At this time of night, who would be out? Drunks and prostitutes and criminals, that's who will be out. Everything Ahorta fears; how perfect? Walking down the streets, the woman tucked her arms together in front of her chest. Her hood was up and her face mask was black tonight: Night Time Mode. Finally, she had reached her destination: a small little diner.

The bell jinged above the door as she walked in, taking off her hood. Usually, she stayed away from the door and sat in the far back corner, so she cautiously made her way back there. Brittany, her usual waitress approached with the order sheet. "Hey there, stranger. Come out for some soup tonight?"

"No, I had soup last time, they'll track my eating habits," she grumbled from behind her mask. "Beef sandwich, with that au'jus stuff," she growled before lifting her menu and placing it in front of her face so that no one could see her. "On second thought: I'd better get back to the office. These extended lunch hours give my boss excess acid,” she quoted Psycho, she needed her food to go so she could check it for poisons.

"Nonsense, Ms. McCoy, you hardly ever leave early. I know you have your testing kit with you right now, just eat your sandwich here. You're my favorite customer, after all," Brittany smiled before leaving Ahorta to her thoughts. The damn waitress was right, she wouldn't leave, the streets were too frightening and she did not have a home, much less a job.

Brittany brought out the food and Ahorta waited for her only 'friend' to leave before testing for poisons. Carefully, she disected the sandwich, making sure there was nothing extra in there. The sandwich seemed safe, now for the dip. She dipped her finger in the beef dip and watched it bubble. If there was any poison, it would be disentigrated...right? After removing her finger, a small voice in the back of her head kept telling her the dip was poison. Glaring at the jus for a minute or two, she finally pushed it to the side and ate the beef sandwich without little French add-ons. After all, the French were in league with the Russians.

As the streets of the New York gradually accumulated their late night traffic various individuals could be seen proceeding casually down the concrete causeway’s which lined the endless trails of tarmac. Alone or in groups these every day, mediocre citizens continued on, utterly oblivious to the sinister events currently being staged in one of the many tenebrous alley’s scattered throughout the concrete jungle.

’Ah New York at night! The prostitutes are plying, the drunkards crudely crying and the innocent slowly dying… Have I mentioned how much I love this city? If not I then I have been grossly negligent in my duties as a tourist and guest to this magnificent monstrosity of mayhem. You may find my words suspect and I will not doubt you for that; I myself had heard ample rumours concerning the city’s ill mannered populace, however allow me to assure you that such claims are completely unfounded. Why earlier this evening I engaged a trio of fine young men in a shaded alley, upon expressing to them my curiosity as to which section of human anatomy would create the best belt/necklace they practically leapt over one another in their eagerness to assist.‘

‘It truly was most delightful.’

Emerging from the nebulous shadows of the alley in a blasé and carefree manner Hull’s feet froze in midstride a few feet from the main paving as his viridian eyes glanced down at his current apparel. The travelers typical accoutrement of jeans and a hoody were presently out of view, obscured by a floor length scarlet apron which even now was slowly adding colour to the dull grey floor. “Oh dear, this simply will not do” The murmured comment was addressed to no one yet the wanderer titled his head moment later as though awaiting a response, after another second had passed though the man’s left hand had risen to his chest, silver fingers just barely making contact with the damp garment before it abruptly vanished without a trace. “Forget my own head if it weren’t screwed on… good thing I picked up some spares.”

After another cursory glance at his form assured the itinerant butcher that his appearance was indeed appropriate Hull idle pace swiftly resumed as he exited the alley, joining the public walkway and the gradually growing crowds, all the while whistling a strangely cheerful tune which earned him the occasional odd glance from passersby. Such looks however only encouraged the wander to continue his little act as he folded his arms behind his back and allowed his jaded gaze to scan the line of shops in search of an establishment to sate his newly discovered hunger, his eyes eventually alighting upon a charming little diner entitled “The Rusted Maw”.

Once again the jingle of a solitary bell echoed above ambient background music as the diner’s entrance swung open to admit its latest customer before silently falling back into place. Hull himself was in little rush and so took a moment to simply gaze around the all the but desolate eatery, his emerald eyes sweeping over and every surface as he sought for anything of interest or beyond the norm. Upon finding nothing however the travelers cheerful demeanor diminished somewhat though he still maintained an eerily pleasant grin as he sauntered up to the main counter and seated himself atop one of the many stools.

