Scene 1.5 - No. 8 Grange St.

A WWII Cthulhu adventure run by Sadohara
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Scene 1.5 - No. 8 Grange St.

Post by Sadohara »

CRUMP

The sound of distant droning engines had come first, followed by the air raid siren that had been silent for so many months now.

Then the horrid percussion of AA fire from several of the new emplacements in in Central London. So it was hard to say it came as a surprise when the first load fell on the city. The surprise was that it fell on near No. 8 Grange St.

The Westcott home shook with the dull thump of high explosives and dust rained down from the rafters in the attic and the floorboards above the cellar.

The Luftwaffe, it seemed to the occupants of No. 8, was back.
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Post by Sadohara »

Mr. & Mrs. Connor had wisely taken refuge in the cellar, what with Mr. Connor not being able to make it to the air raid shelter quickly enough. Judith, the Connor's twenty-three year old daughter, though, was nowhere to be seen.
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Post by Westcott »

"Bloody hell," Anne grunts as she yanks open the heavy bomb-shelter door. She'd sprinted through the yard after checking on the Connorses in the cellar. Missus was beside herself with worry over Judith, the little tart.

Even if she's not in here, Anne thinks, grimacing as she continues to tug at the door, at least I'll get some time to myself. Truth be told, she is more than a little frightened of the raids, and abhors when others notice her shortcomings.

Finally, the door budges open just enough for her to slip inside. She has thought far enough ahead to have brought fresh batteries for the torch, and the 'emergency pack' containing a tin opener, a jar of Devon cream, a handful of fruit, and a dozen or so of her Grandfather's most prized books. Just in case.
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Post by Sadohara »

At least ten minutes in the shelter had passed. Anne clicked off the torch, and sighed heavily. The sound of hits had passed and was replaced by the strange super-calm that follows in the wake of a bombing raid. The general rule was to wait another 20 minutes to ensure the citizenry didn't emerge into the middle of the second wave, but Anne Westcott wasn't one for following the general rule.

She moved to the steel door of the shelter and paused, holding her ear to the door. Easing the door open, her face was greeted by a cool breeze, gentle and refreshing. Then her ears picked up the sound of faint rustling. Peering through the half open door, Anne Westcott's eyes were drawn to the the far side of her midsized London yard where three men were rapidly and quietly pulling in and folding several large silk parachutes, German assault rifles slung at their sides and swastika bands round their left arms. The three were covered, head to toe, in tight-fitting grey jumpsuits, including hoods with black masks, reminiscent of WWI gas masks, concealing their faces.

Anne caught sight of another of their number, crouched unmoving above the roof gables at the rear of her home. Only his head swivelled slowly back and forth, what little light there was catching the deep red lenses of his mask's goggles.

Anne's eyes widened at the sight of these invaders and widened even further as one of the men in the yard pointed up at a large square of white cloth which was hung out of the window of her own third floor bedroom. Chutes folded, the three men unslung their rifles and began moving towards the rear kitchen door of Westcott Manor, watched over by the silent Nazi gargoyle.
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Post by Westcott »

Bloody Krauts, Ann whispers to herself. What've they done, hanging my good linens all over the bloody neighbourhood for?

She crouches in the darkness, wondering if Mr. & Mrs. Connor could hear the footfalls above them as they huddled in the basement.

Not likely I'd think to get a pistol for the shelter, she admonishes ruefully. All right, four of them, possibly three of us...where's Churchill when you need him then?

She watches them approach her home, open the kitchen door, and remembers her grandmother's kidney pies, baked in the old wood stove.
Anne tucks her knapsack under a loose panel in the bottom step, sneaks out of the bomb shelter, and sprints round the back, close to where they must have landed.

"Cor!" she shouts out, hoping they didn't see her run through the yard, "What the hell do you think you're doing over there?"
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Post by Sadohara »

Four heads swivelled in Anne's direction. The lead Nazi, closest to the rear kitchen door, snapped his grey, leather-clad fingers in her direction and one of the other men bolted across the yard in her direction.

