I don't own RWBY or Call of Cthulhu
3rd POV
Tampa Bay, May 11th 1926
The scene opens in Tampa. Known colloquially as Cigar City, due to the heavy Cuban influence over the past century. Beautiful Villa of colonial and Neoclassicism clash with the Art Deco in a splendid wave of style. Markets were more opened air, catering to that of the tourist trade being wealthy sugar barons stopping in from the Islands or Mainland northerns from New York taking a stop on their way to Cuba to circumvent prohibition. The streets had a waft aroma of tobacco. Potently mixed with the smell of sugar that came on the few remaining cargo vessels brought in from the Caribbean. Combined was quite overwhelming but helped mitigate the awful smell of the salty air and murky swamp rot that blended quite unfortunately. Then there were the exotic women, wandering up the beach. They seemed to embrace the newest forms of beachwear attire, rather stark contrast of the more tamed swimwear that most see outside of Florida. As the view shifts around this beautiful city the view pulls up on a cab that stops at the entrance to the Tampa Bay Hotel, overlooking Hillsborough River. Out stepped two familiar figure, and a third unknown man. All dressed for the rather humid weather.
Yang in a yellow and purple Wilshire Flapper Day Dress with Long white sleeved gloves. Adorning a pair of round sunglasses that worked with the dress. Schmidt and the other attire hadn't changed drastically compared to their previous attires. A three-piece suit made from Linen. A crème white suit and vest with a baby blue collared shirt held up by a white tie. The other who sported a bushy walruses mustache had a khaki colored suit with a white undershirt held by a stiff olive colored Bow tie. Tipping his Bowler hat to the cab Driver he turns to the two before speaking to the two in an Eastern Orthodox accent akin to the community's around Detroit.
"So… this is Tampa Bay… not exactly what I was expecting it to be." The man spoke as he could hardly keep himself from ogling a set of girls who left the nearby college to head to the beaches.
"Well what did you expect? It's a moist muggy hell hole, just like all the rest of these swamp made cities." Schmidt said as he tugs at his collar. "Seen my share during the summer offensive back in 18, when the krauts bombed those villages into manmade swamps. And trust me. Be it manmade or natural. They are all the same. Putrid, rotting, fowl smelling shit holes."
"Yeah, probably should have mentioned that in the car ride from Orlando. Schmidty here hates swamps. Like really hates them Butch." Yang explains to the third man.
Butch, being the contact from notorious Purple Gang that Capone told the two. The Purple gang was Jewish Orthodox who fled Russia during the reign of the Tsar, settling in the eastern portion of the Detroit. They were a fierce Gang. Infamous for brutal reprisals against those who attacked their ilk or got in the way of business. Davis, or 'Butch' as he was referred to was a soldier of the Purple Gang. Despite not being Jewish himself he made his bones during the ongoing Cleaner and Dryer Wars, after taking a bullet some time ago in a surprise Union ambush, he was made from hired muscle into a soldier and was sent down to Tampa to act as an ambassador for Abe Bernstein. Meeting up with Yang and Schmidt they rode in a cab before arriving before the hotel.
"And who wouldn't after the last time we were in a swamp, Black Water?" Schmidt points out causing Yang to shiver from the memory of that horrid place along the Dunwich Path.
"Don't remind me. I swear I can still hear that shrill voice in the back of my head." Yang remarks cryptically, not to let Butch on to their prior adventures. Though it did brought about some keen interest.
"You going soft or something Iron Arm?" Butch asked.
"No, just… lets say the brew they made up in Blackwater is more trouble then it's worth." Yang said waving it off.
"Believe us, not something worth looking into." Schmidt adds. "Now, can we get out of this heat? It's fuckin humid out here and I feel like I'm walking through a sewer."
"Alright, alright. I get it you don't want another Caledonia." Butch said as he takes his suit case in his hand. Entering the hotel. Schmidt following behind him. As the two enter Yang pulls out cigarette from her purse. As she struggles to get a light from her matches, she suddenly felt something. It was one of those feelings like if your being watched. Turning her head she scanned the crowd of tourist and locals that wandered the streets. Nobody stood out, but that feeling persisted.
