tampered | Log; ongoing

Log; ongoing

When; September 14th, night.
Rating; PG13, though will most likely grow to R.
Characters; Ichabod

offthepigs, and Spider

hedbonesoftruth.
Summary; A typical night for Ichabod quickly escalates into a surreal, drugged-up misadventure when he is paid a ~~HOME INVASION~~ visit by two gonzo journalists.
Log;

Sitting at his desk with his ledger open, Ichabod’s brow furrowed in mild irritation as his pen sent a huge blot of ink across the yellowed paper, completely obliterating the anatomical figure he had been diligently sketching for close to an hour. He sighed, tearing the page out before crumpling and throwing it half-heartedly at a wastepaper bin. It missed.

Damn. I’ll figure this out...

Not even bothering to properly dispose of the failed drawing, Ichabod turned to a fresh page and began anew.

He had all night to get it right.

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There was something about the city in the evening that relaxed him. Maybe it was the calm vibrations in the air, or it could have been the fresh cigarette that he had stuck into a holder and lit before heading out. Probably, the later.
White All-Star basketball sneakers scuffed their way down the hallways of the 8th apartment complex as Duke counted the numbers on each door he passed. "4, 5, 6...Fuck, we've got a long way to go."
The leather strap of his brown satchel brushed against the side of his Acapulco shirt, which he used the collar of to wipe a small drop of sweat from his cheek. Everything about his appearance to the way he carried himself down the hallway made a very important statement: He was a man on a mission.

By nature, Spider was not a follower. He was often not accepted or trusted behind anyone, for fear of shot in the backdoor with a bowel disruptor, or just because he wasn't well liked. That, and he rarely liked anyone enough to follow them. Raoul Duke knew this place better than he did, though, and also qualified as a hero to this outlaw journalist. So he followed.

Large, stompy boots marched down the hall behind Duke as Spider smiled to himself and took in the various sights of this new City and it's living spaces. Not nearly enough stray pets.

"Then walk faster or I'll give you a reason to hurry."
Spider took the disruptor from inside his tuxedo jacket, setting it to 'Montezuma's Revenge'. He doubted he'd need to fire, but he always enjoyed making threats. He picked up the pace, chasing his new friend down the halls; two Carcinoma Angels cigarettes hanging from his lower lip.

Ichabod briefly looked up from his work, hearing what sounded like heavy footsteps in the halls outside. Believing it to be nothing, he shrugged and resumed sketching.

Duke was a reasonable man, he walked faster until he found the right room. The trail of smoke that had been following them stopped then they did.

It should be the right one, he thought it was the right one, the only question was should he politely knock or barge in as if it was his own home. Take a gentleman's approach, he thought, it'll help your cause.

He gave the door two knocks before leaning on it's frame.

Going visiting, such as they were, Spider holstered his weapon. After all, they were there to see a cop and a bowel disruptor was illegal to own in his own time, surely it would be upsetting to the ancient officer of the law as well.

Pupils wide, heart pumping double time, and a hard-on that could drive nails tucked away in his black dress slacks; Spider felt he was well prepared for first impressions. He'd made worse ones before.

The urge to kick down the door was strong.

"Yes, what is it?" Ichabod spoke loudly, not bothering to answer the door or even cast an eye away from his ledger. He would finish this before dawn, and damned if he was going to be interrupted now.

Oh no, that would not do. Crane would only have to hear his voice and he'll call for back-up, and the last thing Duke wanted to deal with was more pigs.

He thought for a second, turned to face his partner-in-crime, shrugged, then knocked again.

"Boy scouts. We have candy."

He spoke in a high falsetto, but this was decidedly less convincing than just speaking naturally. Of course, this hardly mattered as Spider let his journalistic instincts take over. He raised one steel-reinforced boot and kicked at the door with all of his strength and the force of his body weight. The frame around the knob gave and the door swung into the apartment.

"We come in peace. We bring gifts."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, thank you. I've had quite enough c--"

BAM

The constable nearly fell out of his chair, spinning around only to come face-to-face with Raoul Duke and Spider Jerusalem.

"W-w-what..."

Ichabod quivered in his chair, mouth agape with shock.

"Hello there." he said with a tobacco-stained, toothy grin as he entered the room. "What? I'm glad you asked," he said awkwardly, cigarette hanging from the side of his lower lip.

Out of the leather bag that was hanging at his side, he procured a white, cardboard box with only a small piece of scotch tape holding it closed. He dug his nail into the tape, breaking it, so that the box would open and Crane could see what was inside: Brownies.

"I know what you're thinking, man," Duke gave the man a very blunt look. "I just thought I'd come over to apologize, any respectable man would do it." he said, handing the box to the poor man on the floor.

Spider would hit the low end of the speedball soon. Cocaine could only last so long, but heroin's a drug that could linger. Still, through whatever part of his brain remained alive and awake through the old damage and the new drugs, he could sense this was fucked up. Strange things were afoot and foul doings. But he was enjoying himself, so why shit all over a good time?

