The City of Sin (World Beyond Arc 2 IC)

[Nightkill the Emperor]

The plane descended slowly in the City of Sin's airport.

In this plane were some passengers. These passengers had severely fucked up the city of San Francisco, by starting vampiric wars, creating owl armies, convincing a dragon to commit suicide, and having Vernon, a creature banned in some countries. As the plane descended in Vegas, a man looking suspiciously like Nicholas Cage walked out to greet the passengers.

"So you fucked up San Francisco." was Carry's greeting as the group walked out of the plane toward him. "How nice." the vampire said. "Seems like a typical G story." the vampire pulled out a cigar, lit it, and placed it in his mouth. "Now, did you bring my fucking Viper?" he addressed them. "I assume so, since otherwise you wouldn't be allowed here. G would have kept you in San Francisco."

[Nationstatelandsville]

That plane ride was not very fun for Vernon. He'd made the mistake of attempting to sleep, which, after the past few days, was foolish. His dreams had been terrifying, but not in the way one would expect. Within his nightmare, he'd been standing in the motel in San Francisco. He had heard a nice like a mouse squeaking and had gone to investigate it. He'd crept slowly... so very slowly... down the dimly-lit hallways. He could hear elevator music an elevator which no man could see. The lights flickered. The hallway seemed to grow longer... and longer... and longer. He advanced at this pace for seemingly a year of his life, before finally finding the door to his old room. He remembered it well. Room 45. Red oak. Gold door-knob. He opened it, and found a completely empty room. There was a window on the wall, which had definitely not been there in real life. He approached and peered out, seeing what no man should ever see. What no man should ever gaze upon. And he screamed. Oh, did he scream ever so much. He cried and he screamed and he wept and he hollered. Terror rose up from his heart of hearts and erupted from his mouth and despair poured down his eyes like water from the falls of Niagara. All was lost in this dream. All was gone.

The plane descended slowly in the City of Sin's airport.

In this plane were some passengers. These passengers had severely fucked up the city of San Francisco, by starting vampiric wars, creating owl armies, convincing a dragon to commit suicide, and having Vernon, a creature banned in some countries. As the plane descended in Vegas, a man looking suspiciously like Nicholas Cage walked out to greet the passengers.

"So you fucked up San Francisco." was Carry's greeting as the group walked out of the plane toward him. "How nice." the vampire said. "Seems like a typical G story." the vampire pulled out a cigar, lit it, and placed it in his mouth. "Now, did you bring my fucking Viper?" he addressed them. "I assume so, since otherwise you wouldn't be allowed here. G would have kept you in San Francisco."

"Carry!" Vernon barked in the present time, "What are you planning to do with this artifact?"

[Norvenia]

Gabriel carefully set down his suitcase. He took pains to do so gently not because it contained the Viper, but because it contained Damien Seward, tied up and, hopefully, still unconscious. That done, he unzipped an inner pocket of his leather pilot's jacket and pulled out the small golden statuette. "Your prize, Mr. Carry," he said wearily. "But in light of all we've gone through to retrieve this thing, I think we all deserve to have some questions answered before we hand it over. Vernon's is an obvious one. Here's mine: can you assure me that once I do hand this over, we will be free of all responsibility both to you and to Mr. G, and that the two of you will never darken my door again?" It wasn't exactly that Gabriel expected treachery, but rather that he was decidedly unwilling to part with the Viper unless he was certain that he would never again have need of its powers. I need to know that this nightmare is really over, forever.

[New East Ireland]

As the plane flew over the City of Sin, the door was kicked out, and fell down to the ground below. In the doorway stood the best character of the RP, Damien Seward, former principal of Jasper High School. He smirked, and felt the blood-red scar going down his face, cutting through his right eye, which gave his eye a nice, blue mark.

"Today," he said, "Is a good day."

Then, he jumped, falling through the clouds, and coming in close to the top of a tower that sat above the smoldering pit of flames and destruction that was once Las Vegas, Nevada. Wings sprouted from his back, allowing him to safely float onto the roof of the building, where he retracted the wings into his back. His cell phone rang, so he picked it up.

"Vernon, it's Damien. I'm on the roof of Wayne Casino," he said, as he looked out over the landscape. The plane he was in had crashed into the Statue of Liberty that sat in Las Vegas. He smiled.