Shrugging it off, she entered inside the hotel. Obviously to two figures watching from under a strangely out of place Figuier maudit tree. Watching on as whispers passed between the two about the blonde one. Reaching down they pulled something from their skirt and begin to pull a piece of the tree violently. Inside Schmidt and Butch were at the counter, speaking with the bellhop. Who was quite intimidated by two bruisers before him. Terrified he handed them their keys. Speaking meagerly as he does.
"Is t-t-t-there anything else I-I-I-I-I can get for y-y-y-y-y-you two s-s-s-s-s-sirs… perhaps carry you-you-you-you-you-you-your bags?" He asked nervously.
"No, that is fine." Schmidt said as he takes the keys.
"Tell the maid we prefer our privacy. We'll be gone in a few days. But in the meantime, discretion is the word of the week. Understood?" Butch adds.
"Um, y-y-y-y-y-yes. Yes. W-W-W-W-W-We were informed kindly of your accommodations b-b-b-b-b-b-by Don Trafficante. No one will disturb your room. Enjoy your stay at the T-T-T-T-T-T-T-Tampa Bay Hotel." The Bellhop said nervously before giving a terrified bow.
Taking note of that the two turned to Yang. She followed the two to the Elevator before going up with the assistance of an Elevator boy. After a few minutes of silence, they arrived on the 4th floor. Yang made sure to tip the elevator boy before they got off. Walking to their suits, they parted ways for now. Entering room 427, they were greater by a large spacious room, three rooms a main room with two bedrooms. Attached with bathroom. This seemed rather exquisite for a bunch of gangsters
"Damn, when Scarface sent us here, didn't expect us to be in the lap of luxury." Yang comments as she looked out the window. A great view over the whole bay. Schmidt however didn't seem to appreciate the view as he fixated on a nearby phone.
"Wasn't Al's idea. This is technically a wedding, so Don Trafficante and Jefe Lopez wanted to make sure all get the idea across to everyone that there be cooperation between them going forward." Schmidt said as he begins dialing. After a second he got in contact. "Yes, operator. Get me the Lexington Hotel, room 203."
After a few seconds the operator connected the line and a voice can be heard from the other side. "Hello?"
"Al, it's me. Just giving you the word we arrived without any problems." Schmidt reported back.
"Good, glad to hear. Hardly seems like a reason to call though. Know you well enough that you don't have to keep me up to works every second." Al said with a chuckle over the phone.
"I know sir, just wanted to hear my little girl." Schmidt replies earning an 'aw' from Capone
"She's your Achilles heel. You know. But I'll get her. I think she's playing with Sunny." Al said before the line goes quiet. After a few moments a new voice comes over the line. "Hello?"
"Hey Honey, it me." Schmidt replies with a relaxed smile on his face as he hears a gasp on the other line.
"Daddy! How was the trip!?" Abigale said with excitement on the other line.
"Great honey. It was great. How are you doing with Sonny?" Schmidt asked as he sits on the couch holds onto the phone.
"Oh, it's fine. He and I are playing with Lincoln Logs. It's a lot of fun. Oh also begin drawing a new picture for you, did you like the last one?" Abigale asked on the line. Schmidt reaching into his jacket pulls out a child's crayon drawn sketch of him, Abigale, and Yang. With a small angel in the clouds above. It was painfully obvious for Schmidt just who this angle is. Holding back the pain he remarks,
"Yes I did honey. Looks great." Schmidt said over the line much to the excitement of approval from his daughters voice. "I look forward to seeing your next work."
"Thanks Daddy!" Abigale said with much excitement from the other line. "You think mommy would love it?"
"Defiantly sweaty pie. Defiantly." Schmidt said with a hard smile on his face. Mentioning his wife gave him pause as he struggled to not reach for the ring around his dog tag.
"… I miss her, daddy." Abigale said after a pause, she then speaks with a sadden tone as the memories, few and fleeting returned to her. "I miss her. I miss her so much."
"So do I honey… so do I." Schmidt said as his hand slips closer to his chest where his ring hanged from. Sensing his daughter was about to tear up, and truth be told he was going to as well he quickly changed the conversation. "So, how are you doing with Mr. and Mrs. Capone? I hadn't tried her cooking but something tells me it is better than mine."