His run was nearly silent but for the gentle rustling of fabrics and the quiet scrape of metal against metal as he drew a long poinard from beneath his cloak.
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Post by Westcott »

Ann breaks into a sprint. She realises she's got their attention.

"Hallo, yes, you there, what are you about at my kitchen door!?" She feels her heart racing, swallows a sudden wave of frightened nausea, and picks up her pace. It's only just a few more feet to the door, she thinks, and then what'll I do?
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Post by Sadohara »

It takes but a moment for the leather-clad Nazi with his red lensed goggles to reach Westcott as she run towards her home.

*Nazi (Body 3, Grapple 3) rolls 0,8,3,4,0,2. No trump or expert dice were declared. Height 10, Width 2 or 2x10)*
*Westcott (Body 3, Resist 2) rolls 8,2,9,5,6. 0x0)*

The intruder swiftly and, with an efficiency of movement startling even to Ann, wraps his left hand about her throat and curls around her with his arm, bringing her to a sudden stop. The poinard, in his right hand, jabs menacingly into the midriff of her woolen sweater.

His hand is warm, his demeanor is not.
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Post by Westcott »

Oh Good Show, Annie. That's about the stupidest thing you've ever done. What's next, then, an heartfelt appeal to his overwhelming sense of humanity?

She struggles halfheartedly, but feeling the point of the blade against her ribcage and the tightening of his grip, she soon stops her wriggling.

"Isn't it enough to have reduced the garden to ruin, now you have to track your filthy boots all over my clean floor?" she grunts as he tightens his grip on her throat.

Her mind races. What the hell is she going to do? As far as she knows, the Connorses are still in the cellar; it would probably kill Mr. Connor to see a bunch of Krauts in the kitchen. His old heart would just explode, and...

...she mustn't think like that, she scolds herself.

Really, she tries to convince her own mind, there are only two possibilities. Either they will kill me here and now, in which case I haven't much say in the matter, and might as well make my peace (remember to make peace, Annie); or they will not kill me here and now, in which case, given enough time, I shall come up with a way out of this. Possibly involving some soon-to-be-dead Germans. I won't hold my breath.

She immediately forgets to 'make her peace' and gives another halfhearted wriggle, just to let this bugger know she's no flimsy girl.
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Post by Sadohara »

As she wriggles, Westcott's captor tightens his grip around her neck. He looks up to the roofline where the gargoyle-like Nazi has swung down and through the open window. The gargoyle disappears briefly. then his head and rifle re-emerge from the window, just above the square of red linen. Another silent motion to the Nazis on the ground and the entire cadre tromp up the rear step and into the kitchen, Ann Westcott in tow.
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Post by Westcott »

"Wipe your feet, Krauts" she croaks, trying desperately to see in the darkness if there is anything she can secret away without their noticing, given the chance. They're so bloody calm, she thinks, and only then begins to wonder what they're after. Maybe they're in all the houses up the block. Probably just the silver, she figures; there couldn't possibly be anything else of interest for them in the house.
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Post by Sadohara »

The invaders do not oblige, but thankfully their boots were not dirty. Nazis were as meticulous in their combat dress as they were about their parade uniforms, it seemed. One of the soldiers holds his weapon on her, and the grip at her throat eases somewhat. The remaining solider begins to sweep the front rooms.

Hearing a creak on the stairs, Ann looks up, expecting the roof Nazi to descend. Instead, Judith Connors appears first, her blonde hair curled up to the sides of her head, looking composed, even dignified. She is followed by the roof Nazi, his assault rifle at his side.

"Ms. Westcott," Judith says, her voice trembling slightly, "Just tell them where the books are and they will be on their way. Don't make this harder than it must be."
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Post by Westcott »

"The b-- Judith! What on earth were you doing upstairs?" Ann attempts to wriggle free of the soldier's grasp, succeeding in the process in making him hold her even more tightly. The business end of his dagger pierced painfully through her heavy sweater. "Thank God your parents got out before they started blasting from here to hell's half acre and back."

