Play@YSDC

The weather was cool and clear. He had reached Berlin late Wednesday night, shortly before the conference. He had already pre-booked his hotel and already knew a few exotic locations he could try out, should he be brave enough. Berlin not only had its sex industry, it had its erotic night clubs, its XXX night clubs, its orgies, its raves, its heavy metal industry, and practically everything else under the sun. He even knew of a few places that would be open this time of night. But first, to put his luggage in his hotel room.

OOC: Please give a brief description of the hotel he has chosen to stay at and mention what mode of transport you used to get here.

Magnus finished tipping the bellman and surveyed room 318 of the
Hotel Wittelsbach am Kurfürstendamm. The hotel was strategically chosen by him, both for its proximity to the city center and for its relative affordability. His lodgings were adequate, not extravagant, by design. His Russian benefactors at the energy company YUKOS had him on a fairly generous per diem to attend this scientific symposium and if Magnus was frugal, there'd be enough surplus to indulge in his more prurient interests. Speaking of which, although the flight from Moscow via Aeroflot-Russian Airlines had been somewhat exhausting, hotel rooms invariably made him feel ruttish. He could catch up on his sleep later as he was not about to squander a moment's free time.

Berlin?! Berlin! He could scarcely believe it. He was finally here! Without further adieu, the horny Scotsman plugged in and queued up his laptop for the the addresses he had bookmarked of all the various sex and fetish clubs he had researched in preparation for this trip. He was going to experience first hand this city's storied decadent delights!

He had the addresses to Bound2F*CK, Red Light, Elysium, '1021', and Hotel Paradise. They were the main businesses he'd had suggested to him from a few of those in the red light districts back where he came from.

Given that he was in the mood for something positively bacchanalian, the name Elysium spoke to him.

He has a number for a German taxi service and an English-to-German dictionary.

Magnus dials the front desk and, upon getting an answer, inquires: "Sprechen Anglais?" When an English speaking concierge comes on he continues "Room 318 here. I'll need a taxi cab to to transport me to this address..."

The taxi driver will arrive in fifteen minutes. "Elysium" is on the same street as "1021" so if the former wasn't too exciting, he could always try the latter. The house rules he had been emailed are as follows:

No outside cameras
No fighting
No contraband
No Outside Alcohol
DRESS CODE!
Absolutely no street or casual wear
unless part of an acceptable
ensemble costume
Permitted attire includes: vinyl, pvc,
leather, tuxedo, full uniform, fantasy
or period costume, cross-dress, rubber
bondage, body paint, fancy lingerie,
other risque costume. No full lower
nudity.

Fifteen minutes wasn't going to be enough time to freshen up fully but a prodigious splash of Sex Panther, his new pheromone cologne would go a long way towards obviating any lingering BO. He quickly changed out of his worn travel clothes and into his leather chaps, silver formfitting, sleeveless PVC shirt, motorcycle jacket, and biker boots. He was especially fond of his new motorcycle jacket with the dyed blue ermine collar.

"Oooo, you sexy devil you," he sighed approvingly to the visage in the mirror. Tweaking his own nipples, the Scotsman welcomed the flush of tumescence.

"You may even get some quim tonight without paying for it," he added hopefully.

Heading out to reach the taxi, bypassing a completely straight faced concierge who bid him guten nicht, he got only a few precious moments to catch the scent of Berlin: gritty, urban, with a touch of food and plants exotic to his senses. Then he was off in a whir of traffic, moving around with great speeds by a Berlinese man who could speak five languages and was trying to raise his two-year-old to do the same.

The Red Light District is slower, less populated by cars. They pass by the Oranienburger Straße in the Mitte district of the city at night and he can see a number of scantily dressed ladies of the night strutting by the street kerb. The best thing is, prostitution is legal here so he won't get hassled by undercover cops.

Then they keep on down another few streets until finally reaching a place with a plain brick wall and a steel door with a sliding peep hole. There's another copy of The Rules! tacked up beside the door. Above the door is a sign that says simply "Elysium".

Before tipping the driver handsomely, Magnus asks for his card. Upon reaching the door of Elysium, he tries it to see if he can gain egress and barring that, will rap upon the steel door with his knuckles.

The slit is pulled open and a pair of brown eyes give him the once over. "Twelve euros."

Magnus unquestioningly pushes the bill through the slot.

Is the voice male or female?

The door is open by a heavy-set man wearing a shirt of finely woven chain links, a collar and tight leather black pants. The air is humid and pungent with musk and perfume in the little corridor that snakes away from this most humble of reception rooms. The man smiles at him, his teeth seeming too large for that bald head, giving him the impression of a Cheshire Cat about to fade away. "Come in."