"oh, Sniff, yeah. Godfather Snorky is really nice. He and all my uncles came by, got me a lot of candy. Said it was a late birthday gift. Didn't know you can get late gifts?" Abigale said as her mind is pulled away from the painful memories of her late mother.
"Yeah, it's considered rude but under the right circumstances it's a minor incovience… I hope you didn't eat it all. Your dentist wasn't happy about your cavity." Schmidt remarks over the phone as he suddenly hears what sounds like a shower being turned on in the apartment.
"Heh heh, I promise daddy, I didn't." Abigale said with a chuckle. "As for Mrs. Snorky, She is fun. Not as fun as big Sister Yang. But she's nice. She's making lasagna tonight."
"Oh that sounds fun." Schmidt said as he looked around the room before realizing Yang was gone. Likely her being the one in the shower. "Well, do give Ms. Capone my thanks for keeping you fed."
"Will do Daddy. Um can I ask you something? About school." Abigale begins as the view pulls to the side. As Schmidt continues talking with his daughter the scene pulls into the shower. Yang had just entered and had begun stepping in.
She begins washing her hair as she tried hard not to instinctively wash her with her missing arm. She was told that the robotic hand that she had was water proof by Juane, but to be honest she didn't want to take a risk. Anything remotely similar to the arm she has can only be found in a dime novel pulp magazine. Magical abilities that weren't magic. People with animal features having the predigest of the public. Soulless black monstrous beings that hunt humanity and these faunas. Only to be stopped by warriors called Huntsmen. Strange mess to be honest, but after a few sessions in New York back in February. She has down this Aura. Though how she got this was left rather obscured. As her thoughts continued about Jaune, who is wrapping up his tour Sweeden. His performance as a musical hit has taken him on a European tour, should be returning home in September. Perhaps when he's back she can ask him how to unlock an aura.
As she finishes washing her hair, she steps out and quickly goes to dry herself. Rubbing herself down she wipes the Mirror clean only for her to see a haunting figure looking back. It looked like her but with black hair, red eyes, and pale deathly white skin, full of cracks in her veins that ooze blackish blood that courses through the body. Before Yang could react, the figure lets out a scream before lunging. Falling back from the shock the haunting visage didn't exit the mirror. After a few minutes Yang stood up to look in the mirror, however found nothing. Letting out a small sigh from the lack of a haunting image, she was startled once more again by a knocking from behind her.
"Yang, you alright?" Schmidt called from behind the door.
"Ugh, Monty… Yeah. Yeah. Just… tripped is all." Yang called back as she held her chest.
"Alright, well… just a heads up. The wedding starts in three hours so get ready as soon as you can. Last thing we want is to be late." Schmidt said before leaving the door side.
"Ok, ok. I'll be quick about it." Yang calls out before looking in the mirror one more time. Seeing her own reflection, much to her relief. She probably ate something on the way from Orlando. That had to be it. She simply left it at that and went about getting ready for the wedding.
Hours later, the three had prepared themselves for a rather remarkable evening. After some phone calls, a driver arrived at the hotel to pick them up. Now out of their clothes and in something more formal for a grand wedding such as this. A half hour drive, the three arrived at a large mansion overlooking the Bay. Guarded by multiple thugs of Italian and Cuban origins. Exiting out of the rotary, they stepped out. Yang in a long flowing white dress, Schmidt and Butch wearing Black Tuxedo's. They slowly made their way in, after the guards did a quick pat down. Stopping a few times on Yang for her strange arm. They patted her down a few times as her arm didn't feel right. Course after some guarantees that it's a postotic, all be it a weird one, they allowed her through. Inside were members of some of the most notorious members of criminal families from around the Country. Mexican Gangs from Texas, rubbing shoulders with Montréal Canadians. Tongs talking with the Purple Gangs, Hattians and Italians, sharing whiskey as they discuss ideas. Only factions left aside were the Irish, primarily due to the number of Italians in the room. Schmidt followed by Yang goes to a nearby receptionist and spoke.