"Damien," replied Vernon, "We're hold-up in the lobby. We don't have time. We need you to disable the nuclear weapon." Damien smiled. Detective Vernon Cartwright of the Jasper Police Department was the craziest man in Jasper, and Damien's biggest fan. He was also Damien's bitch and sidekick, who had stuck by the principal since the San Francisco War that the Paladin Gabriel had started during his deranged quest for world destruction.

"I've got it bitch-tits. See you 'round," the principal replied. He hung up, and tossed the phone off of the roof of the Wayne Casino building. Just a few feet away was the nuclear weapon Vernon mentioned. Damien had been sent to disarm it before it destroyed Las Vegas, which was now the last headquarters of the Confederate States Army.

Damien approached the bomb, and started the hacking process. G-25... Access number 77.89 to the Eighth Power of Nulibon Firequil Energy, he thought, as he continued to hack the bomb's mainframe. Suddenly, there was a noise. He had been detected by the Equilibrium. His heart raced, and he cursed, before turning to face his enemy; G-String, Fuhrer of Reality.

"We meet again, Seward," G said, in his frantic and psychotic tone. Damien only nodded. G nodded as well, and took the charge at Damien, who ripped his right sleeve off, revealing his cybernetic cannon-arm.

As G ran at him, Damien fired one shot- no, two shots- no, three! The white flashes and the blue energy shots flew through the air, as G absorbed them into his core. Thunder struck the building, and the ion core in Damien's cannon-arm had been overloaded one too many times. He swore again, but was interrupted by G's right arm, which hit him off of the roof.

Falling, Damien could only see the faces of his friends; Vernon, Hailey, Fred, Nightkill the Owl General. He had failed them, and would die here, in the City of Sin.

Waking up from his dream, Damien sighed, noticing that he was in a fucking suitcase. He coughed.

[Metanih]

Damn plane ride. Nobody to eat, except the pilot, and the co-pilot was too incompetent to leave alone. The main pilot seemed to have some pedo-gay thing going for the co-pilot kid, so he wasn't an option, and there is that fucking priest. Worst. Plane Ride. EVER! The beast ranted, but Hailey was used to it. He had been ranting for hours, ever since boarding. She had fed on a couple humans, leaving them alive and slightly pale, before leaving, and by a couple, Hailey meant somewhere around six.
It didn't satisfy the beast though, and Hailey was in a horrible mood because of it. "Gabe, just give him the fucking Viper." She said in a subtly angry tone.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

As the plane came to a halt, Frederick awakened. He had been sleeping for most of the ride. However, there were no dreams to speak of. His slumber was a peaceful, uninterrupted one, but during it, absolutely nothing happened. He had been sleeping a dreamless sleep. But alas, not anymore.

He noticed everyone unboarding the airplane, and he sighed as he stood up to do the same thing. However, he did notice something was different on him. Physically, he felt much better. He felt better than ever, better even than back when he had both arms and a happy life, and he had only recovered his right arm a short while ago. Which reminded him, he had to start using his right arm and hand more. It was, for some odd reason, just as healthy and nurtured as the other one was, but he still needed to excercise his brain in order to become dexterous with his newfound arm.

However, he only felt better physically. Mentally, he didn't quite feel alright. He was quite mad at Mr. G, for one. He was quite angry about the past events. He was still somewhat upset about how he had been torn of his peaceful life in Jasper (Although, this wasn't a very strong feeling, seeing as this journey had given him his arm back now), and he was sad for Fluffy.

As he stepped outside of the plane, he stopped his... Friends? And walked over to them, witnessing the exchange that was apparently about to happen between Gabriel and Nicholas Carry. "Oh, get through this already." He thought.

[Ameriganastan]

Earl had slept through the whole flight. Partly because he was tired, mostly because he popped a Valium before he boarded. Stepping off the plane, he noticed Carry was there. And seeing as they had the Viper, that meant the game was over. At least that's what he thought.

"Well, it was fun...not really. This whole thing has been an annoying pain in my ass. And i wouldn't be sad if i never saw any of you assholes again. See you all in Hell."

He flipped them all off, and started walking off to nowhere in particular.

[Al-Harakut al-Islami]

Damn plane ride. Nobody to eat, except the pilot, and the co-pilot was too incompetent to leave alone. The main pilot seemed to have some pedo-gay thing going for the co-pilot kid, so he wasn't an option, and there is that fucking priest. Worst. Plane Ride. EVER! The beast ranted, but Hailey was used to it. He had been ranting for hours, ever since boarding. She had fed on a couple humans, leaving them alive and slightly pale, before leaving, and by a couple, Hailey meant somewhere around six.
It didn't satisfy the beast though, and Hailey was in a horrible mood because of it. "Gabe, just give him the fucking Viper." She said in a subtly angry tone.

