Blood in the snow

[ziggythetrygon]

OOC: Insomnia allowed me to get up to speed and to whip this guy up pretty quick.)

Name: Wyatt Dunn

Age: 19

Nationality: American, from Colorado, in the Rockies

Profession: Freelance Travel Brochure Writer, small-time essayist on the side.

Appearance: Wyatt seems fairly average on the whole. As far as his looks are concerned, he falls into that morass of a category of not-quite-good-looking-not-quite-ugly that most people you meet on the street fall into. His hair is thick and shaggy, hanging down in an almost Beatles-esque hairstyle, except that his bangs almost cover his eyes. He generally has a decently kept beard of medium thickness that hangs fairly close to his jaw line. His face is very un-emotive and placid, regardless of his mood, barring occasional small smiles or frowns. Most of his emotion can be seen through his eyes, when he wants it to. He is fairly in shape, though no muscle really stands out with any serious degree of definition. His skin is fair but offest somewhat by his marginally higher level of body-hair, which is longer but not as rough as you might expect. His hands are often occupied with some sort of gizmo or model he is putting together, and constantly fiddle with things in a creative manner. He carries himself with a sense of intent, purpose, and high-self assurance, and he broadcasts, completely unconsciously, the feeling that he can be trusted and that one is safe with him.
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 150 Ilbs
Eye Color: Misty Grey
Hair Color: Chestnut Brown

Bio: Wyatt grew up on the slopes of the Rockies, tramping around the great pine forests in snow and rain and bright sunshine, and everything in between. He hails from a small town called Deer Shins and a large family of loud, boisterous people, the men of which all fall into the "mountain man" category and work for a local logging company. His quiet and steady presence and more intellectual habits are a strong foil to the rest of his family, but this has never caused him any problems. Early on in life it was clear that he had a great deal of insight into human nature, and if a career in writing had no called his name he might have made for a quality psychoanalyst. His natural aura of trustworthiness and reliability placed him in an unofficial sort of way in that position despite his career choices, as friends, even strangers, began confiding in him about anything and everything that was on their minds. While he does tire of this at times, he tends to be a good sport about it and is always willing to listen, should anyone care to speak. He does, after all, enjoy meeting new people, learning their stories, and befriending them. Currently, he travels the globe, observing foreign lands and putting his excellent communication and linguistic skills to work as a Travel Brochure writer, all the while writing essays on the cultures, people, and situations he encounters, which he then sells to any publication that might be interested. He seems less concerned with achieving any degree of public fame than he does having his work, and any message therein, shared with others. To amuse himself or to aide his thinking, he often creates miniature scupltures or knick-knacks out of random things he finds, which he takes pictures of and then gives to people he meets.

Race: White

Equipment: In sum, only about 30 Ilbs tightly packed, barring 5 Ilb laptop
Clothing: sunglasses; Sturdy steel-toed hiking boots; durable flannel shirts of various colors and heavy working jeans in colder weather; tough cargo shorts and solid color, dark t-shirts in warmer weather; has a heavy-duty poncho and survival jacket/pants for emergencies stored in his backpack
Tools: Basic cell phone, no smartphone capability; leatherman all-purpose tool; well-stocked first-aide kit; tablet with no internet access but countless foreign language dictionaries loaded onto it; high quality digital camera; nigh-indestructable ancient laptop that serves solely as a means of accessing google, e-mail, and typing his brochures and essays more easily; worn-out but still tough as ever lightweight backpack with innumerable pockets containing an assortment of small crafting/modelling tools and random items he has created
Necessities: travel-pillow; blanket; electric razor;camelback water container; assorted sensible snack items squirrelled away all over his person; varying amounts of cash accompanying said snacks; small amounts of shampoo and bodywash


OOC: Excuse for being in England: writing a new brochure. It would honestly be best for him to just sort of run into Eddie or Rei on accident there, as it makes the most sense for how he would encounter anyone. In fact, he could be witnessing this whole awkward "HI I STALKED YOU HERE FROM SHANGHAI" scene from a cafe or something.

