Post by Press1269 on Mar 31, 2020 14:03:13 GMT
4/24/2020 [OFF CAMERA]
MUNIN'S HOME
633 12th STREET, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
Press sat on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table watching a program about sea otters while Richard laid lazily across the chair opposite him, hanging halfway upside down and reading 'The Shack'. The former choir director must have reached a touching part in the story because he reaches up with is fist and bites down on it, a slight whimpering sound coming out as if he were about to cry. The big man's look of annoyance was one that looked practiced, as if he had been in this same scenario a hundred times since the quarantine order for Santa Monica had went into effect.
He grabs the remote jerkily and lifts it towards the TV, finger holding down the volume button until all that anyone can hear in the house is the fact that "Sea Otters are aquatic environmentalists. By munching on urchins, it helps kelp forests flourish, and by crunching on crabs, it promotes eelgrass in estuaries."
Richard pauses at looking at his book to shoot the big man a look of his own, but upon seeing the furry critters on the screen effortlessly gliding through the water, an audible "Awww" sound emits from his lips.
Press shakes his head, sighing heavily, and hits the power button instead to end the program.
Richard appears a little disappointed as he swings his legs around so that he's now sitting right side up in the chair, placing his book down on the arm so that it would keep his place.
"What's the matter big guy? Quarantine got you down?"
"No." The answer is flat and indicated there need be no further conversation.
But Richard just couldn't help himself. "C'mon! It's not so bad. I've gotten a chance to catch up on my reading, learned a few new recipes. I even started working on a wood project out in the garage!"
Press had seen the misshapen piece of birch sitting dangerously close to his 1966 Pontiac Tempest and hadn't been amused. Richard had worked for weeks on trying to bend and carve this piece of wood into something that resembled a likeness of Krahe, if Krahe were afflicted with some terrible skin disease and had a lazy eye. The big man hadn't been impressed and apparently his facial expressions right now indicated as such.
Richard's fists found his hips, which made him look ridiculous since he was sitting down, and leans forward snobbishly.
"But that's your M.O. right. Just a big surly bully who doesn't find anything interesting besides what you can punch."
Press shot the acolyte of Krahe a wicked grin, pumping his fist into his other hand threateningly. "I think you might be right, Richard, and I may have just found my next target."
Richard shakes his head in despair, pushing to his feet and walking past the living room to head for the stairs. Just then, Youth came down them riding the banister, dismounting in a grande flourish of panache and dexterity. He sends a grin in Richard's direction, but upon seeing that he is upset let his face fall.
"What's wrong, Dick?"
Richard had become accustomed to the ever changing litany of nicknames that Youth seemed to come up with for everyone in the house, and looks back over his shoulder at Press.
"You're partner is incorrigible and devoid of anything but misery."
Youth chuckles a bit, providing another smile before slapping Richard on the upper arm.
"Well, shit man. Is that all. Everyone already knows that..." He says the last while walking past, and Richard shakes his head once more before making his way upstairs to his room.
Youth takes a quick two step before deftly leaping up so that one foot can bank off the coffee table and he spins so that he comes crashing down comfortably in the chair that Richard had just been occupying. He places an elbow on the arm of the chair while resting his chin in his open palm, just staring at his partner with an amused expression.
Press shifts uncomfortably, dark eyes staring down at the coffee table that went slightly askew thanks to Youth's antics.
"You shouldn't encourage him."
"He's just stating a fact."
The eyes suddenly dart up to regard his partner, a hard glint coming into them. "I'm not miserable, I just don't like being cooped up. Aren't you going crazy here?"
Youth shrugs, same annoying look on his face, and Press could feel his jaw tightening as he looks away.
"C'mon, big guy. What's really eating at you?"
Press mulled the question over for a moment before answering in a softer tone. "We haven't done shit. The Yogurt Shoppe was a bust, and worse yet, the guy got killed right under our noses. The world may have come to a stop thanks to this disease, but the murders haven't. Leandra probably thinks we had something to do with the guy going down, and we have no idea where Trea is. She's likely the culprit, though no one else around here seems to want to acknowledge it, and at the very least is heavily involved. We're here, instead of in Vegas, where we need to follow up on what we found in Alastor's penthouse so we can fulfill our contract to Odin and save Nin."
