Hey who the hell is this guy? (Open & Closed)

[quizpersona]

Who: A man who isn't going by "Gogol" right now
Where: Aldrip (now with better accuracy!) The Inn, an abandoned house at the edges of town, at a diner.
What: The assorted shenanigans related to a certain local murder clown who has faked his own perma-death to assume a different identity. There will be various toplevels in the comments. This is "closed-ish" because it's not 100% closed but there's a lot of ooc plotting and scheming going on so please come join in on the plotting scheming instead of blitzing in with a "hey you guys that's obviously Gogol" when other people are investigating.

Getting short-lived CR with the nice, helpful, and well-mannered salaryman is 100% open though because frankly that's funny.

Edit: now including a top level for his sentencing failure.

Warnings: Kidnapping, nsfw dialogue, law advice for the dubious, torture (includes finger trauma).

Comments

TDM - “ Arrival ” - OPEN

[quizpersona]

The Docks
i. Scene of A Crime

[ The sound of the waves wasn’t so gentle the last time he was here. This time as the dockworkers find a lost looking secretary (art credit) wandering aimlessly around the docks it’s not really all that peaceful either. ]

Um, S-

[ Because one of the more ornery construction works is right in the middle of accusing that suited man of being a stowaway. He’s hardly able to get a word in before he gets interrupted each time. ]

Sorry, I’m not- Uh, I’m sorry but I’m not a stowaway–

[ The man’s stature shrinks in on itself. This interaction with one of the locals is probably a lot for a new arrival to deal with, don’t you think? ]

ii. Natural habitat of a salary man

[ It's much later when that secretary can be found quietly lamenting in Bar Lupin of all the places. Dejected he's got a drink cupped between his hands. A few moments pass before he sighs quietly to himself before shifting the drink over to rest his forehead on the bar counter. ]

Aldrip’s Best Friends Race

[ Like of course he ends up in the audience for various shows and competitions going on. Until anyone interacts with him directly his exact reaction for all of it is like this:🧍‍♂️ ]

Community Service (sidequesting)
i. wow, who could have done this?

[ So there’s this collapsing factory for some reason? Right in the entertainment district for the newbies to run across. With all those businesses and individuals giving out quests earlier he’s surprised the clean up for this wasn’t one of them. ]

This calls for some initiative.

[ He says aloud, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow to start moving around some of the debris and rubble. There’s some hissing going on under some of it but it doesn’t really seem like he’s paying attention to it? ]

ii. Here kitty kitty…

…Please?

[ Exasperated, he’s trying to negotiate with a cat in a tree. That cat looks like it’s more likely to machine gun smack his face than come down peacefully. Having so many cats go missing at once is a silly little recursion that the council is putting on for them, he thinks, and then compartmentalizes it quickly because that’s not the kind of thinking he’s doing right now. ]

ii, the bar

[bonobos]

[ sha-ming is at the bar — it’s notably quiet today, save for the faint bustle of the regulars trickling in for happy hour.

he blends in easily; he prefers it that way, just slinking into the shadows with a good drink in hand. but there’s this… very seemingly pathetic man next to him. more pathetic than he is, in fact! it’s a little disconcerting.

so sha-ming leans in — and nudges him with his foot. ]

Hey buddy, lighten up. You’re so depressed, it’s gettin’ me all depressed too.

[ a raise of the hand. ]

Barkeep, get me and my friend the hardest things you’ve got. We’re gettin’ liiiiit tonight.

[quizpersona]

[ Oh. Oh this guy is talking to him. Is he? Something bumps into his foot suddenly and that makes him flinch and sit up straight with a hint of shame. Probably "subconsciously" at being caught slacking. It sounds pretty natural that an apology comes out of his mouth without thinking— ]

Sorry. Uhm,

[ Folding his hands in his lap he bows his head with a contrite heart... or at least meant to but Sha-Ming is leaning into his space. So instead that motion gets interrupted as he subtly tries to lean back to regain some space.

Readjusting those thick rimmed glasses he speaks with uncertainty. ]

I appreciate that thought. [ Then he clears his throat like it makes him nervous to tell anyone no. ] ...But everything is so unfamiliar right now and I really can't hold my liquor that well.

