Multiverse Crisis MUSH - User contributions [en]

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-09-20T04:54:06Z

Hrimfaxi:

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

;Past Tenure (Staff)
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

;Past Tenure (Player)
: 11 Apr 2009 to 14 Sep 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date; the most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere (Dropped)|Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || 14 Sep 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|-
| [[Sarah (Dropped)|Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || 14 Sep 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-09-20T04:49:36Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Former Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Past Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date; the most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere (Dropped)|Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || 14 Sep 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|-
| [[Sarah (Dropped)|Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || 14 Sep 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-09-20T04:48:15Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Former Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Past Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date; the most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere (Dropped)|Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || 14 Sep 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
| [[Sarah (Dropped)|Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || 14 Sep 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-09-20T04:39:20Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Current Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Past Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date; the most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

5352/Spelunking

2017-07-08T04:00:10Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/07/04 |Location=The Four Caverns |Synopsis=While exploring underground ruins for signs of humanity, Devola and Popola happen across the Runebe..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/04
|Location=The Four Caverns
|Synopsis=While exploring underground ruins for signs of humanity, Devola and Popola happen across the Runebearer, Sarah.
|Cast of Characters=316, 1109
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Deep beneath the surface of the multiverse, the network of four caverns that have become one are interspersed with both pockets of habitation, and pockets of former habitation. Where dwellings and places of business make up the former, only ruins populate the latter; through all sorts of environmental conditions.   It's in a relatively temperate region underground, dotted with rushing rivers and still subterranean pools, that one such area of ruins lie undisturbed. Where the cities of interest to the androids of YoRHa were once made of concrete and steel, these ruins are of mortar and stone. It looks to have been a grand settlement, once, built after the shape of a lozenge... or a compass rose.   Everything follows the cardinal directions, though the movement of the earth means that none of them correspond to either true or magnetic north any more. Whatever the structures here were, they were grand, once upon a time; architecture on a breathtaking scale -- but all that's left now are ruins and tumbledown masonry. Not much of the interiors of the dwellings are left; indeed, it's hard to tell what purpose some of the structures originally served.   There are even the remnants of finely paved roads, with shattered lengths of smooth-polished marble now dusty and damaged. Not a creature stirs here. It's silent as a tomb, and the air is still and somewhat stagnant, scented lightly of water and the fungus that grows on the cavern walls. Occasionally one hears the deep, basso rumble of the earth shifting restlessly in its sleep... but for the most part this place is still and silent.   But it is not empty.   Within the heart of the settlement, centred around the compass rose lozenge made of marble and other types of stone, a single figure stands. It appears to be a lone human woman -- although certainly her skin is pale enough to be carved of alabaster from the depths, she herself is assuredly alive. Her hair is so pale a blonde as to be almost colourless; eyes closed. She wears an elabourately layered dress, slightly dusty about its hem, and carries an ornate greatstaff of ebonwood and silver, with a crystal clutched at its head.   The crystal is glowing bright as a lamp, throwing stark blue-white shadows on the surroundings. Although not held upright, the staff is held at a slight angle, resting almost loosely in a crook of the woman's elbow while she concentrates on... something.   There is an aura of great power around her, although perhaps the non-magical might not notice it -- more like a pressure, a weight to the air around her. Something about her is reminiscent of water, even though there's nothing about her to suggest it but the faintly aqua colour of her dress.   Hmmm. 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "Do you really think there's going to be anything down here?" "You never know, sis. Humans were supposedly very crafty even before learning how to use electricity. To be able to survive in caverns like these, they must have-" "Alright, alright. Just be careful, alright? Who knows how long this place has been abandoned like this."     The pair of androids can be heard before they're seen, not bothering to hide their presence as they trawl through the underground cavern. Why would they? Whoever lived here must have already extracted anything of value, there's unlikely to be anything of value to treasure hunters that hasn't already been looted by now, and there's little strategic value to be had in a place that's such a pain to get to.      Except there is someone. The woman with the slightly-askew blunt bangs holds a hand up first to halt her sister, peering towards the pale woman standing further ahead in the settlement. The woman with the unkempt hair is peering ahead as well, a cautious hand reaching for the sword dangling at her belt. They don't seem to notice the aura around her, although...      Maybe they can't. Feeling magic would be something that would require living people, after all. They exchange cautious glances with each other, and then they begin to approach the woman while stopping far enough away that they still need to raise their voices slightly just to be clear. "Hello there. Are you from around here?" "Hello there. Are you human?" "Devola...!" "I'm just making sure." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Distorted echoes chase each other down the silent corridors, ringing around each other and the spires of stone that thrust down from a roof of stone. It would be impossible to miss such a racket.   The pale woman's eyelids flicker, but she doesn't open her eyes. Is she deaf? Is she in some kind of trance? Why doesn't she notice them?   There is something classically beautiful about her features, but there's no mistaking that she is a fragile woman, slender enough to be called willowy, but with none of the controlled strength of a dancer. A scholar, perhaps; delicate and certainly slim, but not accustomed to a physical lifestyle.   A faint frown mars her brow, and her eyelids flicker again, finally fluttering open slowly. Her eyes are -- almost blue. Like her hair, they suggest more an absence of colour than anything else, entirely without the slightly red or pink touch of the truly albinistic. Freakishly pale, almost unhealthily so, but she seems healthy enough as she looks between the two sisters.   There is a faint shift of that greatstaff; a subtle change into a more defensive position.   "That seems like a peculiar question to ask someone," the woman says. Her voice is soft, whispery; so soft they might have trouble hearing if they aren't augmented beyond human standards. Even her voice is delicate, although there is a precise, measured quality about her words; a preternatural sense of /deliberation/ behind everything she says and does, from her clear articulation to the subtle efficiency of her movements. "There is a tremendous variety of life in the multiverse, and I would estimate that comparatively little of it is truly 'human.'"   She turns, finally, taking a cautious step forward. Her eyes never leave the two androids. "But to answer your question, I was human, once." Well, she looks organic, anyway. In spite of how carefully and deliberately she speaks and moves, there is nothing to suggest that she might be an android like her impromptu visitors. "I do not think I could be considered as such any longer."   Those colourless eyes study the sisters, and even though her mannerisms seem mild, there is an intensity in those eyes incongruous against her seeming fraility -- and a brightness; an intelligence. A curiosity.   "May I ask why you ask such a pointed question?" 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' The twins, so similar in most ways and yet completely opposite in others, both have the same reaction to the pale woman's reply as she begins. Although they take defensive stances, neither seems poised to actually attack in any way. Rather, they appear intensely curious about the woman. Her appearance, her voice, her presence in this secluded place in the middle of nowhere, her former humanity...      That last one has them glancing towards each other quizzically. The one with neater hair speaks up first, offering a light bow at the waist in greeting. "Our apologies, miss. But you do appear to be human and speak normally enough, so... Why would you not be considered human any more?"      The one with unkempt hair speaks up next, mimicking the bow but clearly seeming more interested in the questions rather than decorum. "Plus, you're down here alone. If you're not human, that means you're like us, then?" She seems conflicted about something as she says that, although it's not so much that she's worried about the pale woman as she is... Disappointed about something?      Just who was more hopeful about finding humans more down here, anyway? 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Somewhat deliberately, the pale woman takes a half-step to the side, as though to follow and keep the twins in her line of sight as they approach. It's a subtle movement, but it's also a clear one -- she will be civil, but she is also cautious.   "Appearances can be deceiving." The faintest hint of a smile flickers across her face, as though enjoying a subtle private joke. "However, I am not certain what you mean by 'like us.'"   Humans are mostly water, and she senses almost nothing from these two. That alone is enough to intrigue her, and yet it isn't illusion that they use. She would most likely see through someone else's glamour.   The woman tilts her head, moving to slowly, deliberately circle the two other women. Her eyes are fixed on them as she does, and the greatstaff remains in her grasp, its light casting harsh shadows over both androids. "In point of fact, I would say that neither of you are yourselves human, though I am not immediately certain what manner of being you are."   Curious. She slows to a halt, tilting her head the other way as she studies them, jewelled earrings clinking softly. "Yes, I am down here alone." Again a flicker of a half-smile. "How astute of you to notice."   Why wouldn't she be considered human any more?   There is a subterranean river nearby -- and with a great basso surge there is no longer a river nearby. The entirety of the river rises, serpentine, and coils around the three figures like a dragon; the subtle shifting of its surface casting different shades of blue light on the woman and the androids.   It rings tightly enough that they could reach out and touch it. In fact, a few stray droplets might well touch them.   The pale woman never moves, as calm and composed as ever. Not a drop touches her. Once she's made her point, she releases the river, and it lowers itself like a great serpent back to the black abyss of its riverbed.   "Does that answer your question?" she asks, mildly; so mildly, with that small, very slightly sardonic half-smile.   Thaaaat sure isn't something a 'normal human' ought to be able to do. 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "They really can, yes. Even we look human, but..." The neat one takes a look at her sister who shrugs and steps forward, then hops in place and lands on a single foot. It doesn't look like the unkempt one had put much effort into the jump, but there's the telltale thunk of something quite heavy hitting the ground.      "... We're not human. Androids. But if you're asking, then you're not that, either." The unkempt one crosses her arms in front of her while watching the pale woman, standing mostly still beside her sister. They both squint at the light coming from the great staff, although neither of them has their hands on their weapons.      Their stances are still those of people ready to fall back should things go bad. The neat one actually chuckles while the unkempt one huffs lightly at the mention of her astuteness. Before they can speak up again, though, they tense up at the sound of rushing water. "... We need to go. Popola, stick cl-" And as quickly as the unkempt one began talking, she's already halting at the sight of the massive water serpent surrounding the trio. The twins have their weapons drawn in an instant, swords in hand with spears and gauntlets floating in the air beside them. It's not until the water returns to the river and the pale woman speaks up again that they finally relax and turn to the woman with their weapons returning to their backs and belts. "Bit of a flashy way to say 'no', isn't it?" "Oh, Devola. It was impressive, wasn't it?" "... That was pretty cool, I guess." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Those colourless eyes flit toward the ground as the more fastidious of the sisters hops in place. She lands with a sound far too heavy for her mass, and the term is quietly filed away for later research. That certainly makes sense. Neither of them have the kind of water content a normal living organism should have.   Fascinating.   The pale woman's own stance is likewise cautious, but aside from her showy answer, she makes no move towards them.   "Forgive me. It is somewhat like an unruly puppy that must be let off its chain from time to time." The woman shows the faintest hint of a crooked smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes as she watches the twins' weaponry. Fascinating. However do they manage that? "I suppose that adequately answers your question, though, does it not? I do not know of any ordinary humans who are capable of such a display." 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' As things finally start settling down, the sisters both seem a little less wary than before. Although they're still cautious, they don't seem to be in a state of mind to just run off or swing their weapons forward. AFter that display, there wouldn't really be any point to it.      "So it's something that you control indirectly, then? Like a... Pet rather than a device?" The neat one speaks up again, exchanging glances with her sister once more. It takes them a moment, and then they move to stand beside each other and bow towards the pale woman. "We should introduce ourselves. She's Devola-" "-and she's Popola. Good to meet you."      Another bow, and their eerily choreographed greetings is over! Popola chuckles again and shakes her head after a moment. "I guess not. We've seen some strange humans since being found, sure, but... We haven't seen any with that kind of ability before."      "Yeah, most of them were cyborgs. Nothing big like-" Devola gestures at the air around her. "-your pet snake before." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Things settle down, but the pale woman seems no less wary than she had been before. Her colourless eyes track both sisters, and she watches their every move with a calm, quiet sort of caution. It seems it may take more than dismissing weaponry to earn her trust.   "It is not," the woman clarifies. "At no point am I allowing the water to act as it is naturally inclined to, else it would not be capable of lifting itself from its riverbed. It is under my complete control, on a molecular level."   Definitely not normal human!   The pale woman inclines her head in respectful gesture, although the faintest hint of a half-smile suggests she's amused by something.   "It is not so unusual an ability from my world, but a matter of scale. A normal human is more than capable of wielding such an ability, with the use of a Water Rune. And if an ordinary Water Rune is a candle, what I wield is more akin to a battery of high-performance floodlights." The pale woman smiles thinly. "There is no comparing them. And an ordinary human does not command a scale such as that; at least not from the world from whence I come."   She seems to have a knack for an unassuming appearance; quiet, but certainly not meek. Inclining her head once more, with a slight tilt as though in a gesture of concession, she doesn't... quite bow.   "I am Sarah. The pleasure is mine," she says, in that uniquely quiet voice of hers. Neither has she said /what/ she is, but they haven't asked. Not specifically, anyway.   "But neither of you have answered my question. Why would you ask so quickly whether I am human or not human?" 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "Ah. So it's..." Popola starts, then furrows her brow as the absurdity of it finally starts to hit her. "... Water manipulation? Without any sort of pipes or pumps or...?" She looks around rapidly, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might clue her in on how it all works beyond 'runes'.      "So magic. Just like in those old history books." Devola chimes in, crossing her arms again and raising an eyebrow at the half-smile. She doesn't say anything about it, though, her attention instead focused on what Sarah's explaining to them.      Popola, meanwhile, keeps looking around as if trying to figure out if there's any other modern explanation for it that isn't just otherworldly magic.      "So if that really is the case... It would line up with you not being human, then. But if that really is the case, then what are you?" Devola's tone isn't quite so confrontational as it is curious, and she gestures at the area around the trio at that last question. "We heard this place used to be inhabited by humans. Everything we've learned about humans makes it hard to believe that they'd be able to live down here easily, though, so seeing someone down here's not exactly what we expected." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   It must be pretty absurd, coming from a world where magic and the supernatural simply don't exist, or where technology has reached a point where it resembles that very same thing. After all, the two are indistinguishable, past a certain point.   "I can assure you that it is quite a commonplace phenomenon in the world I hail from," Sarah states, eyeing Devola appraisingly. "What you just did, however, is not."   That is to say, being able to brandish weapons without ever touching them. The only thing she can think of that might have a similar effect is a certain weapon, which may or may not be a rune, which also happens to be a jerk. It's complicated.   As to what she is, though, Sarah can only shrug one narrow shoulder.   "I am what you see, but what you see is no longer on the same level as those whom I once resembled. I suppose it is not much of a surprise, to me. Arguably, I was never a normal person; I have always had something curious in my veins, but I suppose that is beside the point." Sarah tilts her head in concessionary gesture, earrings clinking softly. "As to what I am, I am a Runebearer. I am a host to the cosmic power of water; water, at its most elemental and primal level."   She smiles, faintly, though it's a bit crooked. "I suppose that must not mean much to you, so the simplest explanation is that I am capable of controlling water to a degree that borders on the intrinsic. Water is a part of me; a key component of my very essence."   When they explain the provenance of the place they're in, Sarah turns, looking around and studying the closest stonework.   "I am not certain. Perhaps it was once on the surface. I was here searching for runes, for they have a way of finding their way to the most unusual of places." The pale woman holds her greatstaff higher, casting light over the shattered masonry. "They originate from the True Runes, but since my world became one with the multiverse six years ago, they have a way of finding the most unusual of hiding-places. I sensed something, but it is gone, now."   She steps closer to the closest wall. "I am not certain this was a human settlement. And," she adds, turning around to look pointedly at Devola, "you have still not answered my question. Why do you seek humans, and speak of them so? I have answered your questions." Sarah lifts her staff a little higher, casting that light on Devola and Popola. Never does her voice turn confrontational, though, still that quiet, almost whispery tone of preternatural calm and patience. "What are you?" 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' Truly, the androids still haven't seen proper magic just yet. Cyborgs, sure. Strong people, yeah. Actual magic, though? The stuff they've only heard of in ancient history books and overproduced documentaries? Not really.      "Breaking the ground? Oh, that's because we're heavier than humans around this height and weight." Devola replies, apparently not thinking about what she and her sister had done with their weapons at all. Being strange compared to humans in several ways makes it hard to know what actually needs clarification!      