Difference between revisions of "4761/One Bizarre Bar Joke"

Latest revision as of 06:38, 7 November 2016

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    Having already been to see Union Medical's techs about her injuries, there's not much Mel can do but take the potions (why does she keep getting the mages?) they gave her, and keep her strength up. That means eating. Her appetite is already prodigious, so easy access to large meals is even more important now.

    Which explains why she's in the Bar and Grill, seated at a booth near the middle of a side wall, with a few different plates of appetizers in front of her. She's wearing her usual Marshal jumpsuit, but has left the longcoat behind and undone the upper half of it to uncover the comfy black tanktop beneath; the upper portion of the outfit pools around her waist like a tied sweater, and the brusing along the left side of her body - particularly her arm, but there's some all the way up her shoulder, a bit along her collarbone, and even her face - is all the more visible for it.

    Needless to say, there's a weapon resting against the side of the booth, a long-bladed Japanese-style sword, with a white cloth wrapped around the crossguard and sheath to show 'peace-bonding' in a place like the Grill. That won't stop a certain other someone from potentially showing herself as well, though. Probably.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  A person can order just about anything in the Bar and Grill, whether they have a human palate or not. The food is of the highest quality, and the chefs must be masters of their craft to please their clientele consistently. They also must be skilled, because they're catering to every sort of palate in existence! From that perspective, the consistent quality is actually quite impressive.

  Such good food might explain why there's a priest banging through the doorway without much regard for the atmosphere. The Bar and Grill can be rowdy sometimes, so a loud arrival won't do much to distract from one's meal. The scent of blood might, though -- the figure stumbling through the door is yawning almost lazily into one hand.

  Heinkel Wolfe is a fairly androgynous-looking figure, tall and lanky, dishwater blonde hair cut short and carelessly ragged. A long black overcoat is slung over her arm, and under it she wears a simple charcoal halter top, and fingerless gloves over her hands. Around her neck dangles an iron cross on a leather thong, slightly chewed-looking.

  The paladin stops in mid-stride, and the space cop in the jumpsuit is given a long look, although it's impossible to see where she's looking under those opaque lenses.

  "...Hunh." It's both a grunt and an acknowledgement as Heinkel drops into the other side of the booth with a toothy grin. (Are her canines just a little bit long?) "I think I saw your file. You're vit' the Union, ja?"

  The voice is distinctly androgynous, gruff; and strongly accented in German.

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    It's only natural; Mel herself has long since gotten into the habit of sizing people up when she enters a room, or when they do. Heinkel probably gets the same treatment, but she's judged a nonthreat, so there's no issue there. She waits a few moments to see what the woman will be doing; surprisingly enough, it proves to be 'coming to have a seat at her table', which Mel decides isn't really an issue at the moment. "That's me, yeah. Marshal Mel Brock." She sets down the spicy tuna roll she's working on, and holds out her right hand to offer a shake. "This is my sword, Hravn. Good to meet you, uh...?"

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  Heinkel wads up her overcoat and stuffs it into the booth next to her. One probably doesn't want to know too well where that's been, because it smells like blood and looks a little like it too. The woman seems unconcerned, and her sizing-up of Mel is equally unconcerned; at ease.

  Right hand is met with right hand. Her grip is strong. "Heinkel Volf." Pause. "Wolfe," she adds, a little awkward around her own accent. The sword is given a cursory look, but apparently she missed the memo where it talks; the look she gives it is dismissive. "I'm a priest. Paladin, technically, of the Catholic church. I'm also assigned to the Union as an ally."

  "In fact..." There's a short pause as she flags down waitstaff to order something, before turning her attention back to Mel. "Ve'll proably be vorking together, if you haf a habit of dealing with... 'messy situations.'" Heinkel gives a toothy grin. "The division I vork for in the church, Iscariot, specialises in that kind of thing."

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    "Much as I want to refute that, I really can't," Mel replies, settling back in her seat a bit. She returns to her food with gusto, managing to eat and talk quite handily. "If you got a look at my file, you should know the basics. I'm the cop they call when something can't be handled by the cop they call to handle stuff /ordinary/ cops can't. Still a police officer, they just slide me the tricky cases that take a high degree of both training and authority to properly wrangle. And of course," she adds, reaching out to pick up her drink, "I'm a Union Elite. Which means I also get to go out and handle the 'fun' stuff."