[bonobos]

C’mon, don’t get shy on me now.

[ with NO regard for his personal boundaries or well-being, sha-ming minimizes the distance and very sleazily loops an arm around him — they’re… something now. together! and that’s all that matters, doesn’t it?

sha-ming squeezes his shoulder. ]

Oh wow, you’re kinda built for a salaryman? Bet you could get laid in no time.

[ these were priorities. the key to happiness, truly. ]

There’s no better way to get used to your surroundings than getting totally shitfaced. Yeah, that’s what all them philosophers said.

[ a beat. the barkeep slides down two glasses across the counter, both smelling strongly of alcohol. ]

Forget your sad little life and have some fun, babe!

bar time

[cursegod]

[Apparently there's a limit how observant Dara can be as a spirit. Night vision? Perfect. Viewing a place from miles away using magic? Easy. Figuring out the Misogiya's eldest son was simply dressed as a girl? Confusing. Expecting him to be a foreigner because of his blond hair? ...Biased.

It's not unusual for folklore and mythology to contain stories of the hero tricking a monster or evil spirit with a disguise. A nugget of truth, perhaps.

So, like a poorly timed joke, Dara walks into the bar as her human-passing form and completely overlooks Gogol based on his disguise alone. It's not like she's actively scanning every person she walks past to check their spiritual energy. That and she's too busy thinking of things she needs to make a proper apology to Seimei.]

Do you have sake? Er, you might know it as rice wine... I want a cup from each bottle you have.

[The person manning the bar goes to search the stock in the back (albeit giving a concerned look before leaving), and Dara's eyes fall on the man with the head pressed to the counter. Immediate assumption: can't hold his liquor.]

[quizpersona]

[ Uh oh. ]

[ Well he only brings attention to himself if he gets up to leave immediately. Then again the whole bar, her included, will be somewhat distracted with the way she's ordered just about over half of the stock in one go? Not having the Overcoat means he should be proactive about an escape from the situation. ]

[ What his mistake is, is not that he says anything. It's that he lifts his head to stare at Dara just a little too long as he mulls over the options. Somewhere in there he pushes his glasses back up his nose too, as if those are even real, and he's even a real pencil pusher type that needs those adjusted to think properly. ]

[cursegod]

[Extra unfortunate that the most immediate open seat is right beside the salaryman's space. As for his obvious staring, Dara returns the gaze in kind with a slight narrowing of her eyes-- right before plopping herself down onto the chair. This "sampling" process will take awhile, so she may as well rest for a bit.]

Y'know, it's rude to stare.

[She's slowly gotten used to people eyeing the slits in her cheeks when moving among the masses in disguise. She really should just buy a mask to cover her mouth. Seriously, she wouldn't be in the bar at all if it weren't for the massive amount of favors she owes Seimei... (But also imagine if she finds a bottle he likes, hehehee~!)]

Instead of gawking, you should finish what you started. [His drink, she means.]

Where's Waldo?

[quizpersona]

[ Hey this is a top level for any kind of investigation going on re: the disappearance and/or how the hell he committed organ crimes. Enrichment in the enclosure for the detective-types. You tell me where or what and I tell you... secrets. ]

The scooby doo gang breaking in

[murderingjustice]

[It had already been over two weeks. And the clown was nowhere to be seen. According to information he had collected so far from the prior cases he should have been revived by now. So, to say that this was both driving Akechi mad yet.. pinged his interest. Of course, he was curious about whether they he had truly somehow managed to break the cycle. But even more than that, the detective in him was very drawn towards the potential mystery at the hand.

'lil enrichment in the enclosure, for sure.

So, he had contacted Naoto Shirogane, the only person he truly believed to be able to help him with the case. Luckily the phone he had nabbed off Gogol's body contained enough data for them to track down the location of his living quarters. After all, it was the first place where one ought to look for clues about whether he had been brought back or not. And hey! It's really a good thing that Naoto excels where Akechi is lacking: picking up a lock.]

You'll need to stand on the watch while we are inside, Narukami-san. In case something suspicious comes up you'll need to send us a text, not call -- understood?