"Schmidt, and Xiao Long. We are here on behalf of Chicago." Schmidt said as the Cuban looked over the list.
"Schmidt, Schmidt… aw, Si. You're at table five Señor Schmidt." He said before pointing to a table. Before the two could walk off, the reception informs them. "Once the feast is completed, you are requested to see Don Trafficante and Jefe Lopez in their office upstairs alongside other Embajadores."
"I see, will I be permitted to take my associate?" Schmidt then asked. To which the Receptionist simply shake his head. "(Sigh) Very well."
He then heads over the table, with Yang following behind him. As they sit, Yang turns and whispers to him. "Think it's a trap?"
"To whack me and other high ranking members of various gangs? No. But if it was, I have full confidence that you will step in." Schmidt said as he was about to pull out a smoke when he noticed by the bar they were handing out large cigars. So he pulled out his wallet and passed Yang a few bucks. "Mind picking me up one Cuban? Scotch if they have any as well."
"What am I? Your maid?" Yang remarks with a smirk before holding her hand out for more. Rolling his eyes he hands her an extra few bucks so she can pick something for herself. With a silent 'Thank you' she proceeded over to the bar.
Schmidt leans back in his chair. Overlooking the whole venue of unsavory morally individuals with no connection to one another, attending a ceremony meant to honor one's devotion to each other. Kind of humorous is a sense, how romance can stop even for a moment anything. Hell it did for Schmidt when he first married Tabitha. Thinking about his late wife now… had him paused for a moment. His thoughts running with the memory of his only love. One that gave him peace that he sorely needed. In that second of longing reminiscent, he was open for surprise. As a feeling of some presence behind him, slithered behind.
"Chǒulòu de bāhén nán, wǒ hěn jīngyà wǒmen yòu jiànmiànle." An Oriental voice said from behind. Schmidt turned his head with a bit of a jump. Though he settled down upon seeing who it was. She was a late twenties oriental women. wearing a traditional red Cheongsam, with an elaborate gold flower design.
"Ms. Zhen Fang. Didn't realize the Tongs were interested in wedding between a dago and cubiche." Schmidt remarks as he eyed up the women before motioning her politely to take a seat beside him.
"And I'd thought a man of your caliber would find the role of Ambassador far too dull." The Women identified as Zhen Fang said in broken English as she accepts the invitation.
"Perhaps, but given the state of Chicago a little dull won't kill me… though I'd wish I could bring my daughter. If it weren't for the way things are down here and her condition I'm sure she'd love to be on the beach. I know her late mother enjoyed the thought of Fourth of July celebrations along the lake." Schmidt said before going silent. The memory of his late wife begin to come back. But he had to be professional. He takes a quick deep breath stowing the painful memories aside.
Zhen Fang noticed the look on his face. From what she gathered last they spoke the man seemed more fixated on business then most. In fact she wasn't even aware he had a daughter much less he used to be married. Before she could speak a figure then approaches from behind
"Aw, Madam Zhen Fang. Didn't expect to see you down here. How's New York?" Yang asked as she set down a glass of whiskey, sadly not molt but at least not bath tub grade.
"It's doing fine. Hùnxiě báichī." Zhen Fang said with a rather unimpressed tone with Yang.
"Still can't speak Mando so, I'll assume you meant something good." Yang said as she sits beside Schmidt. Pulling out a large Cuban out from under her glove.
"It's not." Zhen Fang said with a frown. The two stared each other down with Schmidt uncomfortably sitting between the two. As they stared each other down he could only let out a small cough to clear his throat and gain their attention as he was not in the mood to play referee between the two.
"Eh hem. I'm aware neither of you had history since we last spoke." Schmidt said as he tried to break the tension.
"We didn't. Rather my employer Mister Dai Wuying and especially have no liking to Hùnxiě báichī and neither do I." Zhen Fang with discuss.
"And I have a particular sour spot for predigest snobs. Can't imagine ever living with one, let alone seated next to one. Yang said as her eyes flicker red for a moment for return to their normal colors. Not that Zhen Fang noticed.