Annette woke up after the longest sleep she'd ever had. Scratching her head and reaching for the water in her cup-holder, she blinked a few times and then turned to the window.
The past few days seemed like a one long, really bad acid trip that she could somehow remember perfectly. It caused her to feel real exhaustion, too. Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out her notebook and some candy she had kept there for Allah knows how long.
She turned to Hailey, and smiled.
"Hey, do you want one~?"

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Then suddenly, from behind the group in Carry's home, came the sound of three guns cocking. There stood a very drunk and disheveled-looking Mark, and beside him those two PMC dudes from earlier that everyone forgot about. They had their primary weapons out and aimed at the group. "Weapons on the floor. Now." Mark slurred out. "Nice & easy. Any unauthorized movement, and I ventilate all of you."

[Metanih]

"No thanks. Not in a good mood." Hailey was in fact rather angry. She was glad there were still people that were fine in this group, like Vernon, and Gabriel, and most importantly, Annette. Some seemed to come out ahead. Fred, mainly, gained an arm back. Damien seemed no worse than he started, but when something starts at the bottom, it has little left to go down. But when she considered herself, she was definitely worse. She had started as a student at a community college, with a few sanity issues. Now, those issues were expanded on, and she had to eat people to survive. Hailey was nothing but cursed by this whole story. Even Vernon, who had died, was doing better. I will have to yell at G sometime, preferably in private. He knows how i feel, but i won't feel satisfied until i yell it to his face. "Sorry Annette, just considering this whole story so far. Not going well, at all." The worst part of it, was that Hailey was sure Annette wouldn't get through this unchanged, and that was horrible for Hailey to consider.

[Ameriganastan]

Then suddenly, from behind the group in Carry's home, came the sound of three guns cocking. There stood a very drunk and disheveled-looking Mark, and beside him those two PMC dudes from earlier that everyone forgot about. They had their primary weapons out and aimed at the group. "Weapons on the floor. Now." Mark slurred out. "Nice & easy. Any unauthorized movement, and I ventilate all of you."

"Kiss my ass Mark. The game is over. So, piss off, and leave me alone. I'm booking a flight to Jasper, and bidding this nonsense a not so fond farewell. I'm gonna go home, get drunk, and go on a binge of...something. Maybe Xena. I'm in the mood for some Xena."

[Nationstatelandsville]

Then suddenly, from behind the group in Carry's home, came the sound of three guns cocking. There stood a very drunk and disheveled-looking Mark, and beside him those two PMC dudes from earlier that everyone forgot about. They had their primary weapons out and aimed at the group. "Weapons on the floor. Now." Mark slurred out. "Nice & easy. Any unauthorized movement, and I ventilate all of you."

"YAY!" Vernon chuckled, "VENTILATION! You know, my eldest son Marcus works in air conditioning. Boy does me proud, even if his wife is a bit of a slut. OK, she's a massive slut, but that's not the point. The point is, they live in Canada! Vancouver! Isn't that quaint? They have a lovely flat in the city, even got a daughter on the way. Or maybe she's been born already... or maybe she's graduating high school. You know, I don't know, his wife's a slut, I don't talk to them much. Huge disappointments. Other boy though, David, he's a wonder! Scholar, ya know. Teaches criminology. He's a real smart cookie, my true heir, successor to the throne one could say. Now my daughter, Margaret... I don't what she does. Come to think of it, I don't even know color her eyes are. She's my wife's child, really. Actually, Margaret might not be her name... Lisa? No. Mary? Nah. Oh yes, I remember! It's Sarah! No, wait. It's Jane. Jo? No. Hm... you know, I might not even have a daugh- oh wait, Mark's serious.That's... unfortunate. Listen here, you red-haired stepchild bastard of a lawyer! I deal with assholes like you all the time back at Jasper! Stop being so damn greedy, put the guns down, and shit yourself far away from me! Do you understand me, Phoenix Wrong?!"

Vernon ran away from Mark, screaming like a frightened child and yelling at others for them to follow. Or shoot Mark in the face six times. Either way.