"Why, I don't mind if I do," Magnus replies enthusiastically, his excitement becoming palpable. He enters the corridor and squints as his eyes try to adjust to the gloom, all five of his senses straining for input.

The walls are painted in psychedelic patchworks of colorful paints that glow under the purple lights that are strung down the corridor. To the right, a narrow corridor branches off to unisex toilets that already had a line nine people strong. To the left, a near identical corridor with a line ten people strong.

Further on down the main corridor is a woman with "big tits and blonde hair you just want to pull", as one of Magnus' friends' would've described her. It's almost unbelievable that you could have ever missed her, wearing this killer antique looking corset, white, that pushed her cleavage up for display, and blonde hair gathered into two pigtails. Her leather pants are black and shiny and her ensemble was finished with thick soled boots which raise her petite form a few inches higher off the floor. In her hands she held the end of a leash.

On the other end, firmly attached to a spiked collar, stands a much taller man. His chestnut brown hair is short and styled. Wearing a form fitted t-shirt, red in color, and incredibly short matching pants.

The two disappear around a corner into the main dance hall. Loud trance music plays, flowing over him, as he turns the corner and enters the main club. The single floor design features two bars, one on either side of the dance floor. Its furniture is made up of soft couches and chairs around low tables. Though the dance floor is lit by typical theatre-style lights the remainder of the lighting is with wall-mounted, modern design pot-lights. Club goers give lap dances for their dates, several topless dancers sweat beneath the lights, and heavy petting takes place in full view to the melodic beats. Strung from white-and-gold cages are three women in white stockings, garters, corsets and lingerie, feathery wings erupting from their backs.

First order of business is to secure some libation and he settles upon a frothy pint of German lager served to him by a slender, bald fellow clad in a rubber maid's outfit. That accomplished, his gaze sweeps the tableau of rhythmic flesh in search of the Eiffel eyeful in the white corset he glimpsed upon his entry . The scene is a veritable carnal candy store for Magnus as he glides beneath the caged beauties and leers lasciviously. Unconsciously, he taps his booted toe and undulates his leather clad love handled hips to the beat. The crush of bodies in conjunction with his palpitating heart causes his brow to bead with perspiration. His torso, slick with sweat, slides sensuously beneath his PVC shirt. Oh, this is truly living!

He spots them again. It's not hard. The two work the crowd like pros. They chat with people at the tables around the dance floor. When she tugs the leash lightly her male companion immediately switches his attention to her. She pulled him out onto the dance floor. He stood still as she grinds her enticing body against his to the beat of the music and delight of the nearby crowd. Her hands flow about his body and it produces a sly smile on him. She pulls the leash hard causing him to bend forward. With her hand on the back of his head he pulls his face into her cleavage. She tilted her own head and up and her eyes sparkle in the dance floor lights.

"What that bird needs," Magnus thinks to himself "is a shag from a real man." He arches an eyebrow and attempts to catch her eye with a wolfish grin. Barring that, he scans the crowd for a likely prospect, optimally a lone, inebriated female.

The blonde doesn't seem to notice him at all though catching someone's eye in any night club is surprisingly difficult. Perhaps he should actually go up to her if he wanted her attentions. Otherwise, there was a curvaceous red-head in red pumps, red leather pants and a red bra who was currently on her own.

The Scotsman downs the remainder of his drink. He points his index fingers skyward from the top of his head and with a cry of "Toro! Toro!" rapidly approaches the vision in red.

The woman looks over, hearing the cry and favors him with a nonchalant look, seemingly amused.

"Strong as a bull and twice as virile, that's me. Buy you a drink, frauline?"

"You speak English?" asks the woman with a big smile. "Do you know fuck off?" She gives him the kind of smile reserved for those who enjoying destroying someone else's evening. She then turns back to her drink on the counter.

Magnus impudently knocks her drink into her lap. "Bitch."
He saunters away with a smirk and seeks his next quarry.

He turns and finds himself staring at the top of a blonde head, twin blonde piggy tails poking up into the air, a brunette man standing not a few short paces away. "You look interesting," says the hot blonde in the white corset, pursing her ruby red lips suggestively.

The angry red head gets up from her stool and goes to make a scene but there's something in the blonde's eyes that causes her to give up with a muttered "whatever" and stalk towards the toilet.

Magnus freezes in his tracks and, in the space that it takes for a sharp intake of breath, regains his composure. He meets her brazen gaze eye for eye and takes her right hand in his, raising it to his lips. "Interesting doesn't begin to do me justice, my dear," he says with his characteristic braggadocio just before he slavers a kiss on the back of her hand.