"Oh for the love of. This is a wedding. Can you two put this aside?" Schmidt said as he was now getting annoyed by their bickering but he kept his cool. Pulling out his army lighter he hands it to Yang telling her. "Yang. It's only for one lousy weekend. Can you put this aside any hostilities for the time?"
Yang didn't break eye contact with Zhen Fang. But took the lighter from him after a few moments of pause. "I can… just for the weekend."
"Thank you." Schmidt said as Yang lights up her Cuban before handing it back to him. He then offers the Cuban cigar that Yang brought to him to Zhen Fang. "And you, will you able to put aside any prior predigest against my coworker for the short duration of our stay?"
Zhen Fang continued glaring at Yang but takes the cigar. Pulling her Jade hairpin from her hair she cut the cigar down the middle stuffing its loose inners into a personal Yen Tsiang. She does so without looking away from Yang either as she then takes Schmidt's lighter. After doing so does she say before taking a puff, "Tóngyì… just for the weekend."
She takes another drag before standing up. She hands Schmidt the Yen Tsiang before fixing her hair pin back in place. Taking back the Yen Tsiang before saying, "Schmidt… Hùnxiě báichī it has been a pleasure. To a very good meeting and a good wedding as well."
Getting up she begins to walk away, nearly bumping into Butch who was smoking his own cigarette. Heading over to the table he then asked, "Who's the chink?"
"That is Ms. Su Zhen Fang. We met back in February during a trip to New York." Schmidt remarks as he takes a sip from his glass.
"Yeah, far to hung strong for a Chinese bitch." Yang said with barely a hint of subtlety in her voice. This earned an annoyed glance from Schmidt.
"Yang." Schmidt warned.
"Sorry, slip of the tongue. She was an assassin for Mister Wuying, the one in charge of the Hip Sing Tong's out of Doyer Street in Manhattan. Was a pretentious asshole then, and still has that damn opium pipe up her ass." Yang continued explaining to butch. Before Schmidt could scold her again she raises her hand before saying, "Sorry again slip of the tongue. Got to say of all the Tongs to reunite with again. I was hoping for Wang Jun."
"Oh god, I hope not." Schmidt said as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "That women was crazy psychopath."
"Present company excluded?" Yang said jokingly, earning an annoyed look from Schmidt. She simply shrugs it off before adding, "What? Least when she goes crazy she's at least fun to be around."
Schmidt simply rolled his eyes as yang joked about this Wang Jun. As she chuckled he simply gets up from his seat. He leaned over and swiped the Cuban from Yangs lip before taking leave to smoke it outside on the balcony. Yang couldn't help but chuckle at Schmidt's annoyed reaction. Even if it cost her a good smoke. However she stopped when she noticed something. As Schmidt walks out, he bumped into two girls. They seemed to apologize to him, but one swirled around him. clipping something off the back of his head as he continued unaware. She couldn't get a good look at them, but they seemed rather identical. Bronze skinned with brown hair with a slight curl. Strangely whatever that one girl that plucked at Schmidt, handed something over to the other girl. She herself pulls out a dull that oddly look like Schmidt. As Yang tried to get a good look, a crowed passes by and the two disappeared.
"Um, hey Butch did you see that?" Yang asked as she felt a sense of unease.
"See what?" Butch asked as he takes a drag from his cigar.
"The two… girls?" Yang said as she wasn't sure to describe the two. But as she looked around, they seemingly disappeared from the crowed. Giving up Yang decides to get herself another cigar. Remarking as she walks away, "Never mind. Seeing things in the corner of my eyes."
As she walks to the bar, the two figure emerged from the crowed. Having successfully evaded being seen by Yang. They seemingly watch her with interest as he view pulls down to one's hand. In her hand was a strange fetish doll, looking a lot like Schmidt, with a clip of hair strapped to it's head. As the scene cut's to black, the last thing the readers see is her places the strange dull into her bag, right beside another doll that looks like Yang.