[Astrolinium]

"Domine me salua. Domine me præseruo. Domine mihi licet te bene seruare. Domine mi pater qui in cœlo est me accipe et me salua ut te seruare possim. Amen." This was not, as far as Peter knew, a prayer one would find in the Vulgate. But he said it anyway every night, a pray for the Lord to save and preserve him. Every night, and always it prefaced the same prayer: "God, if you're listening, if you're real and you're listening and you haven't given up on me, please, watch over my mother and Thomas. Please, let me find my way back to them someday. Please, show me where they are. Forgive me, father, for I have sinned in thy name. I have wronged thee in thine own name and in that of those you commanded me to leave."
And every night, he heard the same response in the back of his head, taunting him, berating him. That's why he was sleeping in a hole in the ground near an airport tonight, where no one would be able to hear his screams over the roar of jet engines. That's how it was - the voice would taunt him, and he would scream until he was taken by sleep, and wake up the next morning, his throat sore. He'd been caught several times - people tended to hear screaming - but he'd always managed to bullshit his way out of the foster care system or the loony bin. He prided himself on being a bullshit artisan. Also, he'd become rather adept at the proper uses of cyanide. After all, who would suspect the cute little kid who'd been curled up all night in a hole of poisoning the policeman?
Tonight was different, though. Tonight, the voice of God - at least, he thought it must be God (that was why he screamed) - had something else to say. One word - morning. This was new. This was different. This was scary. He kept repeating that to himself until all thought ceased to have meaning, until he could no longer comprehend the roar of the jet engines, and suddenly it was daytime. The first thing he did was lay a great stinking pile of vomit on his pants as he saw the corpses. He'd had to kill the foxes that lived here, or they would have let him know he was not a welcome guest in their home. 'But I didn't, he thought, 'have to forget to take the fucking corpses elsewhere.' That's when he realized what that awful smell was, and vomited again.
As he crawled out of his hole, he realized just how hungry a nice early morning vomit session leaves you, and so trekked blearily towards the airport. He attracted quite some attention in doing so. Understandable. Even in Las Vegas, it's not often that one sees a teenaged boy covered in vomit at the airport A&W. This was fortunate for him, because the employees were quite happy to give him a coney and some napkins if he would please just go away, as he was scaring away potential customers.
And that, in a nutshell, is why he found himself sitting outside the airport, stinking of stomach fluid, eating a coney dog as a plane landed and several decidedly odd things happened, the latest of which involved three strange men leveling guns at a strange group of people. Definitely not the most interesting thing he'd seen since he ran away from home, but hey, when you're living like he is, you don't exactly get HBO.

[Rupudska]

Catrin didn't even turn around. "Mark," she said coldly. "The game is over. I, personally, am tired, pissed, and I'm going to take the next flight back to Germany. I miss normality. I miss my parents. I miss clean buses and good beer. Hell, I even miss the pickpockets. I've had e-fucking-nough insanity this past week, thanks."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Carry looked at them with some pity, and then his hands moved incredibly fast. The result was that Mark and the two PMC dudes were laying flat on their back, their guns snapped in half before they had an idea what had even happened.

He turned to Gabriel. "To answer your question, I have no idea. Perhaps this is where you go home, but you pissed off G. I don't think he'll let you lot go that easily. To show an example of this, though I can't prove anything, there are no plane rides to Jasper for a week. I'll bet anything he's the one behind it." Carry said, not taking the Viper yet. "As for the Viper, I plan to keep it with me and prevent myself from losing any power in Las Vegas. It is my city, and the Viper allows me to keep control."

[New East Ireland]

Boredom was all that was left in Gabriel's suitcase, with the exception of Damien of course. The old principal sighed, and had begun to rock back and forth, attempting to gain the attention of anyone willing to pay attention to the man in the suitcase. He also tried to rip the zipper off to get out, but with little avail. He wasn't trying as hard as he could, in order to save up energy for another round with the ex-marine.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Vernon did not stop running. He ran and he ran and he ran, not from Mark, but from his friends. Yes, he called them his friends now with the most absolute of certainties for they were all he had left. He would not see his family again, not in life, not in death, not even in purgatory. You know, the place from Life on Mars, the cop show. Maybe I'm the only one who knows what that is... not the point. Vernon bemoaned this lose a bit, but, realizing that becoming too angst-y and unlikable is the kind of thing that get's you killed in a story, he rose his chin and moved on. He'd moved on before, a thousand times over he had moved on. He could cope. But, to be sure, he entered the bathroom and threw his suitcase onto the ground. He changed from his gray clothes to his yellow ensemble, removing the chess-themed outfit and putting it in the toilet. He flushed it. It didn't go down. He screamed and lit it on fire, but since it was soaked in water, nothing happened. So he screamed again and walked out. It was supposed to be symbolic, but toilets apparently can't suck down expensive clothing.

