native tongue - however, the tone of voice seemed to betray nothing in the way of ill intent, merely hinting at an honest curiosity: "But who are you, and what make you here?" It was apparent by this point that whoever was talking was located behind the door, thereby remaining out of sight, and by the sounds of it, speaking into a bucket or metal tube of some sort. "Wanted you... Did you want to speak Mr Henderson, huh, stranger-girl? He is away." Whoever this was, he had apparently been able to hear her growling words from what few meters divided them just like that - and it was a him, no doubt about it, with that kind of voice.

[JonRG]

Ava blinked. She'd barely raised her voice, but this dude caught ever word. Calm... I'm sure it's nothin'. Probably just didn't realize how loud I was bein' Speaking up, she called back, "My name's Ava. I'm the cleanin' lady... Who are you?" Ava maintained a tight grip on the knife tucked against her arm.

[Worlok]

"Thadäus? Thadäus Winkelmann? I live in ze flat next-on?" came the reply, still with that odd metallic ring to it, yet this 'Mr Winkelmann' seemed to harbor no intentions to open the door, or properly introduce himself. "I have noise I heard, yes, just awoken, ja?" Something about the way he spoke seemed to suggest that everything he said, right down to his introduction, was actually a question phrased as an exclamation, and it did little to make the situation seem any less weird: "Also came I here-over, sure-makink zat zere no problem ist, you understand, Ava?" He put a curiously heavy emphasis on the second syllable of her name, almost making it sound like something you'd spit out instead of say, but that was most likely unintentional. A pause followed. Then: "But Ava, and how onwards? The cleanink-lady-part, I get, but Ava who?" Still that confusion, so apparent in his every word, and no motion of any kind, not a sound anywhere in the room.

Out on the hallway, someone began shouting various insults in accent-free Arabic, a long chain of cursewords to the effect of "You laughable one-eyed son of a bosomless whore and her camel, why would you even -give- her that?" being answered by Mr Yildirim spouting a similarly intricate phrase in his native Turkish tongue. Whatever was going on out there, it was apparently in the process of turning ugly fast.

[JonRG]

No big deal. Guy just wants to know who futzin' around in the apartment next to him. "Rahimi. Ava Rahimi." She cocked an ear to the Arabic being spouted from outside the door. Her? Holy hell. Does he mean me? "Say, Thad. You seem like you've got a good ear. Who's Mr. Yildirim gettin' into it with?"

[Worlok]

Her introduction seemed to take him by surprise: "Rahimi, says you?" A short rustling of cloth, the soft rap of knuckles on metal, a supressed gasp of what might have been frustration and some screeching sounds of indeterminable origin later, he appeared to have gotten over it, though: "Zen zinks I, it ist all zinks well." By the sudden cheer in his voice, this would have seemed to be a good thing. The door was finally pushed open all the way, revealing a truly quite memorable sight: Thadäus, as he had introduced himself, was a comparably short fellow, if more than making up for it in girth: Decked out in a washed-out grey coat and what one could have described as a cross of a leotard and jogging pants, he otherwise sported a simple white t-shirt with a stylised, twin-headed eagle smoking two joints emblazoned on it (next to the slogan "Who is not crazy yet just isn't well-informed enough!") and did, in fact, wear a metal bucket over his head, with no clues as to what his face looked like other than strands of thick, slick, vaguely kelp-like strands of graying hair emerging from under the brim. Behind him, another doorway could be spied, leading into a seemingly empty room with garishly yellow wallpaper all about.

"Mehmet, zat's Mr Yildirim, he ist arguing with Khaled. Khaled, he ist always so serious, yes? Works for his Professor, and it climbed into his head. Ist tragic, not, how such goes?" The overacted mockery of mopiness suddenly shaping his tone went along with a noncommital shrug, and had the metal not been in the way, one could have sworn he was grinning while saying that. "But you see, maybe will speak his Professor yourself, some time. Just hope you don't speak Khaled." And with these few and mysterious words, he made to turn around again and leave, but not before adding: "Outer-zat, should put away zat knife. Knife ist bad. And Thadäus, he has a better weapon zan zat, so zere stands no need."

[JonRG]

Uh...awesome. Go Iran, I guess? Ava's thought was interrupted by the door swinging open. What... the... hell? She cast an eye over his outfit. Phew. Just a garden-variety conspiracy nut, from what she could tell. Ava started at the mention of the knife and slipped it back into her pocket. "Uh... say, Tad. How can you see with that bucket on?"

[Worlok]

He paused halfway through turning back and leaving, giving off a noise that vaguely resembled a laugh: "Can't. Thadäus knows simply how this room looks, yes?" But then, he seemed to remember something, his slouched posture momentarily straightening: "But he should speak Khaled, not your work to interrupt, Fräul- Miss Rahimi, yes?" And with a gesture that might have become him tipping his hat, had he worn one, and ended up as him punching his bucket instead, he made to close the door again, apparently considering the conversation to be over already. "No fear because of ze trapdoor, zough. Maybe you can also clean zere-up." he added, though, indicating the newly-dusted flat with one gloved hand pointing back over his shoulder. "And I come later back, yes?"

Speaking of Khaled, the heated dispute outside seemed to be slowly turning into an even less coherent festival of creative insults, and the music had picked up again as well.

[JonRG]

That still doesn't explain how he knew I had a knife. Maybe more of that super-hearing? Ava watched the curious man depart with some sadness, but reined in in. Got a lot more work to do. She scrubbed with vigor. The beat helped, and the Arabic insults were fun to translate. Fifth son of an amputated goatsucker, huh? I'll have to remember that one...

Once the gnomes were repolished, Ava took a deep breath and stared up the trapdoor ladder. If this dude had money, he wouldn't live here. But if he can afford Lisa's prices... She grabbed her bucket and slowly ascended, hoping that the rickety contraption wouldn't send her to the floor too.

[Worlok]

It didn't. Just as Ava had fully ascended into the attic, the choir of angry voices outside, since joined by another one, Thadäus', speaking yet another completely unfamiliar tongue, simmered down, someone having apparently raised some sort of point they could all agree to. Khaled, or someone that sounded a lot like what she had heard of him so far, added one last You dirt-eating, nutless miscarriage! aimed at someone else, and when the full expanse of the attic revealed itself to her in the strangely cold light that prevailed up here, distant steps appeared to indicate the emptying of the hallway.

Had the flat been merely a strange place, the attic - which was, in itself, just another flat, having apparently simply been linked to the one below - was downright insane:

The surrounding walls, or what little could be seen of them, were painted jet-black, and overall they almost disappeared behind even more newspaper cut-outs, photographs, crammed bookshelves, deer heads, paintings, dart boards and other things, with a number of glued-on toy helicopters serving as what looked like the makeshift replacement for a proper ceiling fan.