[Oh right. Yu is there too.]

[izanagis]

[Somehow, Yu has found himself third-wheeling a scenario including Goro Akechi once again. How? Hard to say, but-- here he is, the wildcard between two Detective Princes as they prepare to break into clown town. His life sure is weird these days.]

Leave it to me. Be careful.

[He trusts that Naoto will give a signal if she needs backup, even if he's not as sure about Akechi. He's also hoping they won't need it.]

@invinciblemikey

[quizpersona]

[ Had he'd known ahead of time that this abandoned house on the outskirts of the entertainment district wasn't actually abandoned he wouldn't have selected it as one of his potential hideaways; that would've saved him a lot of trouble... he wouldn't have been caught wigless in the disguise.

and it's not like it's a blackmail situation—because clearly this kid has better priorities. No, rather, what's unfortunate was the demand for coffee that came out of the youth's mouth this morning and Gogol's inability to say no recently. With the lukewarm cup gripped in hand Gogol bends to offer it down to the bundle of blankets on the floor. Technically he is double-fisting two coffees, as one does. It's probably the correct one that he's handing over. ]

Here you are.

[invinciblemikey]

(he's so far gone. here, at least, he doesn't have to pretend otherwise. he's a dead man walking, no light, a ghost in a body that moves by its own. he sleeps a lot here, there isn't much to bring him joy - if he even can feel a shred of it right now. there's a spot that won't leave the floor, one that has eery shapes of blood splatter and puddles, one he didn't bother to clean.

the poofy hair is the first thing one sees once he emerges from the blankets, taking the first coffee that is offered and a face ensues.)

Did you really fuck up 7 spoonfuls of sugar?

[quizpersona]

[ There it is—that spark of mischievousness that hasn't been allowed to show on his face since this all began. It's far from the first time he's imposed on someone with no light in his eyes—far from it—but it is vaguely interesting that it's barely not a kid this time. They're really starting them off early these days! The economy is in shambles.

It's been a while since Gogol has had to tip toe over blood puddle stains. Come to think of it teaching this kid how to clean up a biiig mess might be a good idea. ]

You haven't tried it yet. How would you know?

[ He holds his index finger up in the universal "hold up" gesture. Taking advantage of any confusion it might cause Gogol plucks the first cup away and does a switcheroo with the two coffees. This one has... 6 spoonfuls of sugar and 1 artificial sweetener. ]

Just kidding. It's obviously this one.

Day 1: Basement Party🎈@bonobos

[quizpersona]

Psst!

[ Well?

Without much natural light it certainly is pretty dim down here. Anything that could've brought a splash of color to the place is smothered by the greying property of a layer of dust. That's no surprise- the basement of an abandoned building would be like that. At least Sha-Ming gets to see what's below the disguise because that salary man is no where to be found; a entirely more colorful character replaces him. A long pale braid slides down from his shoulder as he leans in to snap in Sha-Ming's face to wake him up. Unlike before there's a quarter mask designed like a playing card covering over his unscarred eye.

It's a bit of a shame he's tied expertly at the wrists and ankles. But it feels pretty necessary for the time being. Those iconic goggles must've been jostled off sometime during unconsciousness but they are neatly arranged on a small table beside his chair. ]

Are you feeling comfy?

[ He's got Sha-Ming's device confiscated and pinched between his index finger and thumb but they can talk about that in a bit, probably. ]

[bonobos]

[ well, he fucked up.

the last thing he remembers is the adrenaline rush— the throes of panic, the incessant pound of the words “i don’t want to die,” banging at his head. the world fades to black. he doesn’t dream often; night terrors don’t qualify. but for some reason, he does today, remembering the sensation of crawling up bark and hiding between branches. the sound of laugher echoes from a distance, brimming with warmth.

what a pointless thing to remember.

when he wakes, his head jerks up — he turns, sees the stranger in all of his fanfare and flamboyance. he blinks for a moment, like he’s processing it, and then it occurs to him: there’s a lack of weight on his head.

immediately: ]

Give me my goggles back.