"No more lies," he mumbled, "no more treason. This is my family now. You don't betray family. Unless they steal your car or cut in line for Thanksgiving turkey. Then you knife those hoes. Did I just say 'knife those hoes'? I've spending too much time with Damien... and I've been spending too much time talking to myself."

Vernon walked past the A&W and saw them gibbering on, arising his suspicions. He walked into the store, hovering around at the back of the line. He heard them mention a vomit-covered child, and Vernon felt his inner father take over. He may never see his children again, but damn it, he was going to help this kid. He ventured outside of the airport and found Peter outside.

"Clean yourself up lad," he said kindly, "don't want people to call you... Vomit Kid. Vomity. V. I don't know, they'll call you something degrading. Detective Inspector... Elliot Durwood of the Las Vegas Police Department here. Who are you, little Vomity?"

[Astrolinium]

'Oh, lovely,' thought Peter. 'A cop. Let's see, which story shall I use? Oh, I think Alexander will do nicely.' He smiled weakly, and said, "I tried, but, well... napkins weren't very effective, and I can't remember the way to the hotel my mom and I are staying at so I can get a fresh change of clothes. And the name isn't Vomity. I'm Alexander Dauphin." He hadn't used the Alexander Dauphin story in a while, and certainly not in a city like Vegas. 'Ooh, this could be fun,' he thought. There were oodles of details involving casinos and showgirls he could add to the tale to keep it fresh. He'd play the inspector like a first violin, he figured. He'd go through with the usual routine - get the man's trust, kill him at a meal, rob him (maybe get a change of clothes, too. He hadn't had new clothes since March, and these ones stunk even without the vomit), and then use the money to move on to another city. Someday, he'd have enough, and then he could pay his way back to his family. That was important. He had to pay his own way back. The voice had said so. His eyes twinkled as he thought of getting one step closer to home.

[Nationstatelandsville]

'Oh, lovely,' thought Peter. 'A cop. Let's see, which story shall I use? Oh, I think Alexander will do nicely.' He smiled weakly, and said, "I tried, but, well... napkins weren't very effective, and I can't remember the way to the hotel my mom and I are staying at so I can get a fresh change of clothes. And the name isn't Vomity. I'm Alexander Dauphin." He hadn't used the Alexander Dauphin story in a while, and certainly not in a city like Vegas. 'Ooh, this could be fun,' he thought. There were oodles of details involving casinos and showgirls he could add to the tale to keep it fresh. He'd play the inspector like a first violin, he figured. He'd go through with the usual routine - get the man's trust, kill him at a meal, rob him (maybe get a change of clothes, too. He hadn't had new clothes since March, and these ones stunk even without the vomit), and then use the money to move on to another city. Someday, he'd have enough, and then he could pay his way back to his family. That was important. He had to pay his own way back. The voice had said so. His eyes twinkled as he thought of getting one step closer to home.

Vernon eyed this child suspiciously. He'd obviously been living on his own for quite a bit, he was disheveled, covered in vomit, and willfully eating at an airport A&W after all. No one would ever look like that if they could avoid, unless he was some kind of neo-hipster. But no one, not even neo-hipster teenage douchebags, would ever, ever, ever eat an A&W if it could be helped, let alone one in a crowded airport. He obviously wasn't flying, which brought Vernon back to his attention-seeking neo-hipster theory, but he lacked a mustache, so that disqualified him from neo-hipsterdom. No, he was obviously a homeless child. A poor lad. A liar.

"Well then 'Alexander'," Vernon said, "why don't we come out and tell our respective truths, eh? I'll tell you who I am if you tell me who you are. Don't even try lying to me, Vomity."

[Astrolinium]

'Oh, lovely,' thought Peter. 'A cop. Let's see, which story shall I use? Oh, I think Alexander will do nicely.' He smiled weakly, and said, "I tried, but, well... napkins weren't very effective, and I can't remember the way to the hotel my mom and I are staying at so I can get a fresh change of clothes. And the name isn't Vomity. I'm Alexander Dauphin." He hadn't used the Alexander Dauphin story in a while, and certainly not in a city like Vegas. 'Ooh, this could be fun,' he thought. There were oodles of details involving casinos and showgirls he could add to the tale to keep it fresh. He'd play the inspector like a first violin, he figured. He'd go through with the usual routine - get the man's trust, kill him at a meal, rob him (maybe get a change of clothes, too. He hadn't had new clothes since March, and these ones stunk even without the vomit), and then use the money to move on to another city. Someday, he'd have enough, and then he could pay his way back to his family. That was important. He had to pay his own way back. The voice had said so. His eyes twinkled as he thought of getting one step closer to home.

