Betrayal at House on the Hill

[angelcage]

[ You sleep, the ground cold beneath your cheek. The ground is hard as stone, cold marble beneath a fine layer of dust that doesn't come anywhere near acting as a cushion. The dust stirs with your breathing.


>> Wake up ]

Comments

[angelcage]

Oh, yeah?

[ This ain't the sound of a convinced man. ]

Take it out and show it to me, then.

[ From beneath the table, he pulls out a shape— same gelatinous texture, but unmistakably a tommy gun. ]

[dishonestliving]

Look at me, is there really space to hide money in this dress?

--Look, it's not here, it's at home, in the safe. But I've got it, so no need to get crazy, I've just been holding it for you. Let's go back together, pick it up, maybe have a few drinks... It'll be like old times.

[angelcage]

You always make such pretty promises, Ivy.

But me, I've gotta better idea. Old times? Stay here, you and me can have them old times forever. Nothin' but old times.

[ The slime silhouette gives no indication of facial expression, but she can almost hear the grin as he levels the gun.

Now is not the time for negotiations. ]

[dishonestliving]

[she sighs; the sound is much shakier than she'd prefer. she tries backing away towards the door; there's not enough cover in here, and the small knife in her garter isn't much good against a gun, slime or no]

You don't want to shoot me, Joey. Dead people don't pay for much. And we had something, didn't we? Something good...

[jesus, this is how she's fallen, having to sweet-talk slime monsters. it's been a while, but she'll try to tap into her 6th sense, to try and sense if this is like... a spirit, or some bullshit imagination something or other, or what...]

[angelcage]

[ she could take a leaf outta rosalie's book. ]

[ A rotten rattle of a laugh hacks from his throat. ]

I'm dead, and here I am askin' for payment. Funny how that works.

[ Her sixth sense seems deadened, somehow. But with focus, she can pick up: he's dead. Definitely long gone, but he doesn't quite seem like a spirit. More like something long gone that's latched onto a memory, malice that remembers the card games, malice that's looked into her head and latched onto what it found.

It might not be true, but for now, it definitely believes it. ]

Now look, sweetheart, I'm gonna give you to the count of 10.

1. . . 2. . .

[dishonestliving]

[well

that

isn't good]

[she takes a few more steps backwards, until 3 and a half or so, before ducking and attempting to make a run for the door]

[angelcage]

[ WHICH DOOR ]

[dishonestliving]

[she'll dart for the east door, attempt to slip through and close it tight behind her, ugh why this]

[angelcage]

6. . . 7 . . .

[ Ivy's mad dash for the East Door brings her to the Chapel, and behind her, she hears a hail of bullets.

Just in time. ]