On the Trail..

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

Morph's made his way over to Irving's perfectly recited address, travelling incognito - or, at least as incognito as a man can be when he looks like Humphrey Bogart having stepped directly out of the Maltese Falcon.

"Schtick with me, schweetheart, and you'll go places.."

He flashes an un-Bogart-like grin at his travelling companion, Roxy.

Comments

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

She blinks and looks at him. She figured with a name like Morph he could turn all clay and fix himself up to look different, but -

"Why you look'n all funny and talk'n crazy?"

Nope. Doesn't know the classics.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Aww, man. Between you and Spider-Man.. yeesh. Not much for pop culture back home, I guess.."

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

The Duval house is small and ordinary-looking, but also very clearly abandoned. The windows have been boarded up and the tiny lawn is extremely neglected. A gleam of rusted blue metal can be seen amidst the weeds.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

Morph shuffles over to take a look at the blue metal bit. "What have we here?"

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

On closer inspection, the blue metal object is part of a toy spacecraft with what used to be real working lights.

There is a scorch mark on the ground near the abandoned toy.

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

"Hey, I'm just fine with what's on TV!" She looks at the toy. "Huh, that don't look good. What'd Irving say hit this place again?"

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Didn't say, just that his parents told him to make for his hiding spot and wait there for them. That was almost a year ago - we may not find much here."

Morph scoops up the toy fragment, and examiens the scorch mark more carefully.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

The house may have once been painted beige or white. Much of the paint has peeled away. There is an odd blistering effect seen near the foundation. Three concrete steps lead up to the front door. The steps are flanked by plain iron handrails, the metal discolored here and there by patches of rust.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

Morph moves closer for a look at the blistered paint.

"Heat, maybe..?"

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

There is the faint smell of burned wood and paint.

More insects scatter away from Morph as he bends closer.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Incidental singeing.. not likely an arson attempt, probably residual from the battle. Fire motif - kinda hard to narrow down. Pyro, Sunfire, lots of others. Self-narration : doesn't seem to help."

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

"There was someone here. Someone hot and...it's like he was us'n a blowtorch or something...Here. He started here. Ah think the bastard was smil'n. Someone I'd like to look in the eye, cause a coward can't take that sort of thing - and this guy was a real chicken to do that with those kinda powers."

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

Another brief sequence of images flashes into her mind's eye:

The whip of flame lashing out at the Grey Gargoyle, striking his face, his feet, his hands--

"C'mon, Gargie. In ya go. C'mon."

Bellowing in pain, the Grey Gargoyle retreats into the house.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

The lock yields stiffly, feeling gritty to Morph's touch. As the door opens, the first thing that hits them is the smell: a potpourri made up of dust, mold, and small dead things. The light is dim, thanks to the boarded-up windows, but enough daylight is leaking in that they can see once their eyes adjust from outside.

The first room of the house is the living room. Bare of furniture, its walls are still mostly covered with a wallpaper of dull green with a leafy pattern that probably used to be gold but now is more of a rusty brown. Cracks and holes appear here and there, some small and obviously made by vermin, but one set is distinctly different: mostly at the level of Roxy's head, and roughly round in nature. There is a faint sparkle along the edges of these scars in the walls.

The floor is littered with dust and dirt, and more gravel like what Morph discovered outside, only larger and less weathered by the elements. There are more scorch marks on the floor, ceiling, and walls. Beneath the dust and dirt, the floor is gouged.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Hell of a fight in here.."

Morph's neck stretches to examine the sparkly holes.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

On closer inspection, the sparkle is caused by granite particles clinging to the edges of the holes. There is a gap in the sparkle-margin of one of the holes, a section where a small piece of the wall has been cut away, perhaps with a penknife or other small blade.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Someone's already done some investigation here, but it's kinda obvious what happened.. take a look around, Roxy - if you find anything that isn't taken for granite, let me know."

He begins to move through the house, peering at every detail.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

To the right of the living room is a small blue room. The walls and ceiling have been painted the same shade of blue. Small yellow-green glimmers can be seen on the ceiling.

The closet door has been pulled off its hinges and--judging from the marks on the wall where it now lies--thrown across the room with great force.

A Buzz Starman night light is plugged into the outlet near the door.

[proteus-maximus.livejournal.com]

Well, the night-light is going back to its rightful owner - it's plucked from the wall and given a cursory glance, then Morph moves on to the closet.

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

It's like a TV show on fast forward and rewind at the same time. As she gets closer to the house, the images speed up and she's becoming more and more lost in them.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

Bits and piece of the past, some silent, some only sound, fly into her mind:

The Grey Gargoyle's head slamming into the wall: again, and again, and again.

A woman's voice screaming.

Two deeper voices laughing.

Small footsteps shuffling in. "Mama? Papa?" Then more insistently: "Mama? Papa?"

The voice of the firethrower she heard before: "Goddammit, where's the kid? The kid was s'pposed to be--"

A woman's voice screaming.

Furniture crashing against the floor.

Another voice. "Kid was a real space cadet. We find him, let's send him to the moon." More raucous laughter.

Quiet house.

Empty house.

The spiders and the mice moving in.

Sharp sounds of hammers against nails through boards and the glass in the windows shudders and shakes with every blow.

A quiet, brown-haired man, camera slung around his neck, moves carefully through the house.

"Mama? Papa?"

The photographer takes a few shots with the camera around his neck, then pulls a smaller, less professional-looking camera out of his pocket and takes another shot, returning the smaller camera to his pocket before moving on.

Laughter--a little boy running to hug his parents. "Lookit! Lookit what Santa brought! With real working lights!"

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

"Irving..." she mutters.

That guy though - with the camera - he's on the posters they have 'round town that show he's missing.

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

The visions flicker again past her mind's eye:

"Hey! There's m'boy! Come see what Papa's got in his pockets for you."

The woman's voice again: "This is no life for him. It isn't all that great a life for us. It's this city, sweetheart. It's going to grind us up. Please. You've got to--"

The photographer is measuring the circumference of the holes in the wall. He takes out a penknife and carefully cuts away a small section of wallpapered-drywall, stowing it carefully in a plastic bag.

The house is bright with sunshine, and the flashes of a police photographer are nearly lost in the strong light. "Got anything?" asks a man in a brown suit.

"Mama? Papa?"

The beat cop pushes his hat back and scratches at his sweaty forehead. "Good riddance," he mutters. "Buncha thugs taking each other out ... save the city th'cost of a trial--"

[uneasy-rider.livejournal.com]

"So, you was a thug for a family of 'em? Which one papa..." she's murmuring to herself. the visions are more and more like a fever dream. "Gotta know...who ta rub out..."

[marvel-citizens.livejournal.com]

The visions drain away, and she is left feeling a series of emotions, one tumbling over the other in hasty succession:

Fear.

Anger.

Satisfaction.

Fear mixed with pain.

Desperation.

Dark and bloody joy.

A strong desire that justice should be done.