Kidnap Slaughterfest (and This Time For Real)

[Alice the Chopper]

March 1st
Washington DC, Suburbs
9:13 PM

The boy, the DC Batter, or Dusty, whichever you would refer him by, was hastily thrown into the van. One of the thug like Ritualists took the wheel, while the other sat in the back with the harlequin and the young murderer, with an obviously look of "I don't really want to fucking be here" on his face. They had been driving around for several hours, and only stopped at one mysterious location, in which the female Ritualist changed out her clothing attire to something far more fitting of her persona. A leather jacket with cut off sleeves and various smiley patches upon it, a pair of pants made from similar material, tight fitting and obviously made from two separate materials; one being leg black, the other being red, stitched together in the middle. Her shirt was white and form fitting, plain as could be. This article would get it's red coloring later. Finally, the woman had painted her face like that of a circus clown, but only used shades of black and white to keep things simple. She hit a base of metal axe against her combat boots, back and forth, much like an anxious child would do with a toy. It appeared that the child was starting to come to, or at least gain some awareness, as they had attempted to knock him out mostly for shits and giggles. Whenever he was faking this state or not, that was unknown, but it was clear he wasn't any longer.

[INITIATE THEME]

"Hey Bozo!" It was apparent that was literally the driver's name, as he answered with a scruffy "yeah". "Flick the bulb on back here, it'z abzolutely delight-full." The clown burst out in laughter at her own joke, girlish giggling swinging back and forth from tainted and downright maniacal chuckling. Her personality seemed different than when the boy first met her, most likely because it was. No longer was the innocent personality dominant, as that would be counter-productive to the mission at hand, so manic was given the wheel. It was really nice having some sort of control over one's many faces, able to change them to fit any given situation. Truly, a sane one wouldn't be able to keep up with all this. And with a long sigh, the driver flicked the light on, giving the two killers a clear view of each other. "Didja like that one? I got a million!" The girl slapped her hands against her thighs, rubbing them as if she were cold, then deciding to rest them there, letting the axe rest as well between her legs.

"So, a woman vizitz the doctor becauze zhe haz zome terrible ztomach painz and zuzpectz zhe may be pregnant." The harlequin's accented tongue began as if she was telling a long story. "After the examination, the doctor tellz the woman, "Well, I hope you like changing diapers!"" The last bit was done in an awful American accent. "Of courze the woman repliez with joy, "Am I pregnant? Am I pregnant?!"" Again with that awful mockery of a States accent, likely purposely bad for the sake of the joke but that was indeterminable. The Ritualist barely got the next sentence out, as it seems she was already cracking up at the punchline in her head. "No! The doctor repliez, "You got bowel cancer!"" After it was finally out, Alice absolutely lost it, laughing hysterically and quite psychotically at her own dark joke. The thug let out a nervous laugh, afraid to not laugh for some reason, as he clearly wasn't genuinely amused by any of this. He'd rather be at home smoking a fine cigar while reading the paper to soft jazz. He was beginning to think the mafia would've suited him better, but whatever, his thoughts aren't exactly important.