[ it’s completely cold, the way he says it. there is no anger, no sorrow, no panic — just a frozen certainty. ]

I don’t care what you did, who you are, if you torture me, if you kill me… But I want the goggles back. That’s all I’m gonna ask for.

[quizpersona]

[ In that moment where a tied up hostage jerks awake in a basement none of them are all too familiar with Gogol also blinks owlishly like he's processing something. Likely, it's the certainty of the demand that immediately comes out of him. ]

Oh! Aha, sentimental item? Alrighty then.

[ That's actually pretty good information to know if he had anything at all to get out of his hostage but it's not like he's planning to torture this guy. Unless he knows about the Overcoat somehow... But it's seriously doubtful at this point. So he plucks the goggles up with poise and goes about putting those back on him. Chucking Sha-Ming under the chin with one hand he nestles the lenses in his hair before bringing the strap to the back.

Then he boops his nose with the tip of his finger. Yes, vocalized "boop" included. ]

How's that?

wildcard;

[notthekingpin]

[ Matt always listens--both metaphorically and literally. He listens to gossip, he listens to explanations about the left over snakes and miasma. He hears about network posts made before he arrives. But he also listens to the city, his powers sometimes letting him eavesdrop beyond what another person would be able to hear. This is how he's always started his networks of information. You have to build from somewhere. You have to be ready when opportunity knocks.

Opportunity has, indeed, knocked.

Here's how it goes: Matt has a bright red balloon poodle sent to a certain salary man. That's fancier than a regular balloon dog, you see, and Matt loves a flair for the dramatic. Around the bright red dog's neck is a little tiny collar, and on the collar is a little gold charm with the name of a diner on one side, and a time on the other side.

Matt is waiting in the diner.

While he would hate to be stood up on this date, he also doesn't mind simply having a nice diner date alone. It's a good excuse to sit and listen and eat some of these diner fries (a stable in every universe).

But also, he's hoping the man will show. Matt should be obvious, with his bright red hair, and his bright red aviators, and his bright red suit. Ostentatious. Confident. ]

😎

[quizpersona]

[ It's a risk to attend anything out in public when the description for a salary man has gone out-but the way the invitation comes in out of all the things makes it seems like a risk worth entertaining. It's only half risk assessment anyways... the rest of the motivation backing his appearance today is intrigue.

The point behind the salary man is his lack of presence. It's by no means silent when he pads over to stand at the table indicated on the invite—but it is incredibly ordinary. The salary man clears his throat, and then speaks up quietly in an even keeled tone. So different from how Gogol would throw himself into the scene but it is what it is. ]

Excuse me, Sir. I think you dropped this.

[ A soft clink signifies the moment he presses the gold charm onto the table with a neutral expression. A few seconds pass as he examines the man sitting at the table before he pushes the charm along the surface and towards him under his index and middle finger. ]

cw: balloon animal violence??

[notthekingpin]

[ Game has to recognize game: Gogol is good at this. He blends in so well that Matt doesn't realize it's him until he moves close, and then it registers all at once who he must be.

But Matt doesn't let himself appear surprised. In fact he doesn't turn his heard towards Gogol at all until he hears him sliding the little charm across the table. Matt turns his head more or less towards him and then slides his own hand across the table to find him, fingers groping for the charm until he "finds it."

Just the charm. A smile plays on Matt's lips for a minute as he imagines this mild mannered man destroying the balloon animal. Something about the idea of enacting violence to something so cartoony--and the satisfying pop it must have made--sparks joy. Especially coming from someone so skilled at hiding their true appearance (again, both metaphorically and literally).

Of course, he doesn't know if Gogol killed the little red balloon dog. But it makes for a good story.

In any case he pats the charm and shakes his head. ]

Oh, no, that was for you.

[ Then he gestures to the booth across from him. ]

Why don't you join me? My name is Matt Murdock. I'm a lawyer.

[ he flashes a grin. Shark like lawyer teeth, Aleksei had called them. Fitting. ]

10th of the month

[cursegod]

[The last thing Gogol will remember seeing is the flash of many razor-sharp teeth in the form of a smile. A distant "Did you expect to evade me forever?" whispers in his ear. Lights out.