Intersecting walls did not seem to exist upstairs, the whole flat was one big room, and the same went for windows, doors to the hallway, or any other sort of feature that was not a piece of furniture: The furniture itself consisted of crates, chests, shelves, cupboards, armchairs and tables in different variations and was brightly painted in ways few could truly appreciate while not severely drugged, with the same holding true for the ubiquitious garden gnomes. As if to top it off, everything was - debatably tastefully, if overtly enthusiastically - decorated with strange and curious objects of all fashion, among them dreamcatchers, pieces of statues, pith helmets, musical instruments, childrens' toys, lots of glass jars filled with red, green or white liquids (the last category even glowed in the dark, providing the aforementioned light in lieu of a lamp), strangely-shaped candles and chandeliers (none of which were lit, thankfully), and some things she could not even begin to imagine purpose or origin of - What I am getting at is, the place was simply full, and it would certainly take her much longer than she was even supposed to be working today to just get some basic order into the mess.

Another sort of music now resounded from above, the accompanying singing not entirely dissimilar from the Arabic one, if in another language and much, much less loud, and the house began falling silent once more. For now.

[JonRG]

"Oh... my... god..." Ava breathed, reflexively slipping into her native Farsi. This place made the apartment below seem downright dull. While there technically were gnomes up there, twenty more dollars wasn't worth being crushed to death beneath an avalanche of ridiculous curios. She climbed down the ladder just as quickly and checked her watch for the time.

[Worlok]

Oddly, the watch seemed to have some sort of malfunction: While it had been about eight in the evening when Ava had entered the place, according to the chronometer it was now but seven, and it did now longer count seconds, as if either it was broken, or the time had stopped.

In the buckethead's flat, a metallic clanking resounded, followed by a sigh so deep and loud as to be heard through the closet-door through which Thad had first come in. Then a scraping noise, the sound of the wind rustling paper, and silence, the music stopping suddenly. Still no trace of old Mr Henderson, or anyone else for that matter, and seeing how the floor downstairs and the gnomes were cleaned, one might have argued that the job, as such, was done.

[JonRG]

Ava grumbled under her breath about how she would never going to buy another Rulex again (even if they were 2 for $10) and pulled out her phone to see what time it really was.

[Worlok]

The phone did somehow not show the time, as if the clock function had been disabled, and when she had it started up again, it had apparently reset, requiring another clock to get the time from now. A strange coincidence, and it was only now that she realised that there wasn't a single clock, watch, or even alarm in the room, making it a less favorable one yet. Almost no technology, really.

But regardless of what exact time it was, a single glance past the curtains in front of the windows - had those been raised before? And had the curtain-climbing mechanism gnome always hung so far up? - confirmed that it was much darker now, the last beams of the sun having died away, and it might already have been well past ten.

[JonRG]

"'Should get a Samsung, Ava,' Jack said. 'They're the best... except when they spazz out while you're alone in a creepy apartment.'" She glanced outside. "It's, uh, dark o'clock, soo... yeah, I'm done." Ava dragged her supplies into the hall and to Yildirim's door. She rapped gently upon it. "Mr Yildirim? It's Ava. I'm done for tonight, so I just wanted to return your key."

[Worlok]

Leaving Mr Henderson's flat, Ava noticed a small gash in the side of the entrance door facing the interior of the mirror room, as if from something relatively big and pointy being flung against it, and someone had apparently seen fit to remove the envelope that had contained the old man's note from the side of it that faced the corridor while she had been inside. Once outside, however, there did not appear to be anything else of note, and the hallway looked much like it had when she had arrived.

Mr Yildirim, once again, shouted "Coming!" immediately, and then took his time before answering - in Kurdish this time, curiously enough. Once again, the slit opened, and the length of string with the crucifix on it came through. "Actually been at it all this time, then, huh? Good, I won't hold you here for long. Just tie it to the string, and I will pull it in, alright?" Somehow, he seemed a whole lot less welcoming now, as if she was interrupting something of some import. "I'd say that I'll let Mr Henderson know you were here, but he most likely already knows, anyway. Not like you couldn't tell from the place being all cleaned up now, though, I guess. So there is that, or am I wrong?" And only then, and after a perfectly unamused-sounding chuckle, did he seem to notice his mistake, and the next bit was in English again: "Oh. Sorry. Little distracted, there. I said, just tie the key to the string, and I'll pull it in, alright?"

[JonRG]

Ava tied the key on, then quipped in Kurdish, "Have a good night." With a swing of her bucket, she headed down the stairs, towards sweet, not-crazy freedom. A smile slipped across Ava's face as she contemplated how she would finally beat Shawn with respect to stories. Hopefully, he doesn't get called to another train meets car accident. Frickin' crappy drivers. Stealin' my victory. All the gnomes in the world couldn't match a night spent scraping a mile of train track with a spatula.

[Worlok]

"...you know Kurdish?" was the last thing Ava heard from Mr Yildirim as he pulled the key back in, but he had apparently heard her steps on the staircase, because he said no more.

Making her way down the several floors between her and sweet liberty, she came across no other tenant, and the music had now apparently stopped for good. However, passing the second floor, she could have sworn to have heard the odd howling from before, and a repeated scratching sound, if much closer this time, not as muffled as it had previously been.

And the main entrance, as if to spite her ambitions, was locked, with a broom and a bucket much like her own leaned against the wall and a sign suspended on the same red thread reading "Back in five - The Janitor" right next to it.

[JonRG]

Ava smiled at Yildirim's exclamation. Some polyglots just could never remember that they weren't all that special. She skipped down the steps, but ground to a halt at the locked door. You GOTTA be kiddin' me. What is with this house, and these people, and these frickin' red threads? Ava dropped her bucket and put two fingers to her neck. Her father had taught her once about how some... old Italian dude had figured out pendulums or some crap by timing them with his pulse. Okay, Mr. "Janitor." You've got 300 heartbeats to get back or I'm pickin' my way out. I mean, main entrance locked from the inside is a fire hazard. Or, at least, that's what I'll tell Giff if I get caught.

[Worlok]

300, 299, 298, 297...

The house remained silent.

...296, 295, 294, 293...

On one of the upper levels, a door was opened with a screech much like the one that Mr Henderson's had made, but louder, and less soft.

...292, 291, 290, 289...

A loud coughing, the clattering sound of something falling to the ground, a sound of anger and surprise, yet without words.

...287, 286, 285, 284...

Protracted rambling, a low, male voice, as if from someone counting aloud, yet not in a language she was familiar with.

...283, 282, 281, 280...

"There is no need!" Someone exclaimed, nearby, the high-pitched voice of an old woman, only to be answered by a throaty bark, much like that a big dog would make. This was, in turn, followed by two surprised squeals, and the sound of two doors being thrown shut with haste, several floors apart, yet echoing in the stairwell with astounding clarity, and perfectly synchronised. The counting stopped.

...279, 278, 277, 276...

Another bark, the same scratching sound again, much closer now, Mr Yildirim's voice, far upstairs, shouting: "But there is!"

...275, 274, 273, 272...

A coarse reply, to the effect of "No, there isn't!", in Arabic again this time around, and someone shouting a name - or what sounded like a name: "Chess-worth, come here! Stupid thing, come back!"