    The marshal holds up her left arm, indicating the bruising. Fun.

    "But it sounds like you know /that/ part pretty well too."

Heaven's Armory (1014) has posed:
    There wasn't anyone in the chair to Mel's right, but now there is. The little pop of air being pushed out of the way and the sparks are easily missed, before Hravn, wearing her customary yellow outfit that seems overdressed for the joint, is sitting there and adding onto the order.
    "Grilled sandwich, please. Chef's special." 'Surprise me' would have been fine for her, too. She's just in it to try things, and doesn't have Ari's appetite.
    Heinkel gets a pleasant smile and slight nod. She's already been introduced, so she doesn't say anything else.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  It's not long before one of the employees delivers another entree to the table, and this one is a steak platter of some kind. It's not an expensive cut, but also not an inexpensive one, and it looks distinctly on the raw side. There are places where it's still pink.

  Heinkel seems to make a point of eating the garnish before the actual steak. "Ja. I'm the person who gets called in vhen things go to Hell in a handbasket, and the local authorities are either useless. Or eaten." She wobbles a hand demonstratively. "Usually 'eaten.' Ghouls, they're messy business. I also get to go handle the fun stuff, because nobody else in Iscariot is really equipped to handle that kind of thing."

  She thought about that once. It devolved into slightly demented giggling at trying to imagine a fired-up Anderson or Yumie handling things diplomatically or being mindful of protocol and collateral damage.

  "Ja, I do. Handled a few cases, myself. Usually ends poorly. In fact, it almost alvays ends poorly. Violently, too."

  And then there's somebody sitting in the chair next to Mel. Heinkel is absurdly proud of herself for /not/ going three feet straight up into the air, but she does look a little rattled. "...Ja?" A finger is jabbed at the newcomer. "And who the hell are /you/?"

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    There's a few seconds where Mel is just kind of staring at Heinkel. Finally, she replies with a dry, "'Hell in a handbasket.' Ha. Ha ha ha." She sees what you did there, priest. "But that sounds rough, in all seriousness. I still haven't had to deal with any real, uh... 'end of days' stuff I guess. Zombies, vampires, haven't had much of that. I am operating in one world where they're past the apocalypse and into the 'islands of humanity' stage, though. Feel pretty bad for 'em."

    Mel blinks, glances at the sword, and then back at Heinkel. "...Already introduced you. My sword, Hravn. Say hi, Hravn." That's quickly becoming a catchphrase with Mel.

Heaven's Armory (1014) has posed:
    "Hello, miss Wolfe." Hravn is still smiling, even as Heinkel rudely points and acts like they weren't just introduced. "I am Hravn, of those called Heaven's Armory." And then her eyes sort of drift as she waits with legs crossed, hands on knee, anticipating her coming sandwich. That doesn't take long, really, since the steak already arrived.
    She proves a careful eater. Napkin between fingers and bread.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  Somehow Heinkel manages to convey a bland stare despite those opaque lenses, and only after a few long seconds of it does she show her teeth again in a grin almost insolent. She might be a priest, but that doesn't mean she's the same fire-and-brimstone flavour as so many others. Life's too short for that, and she takes a much less literal meaning from the scriptures she cherishes.

  "I don't know if I'd go so far as to say it's the End of Days, but it's still a problem. Ve even vork vit the English Protestants vhen ve haf to." Heinkel's expression suggests she's not altogether happy with that detail, but they do what they have to do. "Somebody's creating ghouls. Think of them as... I don't know. Shitty vampires, maybe. They haf the same need for blood, but they haven't really got a brain any more. They aren't really people, just valking bloodlust."

  Shrugging, she leans back against the booth back, eyeing Hravn. That much is clear only by the fact that her head is turned fully to the sword; those opaque lenses block her eyes completely. Why she might need something like that in such a dim room, it's hard to say.

  "Anyvay, somebody's /creating/ them. I don't know how. I also don't know vhy. I just know it has to stop."