Popola soon gives up on trying to figure out the source of Sarah's water magic once that explanation is given, and she settles back into position next to Devola while peering at Sarah closely once more. "You might be a human in the technical sense, then, even if you've..."      Popola pauses, glancing over at Devola who just shrugs lightly. "... Can a human surpass their own humanity? It wouldn't be the first strange thing we've heard of since we came here. Although if this wasn't a human settlement..."      "We can probably leave, then." Devola follows up, her frown deepending slightly as she peers at the walls. "Why're we looking for them...?" Another questioning glance is exchanged, and Devola clears her throat.      Does she even need to do that? Maybe an air filter's dirty, or it's just to lend herself a little more credibility. "In our world, humans don't live on the earth any more. Only androids like us and machines are around these days because the earth's too much of a mess for them to come back." She moves closer to a wall, tracing a finger along it before eyeing the architecture further away. "So being able to find anything that might help them return would... Well, that's the androids' mission." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Actually, I was referring to whatever it was you were doing with your weapons." Sarah gestures, somewhat carefully, towards the various melee weapons both androids are carrying with them. To some extent she had been expecting something to be off about their appearance, at least in terms of their density of weight. Such an oddity would be in keeping with so little water present in their bodies.   Still, it's an oddity. She inclines her head with a clink of her earrings. "Technically speaking, yes, I am still human. To most scientific inquiry, I am indeed no different physiologically from the average human being. However, I do not age, and I am capable of feats that no ordinary human could ever hope to manage. As a Runebearer, I am able to access the memories of every previous Runebearer since the beginning." Of what? The lack of a definitive suggests the beginning of the world. Her world, anyway. That's probably a lot of memories.   "I do not know that I have surpassed my own humanity so much as taken several steps sideways from it." Sarah's smile is faint, and maybe just a little sardonic. "I do not think of things the same way as most do. With something like this as an intrinsic part of you, you learn to view situations and even time itself with a much longer lens. It is what most people, I think, would call 'dehumanising.'"   She's seen that firsthand. Turning, she looks over both sisters as they study the walls, thoughtful. "I see," she comments softly. Apparently she's been in the multiverse long enough to have heard of them and what they are, loosely; there's a flicker of understanding in those colourless eyes. "How does the multiverse change your purpose, I wonder?" the pale woman muses. "There are many humans, here. Even those of slightly stranger origins than what you may be accustomed to, like myself." 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "Our weapons...? Oh, that. Popola?" "Ah, yes. The NFCS system."      The twins swap places, with Popola taking a position in front of A2 and Devola moving to explore the aread surrounding the trio a little more properly. Even if they might not have been made by humans, there's still something to be gleaned from all of it! Probably.      "The NFCS, or Near-Field Control System, is the system we use to fight with more efficiency and versatility. It lets us control our weapons in a way that's similar to what humans would have called telekinesis."      With that little lesson done, Devola sticks to the inspection while Popola takes in Sarah's explanations. "Quite different from us, then... We look human, but that's all. We haven't heard of anything called Runebearers, though. If it means being human only in the clinical sense, though..."      Despite Popola's claims, the androids do seem human enough at least in terms of the curiousity. Popola's likely the easier one to notice what with being right next to Sarah and looking her over with a curious glint, but Devola's occasional glances over aren't as subtle as she thinks they might be. "Our purpose..." "Our purpose..."      Popola's the first to speak up. "We can research them a lot more easily now, so it should be easier to figure out a way to make our home more inhabitable. But..." "It's never easy. So we need to be really sure first." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   The pale woman tilts her head very slightly at the explanation offered her, earrings clinking quietly at the movement. Such a thing means little to her, other than the fact that it lets them use what is essentially telekinesis. She's heard that said before her own abilities, except where the sisters' apply to weaponry, hers applies strictly to water.   "Interesting." It doesn't escape her that the two are watching her very closely, and that may be part of the reason why Sarah's posture hasn't quite loosened. She's guarded, no matter how civil her words, splitting her attention evenly between watching Devola and watching Popola. "It is a phenomenon of my world, for all that I have been able to determine, and we Runebearers are something of an exception. There are only twenty-seven of us, corresponding to each of the True Runes."   It might be better not to talk about such a potentially risky thing, but it's information anybody could waltz into any variant of her world and find out. It's a fundamental element of her world's very existence. The True Runes are not only its generative forces; they are also its sustaining forces.   Besides, she doesn't have to tell them /which/ world it is. There are quite a few based on such a similar template, after all... omission of information is not technically lying.   "Clinically? I suppose I am the same, with the exception that I do not age, and therefore certain of my biological processes are suspended, in a sense. But it is true that I must have food, water, and shelter to survive. I am still subject to extremes of temperature, although I am also capable of altering the temperature of water in all of its states. I still require oxygen to breathe, although if I am immersed in water, it is possible for me to directly manipulate it such that I cannot be drowned." Cheater. "In essence, yes, I am beholden to the technical limitations of most of humanity, but at the same time, I am not, for I can always manipulate that environment in unconventional ways."   In other words, she can totally cheat if she has to. 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' The idea of a human that not only exists as a human (already scoring big points), but one that's transcended basic human lifespan limits? It would be absurd if Devola and Popola had heard it anywhere else without proof, but after seeing what Sarah had done with the water earlier?      It makes about as much sense as anything else they've seen and heard since being pulled out of that apartment.      "Only twenty-seven? So... That sounds rather lonely, doesn't it? Unless you've banded together, but..." Popola looks over at Devola who turns away from the wall and shakes her head slowly.      "It's not that simple, is it? Are all twenty-seven still alive?" Devola cuts to the heart of the twins' concerns rather quickly, although their tones both have an odd sort of sadness hidden in them rather than suspicion. They exchange glances, then swap positions with Devola standing close-ish to Sarah while Popola starts checking out the structure of the cave.      "So when you control water that way... Do you just feel it happening, or do you need to focus on it? And how'd you... Did you become the Runebearer, or did it just sort of happen?" Devola's tone is a little less clinical and upbeat than Popola's was with her questions, although that curiousity is still ever lingering despite her attempts to sound non-chalant about the whole thing. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Yes, twenty-seven." Sarah shifts her weight just slightly, subtle movements keeping her greatstaff between herself and the androids at all times. Other than that, she seems good at feigning ease. "As to that, I have no way to know. My research is incomplete, but experience tells me that there are a number of True Runes that do not have a bearer, and have not for as long as possibly several thousand years."   "True Runes are autonomous. They are entities, and also beings, of phenomenal power. Yet they have their own wills, as well, and seek to enforce that will upon themselves and the world around them. There is a country in my world that once took custody of a True Rune, only to discover that it had abruptly relocated itself during the night to parts unknown." She msiles, thinly. "There are people, in the countries of my world, who have not yet learned to respect such power."   She tilts her head again at the mention of hydrokinesis. "To a certain degree focus is required, but it comes automatically to me. I am aware of the water and must only direct it; guide it. I am aware of /all/ water around me," Sarah clarifies. "Which is why I knew that you yourselves are not human. You do not possess nearly enough water in your bodies to feel normal to my senses."   "I suppose one could say 'it just happened.' I was exploring a ruin of my world known as the Ancient Highway, and the True Water Rune had been sealed within it. Its seals had failed, over time, as its memories of the previous bearer confirm." Sarah turns, flicking a brief glance to the silent, still walls. There's nothing in there; at least nothing with any meaningful water content. Her colourless eyes turn back to Devola and Popola.   "It compelled me to go to it. Called me. Before I knew it, it had inscribed itself to me." She holds up her right hand, fingers curled into a loose fist, baring the back of it. There, pale even against her pale skin, is a mark made of three oblong concentric rings. "There is one in the multiverse who once described me as 'all the Water of the world.' He was not far wrong." 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "Runes without bearers? Then does that mean...?" "... No, it couldn't be. She didn't have anything like that before." " A smaller one, perhaps? Or maybe it's not shaped like..." "But if they have wills of their own..." "We would've seen something like..." The twins go on about something or another between themselves for quite sometime after Sarah explains those key details about the True Runes. As they keep going, they even start gesturing at Sarah, momentarily forgetting she's even there. It's only when she talks about the Rune relocating that the two finally stop and turn back to her with an understanding nod. "So... Nothing like pods." "Not at all." With that settled, they refocus on Sarah once more! "So it's almost like a... Symbiotic relationship? Although it seems like humans need them more than they need humans, so maybe not quite..." Popola murmurs, the straightens up to listen again. "That's how you could tell? Interesting... So you could even use that to tell if someone's dehydrated. Or if a storm's coming in?" Devola furrows her brow, starting to pace slightly while lost in thought. "I've never heard of a... Well, anything attaching to someone that way unless it was a pet. Or an injured animal. But for a force of nature to do it..." "... No wonder that country did what it did. But that means humans would be in danger if they misused it, too." Popola frowns while Devola nods, and the two stand together once more! "If there's anything we can do to help, then let us know. We might not understand it all yet, but..." "... We can try, right?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Although the pale woman slowly rises a brow at the banter between the sisters, she offers no comment on it. Her slightly blank look suggests she has no idea what a pod is, and neither of the two pink-haired androids seem inclined to enlighten her. Are they always like this? It's kind of creepy when they finish one anothers' thoughts like that.   Colourless eyes flit from one android to the other, studying them as much as waiting for hints of information that might lend her some context to what they were discussing.   Symbiotic relationship?   "In a manner of speaking, although what the True Runes gain from it, no one could say with certainty." Sarah watches them as they try to puzzle out the matter. "For all we know, they simply grow bored with the passing of centuries, and attaching themselves to humanity makes things interesting. I have a few hypotheses, but it isn't particularly important. They simply are."   She tips one shoulder in a slight shrug. Humans, misusing phenomenal cosmic power? The pale woman snorts as though that's the dumbest thing she's heard today. "Yes. Of course they would. There are numerous incidents in recorded history involving the use or misuse of True Runes on a grand and often destructive scale." There is a scar in the Grasslands that still attests to that, when the Flame Champion lost control of his rune, and also his life. The grasses have since regrown, but the scar in the land is still visible.   "Countries have warred over much lesser reasons than a shot at True Runes. Needless to say, when they are involved, conflicts have a way of becoming much more heated. I am not yet certain if wars are caused by the will of the True Runes, or merely escalated due to human nature. One of life's enduring mysteries, I suppose, and little more than a technicality."   Help? Sarah tilts her head, jewelled earrings clinking. "With what, pray tell? I have borne this rune for some years, now, and have the limited support of a number of other runebearers. While it is true that certain runes do not always 'get along,' per se, there are others which have no such compunctions, or which are wholly neutral towards one another." It's complicated. The pale woman shrugs again. "I appreciate the offer, nonetheless." 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "That doesn't sound too different from those classical figures in human mythology. Taking an interest in humanity's unpredictability, giving them knowledge to see what would happen..." Popola murmurs, an amused chuckle escaping her finally. It might very well be the first time she's smiled in front of Sarah today.      "Probably taking bets on how long it takes to kill themselves, too." Devola seems a little less enthused about that aspect, but she relaxes fairly quickly after a light nudge from Popola. "I mean... Humans /are/ pretty interesting just from the history books. Watching them more closely and throwing in weird variables like that, though... I'm not surprised it can make wars a lot worse. Still, it must really be something to see in person..."      The twins finally seem satisfied with investigating their surroundings, and they finally take seats nearby while focusing entirely on Sarah now. If nothing else, they're blinking normally enough! "Help... Help. Like you've noticed, we're not human. We don't know much about your home, but if we can give you any warnings from what ours is like..." "Be careful with machines. Find a way off the planet first just in case." "... Perhaps research ways to survive underground successfully?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "The runes actively seek to impose themselves upon the fabric of the world." Sarah closes one eye, as though she were looking inward. "I have in fact begun to wonder if they are in fact incapable of seeking their own end, and will in fact actively rebel against anything that is threatening to their bearer or themselves. They will take action if their bearer is threatened, if it is a bearer compatible with the rune, and the rune cares enough to exert the effort."   She takes a few strides towards the ruins, but always in a way that keeps Devola and Popola in clear view. Colourless eyes take in the details, illuminated by the blue-white of her greatstaff, shadows harsh. There are inscriptions in the stone that almost resemble writing, but they could also be mere decoration. If they are, however, they're elabourate; ornate in a way that suggests advanced skill, even if the walls are hewn of stone instead of concrete.   "I will use the True Wind Rune as an example. For a number of years it was concealed, disguised as a mere intermediate rune known as the Cyclone Rune. When it was unleashed in a skirmish, its opponents were merely swept away like so much chaff upon its winds." Sarah slashes out a hand as though to indicate something flying away at high velocity. "It is the same with any of the Five Elements: Earth, Fire, Wind, Lightning, and Water."   "There are other runes, stranger still, whose concepts are sometimes more difficult to understand; those whom there is little information in existence," she explains, "and even those whom we know nothing of the status of. We do not know what all of the True Runes are, necessarily. There are some that even I am not aware of, having spent much of my life studying them. We know there are twenty-seven through the legends handed down to us; on that stories agree, even if they are subject to regional differences."   She circles slowly towards where Devola and Popola have settled down. Choosing a rock not far from them, she thrusts the staff into the earth. Its end is a silver spike, quite sharp-looking, and it makes a distinct metallic sound as she stands it upright, folding her legs beneath it and arranging her skirts. "I'm afraid that machinery is still not as advanced in my world as it is in many others. Basic firearms are still a thing of great luxury and expense, employed primarily by the Howling Voice Guild, a faction -- somewhat -- of the kingdom of Harmonia."   "Travel by water is the greatest achievement of transportation. Aircraft are still a distant dream, and I suppose there is little need to. There are runes that may achieve teleportation, although they are not always easy or inexpensive to come by." Sarah considers for a moment. "Perhaps you might visit, some time. That would give you the most complete illustration of the things I have spoken of." 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' "Self-preservation. And... Reproduction?" "No, that's only if they're making more of themselves. Although anything sapient usually tries not to die, so..." The twins actually go quiet after that, thoughtful murmurs escaping each of them practically in sync. They even have their hands against their chins and heads tilting in opposite directions! What's worse, they look over at Sarah almost at the same time when she starts speaking of the True Wind Rune and some of the other of the known runes. "That must make being immortal rather useful, then." Popola hums, looking Sarah over and nodding after a moment. "Being able to track things down that even historians would forget, seeing these True Runes unveiled and the differences between bearers..." Before Popola can go too far with that, Devola snickers and pats her sister's knee. "Or it might be less romantic than that, and it's just a lot of boring waiting." The neater sister pouts briefly, but their attention is on Sarah again when she stabs her staff into the ground. "Really? I can't even imagine how long it would take for them to develop pods, then. And if they can't even fly, then-" "Wait, Devola. Didn't some of the older manuscripts mention not messing with technological development too much?" "Right, yeah. We'll be careful if we get a chance to visit. Maybe you can even see how screwed up ours is some time." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "In a manner of speaking, but the offspring of a given True Rune are always the same." Sarah gestures loosely with one slender hand. Images of the runes come to life before her; a curving, flowing, pronged shape reminiscent of flames. "For example, the True Fire Rune will always produce Fire Runes, and Rage Runes." It shifts, growing more prongs, to show the Rage Rune. "Both are lesser versions of the True Fire Rune." It finally branches into an almost antler-like configuration, flame flickering in its depths.   The image winks out as she dismisses it, shrugging. "Useful? Perhaps. That implies that I have any desire to associate with other Runebearers, which on the whole I do not." She certainly doesn't seem lonely. "I prefer to focus on the runes themselves; which, even after hundreds of years of study, we still do not understand very well."   Well, on the bright side, she has plenty of time to devote to study.   Boring waiting? Sarah shrugs, faintly. "You learn to fill the hours, I suppose."   It's either that or construct an elabourate scenario to destroy something that can't be destroyed, thereby expending tremendous energy and resources into what amounts to an unspeakably elabourate suicide. One's mileage may vary.   She eyes both of the sisters when they go on about various bits of technology that she doesn't recognise, but for all her lack of understanding, the terms are quietly filed away. Flight, however, brings her to shake her head. "That is untrue, actually. There are those who fly, although they are largely limited to the Dragon Knights, who make use of their eponymous dragons, and those who have befriended gryphons. A rarity, but it has been known to happen, at least in a region known as the Grasslands."   "However, I should be returning soon. I do not have any evidence that this place has what I am searching for, and so there is little percentage in remaining here." Sarah rises to her feet with a rustle of fabric, taking up her staff with a quiet metallic sound as she pulls it from the dry earth. "I hope our paths cross again, someday. It has been interesting. Yes; perhaps you might visit, some time."   With a polite inclination of her head, jewelled earrings clinking softly, Sarah closes her eyes and shifts her grip on her staff--   --and with a bloom of blue-white light and a swirl of lingering mist, the pale woman is gone. 