"Come," she says loudly, provocatively, and then saunters off, her hips swinging side to side in a most suggestive manner. Once she gets back out onto the dance floor, she starts sliding her firm breasts up and down his side, all the way down until her face brushes his crotch, then moving all of the way up again. Her slave stands meekly by, his leash clutched in her small hand.

"That's liable to happen prematurely, missy, if you keep this up," Magnus replies leeringly. He shoots a glare at the siren's submissive and then, unhesitatingly, grinds up against her leather clad assets, scarcely believing this turn of events. Something about this woman seems dangerous yet he is ensorceled, nonetheless.

Is Magnus able to detect any trace of an accent in her English?

The music seems to cover up her voice, leaving no recognition of accent, and barely any recognition of what the words themselves are. She wraps her arms around the back of his neck, throws her legs around his hips and leans back in his arms, sweat beads running down her chin and neck, all the way down to her pert bosom. "My place?"

"Wherever you want, baby," Magnus stammers before flicking the sweat from her cleavage with the tip of his tongue.

She seems eager to his tender ministrations. It seems he's having the same effect on her that she is on him. She hops down from his waist, the leash still held tenderly in her slender fingers, and starts toward the exit of the night club. Outside, the air is as cold and damp as indoors was hot and humid. "Come on," she says, yanking her leash along. "The toy wait outside." Now that he was in the quiet, he could tell she had a rich Berlin accent and was stumbling a bit over the English words she was trying to use.

"Just so you know," Magnus says as he eyes her 'toy' suspiciously, "I only swing one way."

Glancing up and down the street for a taxi, he inquires "Do you live nearby or should I hail a taxi?"

She nods briskly to herself. "A walk. Not long. Nice sky." She links her arm in his and gives him a long and pouting look. "Where from?"

"Scotland," Magnus answers succinctly, his mind racing. He glances behind them to ascertain her toy's course of action. "I don't believe I know your name, frauleine."

"Gemma," she says, giving him a coy look. "Toy wait outside. All good." She peers down the street. "Not far now."

"Gemma, you are just what this Doctor ordered," Magnus says as he trails his arm behind her and gives her leatherclad buttocks an appreciative squeeze. "Did I mention that? About being a doctor? Not of medicine, mind you, but an expert in geophysics. Yes, I'm quite well known in certain circles."

She looks a little bit confused. "Geo? Shoe name? Like Nike?" It seems he's gone beyond her skills at English. She pauses at the foot of a very short flight of steps that lead up to a set of yellow doors, the yellow paint peeling off in little scraps. Other than that, it looks like the usual city apartment building. She takes out her key and inserts it in the door, pulling it open and stepping inside the foyer just as it begins to rain. The carpet is a faded diamond-pattern, scuffed to threads near the doors and directly before the elevator that sits on the opposing side. There's also a stair case that heads up, the steps far too narrow, the wooden banister splintered. She starts for the stairs.

Magnus allows her to take the lead and enjoys the view as she does so.

"Never mind, my dear Gemma, it's not important."

Where is her toy in all this? If he's still following along, Magnus will glare at him in an effort to intimidate him away.

The fellow is continuing to be led along on his leash. The pair stop on the third landing and peer down a long corridor with a single flickering neon light. The others have given up the ghost long ago. The wallpaper here is aged a sickly yellow from what was probably an ugly light brown. The carpet seems a bit soggy, as though a multitude of wet people have walked down this corridor. She goes to no. 04 and turns to her toy and says something in German before releasing his leash. She then goes to unlock the door.

Like an obedient lapdog, Magnus follows her.

The first room of the apartment includes a kitchennette and small lounge area. There's a little nub of a hallway that leads to three other rooms. The couch sags in the middle. The kitchennette floor hasn't seen a mop in years. The television and VCR seem to be the only valuable items in the whole visible area. The smell of perfume, lavender incense sticks and musk fills the room. A song can be heard playing from a machine in the bedroom - "Sway" by Michael Buble.

"Huh?" says Gemma, looking confused. "Who put on song?"

"Do you have a roommate?" Magnus inquires distractedly, casting his gaze about the grubby interior. "Or a clock radio perhaps? I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation..."

He trails off as he thinks about what brought him here - horniness and the prospect of satiating it. Gazing lustfully at the object of his desire, the Scotsman slides the door chain along its track behind them. Wouldn't want to be interrupted by that poofter of a "toy", would we?

