<<< The Crystalline Caper of the Robbing Rodent, [Tourmaline]

[Ink]

Mar 28th, Late Evening

---

The vulgar melody of a thousand expletives echoed throughout The Alley as Ink marched his way toward Tourmaline’s place with fists clenched tight in anger. As he crossed the main living area, several of the Morlocks attempted to greet him, but he could only manage a quick grumble in reply before continuing along his warpath. Today was not a day for niceties or social trivialities. This was a day for vengeance! Who could focus on salutations while some dirty rat was running around with their stolen property? Quite literally, an actual rat of the genus Rattus Norvegicus had pilfered one of Eric’s treasured possessions and then pitter-pattered away into the night with their little thieving paws.

He knew that Sullivan had that mutt of his and was hoping he would let him use it to help sniff out the accursed rodent within the stench of the tunnels. Was its name Harry? No. Henry? That sounded right enough, though it really didn’t matter all that much. He’d soon be drafted as a hound of war against the squeaking rodent masses.

At first, Ink had come to Mother Inferior to ask for the obese crone's help. It probably would’ve only taken five minutes out of her day to get off her fat ass and order some rats around, but she pretty much scoffed and waved him away before sticking her bloated face back into a pile of twinkies. She nearly choked on one when he called her a “rat-fuckin’ tub of whale lard” as he stormed out of her hovel. He’d have to remember to avoid her for the time being until she forgot it ever happened, which could be likely given her advanced age. Either way, with her out of the picture Tourmaline’s canine companion was the only other ally who could possibly be of use.

The crystalline mutant’s tent was finally in Eric’s sight now. Sprinting up to its tarp-covered entryway, he repeatedly tapped on the nylon walls as he called out to its inhabitants. Time was of the essence. For every minute they delayed, the danger of forever losing his treasured possession to a rat's nest climbed exceedingly higher.

“Sully! Hey! I need to borrow Hercules for a bit, cuz!”

Tap tap tap.

“Hello?!”

[Tourmaline]

As usual, Sullivan sat alone in his small portion of the tunnels he carved out for himself. The privacy was a thin facade, of course, as true solitude amongst the Morlocks might as well be fictitious. Essentially, his private oasis had only a thin layer of polyester separating it from the settlement proper, and if someone should so much as dropped a pin, he would hear it. The one drawback of community living was also its greatest advantage. On one hand, Tourmaline was used to seclusion, and thoroughly enjoyed his personal space. And on the other, he'd been alone for so long and privately craved company. Perhaps that was why he took to Hank so quickly and completely.

Huddled up in his tent, Sully hunched over his latest project, which presently hovered in the air of its own accord. To an outsider, the shimmering blob of amber might look like an unfinished sculpture of some kind and, well, that's exactly what it was. The work of art seemingly sculpted itself while Sullivan intently stared at it with his craggy brow furrowed. Having recently come into the possession of a full bottle (more or less) of brandy, he thought it best to put the liquor to use somehow. Naturally, his first thought was to give is to someone who could actually drink it, but the chance to hone his art with a new substance was more tempting. As a result, the fluid art piece undulated and molded itself--

"Sully! Hey!"

BARKBARKBARKCRASH!

He was so focused on his project, Sullivan didn't notice when the sound footsteps approached the outside of his home. Hank, however, barked loudly at the unknown intruder, more so out of excitement than aggression. His concentration broken, half of Tourmaline's sculpture splashed on the ground and his tattered shoes while the rest shattered upon impact. Sighing, he answered with all of the cordiality he could muster under the circumstances.

"Hello?"

"Just a moment." He replied bluntly, as he found a dirty rag and threw it on top of the small puddle. All the while, Hank's ruckus carried on incessantly, and he anxiously pawed at the tent's front flap. After hurriedly gathering the broken shards, Sullivan unzipped his tent (the resulting stench of alcohol that escaped was undetectable by his nose, but the tent reeked of it) and was surprised to find Ink at his door, metaphorically speaking. "This is...unexpected." Hank's greeting was a bit warmer (and certainly more exuberant) than his companion's, and he jumped onto the heavily tattooed mutant whilst gleefully licking whatever appendage was nearest to show his pleasure at seeing a man who didn't even know his name.