:'''{{#var:1109|Devola and Popola (1109)}} has posed:''' The mention of the other Runebearers draws a chuckle from Devola. "At least the option's there, right?" It's an odd sort of chuckle, but she leaves out any further elaboration there in favor of resting her head against Popola's. All this research and brain-picking is tough work!      There definitely isn't any other overthinking going on in their heads, no. There's still a lot of information to absorb, though, especially the fact that the True Runes can reproduce, and the existence of Dragon Knights.      That's definitely something to watch out for if they do get a chance to visit. The twins nod as Sarah states her intent to leave the area, and they stand up not too long after she does. "Yes, there's not much else for us to find here. We've gotten plenty of information just from talking here, anyway." Popola responds, and then both of the androids bow to Sarah in turn.      "Feel free to look for us if you want to do some research in a more... Post-humanity area." Devola replies with some humor in her voice, although it's definitely in the more morrbid sense. Once Sarah disappears in the mist, the twins don't linger around for much longer before taking their leave of the underground ruins as well. 
}}

5302/The City of the Seven Tiers

2017-07-07T05:20:15Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/06/09 |Location=Hotel Somewhere |Synopsis=While investigating a new region, Sarah and Luc discuss life, the universe, runes, the multiverse, a..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/06/09
|Location=Hotel Somewhere
|Synopsis=While investigating a new region, Sarah and Luc discuss life, the universe, runes, the multiverse, and the sensibility of adopting a more nomadic lifestyle.
|Cast of Characters=316, 237
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Somewhere deep within the aquatic territory of the multiverse lies a world composed mostly of water. It is a water world, although portions of its surface aren't beholden to the violent storms found on other primarily liquid worlds. That could be the physics of the multiverse kicking in. You never know.   In any case, in the heart of this aquatic world, there is a major metropolis on the water named the City of the Seven Tiers, or just 'Tiers' to its locals. It's a marvel of hydroengineering -- a seamless blend of magic and technology powering seven concentric tiers, with waterfalls, water locks, and other clever contrivances making such a thing actually feasible.   There are trading ships all over the expanded area of its harbour. The first and second tiers alone are strictly mercantile, while the middle tiers house its residents. The upper tiers are devoted increasingly towards city administration.   The whole of the City of the Seven Tiers is based around bits of island and landmass rich with vegetation, from which arches and waterfalls form boundaries for each ring. Beautiful architecture in white marble rises from the mists and the water -- and the highest central tiers houses the city administration with its soaring spires and pennants in the balmy breeze. Even at night, with the stars throwing so much light, the weather is warm.   At the heart of the city are the nicest accomodations. Sarah had of course chosen the finest hotel that money could buy a reservation to, and it had been well worth the cost.   The first night had been filled with the tasks of finding this place and then acquiring lodgings, and somehow Sarah had squeezed in just enough sightseeing to orient herself, commit the city centre to memory, and teleport back. She also might have spent a long time staring at the fascinating water-works and the unique engineering of the City of the Seven Tiers. Not just the aesthetics, either; she could feel the direction of the water on an intrinsic level, and all she could say about it was that it was simply artistry. The water, the forces of magic, and the forces of technology that keep this city going are, at least to her senses, in perfect harmony.   Tonight, the second night, Sarah has resolved to relax.   The hotel room is lit from the light of torches strung along the nearest open-atrium building, but not enough to be intrusive. It has a generously large balcony with comfortable seating, which is precisely where the wind mage will find his companion. She's sprawled in a comfortable padded chair, her staff leaned against the wall behind her, idly waving one forefinger through the air as though in imitation of a conductor's baton. A tiny waterspout turns in time to her gesturing, the True Water Rune glowing softly at her left hand. Her blue eyes are hooded in an expression of contentment, and half a glass of wine sits at hand (which is missing precisely half).   She's not even dressed in the usual heavy layered dress she favours, because it's just too humid and warm in this city to wear otherwise. So it's a nice lighter version of her favourite-coloured dress, with more white in its trim. It's long-sleeved as always, but the thinner, more breathable fabric means she's not overheating constantly.   Right now, though, she looks pretty comfortable and relaxed. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' Luc is quite certain that he's been to this place before, but he cannot recall /when/. The canals felt familiar, though it may be simply that they had been to water worlds before, and that sort of thing bleeds together like ink on a wet page. His characteristic grumpiness rose to the surface the moment they arrived, because the sound of water was constant in the surroundings. The crash of nearby waterfalls in particular was aggravating to him, though not so much that he made any substantial move to be on his way. Which wouldn't have been a great thing, really. He could blink and be on another continent. The Wind Mage was not as adventurous as Sarah was, but it was less in the sense of remaining sedentary and more in the sense of trailing her like a particularly irritable ghost. When he understood that she was trying to get enough of a bearing to teleport around reliably, he picked up the pace just out of a desire to have done with it. Eventually he split off and found someplace passably interesting to sit around, which ended up being a bar of all things. He reasoned that the alcohol and the people hurt his head less than the white noise. Today Luc had done something surprisingly productive and sold a batch of Fire Runes that he had set aside. They were for selling to start with, but he sold them just now because this was the sort of place where fire magic was rare, and so even if it wasn't as useful it would be a status symbol of sorts. But when the day lapsed into night his patience with being out and among people lapsed entirely and he wandered back to their room in relative silence. Which brought him to now, striding out onto the balcony where the lighting was brightest. Luc lifts his eyebrows in reaction to the tiny waterspout and its orderly meandering, glancing between it and Sarah. He remarks, "There's quite enough of that here, don't you think? Try and give them some lightning. I bet the storms that /do/ occur here are remarkable." He flicks his hand casually in Sarah's direction, (not at all) viciously attacking the ornamented hairclip that held her hair in its usual style. Then, without the slightest hint of warning, he moves away from the chair that he /might/ have occupied and drapes himself across Sarah's lap, his legs dangling over the armrest. It was a long time ago he was able to fluster her with vague flirting or mild reciprocations of affection. This, Luc suspects, was near as he would ever get to blindsiding her that hard ever again. His own attire was lighter than usual, near to the flowy white-and-green robes he favored in his youth, though with arms and legs cropped shorter. "What's that you're drinking?" He asks, dully. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   The water mage lifts a brow as her lap is suddenly occupied. Ordinarily she might have startled at someone closing into her personal space so quickly, but she always knows when Luc is approaching. The connection between the runes is one that she cannot ignore. Only at her most disoriented would she ever fail to notice it.   So she blinks somewhat bemusedly. Lightning? Sarah snorts softly, which tells him about all she needs to say about /that/. She has absolutely no use for that element.   Apparently he still has his old touch at wrecking her composure. Her face is a bit red even as she reaches up to run delicate fingers through his hair.   "Wine," she states, with just a little more cheer than it should probably warrant. In direct contrast to Luc's surly attitude today, she's been soaking in the sights and sensations of this place, happy as a little hermit crab in a new shell. "Local vintage, no less, and it's quite good. Sweet, but not obnoxiously so; somewhat nutty. I do wonder how they manage vineyards in a place like this. Perhaps they import the necessary ingredients from elsewhere? "You should have some."   It might improve his mood.   She makes no move to chase him off her lap, though, even if he's a little heavier than she is, and even if it's going to get uncomfortable in a little while. She doesn't seem to mind. Her fingers sort through his hair again, gently. "Something has been gnawing on your last nerve for the entire day. What is it? Maybe I can help with it." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' Luc is already in the process of stealing Sarah's drink before she actually answers him about what it is. He takes a sip of it, pauses, and then nods in what must be nominal approval. He might've been about to hand it back to her, but he seems perfectly content to let her stroke his hair instead. He leans back against the armrest behind him and says, "Probably some disgusting underwater plant we'd really rather not be acquainted with. But there are a lot of very versatile fruits that can be grown in almost any situation. It's just that past a point a society gets to the point where they really don't /need/ to deal with the versatile plants." "For instance," he takes another swig for himself, swallows and offers the glass to her, "dandelions. They're hardy and edible but the damn things are considered weeds in a lot of places. Of course they're not fantastic or anything, and they're a nuisance if you want a clear yard or some such nonsense, but as easy as they grow it's certainly something that will keep the hunger out if you keep them seeded." "This of course is probably imported, yes." He agrees. The Wind Mage will almost assuredly get bored of sitting like this eventually. It doesn't look /that/ comfortable, and he obviously just did it to get a rise out of her. He's in the midst of taking another sip -- and then looking 'round for the bottle -- when Sarah asks him what's bothering him. The Wind Mage shrugs, "The usual. Tension as a result of overabundance of element, but also because it's just damned noisy here. It's all right when we're inside I suppose, and I could see getting used to it and being able to fall asleep easily just lying around here." "Like listening to all the rain in the world." "Don't stop their waterfalls, being lynched is much more bothersome than an environmentally-based noise complaint. Be funny if you made them run backwards for a while on our way out, though." Luc glances out across the balcony. "I suppose I could try to dream up a way to squelch the sound, but I'd rather just get used to it." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Delicate, pale brows arch as the wine suddenly changes hands, and Luc helps himself to several swallows of it. Anyone else might be annoyed by such a show of entitlement, but she doesn't mind so much, evidenced by her slight half-smile. When he does it, it's an endearment, of a sort.   "There is nothing disgusting about underwater plants. On the contrary, something as simple as kelp is a fascinating study in clever survival tricks," Sarah murmurs, running her fingers through his hair again. She lets her nails graze along his scalp, her own eyes falling to half-mast. "If there was one positive thing that came of being locked in a library tower for fifteen years, it is that I was fortunate enough to have a very good education." There's a little wryness in her statement. It's a joke. She's full of useless trivia from that library, but there wasn't much else to do but fill her days with reading. "I remember the strangest trivia from that place, sometimes."   She eyes him at somewhat of an angle as he offers her the wine glass, taking it in delicate fingers and shrugging as she takes another drink. Dandelions? "Certainly. As an herb, they are wonderfully hardy. Both root and plant also have some medicinal value, among the more rural areas. I have heard it can be somewhat bitter, though. I would not know," Sarah adds, shaking her head. "I have never had the stuff for myself."   She runs her fingers through his hair again, frowning very slightly. It seems a grave expression with her naturally solemn features, as though she were considering not mere discomfort from Luc, but a fundamental anomaly in the universe itself.   Well, she's always taken him seriously. After so many years with him, she's made it clear that she will always place him before anyting else, as a priority. Her devotion to him is absolute. She has, on at least one occasion, proven that she is willing to sacrifice her own life for his sake, and do so without the least bit of hesitation.   "Hmm. I apologise. I should have found a place somewhat outside the city to stay. I was not thinking of the ambient noise." Sarah thins her lips, taking another drink of the wine and absently offering the glass to Luc. "It does not normally bother me, I suppose because it is water. You know, I think that they may be using wind tunnels of some kind in this city, too. Most likely they're driven by the movement of water." The water mage's voice turns thoughtful, but the wine in her gives her a languid, almost lazy tone so unlike her usual punctual self. She half-smiles. "What a clever city. I wonder who had designed all of this. That must have been a sly fox of a man or woman, I'm certain."   Leaning over, she presses a kiss to the top of his head, exhaling softly into his hair. "I was not thinking about stopping their waterfalls." Sarah is a singularly terrible liar, even if he can't see her face. "I suppose I could try to think of a way to dampen the sound, as well."   "Perhaps I can manipulate the water closest to this city not to stop, but to move in silence. It would take conscious effort, but I could provide you relief for a little while, if you like." Sarah exhales again into his hair, this time a silent laugh. "It would be an interesting exercise in finesse on a large scale. A challenge," she adds, in a merry tone.   She lets silence fall again, comfortable silence; practically radiating contentment. "What do you think of the wine?" she asks, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair again. Her touch is gentle, so gentle; warmth in the gesture itself as much as her tone of voice whenever she addresses him. No one else in the multiverse itself can coax that kind of warmth from her; not even Leknaat, the closest person to a mother that Sarah has. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "I hate the texture of them," Luc replies without hesitation, making a wiggling motion with his fingers to try to gesticulate his point, "seaweed in particular. At any rate societies built on the sea come up with some profoundly bizarre ways to use the resources available to them and I find those things revolting. Again, it's the texture. Fortunately everything else is brilliant. Shrimp and everything you can make with it, lobster is alright when somebody has the sense to give it a try. Fish, of course. Now granted that doesn't mean any of those things I complained about aren't /interesting/." "I just don't want wine made out of... I don't know, anemones." He reaches over and flicks idly at Sarah's earrings, his lips curling into a faint smirk at the motion of Sarah's hands through his hair. "It's alright," he says concerning the taste of dandelions, "we had a few cooks that would use the things in their greens, back in the day. Nothing too special but it was food and it filled you up just fine. I suspect they drowned it in something to make a little more palatable though. They drowned /everything/ in something to make it a little more palatable." "Red peppers, mostly." "They'd hold cooking contests occasionally. Volunteer as a judge and you get a better meal than most nights." He adds, thoughtfully. Luc shakes his head lightly -- he didn't want to disentangle her fingers from his hair unnecessarily -- and replies, "This is fine. The places out on the edges of things are going to be creepy and filled with lice. I know all about /that/ kind of inn as well. No thank you, I'll take the one in the nice neighborhood with the excess of noise. Anyway, you're not going to get away from it here, so there's no use apologizing or thinking to change it." "It's like the place with the external souls. It just happens." Briefly, the Wind Mage pauses to look around. He's clearly not seeing into the surroundings themselves, so much as he is examining the air currents. After a moment however he gives up, evidently not nearly interested enough to keep trying to find what Sarah was pointing out. "There's too much noise. Not literal noise, just breeze." "Mer-person." The Wind Mage offers as a suggestion for who might have built this place. On reconsideration, he corrects himself, "Frog-person. Mer-person wouldn't need to build on the surface. Bet there are mer-people on this planet though. And quit looking for magical solutions." He raises a hand to ruffle her hair, "Abusing our abilities on /this/ scale would mess with the weather. I don't mind doing that at home, but they might not like it here. Besides, there's easier ways to distract." Luc leans over to plant an /entirely innocent/ kiss along Sarah's jaw, and then spends a couple of more moments looking for the bottle of wine. He locates it along the side of the chair, twists uncomfortably to pluck it up, and then settles back across Sarah. He doesn't bother answering her question directly, just takes a great gulp straight out of the bottle. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I would not trouble myself to eat something like that," Sarah answers, leaning back more comfortably in her chair. The corner of her mouth twitches in a half-smile as he flicks at her earring. She reaches around him to unpin both earrings from her ears, setting them on the table beside her. He's already taken care of her hairband.   "I'm certain that anything can be palatable when you pour enough red pepper into it." Sarah's tone of voice suggests she doesn't believe a word of it. "I have no notion how people can eat something so spicy. I would be miserable."   His observation that places in the hinterlands are creepy and filled with lice earns a soft snort. Probably he's right. Paying the premium for a hotel room that is actually clean enough to be considered sanitary is a convenience cost Sarah is entirely willing to pay. She might have looked for a place to take him to alleviate the white noise, but he's probably right. There probably aren't any places out there that pass their ridiculously high standards for cleanliness.   "Frogs? Maybe." And quit looking for magical solutions, he chides her. She flushes a little as her eyes slide away from him. "It would not have interfered with the weather patterns. Merely a damper for the sound. I would still have been able to power their systems," she mumbles, a little defensively.   Her eyes screw shut as he ruffles her hair, but he might not miss the half-smile she shows as he does. It used to drive her insane, but the gesture has grown on her; a show of affection she associates Luc with when he's in good spirits.   And then he leans over and does something to her jaw. Her eyes flutter closed, waiting for the next. It doesn't happen. When she cracks an eye open, he's twisting at an impossible angle to retrieve the bottle of wine. Oh, and now he's taking a swig straight from the bottle.   One forefinger lowers to prod him in the back of the neck. "I suppose I should consider that an endorsement for the local vintage. Don't drink it too fast. You and I, I'm afraid we're still terrible at holding our liquor," she adds, laughing softly. "I very much doubt that I'll ever have that knack." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "People can get used to almost anything. You and I, we're spoiled. Have been since Leknaat got ahold of both of us. But /you/ remember, and I remember, what makes absolutely everything taste utterly divine." Luc replies, frowning slightly at the absence of anything else to fidget with. He supposes that she'd be rather upset if he flicked the earring off the balcony, or otherwise simply prefers if they're not in the way. Absent this, he reaches over to poke Sarah lightly on the tip of her nose. "Hunger. It's hunger. And well, spices like that make the things that soldiers have to eat a lot easier to stomach. Relatively speaking. Once your digestive system is well enough used to the spice itself, and it gets there, you can eat damn near anything because you can't taste it at all." "You'd be surprised how many soldiers fall for somebody telling them they've something in their eye after they've handled something covered in dried red peppers, though." He adds, with a slightly malicious smile. The Wind Mage shrugs, lightly, in answer to Sarah's embarrassment. "There's no need to be getting into bad habits like mine. I'm sure that they've driven a part of my... problems, and made it more difficult for me than need be. Besides, usually you're the one who champions Leknaat's favored /proper/ way of doing things." "Give it a couple of years and we'll be back where we started, and I'll go right back to corrupting you again." Luc passes the bottle over to Sarah, "Then have some yourself. No, we'll never hold much of even this sort of thing. We're too small, but I've no complaints about that. No number of Fliks can do the things I can do, so I don't mind being too short to reach high shelves. That's what ladders are for." He bent over to plant another kiss to Sarah's jaw, and once again left it momentarily at that. "How is your Rune keeping? You haven't brought it up lately." He wonders aloud, halfway between concerned and hopeful. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "This is true." Sarah's expression turns a little solemn when he mentions what they had been accustomed to. What they still remember, even if they live now a life of privelege. "I remember what it was to be hungry. I also remember what it was not to have seasoning and spices."   She had been fed in the One Temple, but her fare had not been very sustaining food, and for fifteen years she had lived on that meagre diet. It had taken a year or two with Leknaat before the hollows had finally vanished from beneath her ribs; for the gauntness to leave her cheekbones.   Even now, at a time when life is generally easy for her, she still manages to be slender and willowy to the point of occasional consternation in others. Having a power drain like the True Water Rune probably doesn't hurt. The rune's demand on her body, which is frail to begin with, is monstrous.   She probably couldn't put weight on with a rich diet even if she wanted to. Her body simply burns the energy too fast.   "Maybe." Sarah laughs softly when Luc suggests they'll be back to square one in terms of who's influencing whom. It's a pleasant sound, one that she doesn't share very often, and invariably, Luc's the only one to witness such a side of her. "To be honest, I'm glad that I grew somewhat out of holding you in quite so much awe and fear. It was a little too overpowering." She shakes her head, mirth in her colourless eyes. "I suppose I had no better way to express the emotions I felt, when I knew you paid that sort of attention to me."   The wine bottle is passed to her, and Sarah stares at it in the solemn puzzlement of the slightly drunken. She looks over at him when he suggests she have some, and as he ticks off his reasonings, she busies herself with taking an unladylike swig.   It's true. He's an awful influence on her.   "I suppose that's one way of looking at it," she comments, offering the bottle to Luc. Since he's so graciously offered, getting roaring drunk and enjoying good company sounds like a wonderful plan for the evening. Her head tilts faintly as he leans over to press another kiss to her jaw, eyelids once more fluttering closed. She waits...   ...for another kiss that, once more, doesn't follow. He might feel her exhale a soft breath of exasperation. That is completely not fair.   "There hasn't been much to bring up," she explains, winding her arms around him and pulling him closer, resting her chin over his shoulder and closing her eyes. "It's been behaving itself, which is honestly all I can really ask for. I've had nightmares, of course, but that's hardly out of the ordinary. Between the Ashen Future and Annu, it's a wonder I can stand to sleep at all."   Tilting her head, she brushes her lips over his shoulder, more an idle gesture than a deliberate one. Her eyes are fixed far off to the horizon, where torchlight glows and wavers over distant rushing water. She could get used to this place, for all of his complaints. It's enlivening; sings in her veins like the strongest coffee in the world, in a way she isn't sure how to put to words. Maybe it's just sympathetic resonance with so much of her affiliated element in the area.   He might feel her stir, but she only does so enough to run her fingers through his hair again. "I think it's quiet for the moment because of this place. This water, these waterways and cataracts and waterfalls, these fountains and locks... something about having so much of this water /moving/... I feel like I have all the energy in the universe itself singing through me right now. I feel so empowered. /Alive/," she breathes, chuckling softly, nuzzling into his hair. "I wonder how much of it is the True Water Rune, and how much of it is me." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "I don't know about /you/, but the bastards left me to starve." Luc grumps slightly. Of the clones of Hikusaak, he was the one considered to be a failure. The Rune had dug its claws in so deep that removal had been deemed functionally impossible, and it has a great deal more of an effect on him than it would on the next nearest bearer. Which isn't to say that Sasarai was perfect. He was stable but brittle, and when his illusions were shattered he had suffered greatly for it as well. Not so much, though, that he went to the Wind Mage's lengths to correct the "problem". Sarah had been less threatening, more useful. But at times Luc would not help but wonder what the Wind Rune might have done as his life left him. The True Runes did not countenance undue danger to their bearers, and it would not have surprised him if it had wreaked havoc upon Crystal Valley during his exit from the stage. At times, he could not help but wonder if that was the whole point all along. Luc waves a hand in answer to Sarah's laughter, and her meanderings on influence. He says, "You say so, but in truth I think you would've been foolish not to fear me, or Leknaat. Meaning no disrespect to your own skill or power at the time, but anybody with a True Rune is a thing that ought be feared. Even the incompetents. Perhaps especially the incompetents. The Flame Champion was a poor enough bearer of the Fire Rune, but he still stole it from Harmonia and laid the beginnings of the war in the Grasslands. Without he and his friends bumbling about, that tinderbox wouldn't be so ripe for exploitation." A feline smile curves Luc's lips in answer to Sarah's breath of exasperation. He continues on to the grim topics that follow, "The funny thing is, it makes you want to sleep more. The Ashen Future at least, not the other. No energy. Or at least that's what it does to /me/." Luc raises a hand to seize one of hers, lifting it lightly towards his lips to press a teasing kiss to her fingertips. He stops to answer, "It's the both of your Runes. You were born with an aspect of water, so that seems natural to you, and I suppose by your reckoning that it is as natural a part of you as any. But it's certainly not 'you'. I imagine to them it's rather like a bear being roused at the end of its hibernation." "Or perhaps it's simply the reality they'd prefer to see exist." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "You say that as though I didn't already know that," Sarah points out blandly, about Yuber being a piece of work. Literally anyone else could be called in Yuber's place to get a job done unless that job was violencing something. Violencing is something he is alarmingly good at. "And I can't help it. Everything about that /creature/ disgusts me."   She tilts her head a little, eyeing him when he gives that nasty smile. Sometimes he's a little scary when he smiles like that, although it doesn't give her any serious apprehension. It does give her pause, though. He tends to be plotting things when he pulls faces like that.   "I could have." Sarah shrugs. "Speaking honestly, though, the things that I enjoy the most there are things that I can have anywhere else on the face of the multiverse." Levering herself up on an elbow, she reaches up to tap a forefinger over his nose. "You, primarily. But we can go anywhere, you know. I think it's good to travel. I might miss the library, I suppose, but none of its contents are unique texts."   She lays herself back down alongside him, tolerating his mussing of her hair with a smile. It doesn't bother her half as much as she lets on. "Perhaps." This, in response to Oppenheimer. If his wine collection is that good, it might even be worth having to endure dull conversation. "Poison roses? That sounds like either a terrible idea or a brilliant one. I haven't decided which, yet."   Sarah frowns, as though she were trying to make that decision.   Eventually she just shrugs, leaning over to press a kiss to the point just below his ear. "Right now, I'll accept the City of the Seven Tiers. I really do want to study this place later. I'm quite curious how they manage to move all of this water in ways that keep the city running. It must be an incredibly efficient model." She blinks out of her reverie, though, glancing back over to him.   For several long seconds she only watches him, intently, allowing herself a flicker of a half-smile. "Feeling any better?" 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "The world needs a periodic reminder. He keeps getting summoned no matter how many times it turns out to be a bad idea, you see." Luc remarks, amusedly. He does sigh a little irritably on the subject of Toran Castle, "The only thing I'll miss greatly is the baths. The library we can take with us easily enough, it's just a matter of boxing things up and moving them right along to wherever we go. That library in the castle isn't /that/ big, although it may take up most of the lodgings we're liable to get. Not that it matters, it's not as if there's something /else/ we're going to occupy space with." "The giant bath though, you can't find that everywhere unless you want to bathe with a bunch of strangers." He pauses. "Done that enough, too." He scratches his head as he ponders Oppenheimer's poison roses, "It was brilliant at the time. The fortress was unapproachable because there's not much you can do about poison gas, you see? Took out most of McDohl's troops that tried to take the lace, because it looked well and truly unguarded at the time. We eventually burned the exterior plants up, but he still had some nasties up his sleeve." "Man-eating spores. We had to bring a man back to /life/ because of that, you know. Such are the stars." "As for this place, they could power their society with all of this water if they were of a mind to. I suppose there must have been /land/ once for there to be tiers and waterfalls for them to have raised it over, unless that's artificial too." He clearly hasn't looked at it too closely, to have made such a remark. Luc blinks in mild surprise when she questions his well-being. As it happens, /yes/, he's been less irritable through this conversation than when he started. He replies, "Water you may be, but you've no hope of making me as annoyed as the perpetual churn of waterfalls. Yes, I feel better." "And fuzzy." He adds, unnecessarily. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Yes, and people keep failing to learn the same basic lessons every time he needs to be summoned back to reality." Sarah's answer is a grumble. "Oh, yes, they remember how terrible he is, and if there were anyone interested in treating with a monster like him, they learn quickly. Then, they forget. Memory fades. And then some bloody idiot decides it would be a great idea to have a thing like Yuber in their back pocket."   She might be looking pointedly at Luc, because Luc had been all for hiring the crazy bloodthirsty monster in his plans. Keeping Yuber on point and behaving himself had been so much more than a full-time job. It had also been /such a pain/. That, for her, had been infinitely more stressful than anything Luc had asked her to do, save perhaps summoning and supporting an entire army. Even that she had done without complaint, though it had cost her deeply; leaving her weak and alarmingly pale the further their campaign went.   Sarah snorts, softly.   "I forgot about the baths. Yes, I suppose I'll miss those, too. Well, no need to worry about that. I will make a point of finding places that have unreasonably luxurious accomodations, and then we will have access to bathtubs that will put Toran Castle to shame." The water mage chuckles. "I'm sure they exist, somewhere. But no strangers. I do not think I could ever do that."   Sarah is about as modest as they come. The idea of her actually letting down one layer of clothing around total strangers, let alone all of the layers, is absurd.   She leans up against him, resting the side of her face against his shoulder as she considers. Man-eating spores. That sounds brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Seriously, who thought that was a good idea? That kind of thing always has the potentiality to turn into a huge mess, backfire on the person who engineered it, and otherwise make a huge hassle for everybody involved and probably a few people who aren't.   "Mm. I suspect that they do," she comments, to his observation about the water driving the city. "I have not bothered yet to look too deeply, because that will require a great deal of concentration, but I think that there are mechanisms more complex than even I might suspect deep in the heart of these channels and locks. Even the waterfalls, I suspect, serve a purpose. There must be something to collect all the energy of the water as it comes roaring down. I would have to look deeply to actually follow the water's course through to the end."   