“Could I get you something sir?”[/color]

Shifting his focus to the timely young waitress before him Alex permitted his eyes to trail down her body once before flitting back to her eyes, his uncanny grin drifting not a jot as he waved away the proffered menu and worded his response. “Good evening, I was wondering if I might trouble you for a BLT, served on a baguette if possible?”

The order was swiftly noted down and the waitress dismissed so that she might convey her patrons choice to the chef. Once left to his own devices though Hull swiftly became bored and his thoughts diverged as he cast about for something with which to idle away the time until his meal might arrive. A few moments of chaotic contemplations passed, accompanied by much tsking[/i] and finger drumming before at last the wanderers thoughts arrived at a viable consensus, the effect of which was immediately noticeable for any chose to observe. Initially having slumped somewhat in his seat the sadistic travelers posture quickly correct itself, this was hastily followed by a sudden rummaging of pockets before the morbid man at last withdrew an onyx oblong from the recesses of his hoody.

The strange rectangular item swiftly revealed itself to a standard magazine housing a number of 10mm cartridges. One of these was rapidly worked free from casing with a subtle plink as the spring mechanism within the magazine released its hold upon the bullet and allowed the projectile to fall into the travelers waiting hand. A second later a switch blade appeared in the foreigners other hand before he bent over the countertop and carefully started to scratch away at the shells casing with the tip of his blade.

While she picked away at her food, avoiding anything that resembled a displeasing color, Ahorta looked up and noticed a man enter the diner. He did not strike her as anything other than a commoner, but he did have an eerie feeling. Sitting at the bar, he ordered a BLT and Ahorta adverted her attention to the windows next to her booth, watching the world outside. It was her own little safe house. Inside it was warm, sort of, it was light, dry, fulfilling. Outside, drugs ran rampage, prostitutes sold their souls, fears accumulated, and the worst of all was they called Ahorta one of their own. Preposterous.

After she had finished her sandwich, it was not safe to return to the outlands, so she began to stir around her beef dip with a straw. With a slight fidget of curiosity, Ahorta’s eyes trailed up, back to the newcomer. For some odd reason, she had a cold feeling about him. Right as she had guessed, he pulled out a blade: one of those pointy, shiny objects of destruction. Now they weren’t needles, but the tip of the blade was enough to send her into a mini-panic attack. Breathing heavily, she looked down at her plate, her nostrils flared, her eyes wide, heart rate rapidly increasing. Attempting not to stir unwanted attention, she excused herself from her table and quickly entered the girls’ bathroom.

Once inside, the florescent lights annoyed her and flooded her mind with a headache. Keeping her head low, she turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face before looking up into the mirror. When she realized she was not wearing her mask, her fearful adrenaline increased as she prayed, or at least hoped, that she had not contaminated herself with the water that was splashed on her face. Some infectious disease could be seeping through her pores that very moment. Rushing as if it were her life on the line, although this is how she saw the situation, she scraped the water from her face with her coat sleeve and covered her mouth with her right hand.

All of the commotion caught Brittany’s attention and she approached the bathroom as cautiously as possible. “Ms McCoy?” she asked before opening the door. Inside, Ahorta was hyperventilating over the sink. Surprisingly enough, this was not a major panic attack, it happened to be fairly mild. When the sounds of an intruder called Ahorta’s attention, she turned to see a ventriloquist’s dummy standing near the door, her eyes huge and her mouth open wide. The dummy seemed to be animatronic; the twisted world only developed more ways to scare its inhabitants into a coma. In an instant, Ahorta’s breath left her and she heaved for another chance to live, clawing at the sink, leaving hand prints of corroded ceramic everywhere she touched while she dropped to the floor.