"Well, I rather enjoy this song," Magnus says as he sidles up behind her, his hands on her svelte hips as he nuzzles her neck, "among other things."

"Angela has the spare key," she says, sliding her arms around his neck and giving him a long and passionate kiss. Then she pulls back her head. "Angela, sind Sie hier? Ich habe einen Freund, der Sie treffen möchte." She turns back to Magnus. "Should we check if it's her?"

"That depends," Magnus breathes, "would she have any interest in joining us?" With that, he indelicately engulfs her mouth and forces his tongue down her throat while he gropes her tight body and grinds his tumescence into her pelvis.

"She might," says Gemma.

"Mein Gott! This just keeps getting better and better!" Magnus declares, his voice a combination of disbelief and excitement. With that, he places his left hand in the small of her back and raises her left with his right and, in a clumsy approximation of a Tango, walks Gemma backwards toward the music.

The bedroom door is closed. The incense seems to be coming from within.

Magnus dances Gemma backwards, his hips swaying as he presses her back to the door. He gazes hungrily into her eyes as he twists the doorknob and their combined weight flings open the door...

The door flies open and Magnus finds himself in a seductive lady's bedroom, hung with red-and-black tapestries along the walls. Shiny black furniture - wardrobe, bedside cabinet, dressing table. A green incense stick poking out of the mouth of a silvered dragon perched over what looks like a cracked stone ravine. No toys in sight - perhaps they were in the wardrobe. So many scented candles clutter all of the surfaces.

A woman lays, bound with black leathers, upon the top black covers of the king-sized four-poster bed. The cover beneath her lays smoothed out as though by cautious hands. Her light brown hair lays fanned out upon the pillow beneath her head. Her lips, painted ruby red, are slightly parted. Her eyes, brushed with golden eye shadow, lay glazed and staring. The gash in her lower abdomen reveal the slight spillage of intestines. The lacerations on her arms and legs, dozens of them, glare at him in red contempt.

The air smells richly of blood but not of decay. The body is fresh. The intestines not yet split.

Gemma has not yet seen the scene. Her face buried in his hair. Her hands buried in his pants.

Magnus disengages and pushes off from Gemma with an incredulous "Whatthefuck, woman!?"

OOC: Would this be an opportune time for a San roll?

Magnus reels from the sight and feels like his very sense of reality has been violated, changed in such a subtle and pervasive manner that it would affect him for weeks to come.

Gemma looks at him in confusion and then turns her attention to the woman on the bed. The look of profound shock and dismay flitters across her face which is followed by profound confusion. "P-police, should call police." She starts pulling out he rmobile phone with trembling fingers.

"Nein! Non! Not just yet, sweetie," Magnus hisses as he grasps Gemma's wrist with surprising quickness. With his free hand he brings a singular finger to his lips in the universally understood pantomime of "Shhhh".

"Wh-what?" Gemma asks, seeming confused.

"This is recent," the nervous Scotsman stammers, "they may still be here. Be very quiet. Is that your friend Angela, there on the bed?" His eyes dart about the room searching for a suitable bludgeon, a candlestick perhaps or, barring that, the dragonhead incense holder.

Does the wardrobe appear large enough to hide an adult sized person?

She nods mutely. Her eyes wide and imploring. Her fingers twitching on the mobile phone. She takes a few steps backwards out of the room.

There is a large candlabra near the bed head that contains three candles though that required moving passed the bed which could obscure any man or monster. The Dragonhead incense holder would be far too small for such use. The wardrobe sits facing the bed and is currently behind him as he surveys the room for weaponry.

OOC: FYI: Magnus hasn't released his grip on Gemma. Let's say he's gripping her right wrist in his left hand. I'm not clear on the obscuring effect of the bed. Do you mean to say that someone could be hiding behind it or under it or is it a four poster canopy bed that will obscure parts of the room relative to Magnus' position to it? Monsters? C'mon, there's no such thing as monsters! You haven't answered my question re the wardrobe, btw.

Maintaining his grip upon Gemma's lithe wrist, Magnus takes a few tentative steps with her backwards into the doorway, his heart pounding, his mind racing. He cocks his head toward the front door and whispers: "Let's bring your 'toy' into the apartment here with us. We could use some back up..."

Gemma nods and starts backing out of the room.

OOC: The wardrobe is large enough. The bed has a blanket flowing over the sides, hiding anyone who might be underneath it. Basically, if you want to get the candleabras as a weapon you'll need to walk passed the bed, leaving your legs open to whoever might be beneath it.