...271, 270, 269, 268...

Mr Yildirim again, likewise in Arabic: "Really, buddy, someone should tell Leibowitz to keep that horrid thing chained down.", met by the coarse voice' answer: "Be the hero, then. You tell him that!"

...267, 266, 265, 264...

Still no sign of a janitor, but it wasn't even a minute yet. Mr Yildirim: "Yeah, thanks, I'm not crazy, man. Maybe I'll ask Khaled?" - Coarse: "Not good, they'd only fight again, and you've seen what happened in Hoboken, right?"

...263, 262, 261, 260...

Yildirim: "Sure have, wouldn't want a repeat of that. Can you believe it? Three crates?" - Coarse: "I told you, don't remind me. Don't remind him. Are we even clear to talk yet, by the way?" - Yildirim: "Should be, I got the key here, she's on her way, I'd say."

...259, 258, 257, 256...

Coarse again: "So, what's ya gist on her?" - "Didn't get that close a look. Teddy did. Told us she's good people." - "Prof-material-grade good?" - "Dude, no idea. Certainly above Khaled-material-grade good." Then laughter, and the sound of a door being opened and shut, along with a sharp, pained yelp.

...255, 254, 253, 252...

Coarse: "Then again, not like that's all that hard, right? It's -Khaled-!" - Yildirim: "Smug, square, not-so-tough-at-all Khaled." And more laughter... Immediately interrupted by a third, much younger, clearer voice: "SHUT UP!"

...251, 250, 249, 248...

The third continued: "You got it locked?" - Coarse: "Sure did." - Third: "Good. Now, Yildirim, she's -not- gone yet. Be quiet. Ibrahim, you better stop sassing me." - Coarse (Ibrahim?): "Understood."

...247, 246, 245, 244...

Third again: "Should have the first time. Yildirim?" - Yildirim: "Tougher than either us, yes, yes. Still can't get over the cross, though, bitch." - Third (Khaled?): "YOU DO YOUR GROCERIES BY NIGHT NEXT TIME AND- sorry... How about you come down here and say that to my -face-?"

...243, 242, 241, 240...

Yildirim: "Yeah... I told him, I'm not crazy, and the same thing I tell you." - Ibrahim: "Debatably. You coulda checked for either of 'em first." - Yildirim: "From seven floors above?" - Khaled: "The seventh. More like six. In my case, two."

...239, 238, 237, 236...

Ibrahim: "But at least the dog's locked in." - Khaled: "Don't call that -thing- a dog, man. Every bit as wrong as Leibowitz himself." - Ibrahim: "Come on. Acts like a dog, sounds like a dog, looks like a dog-" - Khaled: "Be quiet, now!" And that they were, from that point on, another slamming door seeming to indicate that Ibrahim had gone inside.

...235, 234, 233, 232...

Khaled again, this time in English: "Boris, you can come out now, the monstrosity is gone!" - The old guy's voice from earlier: "Thank you, Khaled. Can't lose the marbles at night, you know? I must count." - Khaled: "Yeah. Sure you must. Shut up!"

...231, 230, 229, 228...

And through all of that, still no sign of the janitor, other than maybe the sound of footfall somewhere down the corridor, around a corner. Had that whole damn conversation actually just gone over that fast?

[JonRG]

Okay. Getting the hell out of here, then calling Giff. Or the Jew, uh... Cohen! That's his name. Ava slipped the lockpick set from her pocket, deftly extracting a tension wrench and a rake pick. A few quick passes would hopefully have her out the door and on her way.

Lockpicking (Security + Dexterity): [roll0]

[JonRG]

Lockpicking (Security + Dexterity): [roll0][/QUOTE]

[Worlok]

Eh. Four successes. Not bad. :smallbiggrin:
Upstairs, she heard Khaled cursing. "I told you. I told -everyone-!" his Arabic complaint resounded as the lock gave way after the second go. The door actually swung open a bit, and a sound of breaking glass was heard upstairs.

[JonRG]

Got it! In one fluid motion, Ava slid the picks back into her pocket, then grabbed her cleaning supplies. She threw the door open with her right and stepped outside.

Barring any resistance, Ava's plan is to run around the closest street corner and get John on the phone.

[Worlok]

The door flew open and recoiled just slowly enough for her to pass it by. At the same time, however, something crashed into the bushes to her left from up above, a shower of glass pieces going down on the sidewalk as she made for the street corner. "HEY!" That voice, Khaled's, coming out of the shrubs. "MISS RAHIMI? PLEASE STOP! THIS IS A MISUNDERSTANDING!" And somewhere upstairs, behind doors, Mr Yildirim again, shouting in Turkish now, prompting a "SHUT UP, MEHMET!" from Khaled.

[JonRG]

Ava looked up as the window shattered, rather than at the path ahead. She stumbled and fell hard on her right shoulder. "Misunderstanding? Misunderstanding?" Ava shrieked, bringing her knife to bear. If there was a language for furious terror, it was definitely Arabic. "You're talking about offering me up to some "Professor," all because I cleaned your neighbor's goddamned apartment!" Her mind raced now, caught in the full-blown paranoia of her Tehrani days. "I-is there even a Mister Henderson at all? Or was this all some kind of ploy to get me out here, and then lock me up- What the **** do you people want with me?" The balisong trembled a bit in her hand, and tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

[Worlok]

Stepping into the light coming out from behind the newly-picked door, Khaled bore the expression of someone who was definitely growing too old for this crap, despite being certainly not much older than her. Apparently rather unimpressed by the weapon, if fittingly nervous despite the calm in his voice, he extended his hands in what he no doubt thought was a calming gesture, and spoke: "Yes, a misunderstanding. I'm sorry about it, I really am, but there is no need to overreact. Noone is offering anyone up to anyone. Please, calm down, put the knife away, I can explain all of this." He had some rather obvious scratches - the bushes he had crashed into apparently had thorns - and his movements were twitchy, if miniscule. But apart from that, he appeared unharmed, and had, despite his efforts, not even broken a sweat.

[JonRG]

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ava flipped the knife back into its handle. She grabbed Khaled's hand to help her off the ground. If he were gonna kick my ass, he'd have just done it, Ava reasoned. She walked over to the stoop and sat down. "All right, then. Explain."

[Worlok]

The guy relaxed, visibly, only revealing the stress the weapon had put him under in retrospect: "Good. All calm, all harmless-like, see?" he blabbered with a labored smile, before approaching some more: "You see, you were never even supposed to be here. No. Wait. Yes. Where to start?" Something about his gaze seemed to ask whether it would be okay for him to sit next to her, while something else seemed to be asking the powers that be why he, of all people, seemed to be getting into situations like this, but if any of that was the case, he did not mouth it. Rather, the old woman's voice from earlier interrupted, yelling, once more, that "There is no need!", giving Khaled the opening he'd been waiting for: "I mean... You may have noticed how the people here... They're a little... -strange-?" A shrug, as if to say "I really have no idea what I'm doing, but that's okay, because noone else does, either." Then: "So, basically, you heard about the professor already. I work for him. I think the buckethead may have told you that. For some reason, he just tells that to everyone." A pause as he got his explanation back on track: "And well, yes, Henderson exists. The thing is, though, he's -strange- as well. And works with the professor, too. And basically, my prof? He wants to talk to you." He sized her up expectantly, as if to gauge her reaction from - somewhat - afar, before he would continue...