Vernon eyed this child suspiciously. He'd obviously been living on his own for quite a bit, he was disheveled, covered in vomit, and willfully eating at an airport A&W after all. No one would ever look like that if they could avoid, unless he was some kind of neo-hipster. But no one, not even neo-hipster teenage douchebags, would ever, ever, ever eat an A&W if it could be helped, let alone one in a crowded airport. He obviously wasn't flying, which brought Vernon back to his attention-seeking neo-hipster theory, but he lacked a mustache, so that disqualified him from neo-hipsterdom. No, he was obviously a homeless child. A poor lad. A liar.

"Well then 'Alexander'," Vernon said, "why don't we come out and tell our respective truths, eh? I'll tell you who I am if you tell me who you are. Don't even try lying to me, Vomity."

So he'd seen through Alexander. That was simple. He'd switch it up to another of his identities. But not right away - oh, no, he'd learned where that mistake led when he was in St. Louis. He sighed, and squared his jaw defiantly. Then again, in Kansas City, he'd been able to pull off a save. Maybe he could do it again here. "I am Alexander Dauphin. Here, do you want proof?" He stood up, and dug around in his back pocket, producing a beat up wallet. From inside, he pulled a cracked, plastic YMCA membership card, complete with a blurry green photo of him from when he'd been in Omaha in February. It clearly marked him as Alexander Dauphin. And as far as the YMCA in Omaha knew, that's who he was. "See? I'm Alexander Dauphin, from Omaha, Nebraska. My mom and I are on vacation here, we're staying in a Motel 6, except I can't remember which one."
He paused and cocked his head slightly. He picked out something very interesting in what 'Inspector Durwood' had said, which might very well mean a change of plans. "Which brings us to you, Inspector Dirtwood, if that's your real name."

[Nationstatelandsville]

Vernon eyed this child suspiciously. He'd obviously been living on his own for quite a bit, he was disheveled, covered in vomit, and willfully eating at an airport A&W after all. No one would ever look like that if they could avoid, unless he was some kind of neo-hipster. But no one, not even neo-hipster teenage douchebags, would ever, ever, ever eat an A&W if it could be helped, let alone one in a crowded airport. He obviously wasn't flying, which brought Vernon back to his attention-seeking neo-hipster theory, but he lacked a mustache, so that disqualified him from neo-hipsterdom. No, he was obviously a homeless child. A poor lad. A liar.

"Well then 'Alexander'," Vernon said, "why don't we come out and tell our respective truths, eh? I'll tell you who I am if you tell me who you are. Don't even try lying to me, Vomity."

So he'd seen through Alexander. That was simple. He'd switch it up to another of his identities. But not right away - oh, no, he'd learned where that mistake led when he was in St. Louis. He sighed, and squared his jaw defiantly. Then again, in Kansas City, he'd been able to pull off a save. Maybe he could do it again here. "I am Alexander Dauphin. Here, do you want proof?" He stood up, and dug around in his back pocket, producing a beat up wallet. From inside, he pulled a cracked, plastic YMCA membership card, complete with a blurry green photo of him from when he'd been in Omaha in February. It clearly marked him as Alexander Dauphin. And as far as the YMCA in Omaha knew, that's who he was. "See? I'm Alexander Dauphin, from Omaha, Nebraska. My mom and I are on vacation here, we're staying in a Motel 6, except I can't remember which one."
He paused and cocked his head slightly. He picked out something very interesting in what 'Inspector Durwood' had said, which might very well mean a change of plans. "Which brings us to you, Inspector Dirtwood, if that's your real name."

"Ha!" Vernon laughed, "You act as though no one's ever tried to fool me before. That YMCA card may be real, but Alexander Dauphin is certainly not. You think no one's ever produced 'identification' before? I've been a cop for forty five years and something much more important for about a week now. I know what I'm doing, mainly because I've done most of that myself. Now, listen here, I remain Inspector Durwood as long as you remain Alexander Dauphin or any other alias you may pull out of your ass. I want your real name, nothing more, just so I know what to address you as. I have feeling that you and I will be spending a lot of time together in the coming days. Christmas for you and I will be a very, very bad time."