Figuring discretion to be the wiser part of valor, Magnus backs out of the room tethered to Gemma, his biker boots clomping noisily despite his best efforts. He walks her to the front door and quietly undoes the door chain.

The lad is standing beside the door, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed. Seeing the look on Gemma's face, he straightens even more. He asks something in German.

Gemma slips out her mobile and starts to dial.

Magnus cocks his head towards the inside of the apartment. "Have a look inside with me, mate?" he whispers.

"H-hallo? Milly? Es ist ... es ist ... Gemma," says Gemma into the phone. "P-wenden Sie sich bitte, Sie haben um mir zu helfen. Es ist ... sie ... sie ist tot!"

She pauses for a moment as though listening to someone on her phone.

The man looks at Magnus with a confused lack of understanding. "Sie haben um mir zu helfen?"

Gemma continues talking into the phone. "Ich bin zu Hause, bei der der Wohnung, ich brachte diesen Mann zu Hause und armen Angela .... Es war nicht der Mann mit mir. ... Es war jemand anderes. Oh Gott! Sie ist tot, sie ist tot".

"Sie ist tot?" the man asks, panic evident on his face. Panic and sorrow.

"Ja, tot!" Magnus affirms, nodding his head, frustration with the language gulf creeping into his tone. "Можете Вы говорить русского (Can you speak Russian)?" he inquires. Not waiting for an answer, he looks to Gemma, "Is that the police? Tell them the murderer may still be on the premises and tell your 'toy' to accompany me." With that, he turns toward the kitchenette with the intention of securing a sizable knife...

"Ja, tot!" Magnus affirms, nodding his head, frustration with the language gulf creeping into his tone. "Можете Вы говорить русского (Can you speak Russian)?" he inquires. Not waiting for an answer, he looks to Gemma, "Is that the police? Tell them the murderer may still be on the premises and tell your 'toy' to accompany me." With that, he turns toward the kitchenette with the intention of securing a sizable knife...

The man follows him into the kitchen as the girl keeps talking. Magnus finds a sharp filleting knight that could cause some damage. Gemma keeps talking into her phone.

Magnus points towards the bedroom and tiptoes, knife in hand, cautiously back to the scene of the crime.

The scene is as before: a seductive lady's bedroom, hung with red-and-black tapestries along the walls. Shiny black furniture - wardrobe, bedside cabinet, dressing table. A green incense stick poking out of the mouth of a silvered dragon perched over what looks like a cracked stone ravine. No toys in sight - perhaps they were in the wardrobe. So many scented candles clutter all of the surfaces.

A woman lays, bound with black leathers, upon the top black covers of the king-sized four-poster bed. The cover beneath her lays smoothed out as though by cautious hands. Her light brown hair lays fanned out upon the pillow beneath her head. Her lips, painted ruby red, are slightly parted. Her eyes, brushed with golden eye shadow, lay glazed and staring. The gash in her lower abdomen reveal the slight spillage of intestines. The lacerations on her arms and legs, dozens of them, glare at him in red contempt.

The air smells richly of blood but not of decay. The body is fresh.

The 'toy' seems shocked and begins to tremble, even as he first looks around the room. He opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it again.

Magnus carefully opens the wardrobe and peers inside, ready for anything...

Several naughty outfits hang amongst more casual coats and dresses. Shoving them back with his weapon, reveals only the rear wall of the wardrobe. The floor of the wardrobe carries an assortment of shoes. "Mag Nus!" cries out the 'toy'.

Turning with surprising speed, he spies a fellow coming out from beneath the bed, thick shoulder-length dreads hanging on either side of his down-turned face as he moves with an unnatural spider-like gait. The toy brandishes his knife and darts forward, right arm swinging out with surprising speed and ferocity but cuts the flapping black coat instead.

Magnus barely catches a glimpse of the man's nakedness beneath the open coat, the glaring scars, the animal redness to the whites of the eyes, before he must act. Even in the heat of the moment, however, he sees the knife. A gleaming scalpel cleaned of blood.

Feeling emboldened in the company of the "Toy", Magnus calls upon his soccer hooligan days and clips the sinister intruder in the mouth with as much force as he can muster.

"Oi, mate! Better give it up, we've got ya outnumbered!"

OOC: Welcome back, I'm attempting to knock out the bad guy.

Whispers flutter through the air, sounding both near and far away. "Don't look at me ... please ... look away ..." The killer tries to knock aside the punch with his bare hand but acts too slowly, taking the fist to the cheek bone with a dull thwack that unsteadies him but does not take him off his feet. He swings the scalpel around with deadly accuracy...