"Was there anything I could help you with? Get down, Hank. No!" Ordered Tourmaline uselessly. When that didn't work, he frowned slightly and addressed Ink. "I'm sorry, did I hear you mention something about Heracles? You've caught me at an awkward time and I didn't catch it, I'm afraid."

[Ink]

The pup’s overly familiar welcome was unexpected, but not altogether unwelcome. Ink had always wanted a dog when he’d been younger, though his parents had forbidden it on account of his brother’s allergy. Yet another way in which his elder sibling had unwittingly stepped all over Eric’s dreams. Still, he retained that feeling of kinship with their collective free spirit. The tattooed man gave Hank’s sides a vigorous rub and scratched behind his ears to acclaimed reaction from the dog, tail whipping eagerly back and forth, before the statue of a Morlock called the pup down.

“What the hell is a hair uh-kleez? Sounds like a… well, whatever! Listen, cuz! I have a bit of a situation on my hands and I’d need to borrow your dog for a while,” It was more of a statement than a request. “Essentially, I need his nose and those crazy canine instincts to track down this thief; a goddamn, honest-to-God burglarizing son of a rat bitch.”

He took a few steps forward towards the crystalline mutant, looking him over a few times in order to glean any kind of response to his appeal. However, his faceted skin seemed to stay stone-still with no indication of expressive feedback. The guy was giving off about as much body language as a pile of rocks. Nay, crystals?

“So can I count on you, Sully? Help me out?” Ink queried as he playfully slapped the living statue on the shoulder.

It was diamond-hard and he regretted it somewhat as he soothingly rubbed his tender palm.

"Ow... Fuckin..." he whispered under his breath, audible only to Hank.

[Roadkill]

(invited in by Sullivan)

Overhead in the shadowy heights, Roadkill reclined against the cool, damp rock. His legs were sprawled out in front of him as he perched on a narrow, craggy outcropping with his guitar lying impassively across his lap. Mostly tuned out to the world, he had his hat tip forward over his brow and his arms were folded lazily across his chest.

But in all truthfulness he never knew how to really tune out.

For better or for worse, Roadkill was able to see everything that was going on. He had no idea what Sullivan was working on, but he could feel the sound as it bounced around the tunnels and finally hit his skin. Whatever it was, he could feel the crunching of the stone as it reshaped itself, and like the whimpering dog down below it lit his nerves on fire.

Words began to fall apart when Roadkill tried to describe how he saw the world. The best analogy he had for what he was currently seeing was that the scratching and scraping sounds painted a very jagged and stabbing picture in his mind.

Either way, he could see Ink approaching, and had a feeling that the timing was going to be very bad. He couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the two down there talk. Was the stifled tension Sullivan seemed to be speaking through lost on Ink? Maybe he was just more sensitive to that sort of thing…

Probably.

With a thin smirk he shook his head a little, grabbing the guitar he slid it quietly back into its case and zipped it shut, stowing it up against the unforgiving wall before clambering his way back down the rocky wall with sure-footed deftness. As his sneakers hit the floor he ground he looked sidelong at Ink. “Hey watch what you’re sayin’ about rats…” His ears twitched a little along with the corners of his mouth. “That might be one of m’relatives you’re talkin’ about.”

Glancing Sullivan’s way, he tried to pick up on his vibe again. “I’m game to help out. What d’ya say, Sully?”

[Tourmaline]

Apparently, Ink assumed all dogs were born with police or hunter's training. And that one must simply point them in the right direction in order to get their cooperation. Having been born on the streets of Brooklyn (Sullivan assumed as much, anyway), Hank was the sort who knew how to use the crosswalk...or the subways. And not only that, his instincts were more suited toward shepherding, not hunting. It was obvious that the heavily decorated mutant hadn't spent much time with the dog, because it only took a few seconds to realize that Hank was completely undisciplined and usually unhelpful. Though perhaps that was Sully's fault.

