Rooms

Who: Cerise & Elliot, followed by Cris.
What: Meeting with the serial killer.
Where: St. Raymond's Cemetery, NY. Marvel.
When: Pre-dawn. As agreed upon with Elliott, and after her meeting with Cris.
Warnings: Possible violence. Will update as needed.


( The cemetery was in the Bronx, so it was already close by. )

WERE MY DAMM KNIFES??

[She's downstairs on Cris' couch when she gets the hotel's idea of a Halloween trick. It's a photograph, one of an old man she doesn't recognize. She takes a picture of the picture, and she posts it to the journals, with some writing beneath it.]

Does anyone know who this viejo is? I got his pic today, and I got no idea-

[The writing cuts off messy. Seconds later, the photo is abandoned on Cris' couch, and Sam (young Sam) is nowhere to be found.]

I've always despised the phrase "like father, like son".

I do not want to be like my father.

I want to be more than my father could ever dream of.

[Just a few short minutes after hanging up with Cris here, and her handwriting is almost illegibly messy.]

[Public][Locked, "Ian anon"]
ian?

[She locks it down after the first few comments manage to get in.]

I know this is a long shot but does anyone have any sort of job opening?

I'm not good with people and I won't pass a piss test/background check but I can lift heavy stuff pretty good and uh, I can count and spell at a 8th grade level at least? I did okay enough on the ASVAB, I mean for 11b. fuck me why am I even trying

Long shot, I know. ...Anybody?

[Locked to Graham R]

I have a package that needs picked up. Are you available?

[Locked to Sam A]

[The address is in upstate New York, Marvel Door. A cabin by a lake, woodsy and understated. There's another address, a post office in the nearest town some 20 miles away. A PO Box. The key's waiting pick-up at the post office under her name. Nothing else is left in the note.]

[Locked to Sam A]

Did you get the help you were asking for?

The ad goes up around the hotel, just a little slip of paper that could easily go ignored.

Help Wanted

General Labor

Compensation up for Negotiation

Inquire on the journals, attention Mister L

[From Hialeah, in Fast and the Furious, after this. Across the street from where MK fell, from behind a burning car and near a dead man burnt to a crisp. Sirens are already sounding louder and louder as they near, and helicopters are whirring overhead. The writing is smudged, messy, barely legible, but MK needs help help help help-]

[Public]
help mk needs help

[Public: Minus Graham and Penny Ross, Cris Martín-Argüelles and Shane Alexander. Some back and forth, but ultimately Clem left on.]

[It's not pen and paper. The page in the journal (which has become, helpfully, thicker and more like sugar paper than notebook paper) is layered over with paint, slowly. Acrylic, slow so as not to soak through and blur the lines. It's careful but not-careful. Blocks of color, primary and secondary, and it tilts from the perspective of being very small on the bottom of a street. Vegas, this time - through a door, where the Strip still exists and the lights spark. It's more like street art pinned down on paper than fine-work, untutored and messy. Pay-day has hit, and there's enough of his own money for paint and brushes.]

[Testing the waters, she just draws a giant question mark on the page.]

[Public and Anon]

Who's in charge of this dump? I've been dead for a WEEK and no one's shown up to wheelbarrow me outta here.

Well, this is quaint.