  Heinkel turns her attention back to Mel. "Ehhh." Her nose wrinkles. "Ja, ja. I know, I know. I should be used to this kind of thing, because multiverse, but I don't think I'll ever get used to it." She still offers her right hand to Hravn, though. Shake? "Vell, nice to meet you more directly, I guess. Can't say I've ever talked to a sword before." There's a short pause.

  "At least, I've never had one /answer/ me before."

Heaven's Armory (1014) has posed:
    Hravn's attention refocuses when Heinkel addresses her, and it looks less like she's off in some other world. (More accurately, she's focusing on the rather different sort of sight she has from the exposed hilt of her true body.) The sandwich is put down as she considers the offered hand, and then considers several possible ways to explain why she is not accepting it, settling a moment later on...
    "Excuse me, touching is not permitted."
    ...not really explaining it any understandable way at all.
    So she puts that aside, and resumes smiling. "I do understand us to be rare. Rather, my sisters and I were the only ones like us in my world. And yet, there are some others, out here on other worlds."

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    "...they almost /do/ sound like zombies, just... blood instead of brains," Mel murmurs, thoughtful. "Well, uh. I've never had to hunt the undead, but I can always give it a shot. And investigation is something I can do pretty well. Comes with the territory. So if there's somewhere on that front I can help with, gimme a call." This is the point where the waiter finally bring her main course: a huge, piled-high hamburger, with an appropriately-sized serving of fries. She starts right in... only to pause briefly at Hravn's reaction.

    "She, uh. There's a weird thing about who's allowed to touch her. No one's supposed to but a qualified wielder. It's nothing against you, just... built-in rules I guess."

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "Oh. Sorry." Heinkel raises her brows but withdraws her hand, and that seems to be the end of the matter. It's not really easy to find common ground with something as inhuman and alien as a sword. "I see. Vell, that's good to know, anyvay."

  So, she focuses her attention on the conversation with Mel. "Something like that, ja. They're basically zombies. Ve used to think it vas the vampires, vhatever ones are left, that made them, but lately our teams haf been finding some kind of microchip in them. They're being created, ja, but not by vhat ve thought. The question is, vhy?"

  "Some of our information specialists haf been able to trace some of them to a group called the Millennium Organisation, but ve don't know who they even are, vhat they vant, or vhere they come from." The priest furrows her brow, shrugging. "All I know is that vherever ve find their influence, it gets messy, fast. Usually bloody. I'm vaiting on a report from Father Anderson. He's a paladin, also vit Iscariot. Sort of my superior, sort of my associate." She wobbles her hand again, noncommittally. "Ve haf divisions vorking on some samples of the chips. I'm hoping ve'll know more about them once ve haf some more information back from the labs."

  Huh. Labs. These are some pretty well-equipped priests, or they know how to pull strings pretty well. Going by Heinkel's example, they're probably a bit rough around the edges, too.

  The priest frowns, thoughtfully. "Hnn. Vell, if you're offering, you vouldn't be turned avay. I vouldn't mind some help, personally. My partner vas recalled back to the Vatican for the time being, so I hafen't really got the same level of backup." Her headtilts slightly as she studies Mel, and she shows her teeth again, friendly-like. "You'd be compensated, of course. It's not exactly easy vork, but you probably knew that."

  That grin falters, because she's looking at the sheer amount of food on that plate. It's enough food to eat even her most ravenous days under the table. Come to think of it, she's not sure if Anderson eats a disproportionate amount of food or not; his regeneration factor is orders of magnitude stronger than hers.

  "Hunh. Oh vell." This, to Mel's explanation of the sword. "My business is vit you, anyvay. I'll see about getting you some equipment from Iscariot if you vant."

  Leaning forward, she un-wads her coat long enough to rummage in the pocket, hisses and recoils as though something bit her, and comes up with a heavy-caliber pistol pinched by the fabric of her glove -- she's making a point of not touching her skin to it, and there's a section of her forefinger that looks distinctly burnt.

  The gun is slid across the table toward Mel. "Can get you von of these, maybe. Body armour and more standard stuff, too. Might need it if you're going to go hunting the big game vit me."