There is no pain, and he won't find himself bleeding out in whatever place the curse god has stalked him to. Neither will he find himself waking to the now-familiar sensation of resurrection. In fact, death would be blessing for what's to come. Because then his punishment would be just some form of temporary pain. Sure, Dara immediately leaned towards tearing him apart, rending his limbs and pulling out his organs while he got to watch. But, again, it's only temporary; he would probably bleed out and die.

If death doesn't truly matter or exist in this world, then her retribution needs to be exacted in a more prominent way. She wants revenge and insurance.

Of course, when Gogol becomes conscious again, he'll notice the immediate loss of his overcoat again. Actually, every layer covering his chest is gone. His back WAS covered in blood a minute ago, but Dara's chosen to dump water over him as his courtesy wake-up call. The red-dyed water soaks into his pants, and the god is "kind" enough to pull him up by the ponytail to make sure he doesn't aspirate in it. That can happen after she's done with him, if he so chooses.

The woman's expression is completely flat as she raises his head up, eyes scanning over his face then along his back. The harsh movement has disturbed the detailed gouges in his skin, and having his wrists tied behind his back does not help with avoiding irritating friction. She has chosen to eliminate the option of "fighting back" in many aspects beyond binding him physically. He can see as much as she forces him to kneel outright. A quick glance is all he needs to understand the amount of thought she put into this: the floor, all four walls, and the ceiling are covered in repeating sigils. All to prevent any space-travel trickery he might pull. She's created an isolated space just for him. How special. The room is otherwise empty except for a few candles that act as the only source of light.

After she's confirmed his awareness, Dara releases his hair and takes a seat in the folding chair situated in front of him. He can easily connect the dots that the blood smeared along her sharpened claws is his.]

Y'know, this is really a pain. Forcing my hand like this-- I seriously don't get it. It's not like I did anything to you.

[Hands clasped in front of her, a frown forms as she stares down at the fool.]

Did you think I wouldn't come for you? [A rhetorical question, moving on quickly before a response can be given:] It's time for retribution, and I'm going to be extremely clear with my reasoning. Unlike you.

[Dara lets out a frustrated sigh, gesturing towards the walls--] If only Akechi could follow-through on his ambition, then I wouldn't have had to go through all this extra work...But his way was too forgiving either way. "Clipping his wings", right. [Another sigh.] Too lenient for what I want.

...You got in the way of my reason for existing. You didn't have to, but you did nonetheless. So I will be doing the same. [Her eyes narrow at him as she crosses one "leg" over the other.] You love your freedom, yeah? So much so that you'd rip me open...

So I'm going to make you hand over that "free will" of yours. Once I start, I'm not going to stop until you offer your soul to me. That will be our contract.

sends u back a novel

[quizpersona]

[ Getting knocked out helps- but it's so easy these days to succumb to exhaustion when he spends so much time thinking about how they can mess with his brain here. They're able to rewrite how he thinks so easily. In this fitful dream Nikolai looks at himself in a mirror, and sees a serene expression that he can't undo no matter how much he tries to move his features. Reaching to pull it out of place with his hands there is the discovery that unlike in the mirror there is nothing discernible there except for featureless skin; he shouldn't have a face, he thinks. Hands reach up from below to grab him by the wrists. They yank him down into nothingness.

Twice a day a broken clock is right; there are times that dreams reflect reality. Even unconscious, there's still a pang of terror running through him. It's the subconscious realization that he has bound wrists. The equivalent feeling of real-world plastic zip-ties cutting and biting his wrists, worrying the skin until it's scarlet.

The abrupt jerk into the waking world wins a sharp involuntary gasp from him as he jolts awake into a world of pain. Heat is radiating down his back, pin prick stabs dance along his scalp as his hair is used as some kind of leash. Water drips from his fringe and into his eyes and for that he has to blink rapidly a few times. The cloudy and unmatching eyes Nikolai uses to look up at Dara must look blearily. He's perceiving the world in a strange horizontal tilt until he's made to kneel upright.

The gaze quickly snaps to a comprehending lucidity. Sometime in between the moment Dara releases his hair and those pale tresses fall back down to get stained by the remnants of his own blood not yet washed away from a bucket of water.