[JonRG]

Ava scooted over on the step, a quiet indication to Khaled. Clearly, Tad hadn't given, or known, the whole story. He seemed like an okay dude. Awkward, but okay. She laughed when Khaled mentioned the "strange" people. Did she notice? It was kind of hard not to, what with all the screaming. "Professor? Like a college professor, or is that just a street name?" If the former, what could he want with her? Ava had a GED, sure, and glanced over some lit for TCC. Maybe she hot-wired his Volvo? That would be awkward... Nah, he's probably just lookin' for Middle Eastern refugees to survey for a book, or a study, or somethin'. That's probably all it is.

Also, I had an epiphany the night before last, about the messed up clocks, and now I'm all fretting about getting True Brujahed instead of Cool Brujahed. :smallredface:

[Worlok]

"College-type. -And- a street name. Kind of a long story, that. He's... popular." He said that last part in a way as if to unspokenly add 'While I'm not.' Slowly, he came closer, and sat down, briefly revealing what appeared to be a rather nasty, long, straight scar along the back of his head, going straight down and only thinly veiled by even his relatively full, black hair. "Y'see. I think you know this better than me, but I understand you have a... a website? Blog? Something of the sort?"

[JonRG]

Hell of a scar. No doubt an interesting story there. "My... blog? Y-you know about that?" Okay, time to panic. This "Professor" guy was smart enough to make the connection between her and her "totally anonymous" blog, the internet swears (frickin' hell). Who else they told? "M'sorry, Khaled. Not tryin' to freak out here, but... you're Syrian. You know what the government can do to dissenters... and their families. You guys aren't telling just anyone about this, right?" Ava curled her knees up to her chest, trying to remain calm.

[Worlok]

This time, it was Khaled's turn to freak: "The hell you know that I'm Syrian?"

[JonRG]

"My dad learned Arabic and Kurdish from your people, and he's the one who taught me. Ya talk to folks long enough, you develop an ear for regional accents." Ava flashed a comforting grin, relieved to know Khaled wasn't immune to freak-outs.

[Worlok]

This seemed to calm him down somewhat, but he still remained on edge: "Huh. Alright. Alright, yes, that's good. Yes. Khaled al-Juzjani, from Aleppo, Syria. Nice to meet you." That same labored grin again, and a hint of a bow, again flashing the scar. "But where was I? Yes. My prof. The professor, he found it. He read it. Amazed him, too. Don't worry. He's big on standing against corrupt governments. Nothing to fear at all. Part of the reason there's so many Arabs and everything here in town, even after that thing with the towers there in New York. Helps them make it across the pond. He's Iranian. Or was. He could probably explain this better than I. Anyway, he sends me a fax, all old-school with a paper printout and everything. And in this fax, he tells me to 'subtly' contact you. Because, you know..." He lowered his voice to a more conspirational tone, and leaned in a little closer, partially to drive home that what he said was important, and partially to drown out the noisy conversation that had broken out indoors: "... he apparently wants to speak with you. And so I have that fax lying about, and I answer that yes, okay, I will try and contact you. But somehow, Henderson, Ted the Buckethead, Mehmet or -someone-, they get their hands on it. And because I'm sort of security hereabouts, in exchange for being allowed to live in the house... It's actually meant to be crazies-only, and they make it a secret, because that way, they can re-integrate with society on their own terms or something. Leibowitz Institute for Unorthodox Medicine, nothing I really know about. Kind of a big deal, or so I'm told. So, anyway, I'm security hereabouts. And they decide to help me out, because I keep them safe at night and stuff." Another pause, another sigh, business as usual: "But you see, you take a house full of dudes that think 'subtly' is a fancy word for 'with sunglasses on', and a directive like that, and you get some contrived insanity like the one you just went through. All good intentions, really, no harm meant. But the blame's on me, for having left the door open and such. So..." He stood up, extending his right hand to her, and bowed again, having rattled all of that off at a record pace and switching to English again: "Sorry for that. I mean it, too. Got out of hand, and I only found out about it when you were already inside the house. Think you can spare me your wrath this time around?"

[JonRG]

Ava chuckled. Definitely an okay dude, this Khaled. "Yeah, no wrath this time. Just yanno, it's pretty terrifyin' to have a buncha people be all, 'Bloo blah, Khaled is scary, and you should stay away from him!' But if they're all nuts, then I'm not so worried." She grabbed his hand and pulled herself to her feet. "All right. Let's go see the professor. And on the way, you can tell me why the heck you live with all these nutters."

[Worlok]

"They're... they're still doing that? They usually went on about me being dangerous and crazy when we had this little problem with the street gangers a few years back. But nevermind..." And here, his tone of voice changed until it sounded quite horribly sad, and he almost unconsciously scratched the back of his head in the general area of his scar: "... my scary days are over, really. Only one here you really don't want to meet is the janitor." He smiled uneasily. "But then again - Even that guy keeps calm as long as you leave his locks alone. So that should not be a problem, eh?"

[JonRG]

"Yeah, about that..." Ava muttered, pulling her tools from a pocket. The door had fortunately swung shut behind her, a reflexive effort to slow pursuit. "Here's hopin' I can pick this shut before he notices?"

Lockpicking (Security + Dexterity): [roll0]

[Worlok]

"That can actually be done? I always thought you just use those to get them open instead of shut." Khaled was clearly not quite wise to certain ways of unlawful advancement in the world, and his surprise and interest seemed genuine. "And why would you bring a bunch of lockpicks for a cleaning job?" A pause. "... or a balisong?"

But then again, someone else had apparently noticed the picking just as she had completed it, as a gruff voice from inside could now be heard considering: "Well well, I'll be. That someone come to pick my lock?" With the swift, and oddly gleeful addition: "That someone want, then, to meet the fist? Yes? This fist that took seven lives, yes yes? Who might this be, I wonder aloud, who dares to pick my lock?" And a rather tremendous shadow appeared just behind the milk glass windows, strangely sharp against the backdrop of the less-than-stellar light of the old ceiling lamps. Just behind Ava, Khaled whinced audibly.

[JonRG]

"Force of habit," Ava muttered, focused on her work. The pins were a bit old and rusted. So while the pins had been raked up with relative ease, it was harder to force them back down. The deadbolt did click shut, just as the Janitor's voice rang out. "So," she muttered, rake pick still inside the cylinder. "How dangerous is this guy, really?" When the man peeked out, she crouched down and whispered in Arabic, "Tell him nobody's here."

Ava's gonna duck against/inside the doorframe if at all possible and try not to be seen by Crazy McCrazypants. If he tries to force a key into the lock, she's poised to just jam a pick in there and totally ruin the mechanism.