[mantisstalker]

Zack lay back in the chair, letting the phone skitter to the floor as he closed his eyes. This looked to be more or less the end of the road for him as he had next to no money or leads and to be frank after three years he was really tired of all this. After a few minutes he slipped into an uneasy sleep which went uninterrupted for about an hour before a smiling nurse shook awake gently and told him he could leave.

With a muttered thanks he found himself trudging out of the hospital and walking a few blokes until he reached a quiet looking ally. He slipped into it and found a dryish piece of cardboard in a small alcove which he sat on, back to a wall and closed his eyes again. He knew he wouldn't sleep in a city like LA that was so full of crime, but he needed time to relax and with nothing going his way he couldn't think of a better time. So there he sat one hand on his gun, the other slowly turning the music box, all the while listening to the noises of the city around him.

[Edzilla]

"And I wish I could kiss your right now, I wish I could take you on this trip, walk the stars with me." He didn't cry yet his voice had a hoarse quality. "It's dangerous to talk about things like this on Main Street, lets find somewhere quiet." He turned, eyeing around before settling on a building set up by pillars. "Metropolitan library" was engraved in block capitals, clearly a place of astute learning rather than social convention. Hopefully it'd be empty. He made the stone steps, briskly walking up through the double doors. No one was at the reception, so he walked directly through the a cold feeling room, large and parted with bookshelves of forgotten manuscript. He looked around tentatively, hoping some warden wouldn't surprise him. Luckily enough it didn't, they were the only to left in.
"You like the feeling of being with me, I like being with you, these past days have been great..." He seemed solemn, "not having to sped every night keying away my next murder, having someone to talk to, someone to think about... I really wish it pulse happened." He exhaled ,"that's the problem, I described what I felt... But you don't understand, you don't know what it was like because you never felt the feeling, that pure burst of clarity after spending a year in a cloud of narcotics.... And the thing is, I don't even know I that happened." He spoke frankly now, apparently stressed ,"this whole thing could just be thanks to DMT visions, I just do what I think to do next, so far it's worked, but is a fickle drug, if that what's fuelling me I could be making the wrong decision at any moment... I'm not willing to put others at risk of my own (please do not swear) consciousness! Especially not if that's feeding off a (please do not swear) hallucinogenic" His usual guise had faded, now the emotion that had been since the start.
"I don't want to lose you, even if I don't get to have you... The risk is to high, a 50/50 chance of them putting a bullet in my head, face down in the snow, forgotten forever, my whole life a mistake... I can't include you in that, especially since I don't know what I'm dealing with." A single tear crept out of his eye, rolled down his face and dropped to the floor, seeming like a waterfall in Eddies head.

(Start in the library if you want ziggy, having overheard them)

[Yuno]

She looked taken aback by this for all of 30 seconds...exactly the amount of time it took him to blurt it all out and her to have thrown her phone into a fountain...it was at this moment sinking deeper and deeper into the fountain until it lay perfectly flat on the bottom showing that she had a voicemail..it the died.

She reached out grabbing his face, "Drug trips, too afraid, bullets, can't do what you want...sounds like you are talking a load of (please do not swear) to me." She leaned forward and kissed him briefly before pulling back her language fading into Japanese, "What is the point of creating a perfect world...or doing any of this if you can't be happy or get what you want...what is the point of getting out of bed if you're just going to walk about miserable..." she smiled reaching over his shoulder to the bookshelf and removing a copy of poems by Wordsworth, "You know this poet...he used to be with all these women...his mistress, his maid, so on and so forth...and instead of appreciating the moment with them...he had to turn everything into a trandscendent journey of the spirit...sometimes, somethings are just meant to be enjoyed." She replaced the copy of the book, "If you are going to live life with a piano over your head...then whatever is below that piano better be pretty (please do not swear) good," she grinned resting her head against his chest, "Otherwise you should get out from under the piano...and frankly, I'd rather spend tonight with you and have us both get shot...then wake up everyday...and keep living...because this life isn't worth it otherwise."

