Melpomene (depressed_muse) wrote in olympian_rewind, @ 2010-08-23 18:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | melpomene, melpomene smith, npc |
Who: Melpomene, some thugs, and one poor dude just trying to get home.
What: Mistaken Identity
Where: A park just outside the Shadowlands area
When: Sometime after Hades kills some thugs for Mel, but before he gets his memory back.
Warning: Language, violence, ect.
The night was better than the day. It was a time that was more expected for tragedies , and time better suited to cast them. It was a time of drama, of the dark and shadow lurking forms, and a time of nightmares and fear. Melpomene found that it was fitting for her to be awake in the dark times of the world, instead of being forced to be active and partake of the rest of the goings on of life. She liked the life found within the night, and the possibilities that it awake to her.
Perhaps that was why, now, she was sneaking away from her mortal and her daughter, to walk the streets of Miami. It had only been a short time since she saw Hades, and saw how cheerful he was. She knew as much as he did -- as he should know -- that there would probably be backlash from even the brief time they spent together. She had yet to decide what the positive effect of their meeting had been, as it had only revealed to her he was happy. Blissfully cheerful in a manner. Weightless.
What was different about him had hounded her in the back of her mind, even as she tended to her other tasks of running a theater and caring for her daughter. She was an actress though, and playing a few of the parts was as easy as breathing. It had let part of her mind wander of the memories, testing them and placing what she would have expected to what she actually had happen.
But once she hit a point of seeing, fully, what it was that was so different, she didn't bother to search deeper. Her uncle was happy. She should be glad for him, and a part of her was, but there was also the part of her that was highly envious. And it was the anger born of that envy, of the jealousy, that sent her out into the city.
She managed to follow the pull for tragedy away from the Shadowlands itself. He had told her not to travel there again, and in a way she would respect that. But he was also not the master of her, and a spitefulness, born in part from being treated like a youth, caused her to search the edges of the area for her target.
It was not difficult to follow lines of possibility, to think of ways to create something that would bring grief to others, and be a warning once more of living in the city. She merely needed an innocent, and knew the night would provide.
Stepping along the path of the small park, the muse was as unremarkable as possible. Dark hair in a pony tail, jeans and a black top with sneakers. She was the same as half a dozen other teens roaming around in the world, and the darkness would hide her features as much as the stage make up she wore would. Not that it mattered much. The town was asleep, quiet mostly, and no one was about to notice.
Almost no one.
Pausing at a bench, she looked around, eyeing for someone to harass. She didn't have to wait long as a man started to walk along through the park, hands in pockets, eyes watchful. He spotted her, and dismissed her, keeping his sights on the other end of the park, his mind on the destination of home. He looked like he was coming from some friend's house maybe, or just a late night walk. If he'd come from work, he'd probably changed clothes.
Mel stayed on the bench, sitting against the back rest with her feet on the seat, looking at the ground and seeming to just think. Slowly, he got closer. She waited. When finally he was close enough, she jumped down from the bench, and landed herself a few steps in front of the stranger.
He slowed, then started again, intending to go around her.
Mel blocked his path, walking up to him. "Hey, can you hook me up?"
"No, I don't have anything. Sorry." He shook his head and continued to try to walk on.
The teenager blocked him again. "Seriously, whatever you've got. Look, I can pay in cash. I've got enough, you know? Please, come on..."
"No, I don't have anything. Alright? Excuse me." He tried to push past her, taking his hands from his pockets as he did so, but still she stayed in his way. He continued to ignore her, to protest, until she shoved her hand into his pocket. "I don't have anything!" he snapped, grabbing her arm and yanking her hard away from him.
"Then you don't get any cash," she mentioned with a shrug, stepping back. He'd only gone a step or two, checking his wallet and watch, making sure he still had his cell phone, when he glanced back and saw her examining a bag. She glanced up and met his eyes, then held the bag up for better view. "You sure you don't want payment for this?" she called out, a bit loudly.
The man shock his head and walked on, faster now, leaving the stranger teen behind. He had no idea what was in the bag, or where she'd gotten it from, but he knew he wanted to get home, or at least to some place safe, as quickly as he could.
Mel pretended to not watch as she went back to her bench, taking a pill from the bag and popping it onto her tongue. Eyes closed, she knew the cut was weak, but it would be enough to give even her a small buzz for a bit. No reason to let the drugs go to waste, right? A slow smile crept onto her lips as she listened to the night.
Further down the path, a set of four thugs stepped out of the shadows and into the way of the man. He nearly stumbled at the sight of them, since they were clearly watching his approach, and looked around for an exit. But it was too late. He was too far between bushes, and they were too close. He glanced back the way he'd started to come, but there was no one else in sight.