Hey, that's usually him in the position he sees Dara in now. Suffice it to say he very swiftly has a full understanding of how this is going to go. Only after Nikolai attempts the struggle to stay upright on his knees does he offer any kind of retort, moot as it is. ]

Let's answer that question with a question. Wouldn't you think I'd expect you to? You more than anyone else, in fact. Subtle as it was I did catch the message you left for me!

[ The charming blood left on the wall. In defiance he's responding to her rhetorical question with a sardonic smile. Then again, she's really figured out a way to get under his skin right out the gate. He visibly swallows once to settle a tight throat. It doesn't help the second time either when he does it again. ]

...Is that actually something you're capable of?

[cursegod]

[Despite Gogol's best effort to rile her up with his sass, Dara's frown actually lifts. Her features soften, eyes closed, as if she were just having a quiet moment all to herself. Distinctly at peace and without a care that she has a hostage kneeling before her.]

I'm capable of much more than you know.

[It may have been different 300 years ago, when she was still human. That truly naive priestess. But that person is gone, reforged into who he sees now: a vengeful spirit, a god-eater, a curse god.

She opens her eyes again, and she feels nothing. She looks upon Gogol and only sees a soul to swallow whole.]

I will grant you the experience of a living death. Any last words?

May 13th ---->

[quizpersona]

[ Tower who? There's a man who simply assumes the notification is spam ignores it. For the rest of the month he lives out his life in a very peaceful and uneventful way — which is honestly kind of an outlier here in Aldrip.

It's like the antithesis to a chrysalis, whereas normally the understated caterpillar becomes the flamboyant butterfly... It's almost a slight against logic for the clown to fall away for the salary man to take his place. It's all thanks to Nikolai failing his sentencing. The average day for him is so uneventful and ordinary that it begins to enter the uncanny valley territory for those who once knew him.

He can be found in the market holding two separate food items in hand, seemingly comparing the prices of both. He can also be found in a perfectly family friendly restaurant, sat by himself at a table for two, enjoying a totally sensible and health conscious (if not a little boring) lunch. On another occasion he's holding up two ties to his suit to match it. Problem is both ties are both really boring — one is khaki and the other is brown with little gray diamonds. Since it's not a uniform color the latter is an exciting little indulgence in his mind.

In the grander scheme of things he's really giving the same energy as the rest of Aldrip's NPC. There are other places where the salary man can be found. You'd have to hassle a regular guy, though. Who has that much audacity? Go on, wildcard him.]

hi it's me again

[bonobos]

[ sha-ming is a chronic window shopper, always has been. know the establishment well enough and it gets easy to sneak a few choice items out with a sleight of the hand. he's dressed in a bomber jacket and denim today, hair sweeping against the sides of his face.

before noting a horrendously boring-- and remarkably unremarkable man. yes, he recognizes this face. his heart is beating in his ears, and his head whips around as if to gauge his odds of survival. there were people here, surely he wouldn't think to kill him so brazenly--

...and yet the man pays him no mind. sha-ming sidles up behind him, a hand slithering onto his shoulder. ]

Heyyyy, bestie... [ gulp. he's going to play it cool anyways; might as well as throw niko off his groove, right? ] Why the boring ties? You've got a nice chest, you should show it off! Go for an open suit jacket and a low cut shirt, you'll look way better.

👁️👄👁️

[quizpersona]

[ Since the procurement of the most sensible tie is an essential part to how employable he might be he labors to find the the perfect one with a muted but visible zeal. As such the man is in a bit of a trance and doesn't notice that there's someone talking to him specifically. Nikolai isn't home right now! In a number of ways. ]

Ah! I— me? Are you talking to me? This is...

[ Brow pinching incredulously and hand now hover-handing over the arm slung over his shoulders he forgets to finish his sentence altogether. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "This is— uh, sexual harassment." was the end of the thought, but his heart sinks at the thought of being so rude and- God forbid- causing a scene right off the bat.

The boring tie gets pulled up against his chest as a shield against the man who apparently wants to expose it. ]

But that won't pass the dress code. What's wrong with this tie? I think— uh, it's perfectly fine, I think. It's up to snuff.