She can't decide if it's ingeniously efficient, or just an expensive show of power. It might be a bit of both until she has a chance to do some sleuthing of her own.   Splaying her fingers over his chest, she traces an idle pattern over his Rune-entangled heart. "Yes? I imagine there was land, once. If there was, though, it is trivial enough that I sense more water than land. The water extends down for many hundreds of fathoms, I think." Sarah's voice turns thoughtful, but her hand continues to meander, eyes distant as she looks more deeply. She's looking into the water itself, and the deeper she looks, the more her colourless eyes slip out of focus. "Mmm. Very deep."   Sarah comes back to herself, blinking hard to reorient herself. She's proficient enough to slip that focus on and off like a glove, but coming back too quickly always feels a little awkward. Her surroundings look so strange when she sees things with her physical senses again. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Hmmmm," she says in response to his last observation. Although she doesn't laugh, there is a promise of one in her voice. "Really? Then, I'm glad that I am not as annoying as the perpetual churn of a waterfall." She leans forward, eyes drifting closed as she presses a faint kiss to the line of his cheekbone. "I like to think of myself more an ocean. Oceans are calm, but still waters are capable of running deep." Very deep. It takes a lot to push Sarah to true anger, but when she finally succumbs, her wrath is terrible to behold; swift and savage and overwhelming as the tsunami.   She smiles, then, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his -- a soft but decisive kiss, a sign of affection; even a little possessiveness. It's a long moment before she pulls away, and she doesn't go far when she does, staying close enough to rest her cheekbone against his. "Fuzzy, hmm. Had enough wine, do you think? It does have a way of loosing one's wits. The world feels softer after a few glasses of wine; nothing seems quite so important. Sometimes, it's good to feel that way." She isn't quite breathing into his ear, but it's close. "Fuzzy, sometimes, is good." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "No, in that specific case there was no way he could actively hinder your plans. Still, if someone hadn't appointed themselves his keeper, I think things would have turned out differently. Not necessarily better or worse, mind you, but differently." Sarah hoods her eyes, considering. "Yuber? Assist with something like ressurection? No, he would never. It runs contrary to his very nature. I do not think he could even be forced or coerced into such a thing."   Taking his Rune and having done with it wouldn't be unwise, she decides. Now, with the power of the True Water Rune, she could likely stand toe to toe with him; briefly, she thinks it might actually be cathartic to crush him like a bug someday.   If it ever came down to that, anyway. If it comes to pass, it does; if it doesn't, she'll lose no sleep over it.   "A pond? No, absolutely not. Ponds left too long in the sun are filthy things, you know, and some of the things growing in them are better not named." She leans on him at the touch of his fingers through her hair, pausing just long enough to make a quiet, pleased sound. "Meltwater is a good comparison. Cold, clear, pure. Swift."   Tilting her head as he focuses his attention on her neck, she leans against him, eyes fluttering closed. "I think," she observes with the solemnity only someone more than slightly drunk can summon, "that I am a great deal more fuzzy than you are right now."   "But I don't hear you complaining about that, either." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "I suppose he might be inclined to resurrect someone who will cause a great deal of damage for fun." Luc suggests, half-heartedly. It isn't really important, not that any of this discussion of Yuber /is/. The degree to which he would cause Sarah's blood pressure to spike would be high enough that even the Wind Mage wouldn't really want him around for any practical purposes. "If not meltwater, then I suppose rain is the next descriptor I would use. Rain comes down in a lot of different ways. Light, hard, frozen, irregularly. A pond... I am certain that somebody has borne that Rune which we could then describe as a pond. Not Lightfellow I think, I would describe /him/ as series of rivers with many rapids. Too quick-moving, and never quite remaining in the same place. Not altogether clear from the fierceness of it. Dangerous, but not that hard to tame either." Or in another word, average. "Hmm? No. I wouldn't." Luc replies, shutting his eyes and resting his face against her neck. "I can find better things to complain about. The sound of the waterfalls will eventually start getting to me again. I don't really look forward to moving out of Toran Castle." "That wine smells too strong." "There aren't enough giant flying insects." He shrugs. "Things like that." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "He would cooperate with that." The water mage's observation is in a tone of resignation.   Normally Sarah's blood pressure is quite safe, and she is masterful at controlling her own reactions. Having the power of the True Water Rune makes it a necessity. Yuber, however, has a way of her into genuine rage. Everything he is manages to dig under her skin. Luc also has a way of getting under her skin, but he never truly angers her -- she enjoys his teasing, his constant testing.   Yuber just pisses her off and makes her want to commit murder. In earnest.   "Rain is a good descriptor." Sarah tilts her head as he rests his face against her neck, pressing an idle kiss to the side of his jaw, content just to lie beside him and savour his company. Her breath is quiet, calm; warm against the side o fhis neck.   It's true that he can exasperate her from time to time, but she's never been truly angry at him. She is far too accomodating for that; far too accepting of who and what he is. Getting irritated at his quirks and his idiosyncracies wouldn't change them, and she prefers to focus on the aspects of him that she's drawn to.   Nuzzling into the side of his neck, she lets out a contented breath, huddling a bit closer into him. "You are warm," she murmurs, smiling against his neck, even laughing softly as he starts listing complaints.   "We will just take our things from Toran Castle, but I doubt it will be used again any time soon. If we change our minds, we can always return. Or find a new place from which we can conduct our operations. I will miss it, too, but I agree that it is better not to stay in one place."   Harmonia just doesn't need the extra encouragement. She's not afraid of them any more, but having to defend herself from their ambitions would still be an inconvenient and exasperating hassle. "For now, though, I hope the waterfall hasn't begun bothering you too much. I suppose we'll both get used to it after a few days." Her throat's been a bit raw, with having to practically shout over the roar of water -- her voice is quiet and whispery even on the best of days.   "The wine? Really? I hadn't even noticed," she observes, cracking an eye open and looking at nothing in particular. "It does taste nice."   There's a few seconds of silence.   No, seriously, the world doesn't need more giant flying insects. The world never needs more giant flying insects.   "Why do you have to remind me that those wretched creatures exist?" Sarah murmurs, plaintively, from somewhere at the side of his neck. "I don't mind smaller insects, especially things like dragonflies, or maybe butterflies -- who minds butterflies? -- but the mantids..."   She actually shudders against him. Those things give her the worst kinds of heebie-jeebies. When they were staying in Lebuque, it had graduated from heebie-jeebies into full-blown nightmares. Sarah hadn't looked rested until they'd moved on far away from that place. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "I do not know how I might describe myself," Luc rambles as much to himself as to Sarah, "perhaps some sort of very mild storm front I suppose. I push things hither and to, and in the process I effect change by indirect means. But I do not typically take center stage myself, and when I do it is a disaster in the making. My star is not meant for leading, and I am hardly suited to it in personage." The Wind Mage envelops his companion in his arms, drawing her into a light embrace. He nods slightly at her remark -- that he's warm -- but ponders on. The matter of Yuber and all the rest is let to lie, because it really is an ugly subject. At times he wonders if he is merely over-obsessed with this gruesome phantom turn that his life might have taken, and that it is a sign he will return to it inevitably. He doesn't voice these thoughts aloud. "It will be years and years before Toran Castle is used by another," he says with conviction, "it is a place to which people are drawn solely because they have need of safety and a place to build their strength. It is at the center of an important economic center but it is not practical. It is not a home. Blood has been shed there, and old magic lingers in its depths. Eventually, long from now..." "Some fool boy will take it up, and the Toran Republic will become something else." The Wind Mage makes a vague noise regarding the waterfalls. He hasn't a need to comment on it any further. It is what it is, and no words will make worse the irritation or unmake the situation of it. Besides, he likes the place in all other respects. He cannot stop himself but making a small, sarcastic noise in answer to Sarah's assertion that /she/ needs to get used to it at all. Luc casts her a sharp, knowing, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. "No," he says concerning the wine, "I can simply smell the alcohol on the both of us now. The wine is not that strong-smelling. It was a joke." Regarding the mantids, he smiles, and says, "Because I liked them. Because they are no more offensive than any other creature. Because it gets your hackles up, and that amuses me. Because boys never stop being entertained by gross bugs." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Rain, borne on a storm front. I suppose that's a fitting enough description of the both of us," Sarah murmurs, leaning against him. She manages a small, pleased sound in the back of her throat as he pulls her closer, nuzzling into his shoulder and letting her eyes slide shut. Her arms slip around him, holding him even as she's being held. "The wind supports the water. It's true that I take care of you, that I support you where I can. But you also support me," she murmurs, warmly. "More than you can know."   Shifting slightly to pull the blanket more securely around themselves, she rests her face against the side of his neck again, sighing; one hand traces along the line of his shoulder, idly, as though she weren't even aware her hand is moving. "Perhaps. Perhaps it will sit empty. Whatever the case, it is not a home, no. It is a base of operations. Perhaps, while we travel, we might search for someplace that could be a home for us. Hmm? Or we may simply wander, like the wind, like the rain."   "Maybe so," she murmurs, in regards to the alcohol, chuckling. "This place plays havoc with my senses, a little. All except for the Rune's, that is."   Luc smiles and lists his reasons why he likes the mantids. She had been about to kiss the side of his neck, but she pauses, hovering just over his skin; breath warm as she snorts.   "You know what I think? I think you just enjoy getting my hackles up more than any of those other reasons."   "I suppose I could see how there is something to admire about them, from... somewhat of a distance... they do have quite pretty carapaces, irridescent and colourful. But... the /sounds/ they make, and all those /legs/." Sarah shudders. She can't help it. "Eugh." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "After a fashion." Luc grants, shutting his eyes in turn. After a moment he adds, "I can't see how I substantially support you these days. You're grown up enough that you haven't much need for me, and you've certainly done things that I would not involve myself in. What then would you say I provide to you, precisely? Whimsy? I suppose that /I/ would say it is whimsy." The Wind Mage reaches down and aids Sarah in drawing the blankets up, so that she doesn't have to twist too much to do so herself. He shuts his eyes again, frowning slightly. There had only been one place he'd ever felt at home, and that feeling left him a long time ago. Leknaat's tower was certainly A Home, but to her it was just another destination to hide and watch until the time came to do it all over again. "I feel as if perhaps we've become accustomed to excessive lodgings." He suggests, in an amused voice, "but I can think of a few possibilities I suppose. I do not really know what goes into a proper home though, only the things that I would rather not do without." "A study with enough bookshelves. A nice bath. A secure place to sleep. A secure place to sleep." He repeats the last deliberately and with conviction. It was not a mistake that he said so. "... Plays havoc with /your/ senses? You must be joking. This is your kind of place, are you telling me that it's setting off /allergies/?" His incredulity shone through more brightly than any other feeling he'd mustered for days. The idea must /really/ be ridiculous to him. He nods, and confirms, "I do. But I also like them well enough. They're flying things you can ride, flying things you can ride appeal to me. I like dragons too. Would you prefer great big butterflies, so big you can see what makes them ugly and strange even if you'd otherwise have liked them?" "I think your aversion has much to do with the fact that they do not communicate like humans or other animals do do. It's easier to see the... processes of the manner in which a dragon acts, I think." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I suppose in the strictest of technical senses, no, you do not support me." Sarah shifts her weight against him, mostly so she can settle more comfortably in the circle of his arms. "Perhaps not to any outward appearances. I am, to an outside eye, entirely self-sufficient. But you provide me something that they cannot see."   She reaches up, delicate fingers gently sorting through his hair, touch light. "You give me emotional support when I most need it. I do not think my nights when I dream of Annu or the Ashen Future would be quite so easy for me to move past if you were not there," she observes, quietly. "And I do not think that enduring the aftermath of a trial like Annu would have been possible without knowing I was coming back to you."   "I would say it is love, even if not in the sense that many think. You give me something to take refuge in. I give you... well, I am not particularly sure what I give you, but it must be sufficient," she adds, with a flicker of a smile, "as after so many years we have not parted ways."   To the matter of lodgings, she only shrugs, the faintest of movements against him. "Perhaps. To me, home is where you are. I have never really had a /home/, per se, so it is not something that I would necessarily miss. Ultimately, the other things are only that -- things."   Her kind of place, giving her allergies? She chuckles. "No. I'm saying that it's like being in a field of wildflowers, perhaps. It's overwhelming." He might remember the day he had taken her someplace like that, for the first time. Just getting her to walk beside him had been a bit of a trial, trying to overcome her subservient instincts and inherent shyness. The reward had been worth it, though, to see her gaping at the field of simple, common wildflowers as though she had been shown the greatest of worldly treasures.   In truth, it had been, to her. Something new; something completely unexpected that she had never experienced before. She had, for a few moments, been completely overwhelmed, unable to even think or speak.   Maybe having so much of her element surrounding her has something of the same effect, not because it's simply and placidly there, but because there is motion and dynamism to it -- the City of the Seven Tiers directs its water, and puts it to purpose. It is hardly still at any place in this city, and a great deal of it is somehow impelled by magic.   She leans forward to press a kiss to the side of his neck, burying her face into his shoulder enough that she can still breathe but can otherwise hide her face; lose herself in him. He might feel her eyes close; the feather-light touch of her eyelashes. "Maybe in time I'll find them tolerable, but not just now. I am not overly fond of dragons, either. Nor do I think I would like butterflies half so much if they were more than the harmless little creatures gracing so many gardens."   "I do not even like horses, and they are a great deal smaller than dragons." She's never quite gotten to the point of bringing herself to learn to ride. Creatures larger than she is tend to make her a little apprehensive no matter how well-behaved they are.   She shrugs at his explanation about the creepy-crawlies. "Perhaps. Or the fact that they are put together differently than any other creature on the whole of the earth. There is that," she adds, amusedly. 
}}