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    Mel sits and listens quietly, chomping hungrily into her burger as she does so. Some of what she hears has her eyes widening a little. Some of it has them narrowing. At the end of the whole spiel, all she can say is, "An honest-to-god freaky vampire conspiracy. That's... I don't even begin to know what to make of that. Every time I think this multiverse has thrown everything it possibly can at me..." She shakes her head faintly. "But no, no, don't worry about the compensation. I'm assuming I'd be doing this as part of my duties in the Union. Which means it's covered by my salary."

    The cop glances down at her plate, then adds, "...I gotta eat a lot normally, and then the healers told me to add a little more until I'm finished recovering."

    Then she's looking at the gun, and specifically Heinkel's reaction to taking it out. "Uh... I can do more normal ordnance myself. I've got a sidearm and my psychic powers, and my uniform's reinforced to bulletproof spec. But I get the sense this is something pretty special." She carefully reaches out to examine it, then adds, "I'm also assuming it's not gonna burn me the same way." She didn't miss that, it seems.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "You know, I didn't really think of it that vay," Heinkel comments, around a mouthful of steak, "but that's kind of vhat it is. Heh, heh. I've known people who'fe beliefed in conspiracy bullshit like that. I alvays thought it vas crazy until Iscariot picked me up. The I realised it's probably closer to the truth than anything else I had known."

  She leans back on her bench, grinning that slightly toothsome grin. "I von't. Mostly because I'm not the von who handles those books. If you don't vant to get paid, I guess that's your preference. I'll make a note to Bishop Maxvell if that's the case, though. He's the von who'd be handling that, anyvay."

  If she plays her cards right, maybe she can soak up that extra pay, with some creative bookkeeping. But no, that wouldn't be the Christian thing to do. She can't say the temptation didn't cross her mind, though... she wasn't always goody-goody clergy like some of the more innocent among the flock. You do what you have to do!

  "Ja, ve haf silfer ordinance for the ghouls," Heinkel explains, pointing to (but not touching) the plating on her pistol. "It's the only thing that stops them. I haf normal ordinance, too, but it's useless against the things that go 'bump' in the night, ja?" There's a short pause. "Our pistols are plated so ve can use them as bludgeons if ve haf to. Can't say I hafen't used it that vay."

  Gunsmiths basically hate her guts even as they take her money for fix-it jobs.

  The teeth come out when Mel makes her observation. "Ja. You von't feel a thing, I can tell you that right now. Most people von't." She reaches to her collar, holding up the cross and dangling it by its leather thong. "Supposed to be silfer. Afraid I'fe got a little bit of an allergy to it."

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    Mel chuckles a little. "Every time I see something crazy like a hidden conspiracy out here, I wonder if there's anything like that under the surface back home. Then I realize if there was, I'd probably know about it. Hard to hide things from psychics, and I know some pretty powerful telepaths. At least one of whom wouldn't shut up about it if she knew. She'd tell the whole galaxy." She's happy to consume her meal with that thought in mind, not sensing Heinkel's brief temptation towards redirecting payment. She's terrible at mind-reading, after all!

    "Silver bullets. Real-ass silver bullets." A chuckle and a shake of the head, and Mel has the thing in her hand. "It's been a while since I used a chemical-propellant sidearm. I'd have to take some time at the range. I usually just use my sidearm, it draws off my psionics to create kinetic packets that hit just like a bullet, only I can dial the yield up or down and there's no physical projectile. No recoil, either." She sets the weapon back down, and casually drops a napkin on it for Heinkel's sake.

    "Judging by the silver allergy and the very... Old Earth choice in meal, I'm gonna go with 'werewolf'?" The Marshal's voice is low enough not to be overheard. She's not /that/ tactless.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "I figure it's probably safe to assume something like that, and if that's wrong, then there's nothing lost. If you're right, then you're already prepared for that kind of possibility, ja?" Heinkel busies herself with shovelling steak in after that, eager to finish it before it starts going cold. Steak is not something enjoyed cold, especially a moderately expensive cut like what she ordered. Cold steak is a waste of money. "On fhe ofher hanf," she adds around a mouthful, "Ifcariof doen'f haf felepafhs, but fe profly haf vays of figuring ouf fat kinf of fing."