[ziggythetrygon]

Wyatt had been quietly dozing face down in a massive tome about Luther's Reformation movement and the Catholic Church's Counter-Reformation when he heard the library doors open. Shaking his head like a dog, he went back to reading where he had left off. This whole subject was incredibly interesting, but the atmosphere in the library was so drowsy and ancient that he could not help nodding off. As he read, he heard a man, probably somewhere around his age, begin to speak rapidly and with emotion. His attention automatically shifted to encompass what was being said while maintaining his focus on the history unfolding on the page before him. It was an old habit he retained from childhood, and he had never stopped being an excellent fly on the wall. It was not that he ever meant to be intrusive, he just naturally remained aware of what was going on around him at all times, especially if it had to do with people and conversation.

And then he found himself listening to something that made him soundlessly close the book. Whoever this boy and girl were, they had some serious issues. Well, he knew the boy did, but due to his only mediocre skill when it came to Japanese, he was not entirely sure of what the girl was saying. He was especially confused by her mentioning a piano more than twice. Either way, the conversation was emotionally intense. He had seen situations like this before...when two profoundly scarred individuals latched on to one another like remoras, the roller coaster of emotions became even more volatile and people were in grave danger of permanent emotional harm. And, of course, he had no idea if the boy was using the word "murder" literally or not, and if he were, he had even less of an idea as to whether or not that meant he had personally killed someone or just felt responsible for their death.

Then it hit him....he had been searched and grilled moreso than usual on the plane over to England last night because of that Rythym Murderer...who had last been seen with a young asian girl and was described as a younger man. He almost told himself to stop overthinking things and jumping to conclusions, but after a hair of a second's debate he decided that there was some merit to sticking around and paying attention, just to satisfy whether or not his suspicions were correct. After all, here he was, listening to a young man and an asian girl talking about murders in what they had to think was a private setting. The coincidence was shaky, and would most likely be hilarious to remember later, but on the off chance it was not...Wyatt opened the book silently again, and pretended to read, mouthing the words his eyes passed over noiselessly. Moving as little as possible, he prepared a text message on his phone notifying the friend he was staying with just in case his suspicions proved true. He would have liked to text the local lawmen, but they use landlines and could not get texts. His friend was reliable, if he saw the words "RYTHYM KILLER GET POLICE" followed by an address, he would get the police there. Not that they would have any time to save Wyatt's life in any case. He was thankful once again for the quiet nature of flannel. Oh well, it was unlikely that this was the guy. He probably had nothing to worry about.

[Edzilla]

"Your so (please do not swear) compelling, it's painful." He leaned against te bookshelf, a look if exasperation made his face seem heavy. "Maybe your right... Maybe I shouldn't put so much emphasis into the destination...Maybe my life is for me first and the planet second" He glanced down staring at the poetry she held. "Maybe your wrong, sometimes the path is laid out for you and none of life's pleasure and sway you, if Wordsworth hadn't taken the steps he taken, we would have missed everything... Sometimes you have something more important than your own life, something that you need to give to the world... Wordsworth had that and so do I.... Humanity needs a break..."

He turned, taking a few steps before stopping abruptly. "I dont know Rei... I could be making the right or wrogn choice." His eyes looked through a window above at the cloudy sky. "I can't make that decision, everything so unclear, so variable.... Normally I have a star to follow, but tonight the sky is cloudy." He turned back to her, a look of fire in his eyes. "But you can... Maybe your familiar with the butterfly effect, that's happening right now, so please make the right decision." He stepped towards her, so they were inches apart. Gently holding her hands, he spoke quietly ," we come together.... or we break apart..." The anticipation was killing him, yet above all he felt a sense of doubt at this method, he'd made it up as he went along, now he was about to feel the consequences.

----

A government had whisked Jack out if the hospital, where he was taken to Los Angeles International. There he was put past all security and immediately boarded a private plane. The flight was 12 hours, every one if them precious list time. He arrived in the afternoon, the sky was grey and brooding over Manchester, but atleast people spoke his accent.