He threw his arms wide and grinned like a madman (felt like a madman that could fuck his way through the doors of a convent then torch and snort the inhabitants for a thrill, but that was neither here nor there). He hoped this made a comforting image for Crane. In actuality, it was probably closer to terrifying.

"Nevermind the door. We'll get you a new one. Something with sturdier locks. ...Anyone could just barge in here, do you realize?... So rare you find a good cop. Thought you deserved rewards."

Ichabod attempted to compose himself, shakily getting to his feet. He eyed both men with great unease, and regarded the suspicious box on the floor with distrust.

"You...you both..."

He gulped and took a deep breath, trying to appear much more stern and brave than he actually was.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected meeting and gift?" He spat, steadying his shaking hands. "I was not under the impression that I deserved any rewards whatsoever, least of all from a man that I intended to place into custody."

He cast a glowering look in Duke's direction.

Duke gave the man a reassuring grin, "Thought I'd take a look on your side of things, man, I've come to apologize, like I said." That seemed believable enough. But what could he say that would convince this man that those brownies were safe to eat?

He'd better think of something good, he thought, and soon;Duke intended to have one himself.

"So what's the score, now?" he asked, "Still going to put me in handcuffs; throw me in a cell? Will I meet a nice man named Bubba who will teach me the ways of an inmate---or will I have to shove a cork in my ass in order to feel safe at night?" Duke stopped. Don't scare the poor son-of-a-bitch too much, he thought, we just got here.

"I've been threatened with prison by worse and better men than you. Hardly phased. Besides, I have temporal immunity. I'm with the press, goddamn you! I'm just here for the story."

It had been a long, relaxing few years on the mountain. No one to trouble him but a couple filthy assistants and a cat. The occasional visit from Royce. But somehow he'd been torn from his retirement and tossed headfirst into the human waste of a different City, but a city all the same. Instincts don't die. They just go dormant. Spider's were waking up. The recognizable burn of journalistic drive heating up in his genitals.

"Look, you silly bastard, I've got to learn about this petri dish of societal bacteria if I'm going to live in it. I have to know it. Feel it. Be part of it. Who knows a place better than the fuzz? At least the good ones. You? You're a good one. I can smell it on you. So you get goodies for your trouble and I get a...what the fuck is it...where are assistants when you need them...an interview. I usually use excessive force and bowel-loosening assault to get answers. I took out my aggressions on your door because I'm behaving. See?"

He pointed to the defeated entry way and smiled at Crane in a sweet way that bordered on the unnerving. An interview would get him feeling right again. That would settle the twitching in the atrophied journalistic muscles.

He glanced at both men, incredulously, as he cautiously picked up the box, his mannerisms suggesting that he expected it to explode at any moment. He gave it a quick shake, listening to the contents shake inside.

"Sir," Ichabod spoke slowly, addressing Spider. "Your endeavor and occupation is a noble one; I have always respected the press and their insatiable appetite for the truth. However, I myself am not one for interviews, and I am sorry to say, but you would find me quite a disappointing subject anyhow. As such, I cannot accept this."

He handed the box back to Raoul.

Duke wouldn't have it. "I'm a doctor of journalism, damnit!" he shouted, nudging the edge of the box with his sneaker, back toward Ichabod. "And I say that you can."

Calm down, he thought, smoke some dope, do whatever you have to, but don't lose your cool. The operation is simple, make the man trust you.

It suddenly came to him. What better way than to kill two birds with one stone? He wanted those drugs-medicine, he needed medicine.

"I'm hurt that you would think these are no good, man, after the careful shopping and selecting of these baked-goods I went through today." he shrugged, then reached into the box and grabbed a brownie. "To proove to you they're alright, I'll have one myself."

Duke wasn't sure what was in those things. The nice man with the dreadlocks who ran the underground "coffee shop" told him that in addition to the usual hash, was his own home recipe.

A secret ingredient, of course, who'd pass that up? Since arriving in this dear city Duke was amazed at the sorts of uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers he could experiment with, drugs of another world; and had a plan to try them all.

Praise the filthy almighty, they were finally cracking open that box! Spider had wanted brownies since he woke up from an unscheduled nap on the street. Felt like a day for it. Spider was starting to think they'd never get to eat the damn things. He was going to have to force feed Ichabod through whatever orifice put up the least resistance. As soon as Duke was demonstrating the safety, though, Spider felt inclined to do the same.

"Poisoning is a rookie move. I lean towards blunt trauma and assault with illegal weapons or animals...living or dead."

He bit happily into one of the chocolatey snacks. He wasn't even involved in the purchase. His attentions were elsewhere, given it was his first trip underground. Just as well. Spider rarely questioned what he was putting in his body.

"Why would you insult me by refusing our gifts? And I don't know what your experience is, officer, but every interview is disappointing. That doesn't mean it isn't useful."

Because I do not trust you.

"If it will make you happy, I'll eat them later once I am done with my work," Ichabod said at length. The truth of the matter was that he did not intend to follow through with this; not until he ran some tests on the treats, at any rate.