She scowled a little at the young woman, partly in disgust at her having been captured somewhere in the house - she was probably hiding in a closet or under a bed or doing her very best to apply rouge in the dark. The scowl was also due in part to frustration, realising that of course it was the only thing of real value in the house they were after. She'd heard stories of how they'd raided museums and ferreted away antiquities in the name of das Vaterland. How on earth they'd come across her little collection of rare books was beyond her comprehension, though.
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Post by Sadohara »

"The books, Ms. Westcott. Please."

Judith's fear and desperation is palpable. Her arms are crossed and each hand clenches tightly around the opposite upper arm, white knuckles visible.

"Just tell them and this will all be over. Please."

Then, in the dead silence between the two women and the 4 Nazis, a loud pounding comes from the front door.

"Ms. Westcott? Squadron Leader MacLean, 422 Squadron, RAF. I'd like a word with you, if you please."
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Post by Westcott »

That's a spot of luck, Ann thinks; now would be a lovely time to have an attack of the vapours. The Nazi's accent was thick and cold; she wants to shout out to the familiar accents behind the front door. But she thinks better of it at the last moment. If she hollers for help, the monster at her back will tighten his grip, and his dagger is right in her back already. The one behind Judith will most likely just shoot her.

Then again, if she screams, the fellows outside will know there's something wrong inside - they won't just assume nobody is in the house. She wonders how many of them are out there - probably they've already sent men around back to search the bomb shelter, and certainly they wouldn't send just a handful, so there must be more men running around to the kitchen door. She pictures half a dozen men on her front step, in helmets and carrying rifles, and bursting through to come to their rescue any second. "God Save the Queen" begins to play in her mind's ear and she thinks fondly of Churchill, even though she's never seen the man personally.

She is jerked roughly back to reality by the sudden motion of the Nazis.
Maclean

Post by Maclean »

Seconds go by as Ron shifts his weight from foot to foot. Nervous tonight, hey Ron? They're only books after all, he convinces himself. He raps on the door again, this time with more force.

"Ms. Wescott? It's of utmost importance that I speak with you." Hmm, something doesn't feel right, he thinks to himself, looking around.

After a moment of thought, Ron turns to his squad. "MacTeague. Crutcher. Take a look around the house. Look for a rear entrance or any signs of activity. Call out if you find something."

"Wexman, get this door open. We'll apologize to Ms. Westcott afterwards."

Ron feels an anxious tingle as the hair on the bakc of his neck suddenly stiffens.
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Post by Sadohara »

The Nazi-in-charge holds his finger to his mask where his lips ought to be, indicating silence. Two heads swivel towards the front door, while the Gargoyle and the brute holding Westcott pull back into the kitchen, out of sight of the front door.

As she is moved, Anne catches movement out the corner of her eye through the kitchen window. Two sturdy chaps with weapons, just past the corner of the house - one in civvies, the other wearing a distinctly naval looking set of fatigues.
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Post by Westcott »

For the first time that evening, possibly for the first time in her entire life, Ann weighs the risks and thinks of all the possible consequences for the action she wants to take. They're here already, she thinks, and the last of them has just gone around the back. It shan't take them long to burst in here and put down these bloody Nazis. If I bugger this up by screaming, there's no telling what kind of hell is going to break loose. Her eyes dart wildly around the kitchen, searching in the dark for anything she can use as a weapon when the 'cavalry' bursts through the door.

Then again, her overactive mind spins on, perhaps they'll think all is well and just go on their way to the Buhrmans' down the way. That would be a beastly thing...

She decides finally to suppress her urge to make a ruckus and allow the Nazis to do their best to hide themselves until Churchill's boys come through the door. She hopes the Connors, who, as far as she knows, are still hiding in the cellar, have the good sense to stay down there until they see a light past the cellar door. Mrs. Connor usually takes no chances with her husband's condition, Ann reminds herself, as much for comfort as for anything else. The most excitement she lets him have these days is a bit of marmalade on his toast.
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Post by Maclean »

As Wexman heaves his weight against the door, a cold sweat breaks upon Ron's brow. Why am I so worked up? She's probably just in the bomb shelter. The house is empty. We'll confirm that shortly. And yet... he snaps back to attention as Wexman successfully forces the door open.