OOC: You can attempt to parry with your knife using your weapon skill. If this still fails, you can dodge but that means you won't get you attack next turn and you'll have to rely on the 'toy'. If you only parry, you can attack in your next turn.

Reflexively, Magnus counters the scalpel swing with the blade of his fillet knife.

"Gemma! Tell the police to hurry, we've gotta bit of a stramash in 'ere!" (OOC: That was lucky! Next round's initiative.)

The 'toy's knife [img=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1768536/]sweeps closer[/img], slashing through the man's hair and just missing his face.

The whispers continue... "So many ... so many ... who else is here ..."

OOC: Nah, let's keep the current initiative. Saves time and rolling ... have mercy, I do have multiple characters to roll for after all. Your attack...

Alarmed at the attacker's viciousness, with his free hand, Magnus stays the intruder's knife wielding hand by grabbing his forearm.

OOC: NP re initiative, I'll take what you rolled for my character anytime. Where do the whispers seem to be emanating from?

"Too strong ... hurts ..." The words come from a myriad of directions. There is no way to pin down any source.

The intruder sweeps back and out of Magnus' reach, too far to be caught, but too far to slash as Magnus. He then rushes between the two men, taking Magnus by surprise and starts heading through the open door. The 'toy' reacts by lurching forward, swinging his knife in a high arc that takes him off-balance. He stumbles forward. The knife keeps coming down, too much force behind it, and it embeds in Magnus neck and down into the shoulder, scraping collar bone and rasping nerves that alight all the way down his spine in a fiery burst of pain. Magnus can't stand the pain and it nearly stuns him but he manages to keep moving.

Keeping his wits about him, Magnus attempts to dodge the Toy's errant strike but it finds its mark nonetheless.

"Bloody hell!" he cries in shock and outrage as he clasps a meaty palm to the wound. "Gemma! Lookout, he's coming your way!" the wounded Scotsman cries as he moves toward the door in pursuit.

Don't forget that Magnus is wearing a leather jacket which gives him 1 pt. of protection.

The 'toy' gives a look of total shock as blood starts seeping out from around the knife. "Verlassen Sie es darin müssen, oder Sie werden mehr verbluten," says the 'toy', taking his hand off the knife handle and leaving it in Magnus. He then sprints out after the running man. As the two disappear into the lounge room, the whispers fade away.

OOC: Thanks for reminding me, I hadn't thought of the jacket. Won't help your Constitution x 5 rolls, that's for your Low Pain Tolerance ... you whimper like a baby. Because of your constitution, though, you've got an 80% of functioning normally regardless.

Mewling like a kitten, Magnus does his best to staunch the flow of blood with his hand and gives pursuit.

Soon as opportunity presents itself, Magnus will attempt a knife throw.

Magnus hears Gemma cry out as the man rushes out into the corridor. He gives pursuit and sees Gemma shoved to one side up against the wall. The man continues sprinting off toward the elevator. Magnus has one chance if he wants to throw the knife...

Magnus balances the kitchen knife and flings it at the departing assailant but just misses with the unwieldy blade.

"Gemma, call a paramedic and the police!" Magnus shouts as he turns his attention to the blade protruding from his collarbone.

"I-I can't," says Gemma, in a panic. "There's ... there's drugs in there ... I'm on parole." She looks panicked, her chest heaving up and down, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. "B-but I got painkillers ... I mean, in the meantime, while I'm waiting for ... help ... and while I'm ... I mean, doing the ... looking for the ... removing it all."

"Fine," he sputters acidly, "do what you needs to be done but keep me out of it!"

Magnus retreats into the kitchen and dampens a hand towel. With bloodied fingers he attempts to administer to his wound but his efforts just make matters worse and he shrieks in pain.

Gemma starts rushing about her little apartment, searching for her stash of drugs. The 'toy' simply stands by the shut door, pressing his weight up against it.

"Fer Chrissakes, would someone call an ambulance!?" Magnus roars.

Milly's mobile phone begins to ring. Her ring tone is the sound of barking dogs. She answers it on the third ring. "Hello?" She continues to bustle about, searching.

There is a knock at the door. Gemma turns to look at Magnus, arching an eyebrow as though inquiring him for what she should do. She's holding a small bag of marijuana and some tabs.

"Well, I hardly think our murderer forgot something and has the manners to knock first! Tell your idjit to open the door! I'm fookin' bleedin' to death here!" Magnus bellows.

The 'toy' immediately goes over to the door and opens it up.

OOC: Magnus left this thread to join a Combined Milly LeCrique and Magnus Urquhart thread and has now returned.