Stealth: [roll0]

[Worlok]

Khaled's expression was difficult to read, somewhere between embarassment and cold fear: "Let's just say that I am not the only one who leaves the house through the window every so often, yeah?" he whispered, before coughing, composing himself and declaring: "It's only me. Khaled. Nothing to worry about. Locked myself out somehow, is all."

The lock was shut, that much was certain, and perhaps the psycho had not noticed her. But Khaled's attempt at a cover-up sure did give him pause: "...Khaled? The... security kid? The one his Professor gifted us, yes?" - "The same." - "Good, very good, Khaled. Khaled the night-watch, the rear-guard, the dangerous. Very, very good." A chuckle, dark and deep and cold like the Atlantic Ocean and - just judging by the sound - also about as wet. "But why would you pick the lock, my lock, why why? Do you not have the keys?" - "Oh. Er. Sure. Must have slipped my mind. And you know, I get so little chance to utilise them these days, so I figured-" - "It is all good, all good. You can pick Vasili's locks, if you must, today. I shall forgive it. Once. I will not ever forget it. Twice. You understood?" - "Sure, man. All clear then, huh?" - "Of course. I like you well, Khaled." - "Well. Thanks. We cool then, yes?" - "We are. So very... cool, in fact. But shall I open the door for you?"

And now, it was on Khaled to glance at Ava worriedly: Now what?, was what he asked without saying it.

[JonRG]

Ava nudged Khaled in the back of the knee, a not-so-subtle gesture for him to move his ass up to the window and give her some frickin' cover. As the nervous Syrian complied, she edged herself down the stairs as he moved. Her hand found its way into his pants pockets and, in a barely noticeable gesture, she switched his cellphone for hers. Ḥashshāshīn the fellow was not, and so probably wouldn't have the wherewithal to fake a one-side phone conversation. With a self-satisfied smirk, Ava opened the pilfered phone, dialed her own number and pressed Send. Once "Khaled's" phone started ringing, she would simply roll off the stairs under cover of the noise.

Okay, lot of actions here, but I'll cover everything.

Hiding from Vasili (Dex + Stealth): [roll0]

Switching Phones (Dex + Stealth/Security [same mod]): [roll1]

Rolling off the Stoop (ideally avoiding the bush) (Dex + Athletics): [roll2]

Praying that Khaled can roll with the madness: Roll not really necessary :smallamused:

[Worlok]

"Hey now, what the hell are you-?" Khaled's surprised slide into Arabic startled the janitor just as much as Ava's actions startled the not-quite-so-dangerous security guard: While he had complied with the nudge, having his phone withdrawn from his pocket and swiftly exchanged for his own was a little much, and all the more since luck was not with Ava Rahimi tonight - Except in that she did, in fact, manage to dodge the bushes on her way off the porch. For Khaled's phone proved to be turned off, and the PIN recognition responded poorly to her number being dialed. "...Khaled?" - "Uh... Vasili?" - "Khaled, what just happened? Why the Arabic, tell?" - "Uh. Nothing. A... cat. Yeah. Just a cat." - "A cat? That is funny. I could have sworn, have sworn that I had smelled a girl." - "Ah, no, sadly not. But speaking of, uh... Well... Don't you have anything else left to do?" - "No. I have all night. All night to stand here, hear you pick my locks, and wait to find whether my suspicion, it is come true, yes yes? Maybe, will get to pet this cat of yours?" Well, so much for that then, eh?

[JonRG]

Khaled's shouting may not have been part of the plan, but it certainly made the requisite amount of noise. Ava thankfully dodged the thorny shrubs that Khaled had fallen into, landing with a soft groan. Great, another freakazoid with super-senses. Ah well. Khaled, terrified and confused? I can work with that. She took a deep breath and leaped to her feet. "A cat?" she shrieked before blustering in Arabic. "Really, Khaled? Is that all this relationship is about to you? I can see why you haven't had much luck with women before. You sure know to make a girl feel special." Ava stomped up to him, brandishing his phone. "You didn't even leave your phone upstairs, you idiot! You took mine!" She winked, before shouting in English, "You can apologize by taking me home! Talk to your neighbor later!" Ava dragged Khaled down the street, grinning from ear to ear and shouting some idle Arabic insults for good measure.

Bluff (Nines Rodriguez, who art in LA, hallowed be Thy Crazy Hand): [roll0]

[Worlok]

"Khaled the gentleman. He names one kind of fluffy tail for yet another to save time." Vitali could be heard commenting in that bass-ass voice of his as Ava passed the door, and with the completely perplexed Khaled muttering his "Sure, honey, that will do..." as he was dragged off, there was now apparently nothing stopping the end of sanity: Halfway down the street, Ava grew aware of all lights in the halfway house on this side of the building suddenly being switched on at once, and her idle Arabic cursing was briefly drowned out by the janitor's tremendous "OUR BODYGUARD, HE GODDA BEACH!" - or something similar, at least. As they finally rounded the corner, someone on the uppermost floor yelled into the young night how they needed a show and a three-storie cake to share, and triumphant bagpipe music accompanied them getting out of the maniacs' line of sight. In the surrounding houses, curses and complaints got loud, and other lights switched on, particularly old people reminding everybody present of the advanced hour.

Only once the first half of "Amazing Grace" abruptly and tunelessly switched into something vaguely folk-ish-sounding could the young man get something resembling a hold of himself, and finally forced out a "WHAT?" in his native tongue.

[JonRG]

"Don't shout, or they'll think I broke up with you," Ava chided with a laugh. Her eyes were alight with mirth. "Hey, it was a good cover. It explained why I was there without them going insane. Well, violently insane at least. Besides, you're pretty cute for a nervous guy." This felt like the point where one would wink... if one were a brain-dead Alaskan governor. Focus. "Anyway, the Professor. Where's he?"

[Worlok]

Again, a "WHAT?", followed by an impressive tirade of obscenities that would have done even seasoned sailors no shame, though thankfully suppressed by him speaking into his shirt-sleeve while he let it loose.

"...friggincrapnohowitssupposedtogolikeatalliswears omeoneisgonnapayforthisandsoon!" was how it ended, and therein also its one halfway decent part.

But then he reached into his other pocket, as in, the one without the phone, produced what appeared to be a miniature milk carton, drank from it, and calmed down visibly as he stopped pacing about in his furious anger-jig. He even smiled again, despite at the same time wrestling his fingers and having obvious trouble finding the proper words - or sense of countenance, really - as he said: "You... you really think so, yes? That is... good. That is very good. I'm. Happy. About. That. And I should shut up. But basically, the Professor, he is not here. And I know where to find him, but at this time of the night, he's likely not there, either, and so I could show him to you. I mean you to him. I mean introduce the two of you. But not tonight. I do not think. No. No." He did neither blush nor lose his pace through that, but to him, it was every bit as awkward as him, she could just tell. "And that means there is no place to go for me, not with..." Bagpipes in the distance, howling, menacing, before a backdrop of shouting and (threats of) calling the police. "... -that- now very likely going on all night. And basically this is just not how this thing was supposed to go at all, goddamn. I mean."