"Excellent work chap. Now, stay sharp!" Ron unconsciously unholsters his pistol and steps inside.
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Post by Sadohara »

The front door of No. 8 Grange St. flew open, banging hard against the doorstop inside the hall. Outside, the air smelled sharp and crisp. A shadowy figure stepped through the door, a Webley revolver gripped tightly with both hands.

"No!" Judith Connors hissed, under her breath. "Those fools have killed him! You've killed him!" She looked at Anne, her eyes rimmed with tears. "Why couldn't you just have given them the books?" she asked, her voice becoming louder. "Why?" The young blonde woman, who had not been restrained by the invaders, lunged at Anne, screaming wordlessly.

Startled, the silent man gripping Anne steps back, releasing his hold as his dagger hand falls away from ribcage.

-----

A head appeared around the corner of a door frame towards the rear of the house, followed by the nose of a Sten gun. A burst of sharp yet strangely quiet gunfire rang out in the dark front hall. (Nazi 1 fires at MacLean: Suppressing fire, Guns 3 + Coordination 3 = 3,6,8,8,9,0)
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Post by Westcott »

Ann stands perfectly still, with the exception of allowing her jaw to drop completely open. As Judith reaches for Ann's throat, her fingers clenched into claws, Ann regains enough of her senses to step to the side of the lunge, her mind slowly processing what Judith had said.

Very, very slowly processing what Judith had said.

The situation in front of her takes precedence to processing Judith's hysterical screeches, and Ann drops to the floor, covering the back of her head with her hands. Eventually, that madwoman will come after me down here, Ann tells herself.
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Post by Maclean »

Bloody hell!. Startled by the gunfire, MacLean instictively raises his pistol and fires back at the shadowy shape poking around the kitchen corner. After a few squeezes of the trigger, he dives to the wide hallway to the right.

Just what I need, a close-quarters fire fight. Lovely. Ron turns back to the door, "Wexman, we got company. Don't go too easy on 'em, chap."

As an after-thought, he blurts "And keep on eye out for Ms. Westcott."
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Post by Westcott »

"Yes, hello, in here. I'll just wait until you're done, then." Ann shouts, quite a lot more timidly than she had thought she would do. Crawling on her belly, she does her very best to get under the roll-top desk.
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Post by Sadohara »

The RAF man's bullets snapped towards the kitchen, one crashing through the rear kitchen window over the sink, another burying itself in the kitchen door frame. The Nazi pulled back into the kitchen.

(MacLean: Suppressing fire, Guns 1 + Coordination 4 = 3,3,4,6,0; Nazi 1: rolls 0 for chance of being hit by suppressing fire)

In the kitchen, the lead Nazi, or the Gargoyle, as Ann had come to think of him, gestured twice quickly at his comrades. It was clear that they were to delay the British rescuers at the front door as long as they could.

With a loud bang, the rear kitchen door swung inwards and a queer Toronto accent with a light Conway lilt shouted from the backyard: "Ms. Westcott? Are you in there, ma'am?"

The second Nazi, who had until very recently had hold of Ann, crouched and whirled, aiming the barrel of his Sten gun out the back towards the kitchen door, waiting.

The third Nazi, unable to restrain Judith, joined his grey-clad friend at near the front entrance to the kitchen with his pistol drawn.

There was a moment of silence. The Gargoyle beckoned to Ann Westcott. Speaking in English through his strange gas-mask like head gear, he hissed, "Msss. Wesssstcott, your grandfather occult book collection, pleasssse. I will sshoot her, if not." He waved his rifle in the direction of the now helpless, nearly formless Judith Connor as she sobbed near the centre of the kitchen floor.