The foyer is empty and somehow looks even more disheveled than when he first entered. The shadows seem deeper, the nicotine-stained wallpaper further aged, and the soggy carpet by the partially opened door that has become so warped by time it no longer appears to self-closes, being further testament to the shabby disrepair of this apartment building, and by extension, of his trip abroad. For a short time he had held a beauty in his arms, only to have it snatched away by the horror of brutal death, the threat of his own death, his injury, and later abandonment by her.

His neck screams in agony as the blood continues to pump from the wound, making him feel light-heated, nauseas, and slightly dizzy. As he reaches out a hand to steady himself, as he leaves the elevator, he feels the world start to turn upon its axis somewhat, as though threatening to leave him lying on the floor. The wound requires attention. He knows it with each pump of his heart.

He stabs the elevator button repeatedly with his bloodied finger, stifling a moan of pain. This evening has been a surreal nightmare. "I shoulda ordered in tonight," the wounded Scotsman muses, his tumescence long since retreated.

The elevator doors close and with a lurch, it begins to descend to the ground floor. Lurching out the lobby, he sees a taxi still sitting there.

Looking about the shabby lobby and doing his best to wipe off his bloodied fingers on his leather pants, Magnus grasps the door handle of the awaiting taxi and attempts to recall the German word for hospital...

The taxi driver may or may not have understood the word, but he gets the message, snarling at Magnus as he drips blood onto the interior of his vehicle as he drives off, presumably in the direction of the hospital. Water falls onto the windshield, wiped away into droplets that sparkle in the light.

Exhaling, his relief palpable, Magnus gazes out the back window of the departing taxi, his eyes casting about for signs of the mysterious assailant, his erstwhile playmate(s), the mysterious and sexy interloper, and/or the local constabulary...

The taxi driver soon takes him to the front of a hospital that has a lot of brightly lit glass. He snarls at Magnus, waving his hand about and pointing at it, tapping the fingers, then rubbing them again. He stabs a sticker stuck onto the dashboard that has a money value on it and a picture of a man throwing up - you can't read the German it's written on.

"Lovely," Magnus mutters through clenched teeth, wincing as he grasps for his money roll. Flinging a generous amount of bills onto the driver's side, he takes his leave from the taxi and its surly driver.

"Gute Nacht," he sneers insincerely through a faux Cheshire grin. Purposely leaving the rear door ajar, with his good arm, the ill-tempered Scotsman extends the universally understood middle finger.

The guy swears at him as he struggles to walk in the direction of Accident & Emergency, the pain making him nearly black out on several occasions. Inside, he sees the rush and tumble of a swirl of injured, sick, and perhaps even poisoned, patients, and a swarm of uniformed individuals rushing between them.

The bloodied Scotsman takes a measure of comfort from the surly taxi driver's pique and grits his teeth as he works the bloody steak knife free of his his clavicle. His eyes cast about for a trash can or sewer grate to dispose of the weapon.

His injured arm spasms with raw agony that runs down the nerves to his fingers that twitch with a jolt as the blade is pulled free. Then the arm goes entirely numb and he can't feel his fingers as the warm, thick blood flows down his wound to soak his shirt. There is a bin, topped with an ash tray, near the front pillar of A&E. His vision swims, goes blurry, and he can feel his heart beat as though it were the air itself pulsing around him.

Magnus disposes of the bloodied weapon in the convenient trash receptacle and melodramatically staggers through the awaiting hospital doors clutching his wound with a cry of "Doktor! Doktor!"

The Accident & Emergency area is filled with movement. The waiting area is full of seats upon which a number of people sit. A woman, her skirt flecked with blood in evidence of rape. A man with a broken nose, cradles his face in a wadded up tissue that already drips. A triage nurse surveys the scene, moving up to the new arrivals and quickly checking to see who should move ahead in the queue and who should wait. Finally, she moves up to him and sees the blood pouring down. After a quick inspection, she points him to a recently cleared seat after ascertaining that he didn't speak German.

Sensing his opportunity, the Scotsman clutches his wound and flops at the feet of the triage nurse, his right leg twitching spasmodically. A low moan escapes his lips as he feigns unconsciousness.

His twitches almost ring of authenticity but not quite. She gives him a droll look and then turns to the next patient who enters. Magnus' phone starts ringing.

OOC: One off on your Persuade check. There's no skill to cover Acting, so I picked the highest out of Fast Talk or Persuade.

OOC: NP, let me know so I can roll next time.

Muttering and cursing under his breath, Magnus struggles to a sitting position, in his blood and perspiration slick leather and PVC resembling a beached walrus. Fishing the phone out of his pocket he expectorates in annoyance: " 'Oo the devil is this!?"