“Ms McCoy? Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?” Brittany asked, unaware of her situation. The gasping Ahorta only heard “ Ahorta. Ahorta. I know who you are. You’re going back to the loony bin! You’re going back to the loony bin! You loony! Government got your throat?” it cackled, coming closer to her. Struggling to get to her feet, Ahorta spoke through broken words and a rapid heartbeat: "This is the really real world, there ain't no comin' back! We killed you! This is the really real world...there ain't no comin' ba-aack…"

A loud crash sounded from the girls bathroom before Ahorta stepped out, laughing hysterically. The crowd of people who had directed their attention at her glared with curiosity. “Gravity is awful!” She laughed, “Sorry everyone, false alarm. I slipped in some water on the floor. I’m OK, but can I get a coffee?” Moving hesitantly over to the man, as if she hurt her leg, she sat next to him, putting her facemask back on. “Excuse me, sir,” she spoke low, wishing not to advertise their conversation. “I wonder if I might borrow your blade for a moment. You see, there is a loose blouse string that is twisted around my arm and I must cut it,” she stared into his eyes, his blade was obviously not as scary to her as needlepoint, and the unconscious dummy in the bathroom needed some more attention before she could enjoy her coffee.

Within the artificially amiable atmosphere of the Rusted Maw more than a few nervous customers had begun to take notice of a certain individuals impromptu arts and crafts session. Hull himself however remained blissfully ignorant of the anxious stares which were sent his way; the traveling sadist had become far too enthralled in his signature carving. Under the guidance of his jaded eyes the tip of blade cut swiftly and evenly into the casing of each bullet, etching the same three letters every time, leaving the metallic shavings to collect in a gradually growing mound atop the otherwise sanitary counter.

‘You know, I should’ve brought a magnet, then I could’ve thrown these in a microwave and had my own little light show… I wonder if they have a nuker in this place?’

So intent upon his current activity and mental musings the morbid wanderer barely took any notice of the distressed and somewhat awkward female who stumbled into the bathroom. This in itself was something of an oddity for the malevolent traveler for under other circumstances his focus would have shifted to the poor woman in a shot. The mentally disturbed were sources of almost unlimited entertainment; their minds were unhinged, wavering over the precipice between sanity and lunacy. They simply required an appropriate impetus to commit them to the latter. After that well, it was almost akin to a firework; you lit the fuse, pointed it at some unsuspecting bystander, and got ready for a good show.

As it was though Hull was engaged in a far more vital activity, having lost most of his possessions in an improbable explosion at Times Square the Canadian tourist had been forced to pick up his latest firearm and ammo second hand meaning neither had his personal touch. Considering his personal hobbies such anonymity was completely unacceptable! What if he were to be called away from the playground in the middle of a game? How was he supposed to keep a reliable count? There wasn’t always time to collect ears, especially with some of his more unique kills as more often then not his targets were left without a head…

In either case the point of this little carving exercise was to allow the appropriate authorities a means to accurately track of his achievements and, more importantly, to prevent any epigones from claiming any of his cadavers. Kill stealers were a pestilence upon the world, both the physical and virtual.

A vociferous din abruptly issued forth from the female restroom, shattering any pretense of pleasant family dining as all within the diner but outside the bathroom in question craned their necks towards the room in question as though their silent stares might derive some form of explanation. Even the diners’ homicidal tourist had temporarily abandoned his etchings to glance speculatively at the inert door, his emerald gaze sharpening as echoes of hysteric laughter reached his ears.

‘Hmm, the pitch is a touch high, yet it’s made 80% of these sheep cringe… I’ll give it a 9/10’

It was about this moment in time that a somewhat ragged figure stumbled out of the bathroom which had attracted so much attention. The strange character staggered about slightly as though she were drunk before spouting off some quip about gravity and an excuse regarding wet floors. What truly caught the sadistic travelers attention though was that, despite the woman’s claims her attire seemed exceptionally dry, only the sleeves of her garments displayed any streaks of moisture thereby making her allegations rather dubious at best. The absurdity of the situation however did not end there, for the awkward female did not demurely return to seat as most individuals would have, no that would have been far too simple, not too mention boring. Instead the demented woman actually New York’s resident bomber and inquired as to whether she might borrow his blade to cut a loose thread on her blouse, a thread which, by all appearances did not seem to exist…

It was a most bizarre situation, an utter abnormality and it entertained Hull to no end. This was different, this was new, this was interesting! An all too rare commodity in today’s world, and one which the morbid wanderer intended to enjoy to it’s fullest. Already the mismatched gears within his skull had begun turning, twisting his thoughts back into reminiscence as he replayed his memories of the past few minutes. A sinister grin gradually crept over his features as he recalled the blonde haired waitress who had entered the bathroom shortly after the odd female before him and the fascinating crash which had occurred shortly after…
“Why of course ma’am, I’d be utterly delighted to assist” The switch blade was idly twirled between argent fingers for the briefest of moments before suddenly snapping shut and falling into the wanderers open palm which was then freely offered to the demented girl before him. “If I might ask though, is this a thread which must be cut in the privacy of a bathroom?”