He looks over to Youth, an expression of disgust starting to form. "And to top it all off, we have to defend our titles against Jason Dave and Scott Wilson again."
Youth's face fell a bit at that, falling back into his seat and letting his head hang low. "Yeah...sorry about that."
Press perks up suddenly, shaking his head 'No'. "Dude, that's not what I meant. It was a freak thing, accidents happen. I'm just sick of these two shits. I mean, they keep on sticking their nose in our business, and what's funny...we didn't even have them originally targeted to begin with. I mean...after seeing what we did to Astrid, Brianna, and their Heavyweight Champion, who in their right mind actually steps up and picks a fight with us."
Youth wasn't completely over his pout, but gives a slight shrug in response before answering. "I don't know. We're the bad guys here and they are desperate. In a few short months we've kind of accomplished our mission. Krahe is the Television Champ after beating Oliver Black, we've beaten Brianna Rissi down so many times that she must feel like she's participated in a snuff film, and at Civil War, Munin is going to maim Astrid Samson. We've just got our part to play and that's changing the landscape of IPW to encompass new horizons. We put down Jason Dave and Scott Wilson and that is pretty much the end of the old guard in one fell swoop."
"And then what?" Press asks, sincerely not sure where to go from there.
Youth shrugs again. "We re-purpose. IPW is about to name a new Heavyweight Champion, and it's almost guaranteed to be one of the new kids unless Brianna Rissi can somehow pull of a miracle. That paints us an all new target, whether it be Shyla, Brodie, Willie, or DGS."
"I kind of like that Willie Pete guy..."
"Yeah, he's our kind of people. Anyone with the idea to make their first name 'THE' is A-OK in my book."
The two men chuckle a little, but the moment is short lived as Press pushes up to his feet to end the conversation. "I guess I'm just anxious to get back to work is all. We could go out, but its getting harder and harder to do so unnoticed."
Before Youth can agree the doorbell rings, and both men turn their attention to the front. Before either can make a move in that direction, Richard is already bounding down the steps like a bat out of hell, rushing past both of them and swinging the door wide. Standing in the entry is a beautiful blonde bombshell with almond shaped eyes and wearing a pastel blue dress that has curves in all the right places.
Richard just stands there with a 'Hubba-Hubba' expression as Leandra takes one of her delicate fingers and places it under his chin, promptly lifting his lower jaw back up to meet his upper. She looks past the choir director to see Press and Youth standing there, and promptly pushes past an all compliant Richard to enter the home and make her way to the living room.
She regards the two men with a terse stare as she folds her arms in front of her, which they can't help but notice pushes her ample bosom forward.
"Its been some time since I've heard from you gentlemen." She states matter-of-factly, irritation in her tone.
The duo share a glance before turning their stare back to Leandra, the proprietor of a supernatural haven called The Basement Tavern, and the Winter Fey who lead the tribe of Pixies here in Santa Monica. She had asked for their help in stopping a string of murders that were culling out their tribe, and one of her people had just been slain seconds after meeting The BombTrax. They knew they were innocent, but by the look in her eye they could tell she had her doubts.
"Leandra...great to see you." Youth said with a forced smile, stepping to the side of his chair to offer the woman his seat. "I didn't know you made house calls."
Press, who had taken his eyes off of Leandra long enough to look over to a still affected Richard, called out in a gruff voice. "Richard! This is a private conversation!"
Richard snapped out of his trance momentarily, still gawking at the beautiful woman who had just graced their doorstep. He nods dumbly and walks with some impediment thanks to the bulge that has suddenly appeared in his crotch area. As if noticing this for the first time, he gulps hard before hastily waddling towards the steps, laughing nervously over his shoulder as he waves to the Fey who doesn't even seem to notice him.
Leandra takes the seat offered to her, crossing her leg over the other allowing that dress to slink up her thigh. Press sits back down on the couch, while Youth plops down on the edge of the coffee table. Leandra is just about to speak when the door at the far end of the room pops open and Munin steps through its frame.
