Play@YSDC

OOC,No. You'll have to guess.

Isadora, Henry and Alice are outside now and can see Balzac and Ron a little further up the street. There are a few stragglers from the Ballroom left, morbidly fascinated by the unfolding events.

The focus of everyone’s attention has now entered the street, still moaning despite his face being a bloody wreck. The sirens have increased in volume all this time, and suddenly a squad car swerves into view. Seeing the bloody figure and attempting to slow down, the driver is unfortunate in that the man stumbles in front of the rapidly braking car, and is thrown against a lamppost. There is a sickening crunch as the body almost bends around the post, and it crumples to the ground, almost unrecognizable as a human form. Finally, it has stopped moving.

The policeman driving the car is transfixed in horror. Any remaining bystanders decide that now is the time to leave.

Two of these left the Ballroom behind Isadora, Henry and Alice. One of them is wearing the white uniform of the house band. He is carrying his coat over his arm and a case for a horn of some kind. Seeing Ron’s bloody condition, he asks, “You’re hit! My god, my god, you’re hit! Are you alright?”

The other can be recognized as the trumpet player. He recognizes Henry as the one who was civil to him earlier, and decides to repay the favour.

“Y’all be in trouble soon, lest you be movin’. Come on now, I know a way.”

He moves off, grabbing the arm of the man in white, and they duck behind an alley adjacent to the Ballroom. More sirens can be heard, quite close now.

Henry Glynn

"We'd best follow."

"I never got my whisky." he adds.

As the companions follow the two men, they see them duck through a hole in the alley fence which leads into another alley. As they do this, one of them drops something.

From a distance the object is very small, coloured white. As the companions draw closer, they can see that it is a business card.

Alice picks up the card and looks at it as she follows the musicians.

The card is hard to read in the darkness. Climbing through the hole in the alley fence, the heroes can see a clear way to the next street over. The musicians, moving quickly and unimpeded by skirts and heels, are already at the end of the alley and are soon lost to view.

It seems that the investigators are in the clear though – more police seem to have arrived but are gathered around the scene of the accident. As the companions reach the safety of the next street, they are able to read the card in the light of a streetlamp.
Handwritten in ink on the card are tomorrow's date and the words: 11am sharp - bring your horn. New Orleans style.

"Now I've seen some odd shit in my time," says Ron. "I had a man walk into my medical tent once carrying his own arm. But that..." He shakes his head and trails off.

Alice shows the card to the others. "I think we should go there in the morning," she says. "I also heard the dead man say the name 'Joey.' Maybe that was the man who shot him."

SAN,Is 53 and [b]Balzac[/b] rolls... [dice]0[/dice]

SAN Loss,[dice]1[/dice]

Idea,[dice]2[/dice]

OOC:   Crap. Managed once again to barely avoid temp insanity. Balzac does not have a lot of luck with SAN rolls though... Oh, the sweet oblivion of the morphine beckons.

Balzac has a terribly inappropriate fit of the giggles at the shot, crushed and mangled man, and continues giggling for some time... He can be pointed in the right direction and towed along, but is not much help for a while.

Isadora Carmichael,

"Yes, maybe we should go... The musicians did seem to know something... Or, well, at least they are more streetwise than us."


"Doctor, are you all right?" she turns to Balzac.

"Pull yourself together, chap," Ron says.

He turns to Isadora. "I agree, we should go. I want some answers and I feel they were involved."

HoneyDog wrote:

OOC,So the plan is to attend the funeral and hopefully contact the musicians? I can start a new thread tomorrow for your investigations unless anyone comes up with any other ideas in the meantime.

OOC,Yes, that's the plan.