"I don't believe that would be wise, Eric. Hank isn't exactly a trained sniffer dog. Perhaps you should speak to Mother Inferior, as rodents are her specialty. I'm sure she is better suited for such things, no?" But after a lengthy tirade that was chalk full of colorful language, it was made clear that Mother Inferior wasn't an option. "All right already, I understand...she said no." It was beginning to look as though dissuading Ink from his involvement was foolish pipe dream.

YAPYAPYAP!

Roadkill's scent never failed to confuse Hank. And even after nearly a year, the pooch was unsure what to make of him. Tentatively, he padded over to meet the newcomer, and sniffed at his heels as if trying to puzzle out the equation. The tunnel's were filled with strange smelling people like these, in fact, Hank simply refused to go near the giant spider. "That might be one of m'relatives you're talkin' about."

"It is highly unlikely that you related to rodents. In fact, it's a complete fallacy. To follow that logic, I am a being who evolved from a crystal deposit." Sullivan explained, effectively stomping Nick's joke into the ground. With Roadkill's presence added to the discussion, said crystalline deposit felt as though he were being ganged up on. With a reluctant sigh, he said: "Fine, we'll come. Maybe we can even organize a search party, as larger numbers would undoubtedly yield quicker results. And there's no telling what those filthy creatures might do with your...whatever it is we're looking for, so time is of the essence." It was all pure sarcasm, though Tourmaline was always so dry and emotionless one might not be able to tell. With his back turned, he zipped up his tent and locked the zippers together with a luggage padlock. "Come on, Hank."

In truth, Hank needed mental stimulation, and he hadn't received his daily walk yet anyway. There was no harm in going along with Ink's mission, so Sullivan agreed with no further unwillingness. Who knew, maybe Hank would surprise him. "Did you see which way the rat went, and do you have something you can give him as a frame of reference? He needs to know what to look for, at least."

[Ink]

“Search party? Nah… I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” he said with a vigorous shake of the head. “Listen, I just want to keep this as close as possible, cuz. I really just needed the dog’s help, but seeing as you’re his owner and all, I suppose you have come too.”

Ink now turned his gaze over to the marsupial mutant who nearly made him swallow his own tongue in surprise at his descent from the shadowed ledges above. The tattooed man considered himself to have a pretty sharp eye, but Roadkill was a bona fide drain-dwelling ninja; quick, nimble, and especially silent. He had often caught Eric unawares in the past, damaging the man’s ego somewhat on such occasions where he had no inkling of his presence whatsoever until the Morlock had chosen to make himself known.

“If you’re comin’ too, then you have to swear we keep this little expedition on the down low. I don’t need a fuckin’ conga line following me into the sewers, okay? That goes for you too, Sully. Keep it zipped,” he insistently commanded. “Anyway, last I saw off the rat-thief, he was headin’ towards the lower tunnels that lead to the sewer lines. I was able to tear off a piece of the uh… thing he stole from me before it skittered off.”

At this point, he pulled a tattered swatch of fabric from his pants pocket and walked up to Hank, scratching him behind the ear for a few seconds before kneeling down to present him with the grubby rag.

“Alright, Hector! Get the scent, buddy.”

With a slight yelp and a jump, the canine backed away slightly before hesitantly taking a few investigative sniffs of the fabric. He let forth a few loud barks before he ran off toward The Alley’s exit with Ink behind him, running as quickly as he could to keep up with the mutt. They nearly trampled over Annalee, but were able to narrowly miss a haphazard collision with the elderly Morlock.

“Sorry!” Ink yelled back, though he never stopped looking straight ahead.