The short silence was broken by further gunfire from the front of the house, as Ssgt. Wexman fired and moved into the hallway, taking shelter near the wooden door leading to the cellar.
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Post by Westcott »

Ann peeks out from under the desk. She winces at the sight of the insect-like gargoyle in front of her. For a moment, the briefest of moments, Ann thinks, better her than me, and she's been such a disappointment to her parents anyway, then forcibly tells herself to banish such thoughts. But she can't help herself. Granddad's books are probably worth more than that tart, her mind continues, and she bites the fleshy part of her palm to keep those thoughts away.

"Er," Ann croaks from her safety under her grandfather's hall desk, "yes, well, I've sold much of it, I'm afraid. What's left is in the attic, in the steamer trunk. Please don't kill Judith."

There are, of course, books in that trunk. Not the very valuable ones that Ann has ferreted away elsewhere, but a good collection of scholarly works on various world theologies, one or two paperbacks about ESP and seances, and a handful of atlases and encyclopaedias that, she felt, looked nice enough to pack away until the threat of their being reduced to rubble was past. At the very bottom were her own schoolbooks and a couple of books from her father's office. Hopefully, Ann thinks, while that bugger's looking in there, it'll buy us some time.
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Post by Sadohara »

"You go upssstairss now," the gargoyle said, motioning at Ann with his gun, "I follow." His voice was unquestionably strange, but it wasn't the accent. Still she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

(Ann rolls Language (2) + Mind (4): Unsuccessful)

She rose unsteadily and mounted the stairs, quite mindful of the gunfire that rattled the china in the cabinet and sent splinters of wood flying from doorjams. The Gargoyle turned and followed her, up to the attic.
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Post by Sadohara »

"Smoke's up, lads, hold your fire - we're coming in," called the Chief from the rear of the house. Seconds later, there was the sound of something metal landing on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. One of the Nazi's turned to look and it began to belch thick greenish smoke.

In less than 10 seconds, the kitchen was filled with a thick green smoke, obscuring the vision of all concerned parties.

"Now, Crutcher!" the Chief hissed and the two men stormed into smoke from the rear of the kitchen.
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Post by Sadohara »

Having climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, Ann looked left and right, finally finding the chest with the volumes she remembered.

The Gargoyle, gun at the ready, followed her gaze.

"Open, pleassse," he hissed, "and no f-f-funny buzzinessss."

Ann knelt and flipped the latches to the steamer trunk, as the Gargoyle moved closer behind her, peering over her shoulder. This was the second time she'd been this close to one of her captors, but the first time she was not being held at knife point.

With the leather gasmask so close, she noted two things. There was no hiss of indrawn breath through the filters and the very faint scent of rancid cheese.
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Post by Westcott »

Ann's heart begins to race. She hadn't realised until now just how long she'd been operating on adrenaline and sheer panic. She had to get away from this ...man?

"I'm afraid in all the confusion, I've left the key downstairs," she says, her voice quavering more than she had thought it would. She points to the large steamer lock on the front of the box. "It's in the study, in the desk." She rolls back on her heels, wondering if she would feel the cold press of metal at her back again...or at her throat.
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Post by Sadohara »

As Ann rolled back on her heels, the Gargoyle moved. He swung his rifle stock into the hasp of the lock on the chest, snapping the lock off suddenly and very loudly.

Then, using the barrel of his gun, he began to lift up the lid of the trunk.

From the stairwell below, wisps of greenish-white chemical smoke had begun to drift into the attack. Sounds of sporadic gunfire could still be heard from the kitchen itself. It sounded as though the invaders were giving her countrymen a hard time.
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Post by Westcott »

Taking the opportunity presented her with the Gargoyle distracted by the hasp of the lock and the contents of the trunk, Anne grabs the oak table leaf for the dining room table. She swings it wildly at the back of the Gargoyle's head.

"Help!" She yells, "The bastards have me up here!" And for added effect, she screams as loudly as she can, feeling something tear in her throat.
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