And to top it off, yet another "WHAT?", and a "Still though, why would you do this, now?" in the end, betraying something that might have been un-admitted amusement in a way.

[JonRG]

"'Cause it was funny, and I owed you for - indirectly - gettin' me into this mess. Or maybe," Ava continued, the words flying heedlessly out of her mouth, "it was just nice to be on the shoutin' end of that for once. She grumbled, "'Those scars are gross, Ava.' 'Stop cryin' when I touch you, Ava.' 'Get the hell out, Ava!'" Her gaze flicked up at Khaled's confused face, and she realized that she'd started shouting somewhere along the line. "Sorry... I've got a lotta B.S. goin' on, in my life." Ava scratched at her arm. "But I've got a couch you can crash on, I guess..." Good survival instincts there, Ava. Invite the weird guy you just met into your home. Maybe Shawn would wanna hang out too? If there was one thing that could make this night less awkward, it would be a dude she knew there. And weed! Yeah, this could work. Ava pulled out her phone... which was still Khaled's. "Can I have my phone back first, though? I was gonna try and call you, walk you through a good excuse, but your keypad was locked." Ava glanced at the clock, which was still visible even if the phone itself was locked, and also tried to get a sense of how much of a threat Khaled might actually be.

Sense Motive on Khaled (Alertness+Perception): [roll0]

[Worlok]

"Erm..." He looked at her curiously, holding perfectly still, until finally: "Yes. Yes, of course, sure, here you go." Khaled procured the mobile, took his own again, and extended hers to her: "But say... Two questions. First thing. That just been an invitation there?" He seemed to perk up at the thought. Immensely so. "And secondly: You sure none of the crazies in there... like... -bit- you or anything?"

[Worlok]

Argh. Messed up roll. Here we are. Opposed by Manipulation + Subterfuge: [roll0]
The dude was faking... something - His rapidly changing moods, and the fact that he seemed so easily cowed despite being every inch the take-no-crap gangbanger type underneath his confused exterior would just not add up. Then again, he might just be crazy somehow? Or high? Simply really that surprised? The scheming glint of his eyes said otherwise.

[JonRG]

What is with this dude? He's, like... all over the place. Ava flipped open the phone and restarted it, hoping the time would show. "Yeah. My friend's comin' over after work, but you can stay over too," she replied. Hopefully, we'll have a nice friendly night of drugs, and chillin', and nobody killin' each other... Ava held down a speed dial button while flashing Khaled a weird look. “Of course no one bit me. Why do you ask?" Phone ringing in her ear, she waited for Shawn to pick up.

What time is it? Has some device I've gazed at been able to tell me what time it is? (Either Khaled's phone or mine. :smalltongue:)

[Worlok]

Nope. But it's somewhere around ten to eleven PM. :smallsmile:
"Oh, well, you see. It's nothing, really, just that what some of them have, it's... infectious, to a degree. Most of them, big secret? Most of them are just degenerates playing at being lunatics. And some simply outright fake in order to keep the apartments, like. But I've seen things happen in there, you really wouldn't believe me if I would tell. Some are the real, straight-up, no-holds-barred Winkelmann-brand sickness package deal." He now seemed most curiously gleeful. As if he was hiding something in plain sight, as if something to what he said meant more than it sounded like, leaving him with some sort of in-joke he would not share. "You see, our janitor? Vasili? Actually killed much more than seven men. Got kicked out of wherever he is from for doing that -all the time-. Then he came here, and the buckethead, Teddy, he puts in a good word with Dr Leibowitz, and the doctor actually lets the man out of the padded cell and gives him a job, all because his one inmate asked him too." He laughed, no doubt still quite taken with his little secret, whatever it was, and added: "And that still doesn't change the fact that there's corpses in his apartment on certain days, and that he's not even our worst nutcase. Nor that, well, some of their things spread a lot like rabies. Prophet's beard, we most likely have at least five rabid ones, not counting that retarded dog-thing that they have."

And all the while, the phone kept beeping: Shawn had either turned it off. Or didn't hear it. Or found himself otherwise occupied.

[JonRG]

Damn it, Shawn! Meh, screw it. He might've already headed over. Ava closed the phone shut with a snap. "That's kinda messed up. How do you manage to keep them under control?" She waited with bated breath. This conversation was rapidly taking an unexpected turn towards the illegal...

[Worlok]

He looked at her, then flashed a smile of a truly, amazingly leering serial killer quality - one that also betrayed his teeth, and particularly his upper canines, as being quite prominently sized - and said: "Easily. It would seem that they are mainly putting on a show, and as I said, that's exactly what most of them do, but they are genuinely afraid of me. Most of them, anyway." Almost as fast as his previous bout of anger had come about, he was now already cheerful again: "And the ones that aren't are mostly afraid of the ones that are -really- afraid of me, and so they all keep each other in line. Most of the time, that is." Whoever was playing that bagpipe was not exactly good at what they did, and even an absolute layman or -woman could have told. But the piece sure got loud. "Except, you know, when all the unfortunate circumstances align. Like me being dragged off right in the middle of a conversation with Vasili while neither Henderson nor Leibowitz are in the house. Which is, obviously-" Was that expression there supposed to be flirtatious? The tone apparently was. "- not to say that I consider standing here with you unfortunate in any way."

[JonRG]

Okay, what the actual hell? Dude's rockin' like, frickin', dog teeth or somethin'. Nah. Nah, that's stupid. Probably just a trick of the light. Yeah. Ava tried to remain calm and focus on her next move. "Yeah... We should probably... get out of here." She heads off in the direction of her apartment, resolving to take a longer route that goes through better neighborhoods. More time to think, less chance Khaled would... who knew what?

[Worlok]

"Sure. Sure, okay." Khaled agreed, in English, but with a strange inflection to it he had not previously shown. As if he had learned that particular phrase even before learning the language properly. And as she made to move away, he followed. "Say though. Where's your appartment, and whom were you going to call just there, if you don't mind me asking?"

By this point, one thing became disturbingly apparent: Despite people still loudly threatening the inhabitants of the halfway house with their calling of the police, no sirens blared, and while there were several cars and pedestrians about, no cops could be seen or heard. The PD wasn't that far away, and normally, they could have, no, should have been here already in case someone actually had tried to call.

[JonRG]

Yeah, Khaled. Let's be all kinds of nosy. I can dig wantin' to know where we're headed, but who I'm talkin' to? Well, you can just eff right off." The lack of police presence didn't bode well. A lot of the Turton cops were bums, but not the Jew and certainly not Giff. Why weren't they here yet?

"Northwest side of town. You'll see." Ava continued on her way.