As the scene reopens again, the evening continued without much problem. The whole affair was quite lovely. After two hours of unending spirits and appetizers the guests were all brought into a main hall with a large window overlooking the water. The sun sets over the bay leaving an aw inspire glow that penetrates the window and gives way to natural lighting for the venue. Schmidt and Yang found their way to their seats and the proceedings begin. The Groomsmen's and Bridesmaids standing patiently with Don Trafficante son before the Alter. He'd looked handsome in that Italian made suit. Nervous as hell but handsome. As he stood their trying to hold back his excitement, an organ seemed to play and the audience stands up. In walks the flower girl and the ring bearer. Slowly making their way to the alter, they were soon followed by Jefe Lopez holding his daughter in his arms. She was beautiful in a white gowned with holding in her hand a Cuban Orchids wedding bouquet. Walking down the isle, Jefe Lopez soon let go of his beloved niña. He soon takes his seat and the audience soon joined. The priest then begins his eulogy on love. Schmidt, looking on couldn't help but remember his wedding. It was a smaller ceremony, and it's unlikely they didn't need to threaten multiple priests to give a wedding ceremony. As he reminisce on his wedding, his thoughts were interrupted by a slight snoring noise. Turning to his side he can see Yang sleeping silently. She was easily board by the whole affair. Annoyed he gave her a tap. This is a wedding Afterall and everyone here has at least a parking violation warrant over their heads. Yang sluggish opened her eyes and quickly straighten herself up before anyone could noticed. The wedding slowly comes to a close with the two exchanging their vows. The ring is set on their fingers and the priest ending the ceremony.
"If there is anyone who objects to this union. Speak now or forever hold your peee… What in gods Name!" The priest said nearly choking in shock as he looks down the isle. All eyes turned and to everyone's shock was a women. Slowly making her way down the isle.
The whole crowd of attendees were in shock. On the red carpet was a women with nothing but rags. Muddy and rotting yellow rags. Herself faired no better as she seemed dazed, covered in mud, and staggering towards the alter. Muttering in what sounds like Spanish. Though a strange incoherent to even fluent Spanish speakers as it seemed to have been mixed with a queer unheard language. "Uh'eog ot gn'thor, escucha mis palabras. Emerge con tus jirones de oro. Disipa todo a tu paso. El ot mgah'n'ghft mgah'n'ghft debe continuar. Imperturbado." Chanting those words over and over again as she slowly moved down the isle, till someone finally stands up. An Italian attendee approached her cautiously not sure what she was doing or if she wondered in from the swamp.
"Um, Ma'am what are you doing? Are you alright?" The guest asked as he approached. Holding out his hand to softly touch her. However upon doing so, she bolted up. Letting out an ear-piercing scream before rushing the man. Before he could even react she had plunged a large wooden stick into his right eye. The crowd of onlookers gasp in shock as the man falls back. Bleeding in agony from the splinters in his eye before she lunges another jab into his throat. As she stabbed him repeatedly until he was on the grown, nobody moved out of sheer shock or terror. Eventually Yang stood up and ran over to the women who was stabbing the dead man.
"Get off him!" Yang snaps as she pulls the women off the corpse. The Crazed turned her focused to Yang and begin trying to kill Yang with the wooden shake.
As she tries she screams in a scratchy maddened tone, "¡Ymg' gn'th'bthnk ephainut al Rey en el Pantano!"
Yang dodge the strikes as she tried to shank her. But after a lunge to her hair, Yang lost her restraint and delivered a hard punch that snapped the womens neck, causing her to fall back onto the ground. The crowed was mortified but what had happened was… rather strange. As there was an uncomfortable amount of silence that was shortly broken by screams and distant gun fire. This was outside the manner, most likely the guards as they were the only ones armed. However their sudden silence made the moment even more tense. Nobody dared move from their seats. As seconds feel like minutes. A fog seemingly manifested over the bay appeared. Darkening the room and adding to the tensity. This all come to ahead when suddenly the doors broke down.
A mob of people burst through, like the women before they were covered in mud, wearing yellow rags, and armed with an assortment of strange weapons. Swamp woods sharped into splinter shives, old rusted knives and swords that seemingly repaired with a mismatch of foliage and decaying materials, and old flint locks that predates early colonies in the area and seemingly having the same expectation of an old pistol would have in combat. Still the number of them was more then enough to panic. The crowed of attendees panicked as they rushed forth to murder all the guests present, screaming strange Spanish infused words.
