Goblin Doors Act I

It is cold in New York tonight, but the sky is clear and the bright moon shines down on the dangerous streets of Harlem. You have heard rumours of a local gang of Privateers the 'Red Riders' making a move on hidden door that once gave access to the Goblin Market. Details are very sketchy, as it is all rumour and hearsay at this point, but the rotten slavers definatley do claim this part of town as their stomping grounds.

Bob, having heard rumors of the hidden door, has decided to take the opportunity to investigate the area to see what he could turn up. Disguised as a beat cop he ran into earlier in the day, he casually strolls the street looking for any signs of arcane trappings that might lead the way to his destination.

Low-Key is likewise investigating the area. He knows the hidden door is somewhere on this block, and right now he's simply hunkered down on a street corner. Resting on his haunches, he has his back against a wall, watching the crowd for those who might stand out to opened eyes, a zippo in his left hand flicking on and off idly, something to keep his hand busy.

Bob, having heard rumors of the hidden door, has decided to take the opportunity to investigate the area to see what he could turn up. He casually strolls the street looking for any signs of arcane trappings that might lead the way to his destination.

Outside a rather rough hole in the wall bar/strip joint called 'Slammers' there are three blood red motorcycles decorated with a tribal thorn motif amongst several other bikes. They seem to be unguarded, and there are the rowdy sounds of a drunken party happening within.

"Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.." Low whistles to himself as he begins to cross the street, finally deciding to approach the bikes and the bar/strip joint. He flicks the zippo on and off for a few seconds, heading in the direction of the bikes. His ever shifting visage is hard to pin down, never the same when you look at it twice. But the scar on his lip curls into a smile slowly as he considers, mischief is afoot.

Bob stares at the bikes for a moment before glancing over to the strip joint. He glances up and down the street looking for any other versions of the thorn motif on the buildings.

There is no real 'motif' to the building. It is just a brown brick facade, with blacked out windows and a dirty old neon sign. The windows have bars on them, and the door has several dead bolts.

Low-Key moves up to the bikes, and begins quite casually and without apparent hurry or nervousness to unscrew the gas caps on them. He's still whistling to himself idly, and looking not at all like a man hurried by any particular event. He does cock his ear to the wind though, and reach out into the air, grasping as if at the shadows themselves, and then making motions as if he is pulling them tighter around himself. That being done, he simply begins taking bits and pieces of small rags and handkerchiefs out of his pocket, stuffing them casually into the gas tanks.

Bob frowns as he looks at the thorns on the bikes once more before he begins pacing a bit up and down the street as if looking for something in the distance.

Everyone is inside and doesnt notice the pacing, or the mischief with the bikes. Catcalls and whistles from within indicate it is time for one of the skanky girls to begin her nightly routine.

Low-Key quite calmly glances around the street, either not noticing Bob yet or not particularly caring about his presence. He makes sure the bits of rags and such are well and good pushed into the gas tanks and moist. Then he carefully twists the ends and lights each and every one of them with his zippo. The light of the flame dances in his eyes as his twisted grin curls up wider, estimating the short amount of time before the fun starts. And then? Then he moves off towards a nearby alley, there to hopefully wait in cloaked shadows, for a chance to slip in.

One by one the bikes explode, sending them wheels over handle bars in a fire ball of red fiberglass and burning rubber. There is a shout of surprise inside and then the door slams open to reveal an oafish troll with a look of pissed off bewilderment in his eyes.

Low is crouched behind the building, but still the force of the small explosions (never as big as the movies make them out to be), rock him back a little. He watches with interest as Bob comes up to the door of the bar, and even more interest when a troll seems to come out of the bar. Now, this could be /interesting/…only to wait until more people pour out and become distracted…

Bob holds up his hands in a defensive manner as he backs away from the door, "Whoa there big guy.. no need to get hostile. Mmm.. is that burning rubber I smell?"

"You touch my bike?" The troll bellows as a crowd or roughnecks gather at his back. He looks over at the burning wreckage and grunts as he lifts his fist, "You gonna pay piggy!" Behind him a sleezy looking man in a snake skin jacket, and a cracked out rainbow bright stripper in a black thong and nibble stars look on in jeering approval.

Low-Key waits until people seem gathered up and busy with things, and then, pulling cloaks of shadow around himself again, he moves quickly, trying to slide past the crowd with the intent of getting inside the bar. He pauses only momentarily, to look over their shoulder at Bob, and throw him a wink. Wrong place wrong time, sorry.

Bob frowns as Low-key pushes by and then the frown becomes one of irritation when nothing happens to the doorway, "I didn't touch your bikes. I saw some guy running from here. He went down the street."

The troll oaf blinks and nods to the Bob, "Protect and serve and all that. Well come on copper, lets chase him down, Then you look the other way while I rip his head off! Tits, Sliver - you two head back and make sure that thing is ok. Stupid fucking punks, blowing up my bike!"

Low-Key spends another point of glamour, calling on the other half of his dual-nature, and sending a quiet whisper (barely a rush of air from his lips) that sounds with startling clarity and perfectly audible volume into Bob's ear, and Bob's ear only, "Try and shake them, I'll empty the place out and we'll see what we can see." Then he looks up, perfecting a mask of startled excitement and disorientation, in a glance taking in whatever people might be left in the bar, and then shouting, "It's a distraction, they're coming around the back way. Quick, we've got to head back there and hold the doors!"