[Worlok]

"Right." Khaled still seemed confused about this whole affair, every last shred of him the essence of a man faced with a situation going either not as planned or just out of control. "Say, though, northwest? As in, where the lowlives roam?" That didn't seem to be too enticing a thought for him, yet he didn't betray any sort of disgust as much as fear. "Because I gotta be honest here, I'm not exactly... welcome there, normally. Gang stuff, basically. So I must be absolutely sure that it's cool for me to come with you, alright?"

[JonRG]

Ava quirked a brow. "The lowlives in Northwest aren't as bad as you've heard. I ran with most of them a while back. They're... not thrilled I got out of the game, but they still like me well enough." She wrapped an arm around Khaled for a brief instant, stretching her other arm in a vaguely northwestern direction. "Have no fear, habibi! Ava will protect you!"

Khaled was apparently back to normal, or some facsimile of it. Besides, she'd be safer on her own turf.

[Worlok]

Had things gone over smoothly, Ava would most likely have noticed Khaled tensing up at her touch like a Venus flytrap at that of prey, if out of obvious discomfort rather than reflex, certainly - he even went so far as to mutter something resembling "'barassment-" under his breath, after all.

But things did not go that way, and instead of Khaled's, it was another voice answering, from behind them, some few steps by the sound of it, this one rather more unpleasant than most, in a screeching, vaguely rat-like way, and accompanied by the tell-tale noise of a shotgun being readied: "Not that kind of lowlives, dear, trust me here. But still, Khaled, you should be grateful that she's so sweet to you. Now, both of you, step away from each other, hands in the air, turn around... all nice and slowly, mind." Arabic. If with the slightest hint of an accent, something of indeterminable heritage.

There were at least two of them, for someone other than the speaker laughed at that, a low, menacing demon chuckle, culminating in a rather less intimidating snerking noise. And as always in such less pleasant circumstance, there did not seem to be anyone else around.

[JonRG]

Oh good. Just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse... Ava scuffed away from Khaled and slowly turned around, hands raised to ear level. She looked over at him, to scope out his reaction. Plus, there was the added benefit at avoiding eye contact with the gunmen. Ignorance was good if it meant not being shot.

[Worlok]

Khaled seemed surprised, and rather negatively so - much as if someone he hadn't expected to even be around had suddenly walked in on him while in the nude. Okay, yeah, that comparison was probably quite off, but nevermind. The initial scare on his face died down swiftly enough as he got a closer look on the people that had held them up, giving way to an expression of quite thinly-veiled, exasperated wrath.

As for the people behind them, themselves, they likely would have benefited from being a little less done-up, for had Harald Glööckler and Salvador Dali teamed up to decorate a glamrock band for a gig on New Year's Eve, the result could hardly have been more flamboyantly off: A cheerful, shiny mess of expensive fabric and no less in-your-face acessories rather tastelessly adorned two guys that could easily have hailed from an acid-inspired mafia flick, complete with stubble, dark patches around the eyes and shifty looks, and the whole thing just seemed immensely out of place. All the more since the sound of the shotgun had apparently not come from any such firearm, for neither of them was visibly armed.

"Still up to the same old then, I presume?" Khaled now asked, annoyance coloring his tone of voice, and to the laughter of the smaller of the two, the taller one replied: "Of course. Word is that there's a party over at your place, so Crashtest here and I, we thought we'd come to visit, say hello, the usual." A pause, in which the smaller guy, called "Crashtest" by the sound of things, apparently saw occasion to laugh even more frenetically, and higher-pitchedly, sounding a great deal like a whole pack of Hyenas in puberty now. "But as it seems, that bagpipe jackass has not been chained down today, and seeing how you've left a little early, anyway... What gives, as if I couldn't tell, and why don't you just introduce the three of us?" Where some could have called a certain Mr Scott a master of the swinging mood, and said a little of the same about Khaled, this man was certainly a prodigy in the illustrous field of slimey grins.

[JonRG]

This doesn't sound like any holdup I've ever heard. Ava flicked her gaze upward and was surprised to see Khaled chastising what appeared to be two very fashionable men (or two very stoned clowns). Same difference, eh? "You know these guys, Khaled?" she asked, angry, confused, and yes, a bit afraid.

[Worlok]

It was not clear exactly what blend of emotions spoke out of Khaled's posture and mien, yet it was immediately apparent that they were hardly pleasant ones: "Well... Kind of, yeah." He sighed, indicated the larger man, and began: "Ava, these are Vernon 'Crashtest' Milliner and Gideon St. John." The smaller man toned down his laughter for the duration of a mock-bow, much like this whole thing was comedy and he an actor receiving standing ovations, whereas the larger suddenly seemed quite irate: "SAINT John. Gideon SAINT John with an S-A-I-N-T like in da rank anda name anda fame anda glory, yes? I told ya, I'll tell ya again, an' I tell ya you better write it down: You best don't even think no abreviations wi' me!"

A pause of painstaking silence, as Saint John caught his countenance, Khaled's annoyance turned into icy scrutiny, and Vernon erupted into a new bout of exhilaration, somehow even louder this time. Khaled again: "Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Those first three words at a volume so as to only be audible to her in normal circumstances, which one could of course not be quite sure these were. Then, louder, forcedly polite, in English: "Right. Of course. And as for my company - Vernon, Gideon, this is..."

He apparently wanted her to take it from here on out, and she'd likely have to seeing how he now suddenly froze mid-move - if, to his credit, it has to be pointed out that the look the two thugs abruptly levelled at him would likely have made much braver men shut up.

The name is Gideon Saint John, in full, and he's not allowed to call me just Gideon. Goddamn Turks.

Had someone just actually said that? None of the three guys had moved their lips... or had they, now?

[JonRG]

Oh goodie. The lunatics have left the asylum. Who could hear the difference between St. and Saint, anyway? If nothing else, they didn't have guns. Ava's standards for the quality of her night had declined in short order. Crashtest was apparently Turkish, and who knew where Gideon was from? Sorry, Gideon SAINT JOHN. "It's very nice to meet you both. My name's Ava." She gave an awkward sort of wave. Hopefully, that would be satisfactory. Plus, Ava could watch them reply, see if their lips really weren't moving.

[Worlok]

Gideon Saint John replied, miming a gesture that one could have described as kissing an imaginary hand (for his being either too lazy or too cautious to actually step closer to her and Khaled). "It is my pleasure, and I believe I am speaking for myself as much as for my colleague when I say..." He paused - up to here he had been moving his lips. Nice rack, don't you agree? his voice resounded in her head - without his mouth moving, this time around. And sure enough, there was Vernon's voice, and even though he was moving his lips most avidly, it still seemed as if his response came in stereo: BWYAHAHAHA, bwuahahahahahaheeheehaw. The voices were definitely in her head. And theirs as well, apparently. "... that I am amazed how Khaled keeps getting with the pretty ones, which is a compliment, coming from me." He sure didn't want for confidence, oh no. "But do you have any idea what you are getting into, here?" - He switched back to Arabic, adressing Khaled: "Or rather, she in the loop, or supposed to be?" His voice was dripping menace in the way a maple tree would maybe have oozed syrup - slowly, but surely an air of danger was tainting his 'casual jerkass' brand of friendliness, without it sounding any less sweet for that. Then again, that was not saying much.