  Chew, chew. Swallow. Heinkel waves her fork at Mel for emphasis. "From vhat I've seen, Millennium is some kind of conspiracy. The only question is how deep it runs, and vhere the hell they're getting their funding from. That's vhat ve haf to find out, and I'm hoping you can help me fill in some of the blanks."

  "Real-ass silfer bullets," Heinkel confirms, smiling that nasty little smile. "Stops them dead in their tracks. Of course it doesn't hurt that ve haf pistols vit enough caliber to stop a charging bear, but it's the silfer that does it. Ve haf blessed rounds, too. Also, holy vater, but those are a little more of a pain in the ass to put together. Ve keep those in case of emergencies. Or something really nasty lurking around."

  Like vampires, or Alucard deciding he's done playing nice, or honest-to-God werewolves, which she hopes she never runs into.

  The napkin-covered gun is swept back into the pocket of her overcoat, which is once more wadded up and shoved off to one side of the bench. Thank you, Psyber, for pockets of holding. Those things are incredibly useful, especially for storing things she doesn't want touching her skin.

  "Hunh. If you can adjust the force that easily, maybe it'd vork just as vell. Probably not a bad idea to test it some time. Maybe I'll call you out next time I haf a cleanup mission to do. Ve haf a lot of those. Usually involves a town that got ghoul'd off the map, and ve haf to go clean up vhat's left. By that, I mean put down everything that moves and then burn the rest." Heinkel wrinkles her nose. "Not very pleasant vork, but ve--" She probably means 'Iscariot' with that 'we,' "--do vhat ve haf to."

  Her head cocks slightly at the observation, but grins again. "Verevolf? Nein, nein. Nothing so grand as that. I'm vhat you might call a lycanthrope. I haf the volf in me," she adds, squinching forefinger and thumb by way of demonstration, "but just a little. I can take that form if I vant to, but I haf to keep an eye on it. The Volf likes to yammer and cry for blood. It's up to me to keep a handle on it. A verevolf, though... that's a monster of the highest order. Bet if there vas von of those running around it'd be just as dangerous as Alucard. That's the original vampire. Ja, /the/ vampire. Dangerous as Hell. Probably crawled /out/ of Hell, actually." Heinkel rubs at her jaw, thoughtful. "He's Hellsing's pet monster, for the time being. Integra's got him on a leash right now, though vhy he listens to her, I couldn't say."

  "I know ve'd be called in if he ever snapped that leash, though." Heinkel grins, sourly. "Can't deny she's got brass balls, though, using a monster like that against the rabble... but no." The grin fades. "That'd be overestimating vhat I can do, I think, by several dozen orders of magnitude. In fact, I hope I never meet a verevolf. Dangerous stuff. If I ever get called out to deal vit von of those, I'm leaving that mess for Father Anderson."

  ...Or maybe Yumie. Yumie likes literal bloody messes. She'd probably have fun tussling with a werewolf.

Mel Brock (941) has posed:
    So they're hoping for Mel's help filling in the missing details. The psychic has finally slowed down on her food a little, giving her time to mull this over. At the same time, she gets a brief lesson on the realities of Heinkel's world - and specifically the types of monster therein. She's about to protest that what Heinkel just described sounds a lot like a werewolf to her, but then her question is answered before it can be asked. A werewolf is something major in their world. Something a lot bigger than 'a person who can wolf out a bit'. Interesting. And- Alucard. The original vampire. Now that's some freaky stuff to talk about.

    "...wait, wait. Alucard. Hellsing. A-L-U..."

    Mel's forehead hits the table. "You're shitting me." Someone just got it.

    Lifting her head back up, Mel blows out a long-suffering sigh. "Alright. Okay, so. Just so's it's on the table. I'm a really terrible telepath. A stubborn thirteen-year-old could keep me out of their head with a bit of effort. I can't get into an adult's mind unless they want me in. So don't go expecting me to pry secrets out of their heads or anything." Pause. "...Besides, that's illegal." Sniff. "What I can do, is extremely potent telekinesis. My pistol can only handle a fraction of my output, so when I get serious I put the gun /away/. I also do oldschool investigative work. Forensics, following up leads, interviews, inter-department coordination, that's my kind of work. I don't know about huge crazy monsters, but if that's the kind of scrape we get in, I'm not unprepared. Personally I'd rather just make an investigation, a bust, and call it a day."