The Lady is wearing grey fatigues and looks to have been working up a sweat in the gym she had set up in the basement. She reaches up to pull a band from her ponytail, dark hair cascading down her back as she shakes the sweaty mess free. She takes two steps before looking up to realize that they have a guest.
Leandra eyes Munin with the same scrutiny she receives, both women visions of lovliness with their own distinct differences. The BombTrax remain silent, frozen really, as Leandra pushes out of her chair and approaches The Lady.
"Hello. My name is Leandra. You must be the matriarch of the house."
Leandra flashes a bewitching smile and extends her dainty hand towards Munin, who out of politeness and disregarding social distancing, takes it. Images suddenly spark in Leandra's mind of a bird in flight, feathers ruffling as air rushes past, and a loud caw from a crows gullet. The crow is flying towards a great tree, where the image of a one eyed man hangs limply against its side in the style of a crucifixion.
Press and Youth watch as Munin winces, as if experiencing a migraine, but when the two women's hands separate she shakes the feeling aside to look up at Leandra with a curt smile.
"Hello. I'm Munin, and I do own this house, but Matriarch...that seems a bit blaise. We have a shared tribunal here. But..." She pauses, seeing the apprehension clearly on The BombTrax's faces and decides to alleviate the tension. "As you can see, I'm in no shape for visitors. I'll just head upstairs and catch myself a shower."
"Well, that's unfortunate. I would have loved to had a few more words with you." Leandra coos, as if she is picturing the sight of Munin's naked frame being drenched in glistening water. The smile she gives this time is almost telling, and in a sultry voice says, "You have a lovely home."
Munin stares at the woman for a second longer, unsure at first of how she feels about the woman's tone. This Leandra was a little too forward, presumptuous even. Yet, there was something about the way that her almond eyes seemed to be undressing her that wasn't completely unappealing. She decides a friendly flirt would be acceptable rather than total rejection.
"Thank You, Leandra. Perhaps if you stop by when I'm not so filthy we can share some of those words." Munin returns the smile before side stepping and making her way towards the stairs. Leandra watched her go, the entire way up, and when Munin disappears around the corner she turns back to the Bombtrax with another smile. This one, however, was devious.
"That explains so much about you two. My, my, my..." She lets the expression trail off as she makes her way back over to her seat. Press and Youth look completely compromised when she eases back down against the fabric, her eyes now fixated on them like a cat stalking a mouse.
"So tell me, when did you come into possession of one of Odin's ravens?" she asks in an envious breath.
Press looked uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, shaking his head. "That's not how this works. Munin is not our property, she's our friend, and we are charged with protecting her."
"By whom?"
Youth holds up a hand as if that would stop the woman's train of thought. "It's not like that. No one has assigned us. It's not a gig. She's family."
Leandra smirks at the notion while regarding the two men in amusement. This would make things easier for her to get straight to the chase. Leverage, after all, was a beautiful thing.
"Family." The word comes out of her lips like an accusation. "It's funny that you mention family, because one of mine suddenly up and got himself killed after being investigated by you. It left quite the mess in his place of business, but wouldn't you know it..." She pauses and her eyes narrow. "The killers took his meat suit, almost as if they were trying to protect the supernatural order. Sound like anyone you two know?"
"We didn't kill him. It happened seconds after we left." Youth answers, voice hollow as if even he didn't quite believe it.
Leandra's nostrils flare as she leans forward. "So it's true. It happened right under your noses and you've done nothing about it!"
Press's discomfort begins to fade, replaced now by his usual irritation. "If you haven't noticed, conditions are not ideal for two vigilantes to go traipsing across the city. We need to gather more information before we can go any further, and our prime suspect is still being protected by the woman that hired us."
Leandra's head cocks to the side, her lips going tight as she speaks through her teeth. "I don't know how to make this any more clear, Redeemer, but Trea is not involved in this. Instead of continually barking up that tree, why don't you do your jobs and find out who the real culprit is."