The sounds that come from the phone sound like hell itself.

The sound chills him to his core but his mind manages to cope with the influx of noise.

His eyes dart to the caller ID. "Oo's this?! Now's not the time to be having a laugh!"

The caller ID is Withheld. It's no one's number he recognizes.

Angrily snapping the phone shut, Magnus bellows at the inattentive hospital staff: "Jaysus! You fascists, I'm fooking dying here!"

The nurses and doctors start to give him an even wider berth, even as the blood starts pumping furiously from his neck, propelled by his anger in tiny little spurts that make him dizzy. He swoons and is led to a seat by a woman's hand. When his vision clears, he sees a pale, skinny woman with dull blue eyes pressing a scarf to his wound. "I can fix a bit," she offers, in heavily accented English.

Ever the cad, Magnus appraises the physical features of his new, erstwhile Florence Nightengale and tries to identify her accent. "Danke, frauleine," he murmurs, his pulsating wound dampening his libido.

It sounds like a German accent. She has a round face with small eyes and she most certainly doesn't have curves in all the right places. She gives a little nod and then heads off to go bully one of the nurses in German.

At a loss as to what to do, the wounded Highlander, sags helplessly into his chair and presses the proffered scarf to his wound. Watching the un-comely yet helpful stranger bustle about the ER room, Magnus charitably muses: " I s'pose I've shagged worse..."

Seeing nothingand hearing nothing out of the ordinary, Magnus sits down while the strange woman tries unsuccessfully to help him.

"Will it now done," says the triage nurse briskly to him in broken english before walking off. She pauses a few feet away, turns, and taps her foot impatiently.

Puzzled, Magnus attempts to discern the nurse's intention.

OOC: Do you mind if I make the die rolls for my character? I'm old school that way.
Would this be an idea roll or psyche roll?

Feeling light headed due to his trauma and blood loss, Magnus stands up uncertainly, the nurse's intentions inscrutable to him.

The triage nurse gives him a foul look and flaps her hand upwards, talking in a rapid clip in German.

Casting a glance at the strange woman who originally aided him, Magnus shrugs his shoulders with his palms open and up and continues to shuffle towards the animated triage nurse all the while stammering: " No Deutsch...No Deutsch!"

The triage nurse gestures for him to follow her. Finally, Magnus is led into a small room to sit up on a stretcher as she pulls the curtains closed. He is given the medical care he requires, allowed to lay and rest for a few hours more, and then released back onto the streets with a stitched neck. It looked like his overseas insurance was dodgier than he had originally thought.

Bleary-eyed and spent, Magnus ponders his inexplicably weird night as he totters towards the sliding doors of the ER. "Oi, Ida been better off ordering fookin' room service..." he muses as he squints his eyes in protest to the emerging dawn and scans the street for a taxi to squire him back to his room at the Hotel De Wittelsbach Am Kurfurstendamm.

Its been a long night. It takes close to no time for him to be safely back in his hotel room, tucked up between the covers, and falling asleep. The pain killers they had given him was good. Real good.

He awoke three hours later to his phone ringing.

With his head safely ensconced in the pillows to ward off the intruding daylight, the recuperating Scotsman gropes blindly from the warm, dark safety of his covers. Clumsily knocking the receiver from its cradle, he reels it in by its cord until it's in proximity to his mouth.

"Hallo? Oo's this?!" puzzled, he inquires.

OOC: When do we do skill checks in this game?

"Hello pet," purred the Germanic voice of the seductive woman he had met last night.

OOC: Skill checks come at the end of the Berlin Chapter - basically two in-game weeks. I'm hoping it shouldn't take TOO long to OOCly get to that point as a lot of hours will be skipped.

Bolting upright, Magnus stammers: "G-G-Gemma?! Is that you?" then, looking confusedly around his surroundings he queries: "How in hell didjoo get this number?!"

Her words dissolve into static again and again as though she were speaking on a radio rather than a mobile phone. "I need you ... will help me ... will go to the place they shouldn't ... warn them about the ... richer than they could ever dream ... wishes ... Carter ... you can't ... Carter has ... in the mountains are great riches and ... I couldn't ... shouldn't listen but I ... I can see it now. I can see it all."

She hangs up.

"Are you allright? I, I, I need you too! Where are you!? What mountains and oo the devil is Carter?! Gemma? Gemma?!

The mobile switches itself off. The battery must have run out. He's left to face the morning's activities on that note.

OOC: What's on Magnus' agenda for the day? Tourist things? Work things?