5311/Cinders and Smoke

2017-07-07T05:18:51Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/06/13 |Location=Dun Realtai <DR> |Synopsis=Various defenders of Dun Realtai turn aside an invasion launched by mysterious creatures of flame...."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/06/13
|Location=Dun Realtai <DR>
|Synopsis=Various defenders of Dun Realtai turn aside an invasion launched by mysterious creatures of flame.
|Cast of Characters=482, 346, 1016, 525
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Summers in Dun Realtai have been mild for the whole of the last years of its habition. They seem much like summers on the tundra -- short, mild, and somewhat humid. Some days it gets uncomfortably warm, and the air feels heavy, but for the most part its summers are as mild as its winters are fierce.   It's been an unusually hot and dry week and a half past. Not even the wild wheat in the fields has been able to endure it; where the fields have been irrigated and watered, everything beyond their tidy bounds has withered and turned the colour of straw. Cicadas buzz incessantly in the parched trees. Heat waves shimmer on the horizon.   Many a townsfolk and even the kingdom's steward has been laid low by this sudden and savage heat; dehydrating quickly without being aware.   Today has been another day of brutal heat. Even Bedivere has been forced to feel its effects. The Dun has lost a good many horses, succumbed to heat exhaustion despite the best efforts of their keepers and sometimes even Bedivere himself. Crops threaten to wither in the field, if they haven't already. Water has become tantamount to sacred. Even the kelpie has been staying in its lake, too miserable even to stare at Dun Realtai's people.   It's late evening, with the sun already hovering over the horizon. Yet something heavy lies on the horizon, obscuring the setting sun. It's blotchy, it's black, it's very high up, and there's a whole lot of it.   The ash starts about ten minutes later. Fine, whitish flakes sift down from the sky like snow in summer, but there's nothing cold about it. The heat is worse than ever; suffocating.   That's the smoke as it rolls in.   Bedivere is nowhere to be found. Neither is the Black One. Kepas, too, has gone missing -- at the first sight of ash, recognising the fine whitish powder for what it was, the castle's lord had seized his cloak and stormed for the stables, where the Black One had been lounging in horse-form. Kepas had dogged his heels with uncharacteristic sobriety, stalking like the predator he is.   All three are out across the plains like a flash, galloping /towards/ the blackest point of sky at speed. Dressed in the gleaming armour of his station, Bedivere crouches low over his steed with eyes of steel; he has the hood of his mantled cloak drawn up against the ash. The Black One is quite a sight beneath him, the consummate war-horse. His ears are pinned back, his tail flies like a banner behind him. His hooves tear up clods of dried earth, and his nostrils are red-rimmed in his exertions at speed.   He had not left a message for Arturia as to where he was going. He saw something that needed to be taken care of, urgently, and so he had gathered the horse and the hound and he had set off.   But now, with ash raining from the sky and smoke heavy on the horizon, Arturia will hear a sound familiar to her ears.   The bellow of Sir Bedivere of Camelot's war-horn, the same rich and urgent cry that had sought so hard to summon allies to the king's side. It blasts in the same pattern that she would have heard at Camlann -- three staccato cries, an urgent call for aid, meant to summon allies to the sounder's side. It's not too different from the call that Bedivere had sounded on Camlann's bloody hill, just a bit different in its cadences, but there is an almost hysterical urgency in its irrhythmic calls. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' It had been only a matter of time with the unnatural heat, and the signs were unmistakeable. Still, Arturia had held her ground, so to speak, remaining behind to help organise the people for a worst-case scenario. Wildfires were not an alien phenomenon; prairies and older forests endured them from time to time, clearing out thatch and undergrowth that otherwise hindered the sturdier, older, and heathier plantlife. It was at least common enough for there to be certain procedures in place to protect the village and the surrounding fields to keep it from encroaching. The people had already endured trials which would have driven those of a less-sturdy mindset to abandon their homes.      But this was Dun Realtai, and its people had been shaped by hardship just as their most recent lieges had been. Leaving was simply not an option.      Nevertheless, she had ordered those who had been trained by the earthbender Toph Beifong to guide their charges in creating wide, bare-earth ditches beyond the fields and pastures which would have been too much work for mere men to construct in such a short time. Still, if the wind blew sparks into the fields, it might not be enough, but it should buy them some time...at least enough to petition the Paladins -- and anyone else, as members of the other factions benefited from Dun Realtai frequently -- for aid.      The King of Knights had not even been at her task for an hour before the sound pierced the otherwise quiet day, a sound which carried with it terrible memories of doom. God willing that there wasn't something to match Camlann.      Arturia was in her battle armour in an instant, calling on her Servant's strength and speed to leap across the landscape in Bedivere's direction. Even had the horses been at perfect health, the Heroic Spirit was faster still.      Bedivere would only be waiting for a few minutes before Arturia landed and came to a halt. "What is the situation?" she asked gravely, falling back into her familiar pattern of king and marshal. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     She'd gotten a notice only yesterday.     While the summer heat had stood on the neck of Dun Realtai, Eithne had done her best to keep the crops from dying on the vine. Even with her mother's blood in her veins there has been only so much she can do; the boundaries of the planted fields have had to serve as markers for her divine gifts. Dun Realtai will see its crops survive to be harvested, but only if fire doesn't claim them first.     More immediately, Eithne dislikes fire somewhat. It's too hot, and there's nothing she can do about it.     The last few days have seen her abandon her preoccupation with the lake's kelpie. The weather has been too hot and dry, and something more imprtant has been taking up all of her attention. The sound of a horn isn't overly familiar to her, but she can feel the urgency of it... and the sight of King Arturia flashing past at an unbelievable speed is more than enough to see Eithne throw down her hoe and run for the edge of the firebreak. She's not anywhere near as fast as a Servant, but her stamina means that errant sparks and flames won't keep her from following the noise to its origin.     "Sir Bedivere-!!" Eithne curses and spits out a mouthful of ash. "Pfeh! What can I do to help?!" 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Such brutally hot weather came as rather a surprise to Inga, though she'd made the best of it by going swimming as often as possible, kelpie or no. She had also been helping to keep everyone hydrated, bringing in water from elsewhere if needed. It might be a bit strange to see the people in the village drinking bottled water, but it was an easy way to help. She'd been helping with such things for the trapped people of kingsmouth for, well, years now. Inga is in the lake, swimming in her shift, when she sees the blackness on the horizon, when ash falls like snow in the blazing heat. She curses quietly to herself and wades out of the lake, soaking wet but ready to help. She knows the situation is dire when she hears the horn. She freezes on the shore, the sound of the horn striking a cord in her memory--no, not /her/ memory. But there it is, and all the fear and pain that went with it. Inga shakes her head and moves as quickly as she's able to Jodis, the elegant grey horse tied to a tree nearby. She climbs into the saddle once Jodis bends down to help her mount, then leads her toward where the sound of the horn originated. The fire was coming, clearly, and while she couldn't haul water very well and most of her magic focused on starting fires rather than extinguishing them, where people are fighting fire people are getting burned, and people getting burned could use a healer. Inga cannot ride at the speed of Arturia, clinging to the saddle as Jodis travels at a gallop. Falling out of the saddle would help no one, so she is the last to arrive, her hair still dripping wet. "Odin's bones," she curses, taking stock of the situation. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The scene where the war-horn bellows from is one of chaos.   Hills and plains roll onward, but here the grass has been transformed from summer straw into a sea of cinders. Flames roar and rise high into the night sky, where cinders dance among the smoke that swallows the stars. Ash sifts down from the highest of the billows.   The silver-haired knight is silver-haired in truth with the ash that dusts his hair. He's coughing and hacking as he ties a strip of what looks like cloth torn from the hem of his cloak around his face; it looks as though he's soaked it in water from the waterskin at his belt. His eyes glint in the firelight; his face twisted into a determined set.   The Black One is nowhere to be found. Neither is Kepas.   There is the sound of a terrible howling from the other side, chilling snarls and sounds of creatures battling.   The sheet of flame that stands between Bedivere and the apparent object of his focus ripples; it wavers as it reaches high into the night sky.   And then something bursts through the flames.   Something white hurtles by, trailing embers and smoke, and a lick of flame that whisks itself out. It slaps against the ground, bouncing and rolling; revealing itself to be a singed and battered Kepas. His teeth are bared, and the lights in his eye sockets blaze red. He sings a song of battle -- he snarls and /roars/ at the sheet of flame, a deep, bellowing yell that by far dwarfs the war-horn of Sir Bedivere.   He turns, standing on three legs, and looks back to where Arturia, Eithne, and Inga have arrived. Turning graceful as a deer, he surges forward and leaps into the flames again with a terrible, throaty snarl.   "Something is attacking!" Bedivere can barely get the words out over the coughing, waving feebly towards the flames. "Kepas has gone after it, and so has the Black One! Stay back from the flames; they shift most unpredictably! Mark me," he spits angrily, "this is no natural fire! Something has set this place ablaze with deliberation!"   The sheet of flame ripples again -- and this time Kepas is hurled clear, silent but for the /fwhoomp/ of flames igniting around him. A great, dark /something/ leaps free of the flames after him, landing with the sound of mountains moving and creating a shockwave in the midst of the plain, earth cracking and crumbling and glowing red-hot where its feet touch.   It's bipedal, that much is clear. It's fashioned rather much like Kepas, in fact -- if Kepas had an elemental opposite. Where Kepas is ice, this one is flame, magma, and the molten blood of the earth. His hide is scorchy and black, cracked in a hundred thousand places where his molten blood shows through. His skull is blackened bone where Kepas' is smooth white. Where gentle yellow lights usually flicker in Kepas' eye sockets, this one houses points of flame; hearts of stars.   The flame-hound and Kepas roll and tumble, snarling and yelping and bellowing at each other. They fight as any dogs would, circling, lunging for throats, snapping at anything in their way. Where they pass, the plains are left singed and blackened; or steamed, where the hounds of fire and ice come together.   "Begin by driving off that beast!" Bedivere cries, waving his sword after the flame-hound.   Further afield, the two hounds grapple again. The flame-hound surges up, shaking his prey viciously. There comes a brittle /snap/ and a high yelp of pain, and the intruder tosses Kepas aside like a broken toy.   Slowly, it turns toward the would-be defenders, the hell-fires of the sun dancing in its twin eye sockets. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' The snap as Kepas was hurled aside was fearsome even as Arturia had to remind herself that Kepas was not an ordinary hound, something that was difficult to remember even with his otherwise demon-like visage. Alaia could most likely heal him...or so she hoped. And it was likely that this other creature had a creator-master just as Kepas did, which perhaps the Black One was searching for, or at least she hoped so and not that he had befallen an unfortunate fate. And -- like the corrupted ice hounds they had had to put down before they could speak to the winter witch -- it seemed they would have to deal with his elemental opposite.      Fire was not something Arturia especially enjoyed dealing with, it always seemed to herald something terrible and take many lives with it, either from Camlann or what had afterwards been called the Great Fuyuki Fire caused by the destruction of the Outer Grail. But perhaps this time, she could prevent tragedy; she wasn't alone.      Taking up a position in front, Arturia lifted Excalibur to en garde and dismissed the Bounded Field of the Wind King. Had the situation been different, it would have been useful to contain the fire, but for the moment, the magic technique would only spread it further. The fire was simply too large to contain with it.      "It seems that we shall have to incapacitate this beast...or kill it, if there is no other option." She herself would prefer not to; it was likely one of the many natural fae necessary for the land's health. Then again, if it had indeed killed Kepas...she would not be nearly so lenient. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     This isn't natural. She doesn't need to be a Scion of Brigid to know it when fire behaves /this/ erratically, when something growls and paces just beyond the edge of the flames. A dog, maybe...? A dog that walks on two legs. A dog that picks up Kepas and throws him aside like a toy poodle. Somewhere beyond the roar of flames she can hear Bedivere call out.     Eithne reaches behind herself for that border of Here and Somewhere Else, fingers digging past the seam of two planes, and drags her sword through into reality. "Someone work on killin' the fires!" she shouts, because she has no way of doing it beyond that of any mortal. "I'll try to slow it down!"     She knows what she is about. She knows what she is made for. Eithne narrows her eyes beyond the heat and the wavering flames, gritting her teeth until she's certain she can see the bend of a knee. Rhiannon is held out flat to her right side, perpendicular to the scorched earth. She takes a breath and sets her right leg in place to drive her body forward.     She just. Has. To hit. Eithne kicks off of the ground, turning her body into a battering ram and her dull, pitted 'blade' into a sickle. "HAU!"     Unsurprisingly, Eithne is completely okay with killing it. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Wildfires are to be expected in such dry heat...but this is something else. Inga knows it just as Bedivere does. He feels it. It is in his blood, magic singing, recognizing it's like. When Kepas is thrown out of the flames, she isn't sure she can save him. She gasps, cringing even as she reaches for her knife and swiftly cuts into her arm, throwing the healing blood magic toward the beloved hound of Dun Realtai. Healing and protection. He did his best, but it is they that must face the beast now. Fire is out, and lightning too, what good would those do against such a creature? But there is blood. There is always blood. Inga sends her wards out to Eithne, Saber and Bedivere, a shimmering aura of crimson-gold the invigorates and protects them from incoming damage. It may even make it easier for Bedivere to breathe, with any luck. Enya, Arturia and Bedivere are all melee fighters....this is going to be tricky, but Inga is determined to keep them all alive. "If we can weaken it, I can attempt to bind it!" she calls to Arturia. She would not attempt such a thing while it was at full strength and in a rage, it would never work. But if they could weaken in, slow it down....something, she thought she could get a circle around it and bind it until they could figure out what to do with it. Killing it outright might not be wise. In a land such as this one, steeped in deep magic, it might throw the balance in the other direction. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The flame-hound springs with a grunt like the sound of mountains crumbling, kicking off from the plain and leaving behind a scorched spot where it had been standing. At first it looks as though it's heading for Inga, singling out the Wisewoman from the crowd of Elites, but at the last moment it changes its direction and lunges straight for Arturia.   Bedivere lifts his sword, shifting his weight and leaping -- and landing as the thunder of hooves pounds a steady rhythm beneath the rush of flame. The Black One charges in from the sheet of flames, screaming his challenge as furiously as any mortal stallion. He flies straight for the flame-hound, enormous hooves churning up ash and earth.   The knight seems to be aiming to cavalry-charge the creature, lancing with his long blade in passing. Let the others deal with close melee -- he's always been a better rider. If only he had some kind of spear...   Meanwhile, the hound is striving to catch Arturia when it's struck in the flank. It grunts, molten blood flaring bright and flames erupting along its body -- a sign of anger, perhaps? It's still going for Arturia, in any case. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' If there was any question, however unlikely that is was, of the beast's magical nature, the charge at the King of Knights should have allayed any doubt. Hungry magical creatures had a tendency to make a dive for the blinding furnace of magical energy that was a Heroic Spirit, and Saber was among the most potent of them. She had been relying on that, in fact.      "I will attempt to keep the creature focused on myself," she informed the others. An odd thing for a king to say, but she had considerable physical protection and nigh-unbreachable magical protection. If there was anyone who could best deal with the claws and fangs of an otherworldly creature, it was Arturia.      That was not to say that she could not deal impressive damage on her own part. From en garde, she held Excalibur in her usual two-handed grip and swung the holy sword into an uppercut at the flame-beast. Even if it evaded, the move should keep its attention trained on her.      Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the Black One's timely return. Good, he was still in one piece...of course, if she voiced her concern over that, the mercurial beast was more than likely to have been insulted. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Shimmering light settles around her shoulders. Eithne recognizes it as Inga's work, mostly because you can't live with someone for months without coming to recognize the flavor of their blood magic (which is not something she'd ever given any thought to before she moved here). It's comforting, like a shawl across her shoulders on a cold day. If they can weaken it...? Would binding it be better than killing it?     She'd honestly rather just render it down into bits, but Eithne has always been a little too straightforward.     "Right!!" Despite her own divine hardiness, there's no doubt that Arturia is tougher. As long as they don't need to rely on Eithne for focused strikes things ought to be okay, right?!     The monster leaps away and she stumbles, turning to track it and adjust her course. Is there a better way to slow it down...?! 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga has been in many a battle, and has known many warriors in her time. She is not unfamiliar with how one fights from horseback. As Bedivere is an excellent horseman, it only makes sense that he and Black One would use this to their advantage. But Bedivere needs a suitable weapon. Biting her lip, Inga opens up the same wound in her arm, keeping the blood flowing as her regeneration tries to kick in. Blood pools in the air, defying gravity, lengthening, shaping....hardening into a wicked looking spear. "Bedivere!" she calls, and sends the spear sailing (not too quickly!) in his direction, aiming for him to catch it. In short, Inga made you spear! It's made of her blood. Have fun! And since she's already bleeding heavily... Another spear forms in the air, but this one flies straight for the creature, sharp, flying at high speeeds, and fueled with glorious anima. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Clinging to the great black charger by a fistful of mane, Bedivere leans sideways to sweep his nameless blade in an arc. It draws molten blood from the fiery hound, glowing red with the heat but holding its shape.   He does manage a cry of recoil at the gift from Inga, because /ew/ that's /blood/. Inga's blood, to be more specific about it.   The flame-hound seems to have no problem focusing on Saber. It lands in front of her with a snarl and plumes of ash where its paws land, blackened nails digging into dry dirt. It lunges for her with impressive speed, seeking to clash its jaws shut over her midsection, jerking its head as though to worry at her -- and letting fly.   Whether or not it manages to toss her anywhere, or even get a good grip on her with its teeth, it's already bowling forward to snap at Eithne, which means it's snapping straight at Rhiannon. It ignores Inga for the time being -- but she's probably on its radar.   Bedivere, meanwhile, wheels the Black One around to take another sword-sweeping pass at the beast. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Given Saber's current task, dodging was not an optimal move when she wanted to hold the beast's attention. Fending it off when it lunged at her would have to be done by harrying it with counterstrikes, parrying what she could and following with ripostes. The problem was with its speed; a supernatural beast could have speed and strength to rival a Servant. She held her position, studying the flamehound, watching for anything like the muscle movements of a flesh-and-blood creature that signalled an attack. If it lunged faster than she could parry without any tells, it could grab her even through her defences.      As it turned out, it did.      Thanks to Inga's protective barrier, what damage the beast might have otherwise done was negligible; even Servants could be harmed by otherworldly teeth and impacting hard with solid objects after being thrown. She had fought Gilgamesh enough times to attest to the latter personally. Luckily, the creature lacked that much strength, at least, and Arturia was merely thrown a distance away from the area, breaking a few trees along the way before finally coming to a halt.      Though not to the extent of mortals, Servants could also be winded, and it took a moment for her to recover. Mostly, she was annoyed at herself for failing to anticipate the attack and worrying about regaining ground before the creature focused on one of the others.      Of course, from the battlefield it might have seemed far more serious than it truly was... 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It's too damn fast. Certainly for Eithne, no matter how often she's trained with Bedivere over her time in Dun Realtai. It's too fast, and Kepas isn't /moving/ anymore, and he's a sweet doggy that never deserved to be hurt so badly. She can't even tell if he's dead, despite her Death Sense, because Kepas isn't mortal...!     It picks Saber up like a ragdoll and throws her. Fuck, fuck, what's she supposed to do?! What if it goes after Inga?! With her limp...     Eithne grits her teeth as her momentum is arrested by the demon hound's teeth clanging off of the blade of her sword. "Stupid, ugly..." Something like fear flutters in her ribcage. No, it's not fear... but it's white-hot. It's like touching something so hot it feels cold at first. It's like anger... it's like power...     Eithne grabs hold of it in her mind and tears her sword out of the beast's mouth, sending a tooth flying and blood splattering against the ground. Yes, she can feel it, she can hold it. It's scorching hot, and Rhiannon feels hot, and there are sparks landing on her skin but she can't feel them anymore.     A dull roar rises in her ears, drowning out the sound of her friends' voices. She wants to breathe smoke and spit blood. She wants, she wants, she /wants/.     When Eithne runs at the thing's legs again, she's somehow much faster about it...! 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Don't complain about your magic spear Bedivere. Just stab the creature with it! Inga is going to need to slow down on the blood magic soon, or she's going to be doing more damage to heself than she can quickly heal. A quick healing spell on herself speeds of her already excelerated healing, buying her some time, if she is going to bind this creature she is going to need a great deal of blood to do it. Inga gasps when the fiery hound grabs Saber in it's maw and hurls her--through several trees no less. It's a shocking thing to see. Inga is a bit more jaded to the superpowered people in the multiverse, but such a powerful attack is still a shock to her heart. Who could survive such a thing? Arturia surely could...couldn't she? It's about this time Jodis has decided that she's had quite enough of this nightmare. Inga had been using a spell to try to keep her calm, but that had all gone out the window. Inga is violently thrown from the saddle, and while not nearly the sort of thing Saber just experienced, it's rather painful. She lands hard on her behind, smacking her head on the ground. She just nearly passes out, struggling to remain conscious as her vision swims. Come on healing...keep doing your thing... 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Bedivere turns on the Black One's back just in time to see Eithne rip her blade away from the hound; send a tooth skittering across the sea of cinders. It's lost to a patch of smoldering grass. The knight's eyes widen as she lunges for the creature. There's nothing human in her any more.   And then Arturia Pendragon is flung across the battlefield, /off/ the battlefield, like a broken ragdoll.   Inga will see the change as it comes over Sir Bedivere of the Round Table. It's like a switch flipping. It's like the life leaving something dying. His eyes go a bit glassy. The colour drains from him.   There is a sound, but he isn't sure what it is. He isn't listening any more.   Bedivere of Dun Realtai draws himself up to his full height, and he throws himself at the beast from the side opposite Eithne. There is an ugly, strangled roar of rage and grief and loss.   At the same time, the beast howls, even as Rhiannon punches into its chest; finds its burning, immortal heart and snuffs it out like a candle.   For a moment it seems all is safe -- and then there comes the baying of many more such creatures. Higher, more numerous; smaller. And then they come, leaping through the sheet of flame, baying and howling as they rush for the two berserkers on the field. For the moment, Inga is ignored -- but probably not for long, because seriously, there are a /lot/ of those things.   Bedivere also has a spear in his hand, and he doesn't seem to care a whit that it's /made of blood/. He's past such petty concerns. He's past everything. He gives another one of those bellows of pure rage, pure grief, and he throws himself past Eithne, straight for the burning hounds. He moves like one in a trance, dancing, thrusting and parrying and slamming the tip of his blood-spear into any hounds that put themselves near him.   Well, /that's/ probably not good, is it?    