Press started to respond but is cut off by his partner before the big man can say anything else to escalate the situation. "Here's what we know so far. Whoever...err...whatever...is doing the killings didn't use magical means to do this, but is magical in nature. There were no physical signs of entry nor a struggle, indicating that the victim knew the killer. The fact that we know the front door was closed and we were in the alley behind the place also indicates that there was use of teleportation, although when I tried to detect a source I came up with zilch. Do you know anything that might fit that description?"
Leandra sat back in her seat to mull the question over, temporarily distracted from wanting to rip Press's head from his shoulders. After a moment her eyebrows arch as if an idea had entered her brain and she seems satisfied with the answer. "What if it wasn't teleportation, or magic at all. What if," She pauses, as if trying to work it all out before continuing, "the creature were so tiny that it could move through spaces that most of us could not."
Press crossed his arms over his chest, thinking that one over before accepting it's plausibility. "Ok, but how does that account for what it did to Gerald? There were pieces of him everywhere and he was carved up in minutes if not seconds."
"Not all things that are small remain small. There creatures out there that can change their shape on a whim."
"No, she's right." Youth interjects, nodding his head. "We could be dealing with something that can polymorph on command."
Press looks to Leandra with a glint in his eye, his voice grim. "Can't sprites change size on command?"
Youth groans, not even having to look at Leandra to know that the woman was coming out of her seat in a fury. "Why is it that every time we have one of these conversations about the slaying of MY people that you automatically assume that it is ONE of my people?!"
The fact that Press's expression carried just the hint of satisfaction made Youth realize that things were probably going to go even further south. His partner's next words did nothing to assuage those feelings.
"You can't rule out any possibilities. Does Trea have any dealings with the sprites?"
Leandra looks ready to explode when Youth pops up from the coffee table and puts his hands up to try and make peace. "Listen, this is good. This is a lead. We can go off of this. Something that can change shape on a whim. Let me get in my archive and see if I can't find something that matches that capability."
Leandra continues to stare daggers into Press's smug face before turning those orbs onto Youth. "Fine, but let me make myself clear. You two have the month of May to bring this culprit to bare, or I will make some phone calls of my own about your friend upstairs."
The smug expression fades and Press bristles, starting to push up to his feet. Youth steps between the two, placing a firm hand on his partner chest and giving a shove which knocks him off balance so that he plops back down to the couch.
He regards Leandra with a coolness now, and it reaches his voice. "A month is fair. We'll be in touch."
He sweeps his hand towards the door and after a brief moment of further discomfort she sighs and allows herself to be lead to the door. When the door closes behind her Youth turns back to his partner who is shaking his head before meeting his partners gaze.
"God damn it."
"I know, but it will be fine. Leandra won't betray us as long as we yield results. Besides," he pauses, optimism returning to his voice. "You did say you wanted to be more proactive. Now we have a lead."
The anger seemed to drain from Press as his mind began to work through all the creatures that could do what they had discussed. After a moment he looks more than a little confused.
"How many creatures can polymorph or change size like that?"
Youth's eyebrows raise and he lets out a low whistle. "Dude, there's alot, but we may be able to narrow it down by the region. Let me go get my laptop..."
The younger of the two makes his way to the stairs as Press sinks back into the couch deep in thought. This wasn't good. The more people that knew about Munin and who she really was put her further in danger. While his partner may have been confident that Leandra wouldn't betray them without good cause, he didn't share the sentiment. No matter how benign she may seem, she was still a demon, and a demon is as a demon does. Then there was still this pandemic that continued its stranglehold on the community.
None of this was going to be easy, but when was it ever. With that thought in mind, Press closed his eyes to use the brief reprieve from everyone else in the house to work through what they knew of the case. Somewhere on the peripheral was the answer, but it was jumbled with everything else going on. Just when he thought that he was converging on that stray thought a voice broke the silence and his concentration.
"Do you want me to make you a sandwich Mr. Sassy Pants?"
Press opened one eye to see Richard standing by the doorway to the kitchen and he sighed heavily before nodding. As the former choir director disappeared through the arch he couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a really long spring.
TO BE CONTINUED AT CIVIL WAR...
