Somewhere else, in a quiet room, a jar is set onto the table. Someone ponders for a while, turning the jar this way and that, scrutinizing its awful contents, before realising - oh dear. The camera. That was one thing he couldn't take in that rush. Well, that made the entire trip useless.
".... Moron. You couldn't have left without making a scene, could you?"
With the camera left behind, there wasn't much else he could use to extract the information he wanted. Hmm. Should he reopen the portal or should he leave it as it is?
Internal programming was compelling him to open it again. Strange, he overrode that so long ago. Opening it was a stupid thing to do, then. Would end up dropping more evidence all over the place.
Oh! But he did drop a match. That might be evidence against him. If he even had fingerprints. But if they matched the remains together with the ones that might still be in the locked cell of the Durem Police Department - ah, maybe they didn't think that far. He could bank on that for a while.
The fire does a quick work of the body, turning every last bit of goop still leaking from any twitching appendages into liquid kerosene. As quickly as it had started, it burnt itself out, leaving a humanoid (well, headless humanoid) shell that was only a few minutes ago lively and animated.
But a stray gust of wind upsets that delicate framework of the shell, and it crumbles completely into white powder. Other than that there was hardly a trace left - chillingly efficient.
A head of fluffy yellow hair popped out through the portal, more than slightly annoyed at what was taking Mophead so long. But the he caught sight of the figures right below, one doubled over in enough pain to silence him. Oh. And with the bunch of security people a bit away, he quickly pieced together the situation.
It took him no longer than five minutes to grab a jar and lean out the portal, ripping roughly the top half of the fugitive's head off to put inside, and drop a lighted match onto the rest before hurriedly closing the portal, ignoring the renewed screams.
Ah, there it is.The blue portal had been placed on one of the building's walls, just like how it was planned. Good then, and just in time too. Erhard caught sight of the security staff closing in, and nope, he was not going with them again. But here lies another problem.
The portal's bottom was at his head height. Damn Pendleton and his calculation errors. It was going to take a while to climb in.
He grabbed hold of the edge of the portal and pushed himself up with a huff. There, now to crawl in.
Tyrone jumps into the helicopter along with the assistant commissioner. Although she told him putting personal bias aside was the best bet right now, the detective couldn't help but disobey orders. Things that were happening were just as much his fault as it was Robin's. Besides, Sydney was a third party to all of this, and he'd already been there for the detective when he was in a pinch...
Getting dragged along by his hand was not really a nice thing to do - for one, it pretty much either scared everyone at the airport lobby with the hand latched onto one of the sliding glass panels, and two - his legs were pretty much useless since he had moved the goop there to make the 'arm rope', as one might put it, but they still hurt like hell getting dragged uselessly under him. At least it was not a long ride, once he caught up to the hand and got flung out onto the road by the momentum. Oh good.
Now, where was that waiting place? He fixed his hand and pulled on the glove and the ribbon, then started looking around for that blue 'escape hole'.
It didn't break. No time for a second try, then. And with his luck a plane might go by while he was jumping out the window... Yeesh. He was not planning to peel himself off a plane's engine blades anytime soon! But well, his hand wasn't exactly annihilated either, just his fingers and wrist had crumbled under the impact. It was good enough.
Normally it was going against his own standards to use this, but it's an emergency, wasn't it. In that case -
He swung his hand at the door and threw his half-broken hand across the room. It landed on the ground outside the door, then quickly upped onto its fingers and scrambled off. Now, as long as no one happened to accidentally step on a 'giant spider' he should be alright. The thinning line of goop still connecting the hand and the rest of his arm would yank him along the moment it found the exit.
So now Erhard looked back at Sydney, wondering what his reaction might be. Did Tyrone inform him of any tricks he might pull off? And then again this might tell him just how much he knew.
Yep, that's it. He sighed. Looks like he'll have to do it the hard way too. The ribbon he slips quietly out of his hair the moment eye contact was broken and tied it around his wrist. Glove he took off and stuffed into his pocket, he'd need that later. Now, since his legs were pretty much useless, he'd have to take from there. As always.
Then he turns around and slams the fist against the window. Let's see if this was reinforced. Probably might be, after all, it had to withstand any air pressure discrepancies from the planes that moved past. Pretty sight, not so pretty structure.
Therefore, if it didn't break under his hand, it would break his. Either way it should help. In theory. He'd never attempted this kind of impromptu disappearing trick before.
He edges towards the left window, hoping that the pilot wouldn't notice. Well, it was worth a shot. Gravity could do the job of lugging him further away.
Oh. So he was going to make that call, after all. His eyes darkened in disappointment, and he gave up sneaking to the window, instead outright just walks there and leans against the glass, arms folded across his chest.
"I'm not dead. I am a living and breathing pilot."
Sydney Darell: Pilot; lover of mussels; Worst Photographer Ever | Profile