[Yuno]

She looked at him, she could see the need in his eyes to know what was the right path. She knew what that felt like...it felt like waiting at the airport with a laptop on your legs losing charge as you tried to decide whether to book a flight home or to Manchester. She had to believe that the flight here had been the right choice...he mind couldn't believe it was wrong.

She didn't pull away from him. She just smiled, "The only reason Tyler Durden wins at the end of fight club is because he watches the world be remade while holding Marla's hand...breaking the world apart and putting it back together can't matter without her being there." She kissed him again this time not leaving off of him. Her hands broke from his to pull him closer, he could now hear the ear phones that hung loosely around her neck playing Ringefinger by NIN...the music seemed to surround her and then him as she pulled him to herself.

[ziggythetrygon]

Wyatt had to fight hard to keep a straight face and not guffaw when he heard what the girl had to say about Fight Club, but he managed to keep it together and look like he was lost in his book. Really? The fact that "Durden" watched the handiwork of his own insanity with a woman he had a horribly defunct relationship with, one based solely on desperate emotional and hedonistic need and his own madness, somehow made an act he had come to feel loathing for "worth it"? He had just wrecked the American, if not the world, economy, in what would ruin billions of lives and cause the deaths of an untold number in the chaos, and shot himself in the neck to regain control of his own half-addled mind, but being there with this sociopath of a chick he repeatedly screwed made that worthwhile?

This girl was nuts, no bones about it. Or so drunk on the situation and her own infatuation that she could care less about thinking clearly anymore. He had noticed women doing that all the time lately...

And honestly, from the way this crazy guy was talking, about ripping the world apart and putting it back together, well, after the death of that oil executive and the First Lady, and the Embassy Man from China, and the panic back home, the situation had gone from a slim coincidence to a reasonable possibility of these two being the ones the authorities were looking for. Just to be on the safe side, he slowly added the word PROBABLE to his text and sent it. Immediately, he wished for a pair of headphones so that he could pretend to listen to music while he pretended to read, thereby even further shielding himself from imminent doom. Either way, at least he would know if the couple were going to come for him. So just sat there, listening to their intimate conversation and thinking up how he was going to explain this to the Law if it turned out he was wrong.

[Esiphas]

ooc- You guys shouldn't b talking abut Fight club.

ic- Jack stood outside the hospital. It had been a couple of days now, Since the whole Fiasco, trying to capture the Rhythm Murderer. It was driving him insane. "I need to hurry up and finish this." Suddenly, his phone rang, once. His text message tone- A Solemn church bell- filled his ears. Flipping out the device he checked it- it was an emergency notification. As he scrolled it, his face split into a grin. "Manchester, U.K, confirmed. Seen in a Public Library." He sent a quick message to Tim (We need to go), the unlocked the Car and climbed in.

ooc- anyone know where Ty is?

[Edzilla]

He held onto her gently, holding her for 10 seconds before letting her go. He kept hold of her hand ,"lets get out of here, it's to early for dinner." He led her round a few bookshelves before stopping, his gaze fixated on the reading American. He saw the books title, "Martin Luther, weird how so many only know one of the two..." He kept walking, exiting through a different door, into the snow covered December. "I guess we should plan what happens next... Lets get back to the apartment block, this city isn't known for sites."
They stepped onwards, the light falling snow reddening there faces. They weren't prepared for cold weather, perhaps it wasn't the best choice of city.
They reached the block, the reception empty as usual, the stairwell carrying sounds far up the block. The lock took some strength but it slid open. He stepped in, feeling the slight warmth of the room. "I'll put the kettle on, make yourself comfortable..." The kitchen was divided by a small change from carpet to tile, the appliances plastic and white. He came back through with to mugs. "No green tea, just breakfast... sorry." He sat down on the sofa, leaving his drink to cool on the coffee table. He pulled out his laptop, running a few checks before sighing contently. "No hackers but I'm sure they know we're in England... We better not do anything stupid." He smirked warmly, taking a sip if the brew.