"It'd make me happy if you stopped being so damn rude and enjoyed them with the rest of us right now... where's your fridge? I'm thirsty." Duke wandered through the apartment looking for the kitchen, but didn't get far before turning back to face the others.

"Who am I kidding, this bastard wouldn't have any rum in there, anyway."

Things had gone awry somewhere. Why were they even there? The cop. The cop was giving them trouble. But why go to him in his home? That wasn't the way. Not unless he needed to question the pig. Was that it? Did I go to the man's apartment to question him? To get the story? The City had a story, that was for damn sure.

"There won't be rum. He's a man for wine or gin if anything. Hard cider at parties only, isn't that right? Gets tipsy enough to notice the girls, but not enough to talk to them. And only under duress."

Spider grabbed up a brownie, pulled out the colon assaulting pistol from his coat, and pushed Ichabod back into his chair with a boot to the chest. The same boot held the cop in place while Spider brandished the two 'options'.

"I don't give up an interview. Refusals just mean there's more to hear. Makes you sound interesting. Listen here, shiteyes, you can have a snack and answer some questions, or you can have a fiery wet shit shooting from your nethers while I get my interview."

Was he really there for this? It was hard to think. It seemed likely, but confusing. He needed assistants, damn it.

"Assistants! To me!"

One minute he was attempting to stand his ground against two scrambled, most likely insane journalists, and now he was back in the seat with a boot pressed against his chest and a disturbing looking pistol aimed at him. Needless to say, Ichabod was frightened, though he took care not to show it. He swallowed, his feet shaking in his boots.

"A...are you that p-persistent for a few questions?" He stammered. "Why me? Of all people, why me and why now?"

"There is always a story, my friend, you just have to know where to look for it." Duke said as he sauntered back toward them. "Dig in and talk, man, or you'll wake up in a pool of our piss, later."

"You have no idea how fucking persistent I can be. I will have a shaman read the Truth from the entrails of a fallen source for the right story. ... This is not that story. This is a story, though."

He turned the dial on the disruptor to 'Intestinal Drain-O' and got down to business.

"This shall be a day of Truth, officer! I'll begin: First, I lied to you. The narcotics here aren't controlled in my time and my City because we have better narcotics to worry about and keep against the law. I miss them, officer. I need them in this place. While we're being honest with each other, you should also know that I have been erect for the last hour and it's only getting worse. There is a throbbing in my pants, officer, and it needs Truth! Truth about this city. And if you're a man of the law who's as good and dedicated as you seem, then you pay attention. I need to reap the benefits of that careful observation. ... ARE YOU LISTENING?!"

Spider pressed the disruptor tight against Ichabod's gut and held the brownie an inch from the man's mouth.

"Open up. If you don't I will shoot you and you will be shitting yourself for hours. I might shoot you anyway, because it makes me laugh."

Ichabod's lower lip trembled. As it were, the odds were severely against him tonight; he had no idea what that gun would do to him, and judging by Spider's colorful choice of vocabulary, it wouldn't be pleasant.

It was just a small chocolate cake. He liked chocolate. And if he ate it, answered a few questions and the like, they'd go. Simple, right?

If I'm poisoned and die, then at least I'll be able to leave this wretched City behind me.

A little positive thinking always helped, though as Ichabod reluctantly took a bite out of the brownie, pessimism and worst case scenarios were the only thing on his mind.

Duke smiled, things were beginning to brighten up. He had already devoured an entire brownie himself, and it's secret ingredients were already taking hold.

That'a boy, he thought, watching Ichabod take a bite. Pleased with Spider's talent of persuasion, he grinned widely, "Now, about that drink, I'll take whatever you've got."

A man bent on Truth and chocolate at the time, Spider had already put his first brownie away before interrogations began. That could explain why he was so convinced he was in the middle of a very important interview, among other misconceptions and delusions.

"How long have you been here? Do you remember the lizards? The way they fucking tasted? ..."
That wasn't right. This wasn't his City.
"Where do the people come from? Have you seen any escape?"

Duke's words finally reached him through his hallucinations as well.
"Answer for the man as well! Do you have liquor?"

"N-no...I don't drink..."

His brow furrowed as he swallowed his last bite of the brownie, trying to keep focussed. Ichabod did not know if it was just stress, but he was beginning to feel unusually light-headed. He blinked twice, shaking his head slowly.

Concentrate, Crane. Concentrate...

"People come from a multitude of parallel worlds and alternate realities," He finally replied at length. "Sometimes they are able to leave the City of their own accord, though I'm not sure how. Others leave unwillingly and unexpectedly, but they usually seem to..."

...That carpet. It's very, very pretty...

"...Return fairly quickly," He finished, his voice wavering as he looked down at the carpet, his expression slightly dazed.

"Figures," Duke's concentration had been scattered long before Crane's, but now, true horror was taking place.

He was feeling dizzy, looking down to find a suitable piece of carpet to sit on, he shrieked. Carpet? Looked like worms to him; millions of them.

"How do you live in such a disgusting habitat!" he shouted to Crane, almost at the top of his lungs.

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