Vernon decided to take a shot in the dark and try to hit a nerve of 'Alexander"'s. Something that would make him falter.

"Wouldn't you like to know where your mother is?" he asked.

[Astrolinium]

So he'd seen through Alexander. That was simple. He'd switch it up to another of his identities. But not right away - oh, no, he'd learned where that mistake led when he was in St. Louis. He sighed, and squared his jaw defiantly. Then again, in Kansas City, he'd been able to pull off a save. Maybe he could do it again here. "I am Alexander Dauphin. Here, do you want proof?" He stood up, and dug around in his back pocket, producing a beat up wallet. From inside, he pulled a cracked, plastic YMCA membership card, complete with a blurry green photo of him from when he'd been in Omaha in February. It clearly marked him as Alexander Dauphin. And as far as the YMCA in Omaha knew, that's who he was. "See? I'm Alexander Dauphin, from Omaha, Nebraska. My mom and I are on vacation here, we're staying in a Motel 6, except I can't remember which one."
He paused and cocked his head slightly. He picked out something very interesting in what 'Inspector Durwood' had said, which might very well mean a change of plans. "Which brings us to you, Inspector Dirtwood, if that's your real name."

"Ha!" Vernon laughed, "You act as though no one's ever tried to fool me before. That YMCA card may be real, but Alexander Dauphin is certainly not. You think no one's ever produced 'identification' before? I've been a cop for forty five years and something much more important for about a week now. I know what I'm doing, mainly because I've done most of that myself. Now, listen here, I remain Inspector Durwood as long as you remain Alexander Dauphin or any other alias you may pull out of your ass. I want your real name, nothing more, just so I know what to address you as. I have feeling that you and I will be spending a lot of time together in the coming days. Christmas for you and I will be a very, very bad time."

Vernon decided to take a shot in the dark and try to hit a nerve of 'Alexander"'s. Something that would make him falter.

"Wouldn't you like to know where your mother is?" he asked.

Under other circumstances, that might have sent a kid like Peter for a loop. No such luck. "I know exactly where she is," he said, and that was truth. She was currently living back in Astrolinium, a small island nation off the coast of Italy that Nightkill is free to bring up if the mods ever try and move this to F7. That's where she was, last he heard, and that's where he was trying to go back to. But he had to pay his own way back, and he only had one great skill set: killing and robbing people, and then pawning their stuff off.
A thought crossed his mind briefly, and he couldn't help but smile. 'Oh, hey,' he thought. 'I'm in Vegas. I could theoretically go to the shop from Pawn Stars after I do the job.' He quickly realized the smile had probably been a mistake. It would look too suspicious. So he decided to run his mouth some more. He said, "Alright, I'll admit I'm not Alexander Dauphin. But I'm not going to tell you my real name, because you won't believe the name I give you regardless of whether or not it's true."

[Esternial]

A bad feeling had settled in Christian's stomach, some sort of ominous foresight of things to come. He didn't have some sort of sixth sense, which might have made it possible for him to see the future like that guy in Heroes - frankly, he sucked at painting - but more of an uneasy feeling that gave him the indication that his trip to Las Vegas wouldn't go as smooth as he might have intended.

So he took some medicine and continued sleeping.

"Sir, we've arrived at our destination" A soft voice whispered, moulding into the apparition of a beautiful woman inside Christian's mind, with a set of breasts that would make any man move to the tip of his seat and two sets of silk lips that longed for someone's passionate lovin'. If only reality lived up to his dreams, then Chris could have avoided staring in the eyes of a gremlin that has probably been fed after midnight more than once, immediately vanquishing the bulge in his pants and washing a wave of shame over his shoulders. Lucky for him, all the other passengers had left, so there was nobody to watch this suited man make a total fool of him self in the middle of this piece of trash which had somehow managed to make it to Vegas with everything still attached, except for one man's tray that's now not as much built-in as it was before take-off. Oh, and on a little side-note, I also watch Life on Mars.

The best choice for Christian was to run off with his tail between his legs, which wasn't quite as formidable as he liked to think. When he passed a few of the other passengers, he noticed something quite peculiar: A moving suitcase. Being a man of logic and clear thinking, Christian did what any man would do and walked up to the suitcase before kicking it profusely.

"Apologies, but your suitcase was moving." Christian said to it's owner. Boy, did he hate disobedient luggage.