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "There are four kinds of people in my vorld," Heinkel comments, once it seems clear that Mel's finished processing information. She ticks off a category on each of a splayed finger. "There are those who get eaten by the things in the night, those who do the eating, those who kill the vons who do the eating, and those who hafen't got a Goddamned clue about any of it." That last pinky gets tapped a few times for emphasis.

  Heinkel puts her hand down, only to take up her fork and stab what's left of her steak with it. "Ve try to make sure there's as many of the last category as possible. It's our sacred duty. And it's our job to make sure they don't turn into the /first/ category vhile ve do it."

  "Unfortunately, it's not half as easy as it sounds on paper," the priest sighs. "Now that ve haf maniacs like Millennium getting involved, the vater's gotten a whole lot murkier."

  "Nah." This, to Mel's incredulous statement. Heinkel even goes so far as to wave a hand almost dismissively. "That's vhat he's calling himself these days, anyvay. Not very creative, is it? I alvays thought it vas kind of stupid. Talk about advertising one's presence. Then again, vhen you're that powerful, I guess it really doesn't matter vhat anybody thinks about you." She shows her teeth again. "Must be nice, except for the whole bloodlust thing. Thank God I don't haf to deal vit that."

  In the meantime, she leans back while Mel explains herself, propping her elbows up on the back of the booth and sprawling comfortably. "Vell, that's okay. Ve don't really haf telepaths or anything vhere I come from, so it's kind of a novelty. I'm sure vonce I haf more food and more sleep, I'll haf a ton of stupid questions for you. Just got off a job. England's technically not Iscariot territory, but they von't care if ve're on the border.

  Besides, ve haf to stomp those things fast before they start going on sprees. Oh, ja, and there's one more thing I forgot to mention. Freaks. Think of them as B-grade vampires. Like cheap knockoff copies of Alucard, maybe, except even he hates those things' guts. They're more human than the ghouls. At least, they haf more personality," she adds, scratching her chin. "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call them 'human.'"

  She rubs her jaw, thoughtfully, considering. Telekinesis, huh? That does sound pretty useful, even if there aren't any analogues that she can think of in Iscariot's ranks. Most of the kinds of superpowers she's playing alongside are things like extreme regeneration, in the case of Anderson and Alucard, or just violence on such a scale that it can give even mindless ghouls pause, in Yumie's case.

  "Hnnnn. Really? That's still pretty impressive. I vouldn't mind seeing that in action, some time. In fact, I'm pretty sure I vill at some point or another, or you and I vouldn't be part of the Union, ja?" Pushing aside her now-empty plate, she props an elbow on the table, and props her chin on that fist. "Investigative vork? Great. Ve could really use that. Even better if you can do undercover vork, too. Never know vhen you'll haf need of the delicate touch, you know? And depending on vhat Father Anderson finds, ve might need it sooner rather than later."

  She grins, showing those very slightly fangy teeth again. "Ja. That's vhat I'm hoping for, myself. Then again, that's vhat I'm hoping for every single time. Can't say I get lucky enough for that. Usually it's a nice clean bust maybe ten percent of the time. The rest of the time, it's a bloodbath... but that's vhy I'm in Iscariot, and that's vhy I get called in."

  "Anyvay... I think I'm going to go call it a night. I'll keep in touch, and feel free to make use of my frequency if you haf anything that needs to be shot in the head. I'm sorry to say my methods probably aren't as subtle as yours, most of the time, but as the Americans say, that's vhy I'm being paid the big bucks."

  Stooping, she retrieves her overcoat, tossing it over a shoulder. Strangely, there's no sign of those guns in the pocket at all. In fact, those things barely should have been able to clear the pocket's seams. Curious. "Take care of yourself. Nice to meet you, Brock, and I look forward to vorking vit you."

  With that, provided she doesn't get stopped for anything, the paladin will head right back out the way she came in, bloodstained coat and all.