[JonRG]

Ava pulled her hooded sweatshirt tighter around her at Gideon's lecherous remark. Had he said or thought about her boobs? She was officially losing it, in front of creeper clowns, no less. The night had reached a new low with a new goal to 'not wake up in a straitjacket tomorrow.'

"Can you guys stop talking about me like I can't hear you? I'm right here!" Ava snapped.

[Worlok]

That last remark had a truly amazing effect: Vernon ceased laughing immediately, falling silent and casting Ava a wide-eyed glance that resembled a deer's in a headlight more closely than anything else. Gideon merely looked somewhat puzzled, for little more than his left eyebrow really moved, but he backed away nonetheless, and Khaled's head jerked around with an expression of undisguised shock on his face.

"... Say what?" Gideon finally asked, and "What do you mean by that?" Khaled 'agreed'. Vernon seemed to be holding his breath for now, uneasily looking from one to the other and back at her.

[JonRG]

Great. She was nuts. Obviously, no one had said anything, and they all thought she needed to have her head examined. Maybe she really did. Who knew at this point? Ehn, to hell with it. Ava had already revealed herself to be completely bonkers. Might as well let these clowns have it!

"Well, your buddy Gideon was talkin' all creepy about my tits, then he asked you if I was 'in the loop,' which sounded weird as hell." She stared into their shocked faces. "Or I could just be trippin' on chemical fumes." Damn. So much for resolve. Ava pulled out her phone and checked if she had signal. "Listen, maybe I should just... call my friend for a ride. I've been workin' the last eight hours, and... Yeah." That about covered it. Yeah. Giff would be able to have a squad car swing by. Or at least, he'd done it in the past, when she'd felt like she was in danger. And now? Definitely applied.

[Worlok]

"That... Uh... I don't think that's..." This wasn't Khaled's greatest day. Gideon, however, was slowly gathering speed again: "But, er, Ava, was it? There is no need for that at all. You are a little overworked, and this whole thing might be a little much for you. That's quite alright. No need to call in no cavalry, girl." He, too, was nervous, even with all the efforts he undertook to hide it.

The phone had a signal, but the energy was low. It would be enough for a call, however. Or at least hopefully so.

"Henderson," Vernon remarked, in a voice that seemed freakishly deep on his rickety frame. Khaled and Gideon didn't look at him, yet both listened up as evidenced by a barely-perceivable shift in body language. Neither of these two was any good at discretion, it would appear. "Henderson. You. Ava. Apartment. Henderson. Buckethead. Right?" Vernon bumblingly ventured on.

[JonRG]

Ava's thumb hovered over the 4 key; Giff was on speed dial right after Shaun and Jack. If he got her out of this in one piece, he might just move up to #3. Crashtest's voice (maybe) snapped her from her reverie. Although he spoke only in nouns, Ava caught the gist. "Uh... Yeah. Why?" Damn it, girl! Why were you not calling the cops?

[Worlok]

"Well." Vernon coughed, shielding his mouth with his fist in a manner that seemed atypically serious on one as apparently given to clownery as himself. "Henderson... Tell. Has. Tell. Apartment. Thoughts. Can hear. Not fumes. Not chemical. More like..." He grew even more contemplative and serious... only to then, by the looks of things, decide that the whole affair wasn't worth his attention, and begin laughing again. Whatever he had said, however, seemed to have given Gideon and Khaled a much-needed opening, and the former was quick to speak up: "Yes. Yes, of course... That would make sense." - "What are you talking about?" - "Nothing, not really. Just a thing. Henderson stuff, the usual. Vernon just reminded me of it, is all." - "Huh. Well, guess that's as good a 'no' as any on the project for tonight, then, Gideon?" - "Saint John, and yes, it would appear that you are right, Khaled. Let the Belgian know that that thing with the car and the chicken is done, and we will be expecting our payment the usual way, okay? Crashtest, come on, we have places to be."

This seemed to go a little too quickly, and something about it was more out-of-the-usual than usual. The two intrepid loons took a perfectly synchronised bow that included tipping their hats and everything, Vernon even bothering to give a thumbs-up through his revelry. And then departed, expediently. Dashing down the street, Crashtest yelled "CHEMICAL!" once, and "TELL!" a while later, laughing all the time at a pitch and a volume that the two they had left behind would likely still be hearing long after the clowns would be out of sight. And they sure were fast, come to think of it, like a pair of scandalous christmas trees on a prison break.

"Just so you know, Ava: You likely are tripping on chemical fumes. Might be I am, as well. It happens. Perfectly normal and natural. My apologies for the two of them." There went Khaled, again, looking embarassed and apparently challenged for the right turn of phrase once more.

[JonRG]

Ava looked askance at Khaled. Yeah, chemical fumes gave you headaches, or dizziness, or breathing trouble. Once, she even hurled all over some rich white bitch's linoleum floor. What fumes didn't do was make you hear people's thoughts, or hallucinate what might be their thoughts. Khaled jumped on that excuse like a hobo on a sandwich. Ehn. Everyone had their secrets. Maybe the professor would be able to shed some light on the matter.

"So... do the guys in Northwest like you more or less than that? Nevermind, that's a frickin' useless frame of reference. Let's just get out of here. I'm exhausted." Ava did a quick stretch and continued her walk towards home.

[Worlok]

"Sure. Sure, we will. And to answer your question..." He sighed, beginning to follow her, no, actually keep up with her this time around. Seeming rather quite far from exhausted in any way, come to think of it. "...rather... even less. They're kinda... Damn, it's hard to explain. They basically don't like me, and they don't like the people I roll with, the feeling's mutual, and sometimes someone dies. Bad blood. Old feuds, hurt feelings, open scores... and things like that." He wasn't the best with words, it had to be pointed out again. Especially the word 'Nevermind', by the sound of things. "And I mean, make no mistake. Those two? Crashtest and Gideon? They're strange, yeah. And sure, they're annoying, and they're kind of dangerous, and if I could stop Vern from doing that thing where he imitates weapon sounds just to scare people, I'd be happier... But compared to the guys from your hood? Basically my best friends."

[JonRG]

Damn. People got killed? Ava hadn't heard about any of her associates biting the dust. Then again, she tended to hang around with the less-than-lethal sort of criminals. Khaled... might be beyond her ability to protect.

To hell with that. Ava knew Turton like the back of her hand. If they cut through Westside, there was only a block or two - tops - before her apartment. Sure there was a slightly higher police presence, but most of the beat cops knew her as Giff's confidential informant. Ava peeled off her hoodie as she walked and handed it to Khaled. "Put this on. Just in case."

[Worlok]

The simple gesture of handing the hoodie to him seemed to just add to Khaled's confusion some, and after stopping short first and then catching up once he was over it, he replied: "Oh, uh, well, erm, thanks, I guess, but... No. That's not a good idea. Maybe you should keep it. Just in case."

At any rate, they made good progress on the way, and the Northwest drew near.