"So what's you think of this, boys? Man comes into our park, and starts handing out drugs? For free? Seems like someone doesn't want to respect the rules of the area." The largest of the four spoke. He was built like some might expect for a bouncer, and seemed to be the leader of the pack. "There's taxes and set fees for selling drugs around here."
"Look, I wasn't selling drugs. I'm just walking home guys, alright?" He looked back once more to see if the girl was still there. He glanced back at the men, but they didn't look like they believed him. "I'm serious guys. She just mobbed me, then pulled some bag from her pocket and let me go. I thought she was trying to rob me."
"You sayin' those drugs weren't yours?" the lead asked.
"Yes, exactly. I'm just trying to get home."
"Looked like she took them from your pocket to me," a second spoke up.
"That's what I saw," added a third.
"No!" He started to back up, but already it was too late. The thugs jumped him, bringing him further into the shadows, and landed a blow to his stomach.
"We don't like peeps movin' into our park, you hear?" Another blow to the stomach, followed with a punch in the face. They started in with their threats, adding a rule to how it worked in this area as they gave him another reason to remember each of the rules.
The man couldn't stand by the time the teen reached the group, hands in her pockets, swaying slightly as she eyed each of them. "Hey! Lay off! You shouldn't hit people!" she scolded, moving in closer, she looked to try to pry the guys off. One back handed her casually, sending her stumbling back a few steps. Carefully, Melpomene spit into her hand. As she had hoped, the blow had been enough that she easily bit the inside of her cheek, drawing ichor.
Now the muse frowned as she looked up at them, appearing angry and annoyed, despite her secret delight. "Hit me again, and I'll kill you, you bastards," she threatened. "Hit me and your death will serve Tragedy."
"Shut up you crazy bitch!" One of the men stepped toward her, hand raised to throw another punch, but he hesitated. "Get out of here!"
"Then leave him alone!" She stepped forward, and now the punch flew.
It was easy enough to predict it, and she dodged it, grabbing his bare arm with the spit tainted hand. Death by ichor is instant for pure mortals, and there was not even a moment for true shock or understanding, before he was crumbling to the ground, dead, as she released him.
The others looked at her in surprise, then anger, coming to mob her and leaving the fallen victim behind. She spit in the face of one, then slapped the next, before grabbing ahold and spitting on the last, the lead thug.
In mere moments there was a pile of four dead bodies at her feet. She looked down at the mound, and shook her head. "I warned you..." she whispered, then walked over to look at the first, and last, of her encounters for the night.
The man turned to look up at her, his nose broken and bleeding down his face, an eye swollen shut. He was clutching his ribs that made her think some might be broken or at least fractured, and he looked as though he would have trouble standing. Using her clean hand, she brushed his hair back. "Shh... [Let your death serve Tragedy, and the Fates.]" Licking her lips to coat them with ichor, she leaned forward, and kissed his forehead softly. The man collapsed, and fell to the ground as well.
Straightening, Mel looked at her work. She drew a small kerchief from her pocket and went to each of the fallen, wiping the ichor clean away, then cleaning off her hands. She then grabbed a stick of white chalk from her other pocket, looked about, and began on the next stage of her project for the night.
--
It was quick work for her, and under an hour, it was done. A pile of bones had been drawn on the cement beneath a stone bench, covering much of the space with a great amount of detail. If people knew bones at all, they would count these to be human. Around the bench and on it, each of the thugs had been dragged and dropped, then cut, to let any blood still able to move within them to drain onto the art below and mix with it. She cut throat and wrist and ankle, and anywhere that seemed fitting for thugs caught in a fight.
Then she had moved to the man, the stranger, the victim of this mess. She'd curled him on his side, wiped the handle of the pocket knife she'd used -- taken from a thug -- and placed it loosely into one of his hands. Part of the bag with the drugs in it was dropped into a pocket. Then, shakily, she wrote the words 'I did it' beneath him, wiped the chalk, and dropped it near by, letting it roll into the grass.
Stepping back she examined the work. She was tempted to take pictures, to send them to some news company or blog, but decided to let the police have that honor, or anyone else who passed through. Soon the joggers would be about, or some drunk or homeless person wandering by. Either way, it'd get reported.
Satisfied, Melpomene turned her back, and walked away. It wasn't bad for one night's project, but she'd need something more later. She reached up and released her hair from her pony tail, and began walking with purpose once more. She was curious what business the pimps were doing.
Summary: Mel is moping in her own fashion, which means tragedy.