--

((OOC: My apologies for the delay and somewhat tame response, I shall endeavor to do better in the future.))

The man proceeded to twirl his knife around his fingers, sending a chilling tingle down Ahorta's spine, it fears were intoxicating. When he retracted the knife, Ahorta was about to take it to the bathroom with her, but he stopped her with the perfect question: would she need to cut the thread in the bathroom? The man's appearance, his knife games and the very tone of his voice reassured Ahorta that she had come to the right man. Then again, if she were not the right and that man was evil against her and her kind, she had no problem having him follow her into the bathroom to cut off the thread.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she needed to come up with an excuse to go with the knife...alone. "I think I must have one of those faces you can't help believing," she quoted a she patiently waited for the knife. "If you must know, I have a thread actually under my shirt. I don't think anyone wants me to strip right here, turn the shirt inside out and then cut it. Going back to the bathroom is a good idea.

Unfortunately, Ahorta's time was running short, she had to get the bathroom situation taken care of before anyone else entered the bathroom. What really got to her was how she was going to go back in there while the waitress had not returned and then leave again, still with the waitress in the restroom. It would be a sticky escape. Impatience began to take over and she took a deep breath to calm down. Honestly, she did not have much time and she doubted she'd make it very far before people start to realize what happened. Ahorta did not care, quite frankly. Her real task was to stop the monster in the bathroom before it grew and terrorized the city.

"It will only take a minute," she purred, trying to coax the man into giving her his knife, although he had already agreed.

The manager approached Ahorta and spoke "You say you slipped in water, right?" he asked, seeming to be completely trusting of the masked woman. She was a frequent visitor and the employees had become slightly accustomed to her.

"Yeah, sure did," she nodded.

"Then that must mean there is a broken pipe or something. I'll go in and check," he made a clicking noise with his mouth before turning around to go to the bathroom.

"Hey...um...Mr. Manager? It's pretty rude to just go into a female bathroom, especially when there are girls inside," she lied.

"Ummm, yeah, you're right, I will call up a plumber. In the meantime, can you put a Wet Floor Sign in there?" he asked.

"Sure thing." With that, the manager hustled to the back to get the sign while Ahorta turned to face the carving man again.

With his open palm still offering the argent blade to his latest acquaintance Hull’s pleasant demeanor faded slightly as the woman failed to take hold of the item she had requested. It appeared as though the girls attention had drifted somewhat for her gaze was no longer directed towards the macabre wanderers own emerald eyes, instead the strange woman’s focus had lowered, as though she were pondering the travelers question. Admittedly the query may have been somewhat odd, but considering the mental state of two individuals it was perhaps only to be expected. In either case after only a moment or two of silent cerebration the demented woman finally responded; weaving a slightly more substantial fabrication which could justify her return to the restroom.

Hull for his part continued to smile and nod his head idly, waiting for a moment to once again offer the girl his blade; he understood the therapeutic value one could derive from quotidian macabre bloodshed after all and he possessed no desire to detain the girl from her current task. Indeed he was doing what he could to ease and encourage her upon the path she had chosen, after all New York was a big place, it could use a few more interesting individuals with perspectives similar to his own.

Before the sinister wanderer could utter his reassurances and once again proffer his bladed instrument however the conversation was abruptly suspended as the self announced manager of the establishment ventured forth to inquire as to the state of the female restroom. Once the condition of the establishment had been conveyed and the ponderous dunce convinced of his own general ineptitude in life as well as plumbing the odd ingénue turned back to the demented traveler once more, her amber eyes flitting back briefly to the manager as she tracked his location before swiftly shifting back to her original target, her silent gaze focused upon the Argus blade balanced upon a silver tipped palm which had yet to stir.