[Nationstatelandsville]

"Ha!" Vernon laughed, "You act as though no one's ever tried to fool me before. That YMCA card may be real, but Alexander Dauphin is certainly not. You think no one's ever produced 'identification' before? I've been a cop for forty five years and something much more important for about a week now. I know what I'm doing, mainly because I've done most of that myself. Now, listen here, I remain Inspector Durwood as long as you remain Alexander Dauphin or any other alias you may pull out of your ass. I want your real name, nothing more, just so I know what to address you as. I have feeling that you and I will be spending a lot of time together in the coming days. Christmas for you and I will be a very, very bad time."

Vernon decided to take a shot in the dark and try to hit a nerve of 'Alexander"'s. Something that would make him falter.

"Wouldn't you like to know where your mother is?" he asked.

Under other circumstances, that might have sent a kid like Peter for a loop. No such luck. "I know exactly where she is," he said, and that was truth. She was currently living back in Astrolinium, a small island nation off the coast of Italy that Nightkill is free to bring up if the mods ever try and move this to F7. That's where she was, last he heard, and that's where he was trying to go back to. But he had to pay his own way back, and he only had one great skill set: killing and robbing people, and then pawning their stuff off.
A thought crossed his mind briefly, and he couldn't help but smile. 'Oh, hey,' he thought. 'I'm in Vegas. I could theoretically go to the shop from Pawn Stars after I do the job.' He quickly realized the smile had probably been a mistake. It would look too suspicious. So he decided to run his mouth some more. He said, "Alright, I'll admit I'm not Alexander Dauphin. But I'm not going to tell you my real name, because you won't believe the name I give you regardless of whether or not it's true."

"Oh really?" Vernon laughed, the lights of bemusement eclipsing the moon of sorrow upon the reflecting pool for the first time since his plane had landed, "try me. I've seen a lot. Heard a lot... been a lot. Loads. Lots. Loads of lots. Lots of loads. That last one sounded a bit off, so ignore it. Lots of lots. Lots and lots and lots of lots. An eensy weensy, tiny little bit of a thing like a name shouldn't really surprise me anymore. Unless it's a name like Thaddeus or Courtney or Jo. Those names don't make any sense to me. What kind of sadist would name their kid one of those names?

...OH! THAT'S HER NAME! JO! Anyhow, I can call you Vomity if you please. Hop along, Vomity, we have friends to meet!"

[Astrolinium]

Under other circumstances, that might have sent a kid like Peter for a loop. No such luck. "I know exactly where she is," he said, and that was truth. She was currently living back in Astrolinium, a small island nation off the coast of Italy that Nightkill is free to bring up if the mods ever try and move this to F7. That's where she was, last he heard, and that's where he was trying to go back to. But he had to pay his own way back, and he only had one great skill set: killing and robbing people, and then pawning their stuff off.
A thought crossed his mind briefly, and he couldn't help but smile. 'Oh, hey,' he thought. 'I'm in Vegas. I could theoretically go to the shop from Pawn Stars after I do the job.' He quickly realized the smile had probably been a mistake. It would look too suspicious. So he decided to run his mouth some more. He said, "Alright, I'll admit I'm not Alexander Dauphin. But I'm not going to tell you my real name, because you won't believe the name I give you regardless of whether or not it's true."

"Oh really?" Vernon laughed, the lights of bemusement eclipsing the moon of sorrow upon the reflecting pool for the first time since his plane had landed, "try me. I've seen a lot. Heard a lot... been a lot. Loads. Lots. Loads of lots. Lots of loads. That last one sounded a bit off, so ignore it. Lots of lots. Lots and lots and lots of lots. An eensy weensy, tiny little bit of a thing like a name shouldn't really surprise me anymore. Unless it's a name like Thaddeus or Courtney or Jo. Those names don't make any sense to me. What kind of sadist would name their kid one of those names?

...OH! THAT'S HER NAME! JO! Anyhow, I can call you Vomity if you please. Hop along, Vomity, we have friends to meet!"

Peter's eyes widened at the man he knew only as Durwood. It probably means something when a murderous runaway teen who hears voices thinks you're probably a wee bit crazy, just like it probably means something if an accountant goes up to you and calls you boring. He shook his head in bewilderment, and said, as if Vernon hadn't just had a moment of some sort, "It's not the name itself, it's the fact that I think you won't trust me to give you my real name. Which you shouldn't. But don't call me Vomity. And I don't want to meet the people you must keep as friends." He figured anybody this man kept as a friend must be just as unstable, and it would just be one more eyewitness to his presence.