Bob shakes his head a bit at the troll, "You guys best go on. I'll need to call the fire department and the gang unit since this may have been an attack from some rival of yours. I'll call dispatch to see if they catch the guy too.

At Low-Key's shout, the bartender takes warning and bellows, "Its a police raid. Everyone out the back! Damnit girl, get some clothes on and ditch the smack!" The troll blinks and glances at his friends in confusion and then shoves the cop with all of his might, sending Bob stumbling backwards. The troll runs one way, the sleezy snake guy in the opposite driection, and the mosty naked girl with wild hair pulls the door closed in Bob's face and begins doing up the deadbolts.

Low-Key runs up towards the naked girl, pushing her out of the way. He looks her face and body over top to bottom as he shouts, hands on the deadbolts, "Go on, out the back, you've got to get rid of the drugs, I'll lock up here." Chaos, confusion. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on, and nobody knows what the fuck might happen next. Including Low. God does it feel good, "Move your sweet ass!" (Presuming the girl does run into the back room, Low will /undo/ the deadbolts, thus letting Bob in.)

The stripper shakes her head and laughs eerily at Low-Key, "Move pretty boy. If he gets thru this door, I have a surprise waiting for him." She licks her lips and then… well, then nothing happens. Though her confused look down at the track marks in her arms clearly says she expected there to be some sort of effect.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Get the fuck out, /please/. We hardly have time for this sugar, and you don't seem up to snuff." Low snarls at the girl, then snickers when she seems lost and confused, nothing happening. He glances towards the outside again, then the bartender who is getting rid of illicit materials. One last try the polite way. "I got this, you two get out the back, we'll meet up at the fallback spot!"

Bob picks himself up off the ground and begins banging on the door while he yells, "POLICE, THIS IS A RAID! WE KNOW YOU RED RIDERS ARE IN THERE! COME OUT NOW BEFORE WE SEND IN THE GAS!"

The stripper closes her eyes briefly and murmurs something under her breath. Her body is suddenly cloaked in a shimmering multicolored heat mirage and she opens her eyes to smile dangerously at Low-Key, "You didn’t say the magic word, Changeling. Time to go back to mommy!"

Low-Key shakes his head as he throws open the deadbolts and unlocks the door, opening it wide, "No one ever told you that it's hard to be intimidating in nipple pasties." Low is ticking seconds off in his head, estimating the amount of time before the cops arrive, shouldn't be long, "Oh, and guess what?"

Bob stares into the room as the shadows grow deeper, "YOU'RE ALL UNDER ARREST!"

"Go suck on a goat!" The stripper turns and dashes for the back room of the bar, while the bartender holds up his hands and mutters, "I know my rights. Gotta call my lawyer…"

Low-Key watches as the stripper turns and dashes for the backroom of the bar. He watches her move, shaking his head. Apparently the girl didn't like the idea of being outnumbered. He nods to Bob, inspecting the man head to toe and offering, "Morning Ralph." Of course, the man's name probably isn't Ralph. "Care to search behind the bar, see if you can find any useful clues?" He then turns towards the bartender, a knife sliding smoothly and casually out of his sleeve and into his right hand, "Good news lass." His voice is cultured smooth British accented, "We're not the constabulary. But given that explosion, I'll be they'll be here in 5 minutes. Now, we don't want to hurt you, and we don't want your drugs…"

Bob nods to Low-Key as he steps through the doorway, "Nice job Sam." Bob casually walks over to the bar and begins looking through things.

The bartender nods once, drops the shotgun he was lifting to the floor and bolts out the back after the girl. That just leaves the snoring drunk man.

"Excellent." Low moves around behind the bar, like a man with a purpose. He shifts his visage, face seeming to melt and flow in on itself until he looks like the bartender, shrugging his knife back into his jacket, and picking the shotgun up and hitching it over a shoulder, "Always wanted one of these. Now…let's see if we can find anything useful written down."

Bob walks away from the bar, "Well if you're going to search, I'll see if I can get anything from our sleeping friend."

Low-Key can't seem to find anything, hrming as he scratches his head with the shotgun, "I knew I should have paid more attention to the non speaking side of things." He begins to poke and prod through the bar more carefully. Redoubling his efforts and drawing on his last reserves of will and fae nature, he searches /everything/, the nookies and crannies only a Darkling would spot.

All in all this seems to be a mundane hole in the wall bar, where recently there were three changelings hanging out and enjoying the show. (Well, one was the show.) Now those three changelings are scattered and there is nothing magical or secretive about the bar to be found.

Bob frowns as he looks around the building, "I assume you looking for the doorway too? There's a trod to the market somewhere close. And the doorway here is used as a gateway. But I'm out of ideas unless you've got some. Did you grab the cash out of the register yet though?"

"There is?" Low seems completely surprised to find this information. He shrugs about the cash, shaking his head in the negative and clearly not caring about it, "A trod to the market? Go figure." Yes, the disturbing implication is that Low went through all this violence and property destruction pretty much on sheer whim, heading for the door, "Cops will be soon, that's my sign to leave…"

Thru the open door of the bar, past the still flaming motorcycles and the wail of sirens you both spot the stripper (now covered in a leather jacket) and the troll climbing the fire escape to the old tenement building across the street. It might beg the question - 'Why not just use the door?'

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