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Saber barely had enough time to get to her feet before she was nearly knocked off of them from the violent tug on her mana. Sir Bedivere might not be consciously drawing on his magic circuits, but through their link she could feel the loss of control. There was little doubt in her mind about what had happened.      Summoning what mana she could, she channeled it into her legs, boosting strength and speed before she blurred into motion, leaping and landing back into the scene.      It was still a disturbing sight when Sir Bedivere lost his reason, even moreso that she knew she was to blame for it. But the battle raged around them, and he could not afford distraction. Hopefully, he would feel her presence...      To her right she saw Inga on the ground. Fortunately, it didn't seem she had been hurt from an attack...but the wisewoman was vulnerable nevertheless.      Positioning herself in front of Inga, she held Excalibur before her to fend off what beasts would come their way. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     The faraway howl of a mourning animal tries to pierce the roar of blood in her ears. She ignores it in favor of the bone-deep CRUNCH of a five-hundred-year-old sword punching through ribs and sternum, spearing a heart made of starstuff to snuff it out. Eithne tears the heart free on the end of her sword, magma dripping and splattering across the ground, and laughs like a child.     A Bedivere shape passes her by, howling louder than the baying of the beasts that have come to avenge their lord. A flick of the oversized blade throws the heart off to smolder and set fires in what grass remains unignited. There are more. There are more, there are more!     Eithne rears back, sword held like a lance, and /throws/ it. A flame hound takes the blade straight through its body, the horns of the crescent moon handguard piercing into the hide. A red line connects Eithne's hand and the pommel; she yanks hard and giggles when Rhiannon practically explodes out of the beast's side. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga would have noticed it sooner if she hadn't been struggling to remain conscious, waiting for her natural regeneration to heal her enough that she could think straight. It is several moments, critical moments, before she can sit up and see what has happened. Arturia has returned and is standing in front of her. Bedivere, she need only take a look at to know what has happened. She'd only seen it in visions...but oh yes, the Odin-fury was upon him. He was in the throws of a full battle-rage. And he was not alone. Eithne had also been pulled into that riptide. The big creature is down, but this is argueably a much bigger problem. They would be surrounded if they didn't act quickly, and what if they ran past them and toward the village? Inga stays seated, she doesn't need to stand in order to do what she needs to do now. "We can't let them past us toward the village! I'm going to make a circle around us!" she warns them, though only Saber is likely capable of reason just now. Then Inga opens up the vein inside her inner thigh. She needs more blood than an arm can give. She draws it out as quickly as she is able while still retaining consciousness, the shimmering red liquid rising, beginning to dash outward, circling around the group of fighters and the mob of hounds as it closes in on them, hoping to trap them inside with their doom--and hoping she hasn't doomed them instead. The magic circle made of blood snaps shut, resonating with a magic that would be felt for miles. It surges with anima, singing, BUZZING, with it. Inga, normally pale, is white as a sheet. "Arturia...keep Bedivere alive," she says, then flops back onto the ground. The world goes grey. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Bedivere doesn't seem to notice the presence so close at hand. Touching his mind, his essence, is like sticking one's hand into a fire, not unlike the creatures that are beginning to overrun the scorched plain. There is no more reason or logic behind his actions. He is beyond remorse or fear and he will fight until there isn't anything left to fight.   Well, that settles that.   The flame hounds spill into the plain, trailing embers and smoke, baying and yapping in their bloodthirst. A sweep of his nameless sword takes the head off one, and nearly takes off a second. He turns on his heel as he does, slamming the blade into a third hound; as two lunge for him, he bashes them aside with a gauntleted fist, sending them yelping and tumbling. No sooner has he wrenched his blade from the third than he's sweeping it for a sixth, trailing molten blood and leaving bright spots on the ground and his armour, which sizzle and blacken, but don't melt through.   There is no reason or recognition left in his eyes. He roars like a thing inhuman, bellowing a wordless war-cry as he throws himself on a phalanx of four more hounds. They leap, and the knight and the four hounds become a snarling, burning entanglement. They fight so furiously, move so quickly, that it's almost impossible to see what's even going on.   Meanwhile, they're coming for Saber.   They all stop and pause as the buzzing surrounds them, as the teeth of the circle clash shut around their number. But they snarl roughly, turning back to their targets, the star-stuff in their eyes as hostile and unreasoning as Bedivere's own.   A tide of them are headed for the others. Saber has a number of them heading towards her, and Bedivere already has no less than four of them he's grappling with, slashing at them when he can and using his fist when he can't.   Another pack runs for Eithne, heedless of their dead companions. There are no less than seven.   So far they seem to be ignoring Inga. That's probably for the best. Down as she is, she'd be easy prey. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' As the battle raged, Saber noted the approach of more of the flame-beasts; smaller, but much more numerous. As she assessed the situation, she positioned herself slightly away from Inga so as to keep their attention on the Servant. Fortunately, they seemed to be following her. As regretful as it was that she couldn't seem to draw the attention of those engaging Bedivere and Eithne, at least she could keep others from joining and overwhelming the pair. Eventually, the berserker rage was going to wear off; she'd need to be there for her marshal when it did. They needed to end this quickly.      The problem was that she couldn't employ her usual tactic of blasting the incoming creatures with Wind King, lest the fire spread even further. Likewise, even a small mana burst channelled through Excalibur posed the same risks, as it converted magical power into concentrated light. Yet, engaging each individually would wear her down, as the fight with Caster during the Fourth Holy Grail War had proved nearly ten years ago. She still needed to deal with them all at once...      Moving her foot slightly, Arturia took note of the soil. Loose, with some rocks. Scorched thoroughly with nary a mote of water, but she wouldn't need water for what she intended to do.      Carefully, she summoned her Bounded Field to its lowest possible level, just enough to stir up the dirt, building it up until the air in front of her was saturated with soil. She extended the cloud up until it surrounded the oncoming flame-beasts, and with a sudden command, released it, creating an avalanche of soil which fell directly over the creatures. Even if they might not be smothered like a proper fire, that should at least incapacitate them for a while. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It's fun, it's fun~! Eithne swings her sword on the end of its red ribbon, the dull blade still going fast enough to cleave a hound's head in two. There are so many more coming for her, and there's a Buzzing that goes bone-deep and sweeps past her. It feels like shackles, like a collar, but not for herself.     And as long as it doesn't encircle her own neck, she'll ignore it for now!     The hounds close in on her and Eithne doesn't hesitate. All she has to do is move. All she has to do is kill. A fist slams into the side of a dog's head, her punches already like being hit by a small car - with the berserker glee riding behind her eyes, its skull shatters beneath the force. A cleaving blow with the sword in her other hand tears a dog into two uneven halves, scorching blood splashing across the grass and her legs. Steam hisses from her skin and Eithne doesn't notice.     A hound catches her hands in its teeth and digs in, tearing at the flesh. Eithne laughs and twists her wrist, fingers closing around its jaw. She digs her fingers in and the sound of cracking bone echoes dully. She drops her sword to grab the poor thing by the skull-- and tears it apart with a smile, meat and fur splitting with a shriek as the flame hound dies horribly. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga's consciousness comes back into existence in a grey world. She doesn't have much time. If she doesn't get back to support the ciricle, feed it more anima, it will collapse. The anima well/leyline of Dun Realtai isn't too far away and luckily, amazingly, in the spirit world she can /run/. Inga sprints through the monochromatic world in between, following the otherworldly echoes of the landscape until she comes upon the scene of battle. The magic hums even in the spirit world, the flame-beasts visible here as well. Ah...so they have a presence in both worlds at the same time. She thought so. But could she use that? There, her body. She runs to it and prepares herself to come back to a world of pain... The pupil's of Inga's lifeless eyes expand, awareness returning. She gasps in a few breaths of air as her regenerative healing kicks in once more, further healing the wounds she'd opened. Blood begins to pump through her veins, anima flowing like golden honey. She sits up in time to see Enya ripping through one of the creatures, laughing wildly. With her sight still between worlds, she is sure she sees the wings of a night-dark bird around Eithne, an uncanny glint shining in her eyes. The smell of carrion on a battlefield. Saber is still holding against the beasts as well, taking on so many at once, slicing to ribbons. A Servant in all her power. And Bedivere, in the grip of the Odin-fury, in all a warrior's glory as if his eyes were on Valhalla. These things don't know what they've gotten themselves into. Inga pulls herself back to her feet with some effort, hoping the attention of the beasts will stay off of her. They're made of fire, so blood magic is the order of the day. She feeds the circle more anima then cuts into herself anew, throwing out a cloud of acidic blood that melts flesh and bone. "Let us finish this!" she calls. And once they have...well, the battle isn't over. Someone's going to have to bring Bediver and Eithne back from the brink. She has a plan for that, at least. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   In the hazy, smoky distance, the Black One screams and cow-kicks, hopping up over the ashes and cinders, lashing out with a leg where one of the hounds is trying to close in on it. He has embers burning in his mane, and his tail trails a bright lash of flame where a few of the hairs have caught fire. In Inga's spirit world, he is a great dark creature straight out of the ancient bones of the earth, of myth and legend and the roots of the world. It looks like a horse, but it has the great feathered wings of a crow, the antlers of a stag, the tail of a hare, the head of a sleek-muzzled hound, and the feet of a great cat. His eyes burn like twin suns. This is no mere servitor of the spirit world -- this creature is probably older than the dirt of the hill he says he comes from.   Closer afield, Bedivere roars and swings his free hand at a hound that closes in too quickly. His gauntleted fist crashes into the creature's jaw, and he roars even louder when the metal is heated by the flames flickering over the hound's body. Rather than stop to tear off his gauntlet like a normal person would, he simply throws himself at another hound, spinning on his heel, because the creature is leaping at him from behind. How did he know it was there?   Another leaps at him from the side, even as he's dealing with the one that had come from behind. Bedivere is forced to drop his sword, grappling with the red-hot hound -- his gauntlets are beginning to glow, and he bellows in pain and fury, finally succeeding in throwing the creature off, retrieving his sword, and plunging it deep into the creature's molten chest.   His sword comes out with a sullen red glow that hadn't been there before, not quite up to the hilt. Bedivere spins on his heel and turns, thrusting his sword into the skull of the hound that he'd stunned with his fist. It drops like a rock. He turns, even as more leap at him from behind the sheet of flame.   Then, quite suddenly, there are rocks and soil in the air. Everywhere. The cloud comes crashing down over the hounds nearest to Arturia, and the entire pack of them go down, yelping and tumbling. Although it succeeds in snuffing the flames that race down their bodies, it doesn't seem to be anything more than an inconvenience -- they pick themselves up again, snarling and shaking soil off their cracked, obsidian hides. Slowly, though, the star-stuff in their eyes dims -- as though something had been slowly strangled in them, put out; snuffed like candles.   One shakes its head as though it were dizzy, stumbling a few steps sideways and crumpling into a heap. The other two follow suit a half-second later, one of them pawing at its own head as it goes down.   There is still no sign of Kepas. The flames are marching closer.   Eithne's pack are made short work of, butchered without mercy.   Bedivere, meanwhile, manages to finish off the hounds that had leapt at him. He turns, and there are none left to fight. There are only his allies behind him, which he has only the dimmest recognition of. His empty eyes scan the sheet of flame, registers that there are no more foes...   The silver-haired knight's eyes roll up and he crumples to the ground, raising a cloud of ash and dust.   Further afield, the Black One screams in rage, lashing out with his hard hooves. He rears and plunges, trampling his opponents; for every one that he manages to strike in the head, they're whisked through the air like broken (and burning) ragdolls.   Soon enough they're all accounted for. Nothing more moves in the immediate vicinity but the embers, the sifting ash, and the slowly-advancing flames. Best they take stock of themselves and drag their wounded home, because that fire /is/ moving, albeit more slowly. Perhaps Alaia is helping, somehow...? 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' It appeared Saber's half-educated guess, half-gamble paid off; the flame-hounds struggled and appeared unaffected at first...but as their magical flames were snuffed out, so too was their life force...or at least temporarily suppressed. She had suspected their animation was tied to the fires, somehow, and even magic flames could be snuffed. Still, it /had/ been a chance she had taken, and even her Intuition ability could not warn her of danger in this instance. And it was still unknown if this was simply a temporary condition for the beasts, as she suspected it was. They should retreat for now, tend their wounds and devise a strategy to deal with this new threat.      The Servant turned to witness Inga spraying acidic blood on the part of the pack behind them, dissolving the ones whose fires she was unable to snuff out. As successful as it was, the wisewoman hardly had an unlimited pool of blood. Likewise, Bedivere collapsed as the battle madness had worn off, and with the pack he, Eithne and the Black One had been fending off solidly dealt with, it seemed they had their opening. The lack of Kepas, however, was troubling. But with Alaia possibly doing what she could to help, perhaps she had summoned the ice-hound to her side to recover. Arturia certainly hoped so....but for now, her Master and their friend were in need of tending to.      "Let us make haste to the keep," she called out in her soft yet commanding voice even as she made her way to Bedivere and retrieved him. "We cannot battle this fire as we are now." 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     The stench of scorched flesh, the reek of corpses left to rot. The tangle of roots winding between ribs, sprouts peeking out of empty eyesockets. Black feathers and red blood and green leaves. Eithne feels good.     Her pounding heart sends blood rushing through her body, her fingers and lips tingle. She kills and she kills and she wants more, Ma, she wants /more/--     Dirt and rocks pelt the hounds that remain alive, sending them yelping and dying and fleeing. There aren't any more for her! Mildly put out, the Scion clenches her fists and stares into the advancing flames until even she has to realize there are no more coming to her. None...?     There's no kind of recognition in her eyes when Eithne turns her head to follow the movement of Saber picking up the fallen Bedivere, or Inga cutting into herself yet again. Surely she'll be ashamed later when she realizes how much blood Inga has shed for them, but... at the moment, she barely seems human. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Her face is ashen, and not only from the actual ashes in the air. Inga has been to death and back, and if she keeps draining herself of blood she'll be visiting that gray land once more. They can't stop this fire. They simply do not have the required abilities. They'll need to call for outside help. They may need to evacuate the village. She isn't sure she can keep the fire from it, though she will certainly try. First, she breaks the circle of blood that held in the hounds. It disperses in in a golden dust that glimmers berfore disappearing, the anima sinking back into the earth. Now, they can leave. But first... Inga picks up her walking stick and moves toward Eyna. Her lips part to let out a musical sound, stingingly notes together into a charm to soothe the berserker fury of Morrigan's daughter, just as she'd done a thousand years in the past when the battles were done and they had to bring the terrifying warriors back before they turned on their own friends in their blood-fury. She walks toward Enya until she can place a hand on her should, her eyes wide and fixed on Eithne's, drawing her in, soothing the lust for violence in her veins. "Come Eithne, we must go and I need your help. My horse has run away," Inga says quietly. Oh, Jodis...Inga hopes she isn't hurt. She hopes the horse would run home to the cottage, where she should be save from the fire. Inga has wards there, naturally, to protect against all manner of things, fire included. Inga looks to Saber. "Have you got him?" she asks in regards to Bedivere. She thinks Saber is the best person to bring him back from this particular rage. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The unconscious knight makes no argument when he's lifted from the ashes. His face is smudged with soot, and so is the fine white of his cloak and the silver of his armour. Not until they return to the citadel will he speak or even wake, limbs hanging like a broken ragdoll's. His armour clatters as he's carried; his fine white cloak trails behind, its hem smudged with soot, tattered where cinders have burnt holes through the cloth.   Curiously, though the sheets of flame rage high into the sky, they seem not to advance any further. Maybe the flame-creatures had been bringing it with them. The impossible pattern of its spread seems proof enough of its otherworldliness.   When they return to the citadel, gate opening with a boom and a creak of timber, they'll find they have company.   Alaia stands in the empty hall, wearing the same winter dress and furs that she always seems to wear. Wavy red hair hangs loose about her face as it always does, but her luminous cyan eyes hold a terrible fury in them; a drawn quality to her face, mouth set in a thin and angry line. The temperature of the great hall seems about twenty degrees colder than it should be. There is frost forming on the stones closest to Alaia's boots. Bits of her clothing are singed, and some of her hair looks much the same. Her cloak is a ragged mess, soot-stained and peppered with cinder-holes like Bedivere's.   Oh, boy. She's /pissed/.   There is a shadowy heap on the floor beside the hearths. Bones, by the look of it. They're made of ice. Is that ice? It moves, as soon as people enter the hall, twitching vaguely, but it's hard to see just what it is. It's possible that the heap of something is Kepas, and in fact that seems to be what it is, dragging itself to its feet and shaking off like a wet hound.   He limps on three legs, one of them mangled but bloodless, burns peppering his sleek snowy hide, but he makes his way to the front of the hall, shoving his nonexistent nose in the direction of the arrivals. The lights of his eyes are yellow once more. He doesn't seem to have lost his faculties like his slain brothers. In fact, that whip-thin tail is switching back and forth, a little.   ...It's really hard to tell if he's grinning or growling without a face.   Alaia has the good sense to wait until everybody's arrived to actually start talking, looking a little impatient about it.   She doesn't seem to notice that there's still a stubborn cinder still smoldering in her hair. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Saber frowned; while Bedivere's battle madness appeared to have worn off once he had become too exhausted, Eithne by contrast still seemed under the thrall of hers. This was going to be a problem, at least, if Inga could not manage to bring her out of it. She could only trust that the wisewoman would be able to as she hauled Bedivere back to the castle, likely with some help from the Black One. Certainly, Arturia possessed the strength, but being carried back by horse -- or rather, horse-shaped pooka -- was much more dignified than by diminutive Servant.      "I do," she reassured Inga. "This is no trouble for me so long as I have the magical energy to sustain myself, even after a battle."      Pale eyebrows raised at the sight of Alaia, who for obvious reasons would have preferred to remain comfortably asleep during the hotter seasons. It did not bode well at all that she was present...though she was greatly relieved to see Kepas had survived. He was their companion, after all.      Rather than taking Bedivere upstairs to their chambers to rest and heal as she would have under normal circumstances, she eased the tall knight into the most comfortable cushioned chair she could find in the hall. Most likely, what he winter witch needed to discuss with them could not wait.      "I apologise for keeping you, Lady Alaia," Saber greeted respectfully as she dismissed her armour, leaving her in the blue, gold-trimmed outer dress and white underdress. Fortunately the servants were professional enough to know to bring some much-needed refreshment for all as she spoke. "It would seem that we were not entirely successful against the creatures causing these fires." 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Want. Want, want, want...     Shoulders rising and falling with her breaths, Eithne holds Inga's gaze as the wisewoman moves slowly forward. Strangely, perhaps, there's no sense that she might focus her aptitude for violence on Inga - only that she might lose Eithne's attention, and with it any chance of calling her back.     Inga's long practice at calming down greater berserkers than Eithne serves them well, though. Her shoulder tenses as a hand rests on it, Eithne bristling at the intrusion to her personal space... before she seems to hear Inga again. "Uh." She blinks, the clench of her fists easing a bit along with the crease between her eyebrows. "Jodis...?" Right, that's Inga's horse.     The Scion looks around, a little bit confused - when did Bedivere get knocked out?? Is he okay? Where's Kepas? But Inga and Saber have greater things on their minds, and Eithne had better catch up to them before the fire does. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry--" A dismissive flick of her hand sends Rhiannon back into the pocket of Somewhere Else where it resides, and Eithne offers her shoulder (or her back, she's pretty easygoing) to her housemate as Saber and the Black One carry Bedivere home. "C'mon, let's go!" 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga would accept a piggy back ride from Eithne for the sake of expediency. It isn't exactly dignified but the woods are on fire, she's feeling woozy from blood loss and, again, her horse has run home. So, ride the wild Eithne! Once they arrive back and Eithne sets her down, Inga straightens her ash stained and still slightly damp shift and manages a bow to Alaia. Not exactly the state she'd wish to be in when meeting Alaia, but it will just have to do. Inga is so poised one would think she was in a gown and on a throne. "Lady Alaia," she greets, then looking to Kepas. Aw, the poor things. Her healing might not help him. While she waits for Alaia to speak, Inga starts examining Bedivere and Eithne, looking for any wounds that need tending. May as well be useful. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   As he's half-eased and half-wrestled into a chair, the silver-haired knight's eyelids flutter. He awakens just enough to keep himself from flopping over, clattering as he catches himself against the chair's arm, only to push himself back to his feet with a grunt.   Bedivere wavers a little unsteadily, but he manages to hold his balance, squinting at Alaia.   "Your hair is aflame," he points out, somewhat blearily.   The winter spirit looks slightly to one side, lips thinning even further. Not a word does she speak, but Kepas raises himself up a little higher, snorting; his icy breath neatly snuffing the cinder. With a convincingly dog-like grunting sigh, the creature collapses back into a heap, looking for all the world like a sulking white hound. A sulking hound that stands the height of a draught horse, and just so happens to have a skull for a face and respirate icy mist, that is.   "So I noticed." Alaia's voice is brittle as ice. She's not very happy right now, and her displeasure and anger seems to radiate from her very being. "I hold none of you at fault, for I bade you protect these lands, and that you have done. I was not expecting spirits of flame at our proverbial doorstep."   "Something is driving them, impelling them to strike out into these lands. Or, they are here of their own free will, which is in its own way much more complicated a skein to untangle." She sighs, curtly, red hair fluttering. "Whatever the case, I cannot be here for long. This is not the agreed-upon time. I must task you, mortals, with driving them off, regardless of their motivations."   "They do not belong here."   Bedivere is examining his seared gauntlets, wincing as he carefully prises the fingers of one hand open, but he's listening. He frowns, easing his gauntlet off and hissing at the effort. Both palms are soundly seared where the heat had travelled from his sword, to his gauntlets, and finally through the steel to his skin. Both palms are going to be wrapped in linen for a while, by the look of it.   Something stirs in the shadows of the hearth, and the Black One, in the guise of a tiny bat, tilts his head curiously from the chimney, finally fluttering over to alight on Saber's shoulder. He eyes Alaia somewhat suspiciously, before pushing off -- no more than a feather-light scrabbling of claws against the material of her dress -- and fluttering for the stairwell. He's gone after a moment, probably to go tend his own hurts. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Bedivere only shakes his head. "We will, of course." He's not paying much attention to either his palms or to the Wisewoman who may or may not be inspecting his wounds, which mostly seem to weigh in at light to moderate burns. At least, he's purposefully not paying attention, because it /hurts/. "Perhaps we may need some time to lick our wounds, Lady Alaia? Rest assured, however, that we will look into this matter, and see what has happened."   "Good." The winter spirit inclines her head in approving gesture, eyes lingering on the others for a moment. "I will do what I can, and compel the winter spirits to turn back what they are able. They are fickle things, but even they recognise what a threat such a thing would be. There is much here to burn."   Already she's stalking for the front door. "I must return to my lake, for the time being, but if you require guidance, look to Kepas."   Bedivere does, and stares somewhat blankly.   The hound spirit is busily chewing at his own front foot without a shred of dignity.   He looks back to Alaia in bland askance, as though to either ask her what she means by that, or to express his skepticism.   Unfortunately for him, she's already gone.   Bedivere sighs.   "I suppose that settles that. We will form a brigade to put out fires, and a fire watch to ensure that none come too close to the village." He gestures vaguely with whatever hand is not being tended to. "Dun Realtai is not safe, so long as there is any flame raging within twenty leagues." He sighs again, frowning. "You all fought well. I thank you for that. But for now, I think, it is time for us to tend to our wounds, and rest. We will sort this matter out in due time." 
}}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-07-04T15:40:33Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Current Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Past Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date; the most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present
|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-07-04T15:39:54Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Job Description */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Past Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date. Most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present
|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-07-03T23:02:35Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Job Description */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi was a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who was in charge of processing character applications. It was her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application could be approved. Most of the time, she would work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