‘And here I though I’d found another predator, yet instead I am greeted with a sheep in wolf’s clothing… what a pity, still I suppose she might provide a suitable distraction if nothing else.’

With an artificial grin adorning his fallaciously benevolent features the sadistic foreigner casually rose from his seat, one hand sweeping an idle trail over the metallic shaving he had generated seconds earlier, causing the metallic confetti to vanish a moment later. Hulls other hand gently placed the coveted switch blade atop the Formica countertop between himself and the clearly disturbed woman.

“I’ll just leave this here, all this talk of fluids seems to have made an impression, so if you don’t mind I shall have to step away for a while.”

Striding away without a backwards glance the morbid traveler moved languidly down to the end of diner, tossing the anxious looking manager a genial wave as he entered the shallow alcove which housed the entrance to both restrooms. Without pausing his pace Hull nonchalantly wandered into the male restroom and, after ensuring the room lacked any other occupants, quickly barred the door with a conveniently placed wooden wedged designed to act as a door stop.

It was high time someone caused a little disorder…

The room itself verily was nothing special; a simple collection of, porcelain, metal and plastic which one could easily find within any other construct. It truly would have been a crime to leave the room as it was; it had craved a new look, an extra character which, fortuitously, Hull happened to have in excess. A quick snap of the fingers had conjured the bloody apron the ex soldier had used mere minutes earlier, a swift clap of the hands soon followed, summoning one of the three cadavers the sadistic wanderer currently had in storage. A final snap had echoed through the air, revealing a back up blade which, although classed as a knife, would have put a machete to shame.

'Decisions decisions, should I start with the legs or the lungs? The foot or the femur? Screw it I'll just look for the funny bone.'

--
‘Whistle while you work.’
‘Manslaughter has its perks.’
‘For with each death there’s such a mess it simply can’t be left.
‘So grab the nearest tool.’
‘It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace.’

‘And as you hack the corpse.
‘Think of all the many ways the hull can be displayed.
‘And soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune…’
--

Barely 5 minutes had passed since Hull had crossed the threshold into the quaint/quotidian restroom maintained by the diner. Indeed before the twisted wanderers long overdue decorating session one could argue that the room had been far too plain.

There was little chance of such a claim now; streaks of scarlet fluid stained the previously alabaster floor tiles, slowly flowing down the room natural gradient. The true display though was nestled away in the last stall at the far corner of the lavatory where the crimson current of blood was at its thickest. The remnants of what could still, technically, be called a corpse was situated upon the open ceramic bowl, the cadavers hands had been severed at the wrists contributing greatly to the trickling cascade of crimson blood which now smeared the floor. The legs sported multiple puncture and lacerations some of which went down the bone, the most eye catching sight however would undoubtedly be the carcasses lower torso which had been roughly eviscerated and the majority of the entrails removed and cast about the stall as some obscene form of decoration, most notably upon the back wall of the stall which now sported a crude smiley face crafted from what appeared to be the victims intestines. The macabre depiction had been placed at precisely the eye level of the desecrated corpse as though to make up for its lack of a head.
Still whistling his perverse tune the killer calmly washed his hands in a nearby sink, watching idly as the crimson streams swiftly lost their hue. Hull was both pleased and disappointed that his session had passed without interruption; his satisfaction arose because he had been allowed to work in peace for once, a luxury he was not always able to enjoy. His discontent stemmed from the fact that he would now be unable to view the initial reaction to his art which, typically, were just as entertaining if not more so then the work itself.

It was time to move on though he had other things which needed doing; there were still many people left to maim and a vast array of structures to be destroyed after all. Still it wouldn’t hurt to check on the demented neophyte he had encountered a few minutes ago, she had shown some semblance of promise if nothing else, that and he still needed to retrieve his knife.

Taking care to vanish his scarlet apron before stepping outside the twisted wandered ventured calmly out of the male restroom before pausing in the alcove which housed the entrance to both bathrooms. He would scan the diner briefly and if he failed to spot the deranged woman he would enter the female restroom just to his left in hopes of finding her there.