Twenty minutes later…

…and they were still going around in circles throughout the Underneath. The evidence was everywhere around them; piles of rat feces, yet no rats to be seen. Not even one hidden in the shadows with Ink utilizing his night vision. They were quite a ways from The Alley now, but seemingly no closer to their goal.

“What the hell did you do when you fail-trained your mutt, Sully? He’s just like my fuckin’ exes – cute, but useless... What about you, Sloan? You gettin’ anything?”

Something felt strangely off…

[Roadkill]

If Nick was shut down by Sullivan’s Mr. Science explanation that followed his joke, he didn’t show it. He smiled at Sullivan and slapped him on the back. “You must be related to crystals,” he said with a laugh. “Cuz you sho’ are a gem.” He stooped down to let the dog get a whiff of his scent, his own tail flickering back and forth. “Come on now Hanky, how many times we gotta do this dance now?” Like he had so many times before he scratched up behind the pup’s ears, digging in just a little with his claws until the dog’s eyes rolled happily back into his skull. When he finished Hank seemed a whole lot more at ease.

Standing up, Nick looked over at Ink. “On the downlow? We got a real secret operation going on here?” He looked around though they were the only ones around and then looked back with a shushing clawed finger up to his lips.

He didn’t know anything about any ‘rat thieves’, but at the very least this promised to be worth a few laughs. And so the three Morlocks set out, Hank at the lead with Roadkill taking up the tail. They were definitely on the right trail, he could smell the scent.

Over the years Nick had become very well acquainted with the Alley. He knew every square inch of it, and with his powers working very similar to a naturally built-in sonar he usually knew where everything and everyone was, even if they weren’t around him. Mostly. And that was why as he started to walk and as a feeling started creeping over his skin his playful smile started to slip a little. By the time they stopped, Nick felt it without a doubt.

“No, something do feel off a little,” he said. His ears stretched out a little as he stared blindly into the darkness. “What'd you say you lost again?” This didn't feel like any kind of rat that he'd ever known.

Slowly his tail swished back and forth as he stretched out every sense to try and get a lock on whatever was out there.

[Tourmaline]

Tourmaline needlessly blinked his eyes, completely unsurprised that Eric seemed to miss his sarcasm. The sudden need for a sniffer dog combined with Ink's request for anonymity made Sully think the rat took a stash of an illegal substance of some sort. In truth, he didn't like the idea of helping Eric perpetuate bad habits, but since he fully expected Hank to fail this task, he simply nodded. "And you suppose right. Since this operation seems to be covert, I haven't the slightest clue as to what you're bringing Hank into. A little transparency would be more courteous, but no matter. I've already agreed, so shall we be off?"

"Keep it zipped,"

"Now I find myself disappointed." He replied stoically, watching Roadkill as Ink gracelessly barked orders. "Usually I loudly narrate everything I'm doing as I do it. But I'll try not to sing about your misfortunes as we go along, just this once." He was already regretting helping, and could see why Mother Inferior turned him out. "But you will display a little graciousness, or you will end up hunting for rats alone." He continued glacially, the expression on his face was characteristically stern. "I am, after all, taking time out of my day to assist you."

A torn rag was presented to Hank, and the dog sniffed it curiously. Only after he licked a chewed the rag, was it decided that it was not edible. And with a merry yap, he loped down the tunnel with the three men following behind. As expected, Hank had no interest in locating Ink's things. He was more interested in playing and eating random things off the ground. Tourmaline tried, with great success, not to look too pleased with his dog's antics, as he too was wholly unconcerned with Eric's predicament. If the boy had any manners, Sully might have actually tried to help him. For now, however, he was perfect content just letting Hank explore and tire himself out.

"What the hell did you do when you fail-trained your mutt, Sully?"

"You'll have to forgive me. But when he followed me home from off the street, it never occurred to me that he'd need to know how to sniff out narcotics and/or lascivious publications. How silly of me." He replied, with a vague crack in his face that resembled a smirk.