[ziggythetrygon]

OOC: Well, I'm not sure how he could see the books title when it's on the table, or why the book's title would have to be Martin Luther, considering it's not focused on him, but alright. And how would he know some bearded guy in a Manchester library was American without seeing him do something besides silently read? I highly doubt flannel and jeans are solely an American thing anymore, and all he'd have is a backpack that looks roughed up. Even the camelback is inside the backpack, and that doesn't necessarily mean he's from the US.

Wyatt listened to the couple walk outside, and only his naturally un-emotive face kept him from smirking at boy's odd attempt at looking clever in front of the girl...currently, he was on a chapter about Johann Tetzel, and Luther himself had not been mentioned for pages. He thought, probably not for the last time, that these people, murderers or no, were definitely nuts. He calmly listened to where the footsteps were headed. The moment the door closed, he counted to five, and then gently eased the chair out from under himself. He stole over to the water cooler in the corner, nabbed a cup of water, and set it next to the still open book in the event that the couple came back and got suspicious. He texted his friend again as he went towards the door, noting that he was leaving for pursuit. He slid the door open a hair, and peeked out the slim crack to stare at the footprints in the snow. Some of the freshest ones seemed about the right size for his sister, and the extremely quick glance he had gotten of the couple when they were looking at one another gave him a terrible, but good enough estimate of the Asian girl's size. He texted his friend the general direction they were headed in, mentioned the apartment, and then slid out into the snow. Here, he was silent, enough to stalk deer, or his unsuspecting elder brothers. He had grown up in massive drifts of the stuff, this was nothing. Just enough to make him absolutely quiet.

He saw them already a fair bit ahead, and promptly walked off onto another street parallel to the one they were taking, and dashed quietly up to speed. As he moved, he kept his head down as if warding away the cold, which really meant nothing to him. He had played in far worse. What he really was doing was constantly updating his friend on his whereabouts, and when he neared a street that connected to theirs, he waited for them to pass through far enough and bolted silently ahead off them to the next intersection. There he would wait again, concealed by the corner he stood behind, until he saw the couple pass on ahead. If he did not see them within a minute of so, he held one of his spare camera lenses around the lip of the corner and checked for vague shapes that might be them in the reflection. If he saw them, he kept on streets parallel to them and continued to stay out of sight. If not, he waited longer and checked their tracks once they were out of sight. Eventually, they stopped and went into an apartment. He needed that address...but it was so far away...he walked around like he was confused and cold, in case anybody was watching, and then put on his survival jacket and pants to conceal his face, and took the long way around, before passing in front of the apartment, huddled "against the cold", taking note of the address, and then texting the moment he got around a corner and away from any prying eyes.

He sincerely hoped yet again that he wasn't making some sort of horrible, bungling error in thinking these two were suspect...he would be in for it for sure...then again, if he were right...the consequences of letting them go would be even more death...He would just have to wait in his hiding place and find out.

OOC: It's awesome that you had it snow, that really wouldn't have worked otherwise.

[Yuno]

In the time it took him to make the tea she'd climbed onto the couch and kicked off her boots and begun to look at her lap top. She was checking up on their pursuit team. Apparently, the president had recently issued another statement regarding his wife's killer and the recent event with the triads. Apparently, the journalist she'd leaked the Rhythm Killer's involvement with them being brought to justice had gone public with it, that was sure to create some interesting buzz. She smiled as he returned and took the mug from Eddie “That's fine. I should probably drink less of it anyway.” She continued working on her lap top, paying various bills from other people's accounts...rich billionaires who wouldn't miss the dollar.

It wasn't hard not to get caught doing this to them. Eventually, she seemed to tire of this and she finished drinking and closed the lap top with a snap. She climbed onto the couch with Eddie and smiled at him. “So what are we doing today? I've never been here.”

[ziggythetrygon]

OOC: We alive here?