They begin slaughtering the guests, unstoppable in their bloodlust… for a few seconds. The initial shock of surprise attack had given the mob of muddy vagabonds time to slaughter a few. However once the guest collected themselves they begin to lunge at the attackers with whatever they could find. From furniture to their fists. These criminals were far more skilled and their opponents malnourished while these yellow robed mob had numbers and weapons. In the Midst of the craze brawl, Schmidt can be seen fighting off two old men armed with rusty knives. He pushed them around by their frail wrist. Ramming them into other mud men before using the momentum to force their own blades into the other. Falling back Schmidt was suddenly smacked up the head by one mudwomen armed with a rotted tree branch.
Falling to his knees his mind reels as he begins to have flashes of France. The Argonne Forest, sounds of artillery, screams in English, Spanish, and German muddled together over automatic gun fire. But quickly he shakes free of the flashback and before being struck again he grabbed a nearby chair and slams it into the vagabond. Breaking it into pieces before using the sharp end to impale the bitch who struck him with the log. Splintering the stake he delivers a kick to her chest before turning around to dodge a swipe from one with a jammed flintlock. He then back hands the frail man with the chair leg like it was a club. Schmidt was then pushed back by two other mud women who tried to thrust a knife into him when suddenly Butch tacked both to the side before slamming his foot down on both of their necks. Snapping them if not outright crushing their windpipes. As he crushed the two, a third old man leaped onto his back. Struggling to get him off while the mud man tried to stab him with a rusty broken bilbo. He managed to shake off the attacker by grabbing him. Throwing over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground so hard that the crazed man's brittle bones broke.
"Oy vey, just who the hell are they people?!" Butch said as he backs up into Schmidt.
"No idea! Defiantly not on any guest lists." Schmidt said as grabs a rusted knife from the ground.
"No, they defiantly are not." Butch said before the two leapt out at the oncoming hoard.
Elsewhere in the mob of crazed mud people and criminals Yang can be seen holding her own. She could have used the shotgun feature on her robotic arm, but given how brittle these people were she was able to break their bones with a normal punch. Granted this is the same with most people around. For Yang it was easier. And her aura it gave her a natural defense. She easily evaded strikes, and the few that hit her didn't even penetrate the skin. As she clobbers a few at a time with ease, one tried to sneak up on her only to fall dead to the ground. Turning to see how a mud man died without her laying a finger on her she noticed an all to familiar hairpin sticking out of her ear. Turning around she see's Zhen Fang, her clothes a little ruffled with blood splatter over her Cheongsam.
As she pulls her hairpin free from the ear of the dead craze women, Yang remarks. "Didn't expect you to survive so long without your knives."
"Neither do I expect you to last had one touched your unkept hair." Zhen Fang said equally sarcastic as she stabs a rushing crazed man in the eye. Before pulling it out before stabbing another in the throat.
"Tsk, whatever bitch." Yang said before Backhanding a craze mud man who though he was sneaking up on her.
"Hùnxiě báichī." Zhen Fang sneers before throwing her hair pin into another mud man who came running at her without batting an eye. Pulling her bloody hairpin from the skull, she quickly begins stabbing more party crashers while Yang bludgeoned them to death with her fists.
Within a few bloody minutes of carnage the ballroom blitz ended with the wedding guests of mobsters and criminals overpowering the unknown party crashers. Though not without casualties. As Yang stands amongst the pile of dead crazies and guests she looked around. The Bride being held by the Groom, their fathers screaming in rage at the oversight in security, guests tending to the wounded or dead, and the lingering question on everyone's minds.
"Hey… Schmidt?" Yang asked without looking at him, rather continue surveying the room before looking down at one that first entered. She looked rather young. Her age if she had to guess.
"Yeah?" Schmidt asked as he takes a seat next to Zhen Fang. She takes the sleave of a dead guest and begins wrapping it around Schmidt's head, to stop the bleeding on the back of his head.
"Just who the hell are these guys?" Yang asked as she leans down to get a better look of the corpse with Butch coming over to check it out.
Before the scene goes black, Schmidt only letting out a sigh remarks, "I don't know."