When it came to sensory perception, Tourmaline was next to useless. His senses were all severely dulled and many were completely lost to him. Roadkill, however, had no such issues, so he stilled himself to let the man work. "Hmm, what do you mean 'off a little'? Should we be worried?" He probed, as Hank snuffled along the edge of the tunnel.

[Ink]

Even with the aid of his night vision, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever in these dinge-encrusted aqueducts.

“What'd you say you lost again?”

“I didn’t,” Ink responded flatly. “It’s kind of a personal thing. Don’t really want to divulge too much about it if you can respect that, cuz.”

As the quartet, Hank included, continued on through the shadowed maze of pillars and pipes, Tourmaline spoke out and made a case for apprehension.

“I mean, it’s eerie and shit, but I don’t think we really have anything to be worried about,” he replied with a hard swallow.

Ink wasn’t necessarily scared for his own safety, but there was certainly a measure of uneasiness racked throughout his body. His eyes could cut through the shadows in his vicinity, but beyond that, the darkness still loomed. Within that black void, the tattooed man was ignorant of what lay in wait for them. Before he could ask Roadkill for some more input, they got their answer.

Chitchitchitchitchitchitchitchitchit!

Where it had once been impossibly silent, the tunnels were suddenly filled with the chaotic symphony of squeaking, scampering rats. The sound was quickly growing louder and the stench that filled their nostrils was further proof of the impending flood of rodents. However, the sound was oddly muffled and irregular.

Chitchitchitchitchitchitchitchitchit!

“What the fuck,” the ink-etched man said in a slow, stunned manner. “Sloan, are you seein’ this?”

A large mass of shifting black fur crawled… no, stepped out of the shadows – like a thing unto a golem comprised of hundreds of writhing rodents. It was man-shaped, hulking though it was, with no visible head and towered over all of them in height. The twisted amalgamation of rodent and man stretched out a squirming stump of an arm toward the Morlocks as it slowly made its way toward them in its awkwardly nauseating gait.

Chitchitchitchitchitchitchitchitchit!

[Roadkill]

“I mean off a little,” Nick reiterated to Sully, momentarily turning his attention from the weird skittering sound coming from the darkness ahead. There was movement…a lot of movement, heat wrapping around on itself like a frenzied swarm. Refocusing his attention, he tried unsuccessfully to make heads or tails of what he was seeing.

He hadn’t had any problems with going on this hunt, no real idea what they were looking for other than a rat. Rats. Dozens of them? Shaking his head, Nick tried to blot out the conversation near him and focus…which was not an easy feat to accomplish.

Sullivan seemed convinced that whatever they were looking for was incriminating. Nick wasn’t so sure. Maybe…and he honestly didn’t care one way or the other, but he didn’t think so. By the way Ink talked about it, or more to the point didn’t talk about it, he got the feeling it was something a lot more personal. Though this definitely had his curiosity up, he wasn’t about to make an issue out of it. He just nodded to Ink with a shrug. “Your business,” he said, “not mine.”

When the noises began Roadkill was the first to hear them. He stopped, holding a clawed hand up to his partners for silence, and cocked his head with his ears turning just slightly toward the noise. It was definitely rats, and as he ‘saw’ the outline of it the sound grew louder and drew closer very quickly. What he saw was exactly what he’d thought he sensed earlier. It was a body, made up of dozens of individual bodies working in tandem with one another. The rat creature loped toward them clumsily, the places where the ‘muscles’ moved remaining still while rats squirmed and climbed over each other in other parts of the body.

Though it wasn’t something he was proud of, Nick’s first reaction was to completely freak. His jaw gaping open stupidly he could only point, ironically and unintentionally mirroring the gesture that the rat creature made as it lumbered closer.

“Not sure what you lost homey, but you think we could get you another one somewhere?” With his tail flickering back and forth nervously, Roadkill took a couple of steps backward, his Converse stepping lightly and his reflexes ready to send him to the roof of the tunnels.

It was almost by reflex that he stepped behind Sullivan. The dude was made out of freakin’ crystals.