Men, the dumbest of all species, but then again, the most vicious and violent. Her father had been one of them and she used to be scared of him when he'd throw her down the stairs or smash her into a wall or a mirror. Tisk tisk, breaking a mirror was seven years bad luck, which put her at about 196 years of bad luck, maybe she'd survive that long, maybe she'd have that long of a prison sentence, who knew? One thing was for certain though, the man had an eerie feeling to him, and Ahorta could not help but feel drawn to his personality. He was dark, mysterious and seemed to understand exactly what she meant by using the knife. As she was about to grab it and walk towards the bathroom, he excused himself from the table and bee-lined towards his own gender-assigned bathroom. It seemed he had found a dummy too that needed to be disassembled.

Curling her lips at the sudden retreat of the man, she took the opportunity to make use of the knife and she entered the bathroom. Sprawled out on the floor, the dummy lay completely unconscious. First things first, she needed to break off that obnoxious dummy mouth, so she went to work, sawing off the jaw. To her surprise, the dummy had teeth, dummies didn't have teeth, so she figured it was some sort of government project and she cut out each tooth once the jaw had been removed. Tossing the jaw in the toilet, she proceeded with the hands.

Every dummy had a little stick protruding from their hand to help the ventriloquist move their hands around, this one did not. So, she placed her hand on the toilet handle and corroded it off. The small handle stick was then shoved into the dummy's wrist and Ahorta spent a few minutes showing off with the hand and making sure it worked. The next hand, she used the toilet paper holder and had the same idea, pierce her wrist with it.

The pain had apparently caused the waitress to open her blood shot eyes. Scratching in shock and pain, she tried to scream, but found her jaw was missing and her jugular bleeding excessively. Trying to calm down the dummy, Ahorta began to brush her hair. "It's OK, I'll take care of you, you're not looking like a dummy much anymore," she smiled, grabbing the knife and staring it up or down.

"I'll tell you a bedtime story," she insanely cooed. The dummy needed to pass gently, or it could return to haunt her as a ghost. "Once upon a restaurant, there was a scared dummy. The dummy did not know it was dangerous and did not know that I knew what it was. Foolishly, the dummy tricked me, so I ripped off it's jaw. But little dummy had no strings, just like Pinnochio, so I gave you sticks. Now little dummy can't move, but it can see," right as she said that, the knife came crashing down into the woman's eye and she clawed at Ahorta until the crazy woman slit her throat.

Flipping the dead dummy on her stomach, Ahorta began to cut deep into her back, making a hole for her to put her hand through. Now it was time to show the world her dummy, they needed to know she was dangerous. Placing her hands on the stall, she corroded the door off of its hinges and placed the dead woman on it before replacing her base-coated gloves and wheeling her out. Outside of the door, there was already a scene as the water leaked from the broken toilet handle and carried the blood to the door where it seeped out and to the crowd outside. Bursting the door open, everyone was standing around, holding their mouths in disbelief as Ahorta brought the dummy out for all to see.

In shock, nobody said a word, one person fainted, and a few just threw up. Ahorta had cleansed them. Holding up a finger to the crowd, Ahorta picked up the jaw that she had placed in her pocket before leaving the bathroom and held it under the woman's top jaw. Moving it up and down, she made the dead woman her dummy and began to perform.

"I've got no strings
To hold me down
To make me fret, or make me frown
I had strings
But now I'm free
There are no strings on me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
That's the only way to go
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
I'm as happy as can be
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
I've got no strings
So I have fun
I'm not tied up to anyone
They've got strings
But you can see
There are no strings on me
Dutch puppet
You have no strings
Your arms is free
To love me by the Zuider Zee
Ya, ya, ya
If you would woo
I'd bust my strings for you
French puppet
You've got no strings
Comme ci comme ca
Your savoire-faire is ooh la la!
I've got strings
But entre nous
I'd cut my strings for you
Russian puppet
Down where the Volga flows
There's a Russian rendezvous
Where me and Ivan go
But I'd rather go with you, hey!"

The last word was sort of screamed and when she saw Hull, she grabbed the woman's stick and made her wave. Her eyes were bloodshot and her teeth had been grinding. If one thing calmed her down, it was the color red, and currently, it was all over her. "Now hear me! If any of you bloodthirsty, dummy loving, shit-eating, prostitute, bottom feeders take me away to the government: I'll burn your face off and wear it as a purse!"

((sorry, I didn't notice you replied))