The scene remains black for a few moments before opening up on a women's cleavage.
"Is it fonctionnement?" The women asked who's bust was covering the camera with a unique French like accent.
"Comment devrais-je le savoir? I'm not as tec savvy as that man we slept with last week…" Another similar accented female voice asked in the background. "Speaking of? Comment va-t-il?"
"Oh tu sais. Still screaming after we broke his mind and smaller co… oh, nous y sommes." The women said as she noticed the camera is now operating.
She pulls back letting the Camera take in the new scene. No longer the studio stage where Wombag would host. Rather it looks like a flat you'd find in the French Ward. The furniture itself had seemed better days. Turned up by what looks like claw, knifes, and finger nails and stained with a mixture of spirits, cigarette ash, and other bodily substances. The two women themselves seemed to be cloaked but what could be made out is that they seemed to be wearing purple cabaret show girl clothes that had been through use. Their skin was tanned caramel and their lips barely hidden under the cloaks seemed bloody red.
"Bonjour Mon chéri, we are… well heh heh, you'll find out soon." One of the mysterious women said before the other picked up.
"We do apologize for any… désagrément. To some who, merveille why this was not posted on Dimanche… well unfortunately our stage host Monsieur Wombag had… un accident." The other women said before presenting a doll that looks oddly like Wombag. With the added needle in the back of his head, twine wrapped around the body, and a rag wrapped around the gas mask mouth piece. "So this chapitre was posted a little late. Doublure argentée, the Story will continue, every trois semaines mardi."
"Oui, till he has fully recovered, from under our care." The other one said with a chuckle said before taking the doll and stroking it in a sadistic caring manner. "We will be answering your des questions till then."
"Now, shall we begin?" The other women said before picking up the letter and reading it aloud.
From Blackwing8: Oh sweet Blackwing8. That may be the one thing we and Monsieur Wombag agreed upon.
Oui. Quite charming for a city boy. More so than me and my Sœur care for. Though that segment with that brothel did intrigue us. Shame we couldn't stay much longer… but knowing what is to come next… I think we can wait.
Heh, Oui, tout à fait Monsieur Blackwing. It has become a running joke with our stage host that Jaune secretly holds a rather impressive equipment. But too innocent to realize what he is packing. Perhaps others down the line in this histoire terrifiante will agree with Yang. After all, he is touring Europe. And unlike the prudes of most Dixie et les Yankees they are rather open.
I hope this chapter has been, exciting for you, espèce de bel homme aux ailes noires. We can Guaranty the next one… will excite your friend.
Alas we do not know ourselves. I'll be sure to ask him when I have the chance.
Thanks for writing Blackwing8.
From Enigma42: Aw, so your the one to submit Monsier Butch. I'll be honest. After a few incendies accidentels… we did lost your character sheet. So some libertés créatives had been taken. Mainly pairing him with the Purple Gang. Our stage host does intend on showcasing his background as a Homme fort du cirque who begins going down his vices around this arc. So if you wish to resubmit the facts on Butch, I'd happily take your application, beau jeune homme.
Thanks for writing Enigma42.
From Crimson Wersloth: Aw, the bond of Capot de soeur. Seems despite the memory loss one cannot oublier being a Sœur. As for Monsier Schmidt. Soldierly bonds. To put it into mots you may understand. "Im Krieg entsteht ein Band, das Menschen, die nicht um ihr Leben gekämpft haben, nie verstehen werden."
Hmm, Non. Not all Les soldats become criminels.
Thanks for writing Crimson Weresloth
"Well, that will be it pour l'instant." The one with the letters said before crumpling the papers and tossing it over her shoulder.
"We will continue to run le spectacle till his return. We do wish his rapide recovery… Bien… hopefully not to rapide." The other said stroking that doll of wombag.
"Now, please do Fav and Fol the story. Leave a Commentaire for us to respond to, and as aways…" She pauses before she places a skull, engraved in multiple symbols onto the table. While her sister puts down the doll and pulls from out under a 1918 B.A.R, pointing it at the camera. The last thing you hear before she blasted the camera was, "Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, des étranges."