Currently, she is Just A Player.

;Current Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to 3 July 2017

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date. Most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present
|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-07-03T22:41:13Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Current Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi is a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who are in charge of processing character applications. It is her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application can be approved. Most of the time, she will work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

;Current Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to Present

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date. Most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present
|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

User:Hrimfaxi

2017-07-03T22:39:18Z

Hrimfaxi: /* Former Characters */

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi is a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who are in charge of processing character applications. It is her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application can be approved. Most of the time, she will work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

;Current Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to Present

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date. Most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-1]] || 06 Nov 2016 || Present
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-1]] || 21 Sep 2015 || Present
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 12 Feb 2015 || Present
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present

|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse (Dropped)|Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 03 July 2017
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)|Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 03 July 2017
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

5329/One Survivor to Another

2017-06-22T01:03:20Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/06/21 |Location=Dun Realtai |Synopsis=The King of Knights reaches out to a fellow survivor of Annu for an urgent personal favour. |Cast of Cha..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/06/21
|Location=Dun Realtai
|Synopsis=The King of Knights reaches out to a fellow survivor of Annu for an urgent personal favour.
|Cast of Characters=316, 346
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' Although she had been travelling with her companion, the Runebearer Sarah had not left herself unreachable. There were still some contacts within the multiverse that she set great store by. Those whom she had endured the suffering of Annu with were at the top of that list. So, when she had received a message asking for a personal favour from the King of Knights and a set of coordinates, she had quietly excused herself from her companion, taken up her greatstaff, and teleported to the closest warpgate to Dun Realtai. Unfortunately, she had never been to that place herself, and so she couldn't go directly there. She had to take the indirect route, which saw her abusing her phenomenal cosmic power to make her way through snowdrifts waist-high. Being placed in the midst of a multiversal tundra, she reasoned, must have made for excellent defenses. Who would ever want to invade a place like that? It had been to her surprise that snow gave way to copses of old-growth forest and summer wheatfields, as the territory of Dun Realtai slowly established itself over the multiverse around it. After an hour or so of walking she had finally found a road, and made her way towards the only landmark on the hilly plains – the citadel rising on its dramatic spire of stone, village clung to its base like moss at the base of a tree. Sarah picks up her pace, affecting a businesslike stride. She is a rare sight in this place, much as she is a rare sight anywhere. Her colour is enough to turn heads, or rather the lack of it. She is pale, so pale as to suggest something close to albinism, with hair such a pale shade of blonde that only the direct sun can show the colour for what it is. Her eyes are blue, but only barely; closer to colourless. She wears a multi-layered dress, flowing and elegant, trimmed in white and detailed with subtly metallic bronze embroidery. In her hand, she carries something that radiates power as surely as a Servant – a greatstaff carved of ebony, with a silver tower and a perfect crystal sphere clutched at its top, a spike shod on the end, which rings out at every other step over the cobblestones. No matter how important it is to her to maintain the appearance of someone of importance, though, the weather is quite warm. The air is also quite smoky, she realises a moment later, face setting into grim lines. Perhaps that's what the King of Knights had wanted to ask of her. She can certainly see how fire would be a terrifying threat in this place. It's like the Grasslands; only a shade less dry. This place will burn out of control in the presence of fire. Taking a deep breath, Sarah makes her way onward, climbing the hill with some effort. The pale woman is just as delicate as she looks, and the thick air and uncomfortably warm sun are beginning to take their toll. Her pace is a bit slower than it was when she had finally found the road, some miles back. Maybe she should think about a horse... ...Perish the thought, she decides, with a bit of a shudder. Horses make her uncomfortable with their bulk and their sudden movements. Her own two feet haven't failed her yet, and they're not about to start today... 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' The heat was terribly out of place for a piece of the Multiverse tucked away beyond the Tundra, though the lands around Dun Realtai themselves would have otherwise been quite hospitible in the summer months. At least, when it was plagued with neither a neverending, magic-induced winter more brutal than even its natural one nor wildfires similarly magical in nature. The otherwise well-tended fields were a reliable testament to a land at least capable of supporting life. Still, the people have as much to do with that, being hardy and too stubborn to simply give in to both nature itself or magical forces. But when it came to the latter, a little bit of similar help was in order, if only to even the odds. Fortunately, the lady of these lands knew where to go for help in that regard. Saber stood in the village's centre, tending to local matters as she waited for the True-Runebearer. Like Sarah, she had survived Annu, both physically and mentally, though the metaphorical and literal scars remained even after all this time. Perhaps this – tending to a small village and defending it – was one way to make up for that, as unavoidable as Annu's destruction had been. Upon Sarah's arrival, Arturia excused herself from the small group of miners who had begun to establish a small network of mines in low, rocky hills beyond the village. Dressed in the clothing which was only slightly more decorative than that of the villagers, she approched her old comrade. "Greetings, Lady Sarah," the flaxen-haired knight hailed. "I am most grateful that you were able to come. We have tea in the castle, at the very least, if you would like." After all, she might have called her there to ask a favour, but proper hospitality demanded that she be a respectable hostess first. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' Unfortunately, heat has never agreed with Sarah. When she had been in the Grasslands, she had been miserable. There had been a few days where she had skirted dangerously close to dehydration, and more than a few where she had retired for the evening with a case of heat exhaustion. This place feels only slightly less inhospitable to her sensibilities. The smoke isn't helping. She's coughing a little by the time she reaches the village commons, and there's a not-inconsiderable dusting of ash in her hair and on her dress. It's more visible against her dark skirt, hemmed with its white and bronze thread, than the top or the pale blonde of her hair. She's even paler than the steward – maybe that's why more than a few of the villagers are staring at her. Sarah ignores them. She has no business with them. "Lady Arturia." Her voice is just as whispery and quiet as ever, although it's a little rough from the smoke, coughing when ash tickles at the back of her throat. "I came as quickly as I was able. I have not been to this place before, so I'm afraid I could not teleport. May we go inside? I would be appreciative. This smoke—" Right on cue, she coughs into a hand, flinching. "I presume this is why you called me here. The smoke is appalling." She can only imagine the fire that caused it. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' "Indeed, it is," Arturia acknowledged before quietly leading Sarah to the castle. Pausing only to open the heavy oak doors, she continued into the hall where the servants already knew to prepare tea and scones. It would seem that hospitality was only the second reason to retreat indoors for the moment. The grand fireplace in the centre of the hall was unsurprisingly bare – having been cleaned and swept out for the summer – but chairs and tables remained scattered around it. As it was, the slightly cool draft was a welcome relief for many; cool air had rarely been a problem to the point that the lord and lady chose to forego modern air conditioning. Perhaps they should look into a cooling system, after all... "I do apologise, however," Arturia continued as she found a seat by the empty fireplace. A servant soon brought much-needed refreshment; curiously, rather than the usual set of hot tea, the iced variety was brought in a pitcher with two glasses, though the usual cream and sugar were present along with cream scones. "The fires from which this smoke comes, we suspect, were caused by magical means." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' Once they're inside, Sarah lets herself double over and cough. It's not very loud, but it's respectably loud for her. Even her speaking voice is quiet and whispery. Yet in Annu, Arturia had heard her at her loudest – her heartrending scream of pain as the True Rune had consumed her; one of the only times she's ever shown pain at all. Clearing her throat, she's somewhat flushed by the time she allows the lady to lead her to a seat, collapsing into it with a grateful sigh. "It's hardly your fault," she adds. "This sounds like an unexpected situation." Sarah rubs at her throat, eyeing with silent approval as iced tea is brought. She even allows herself with a scone, but her tea is taken straight. "Is it? That would explain its size, although this land looks ripe to burn." Sarah fixes those eerily colourless eyes on the King of Knights. There is intelligence in them, and a preternatural calm; but there is also something else in their oddly-coloured shadows – a hint of the monstrous presence of the True Rune; of a power far beyond the limits of this fragile, pale woman. "It is dry, very dry. I can feel the lack of water in this place, and it feels primed for a wildfire. Fortunately for you, of all the Runebearers I am one of the two best suited to fire control." "Earth would have suited," she muses, finishing her scone and sipping at her blessedly cold tea, "but water is better. I do not speak with arrogance when I say that I am a master of my craft, Lady Arturia. You have seen what I am capable of, though perhaps that is at the extreme limits of my talent." She smiles a soft, crooked little smile; sardonic, a little, and also a little sorrowful. "Perhaps that is an unfair example, though. It is not every day that a Runebearer will sacrifice their lives to fuel a True Rune Incarnation. I did not expect to survive the ordeal." "Now, then." Sarah clears her throat softly, all business once more. "What is it you wish me to do, here, Lady Arturia? I am ready to assist." 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' "It was most unexpected," Arturia admitted. "We are far more accustomed to bitter cold here. All of our preparations are for that...I fear we have little in the way of preventing the fires from reaching here. Were this a natural fire, the lakes and the earth might have sufficed, however..." Sarah's power was not entirely unlike that of a Servant, a sort of power that some would say is not for humankind to wield. Yet, their circumstances were unique...and with good reason and great need. In Annu, all of their collective power had been needed...and their moral support afterward just as much. "Though I have not inspected the source in person, I could feel the change of mana. There is something at work, though whether it means us ill or simply is, I cannot discern." As a Heroic Spirit, sensing the magical nature of things was her lifesblood in more than the metaphorical sense. Magic was, in many ways, what kept her alive. Kept her anchored to the material plane, at least. The jade-eyed knight-king nodded slightly. "There are creatures who were brought here – badgermoles – who have been directed to use the earth where they are able, yet that is merely one precaution." She smiled slightly, knowingly. "Nevertheless, I had need of someone who could control water as if it was a part of her own body. I thought of no one else." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' "Is there, now?" Sarah bows her head a little, and her eyes slip gradually out of focus. It might be disturbing if not for the similarity to a Master speaking remotely to their Servant. In her case, though, it's a chance to examine the land through an awareness much greater than her own senses. Viewed through the unspeakably powerful lens of the True Water Rune, she is instantly made aware of every speck of water in a monstrous radius. No matter how faint, she can sense it, and in those places where the earth is truly dry, such as those ravaged by fire, she is blind to them. She murmurs something. Whatever it is, the multiverse offers no translation – the liquid, quicksilver tones of Sindar, the ancient language of the magical wayfarers that had left behind so much magic and technology in her own world. There were none living, it was said... but many things can be said, and that doesn't make them true. She herself claims quite a bit of Sindar blood. Maybe that accounts for her peculiar complexion. "Yes, I see them." Her voice slurs only slightly as she splits her atteniton between the True Rune's awareness and her own senses. It's an awkward balancing act. "There is more water in them than any of the earth they dig through. Heavens, this is dry. It is as though the water has been bled out of this land." The pale woman manages a faint flicker of a smile at the praise. "Thank you, Lady Arturia." Sarah bows her head again, eyes screwing shut. Slowly, gradually, her eyes flutter open as she reaches up to rub at them. "This place is disorienting. There is powerful magic in these lands, I think." 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Sarah's assessment of the bizarre lack of almost any water in the air was met with a slight frown. "I had feared as much," Arturia admitted. "This drought and fire...it is too unnatural for there to be anything but a disruption of mana. Otherwise, there would have been something in the air, at the very least. Nevertheless, I had hoped you could make certain." She returned the smaile, a faint one of her own before her expression became impassive. "Yes, we have had an unusual amount of contact with the Tylwyth Teg," she explained. "Whether they were here before or were drawn here to a source of power within the land itself, I cannot say. From what I have been told, neither do they." She sighed softly. "Nor could they inform us about the source, else they would have acted already. It is troubling to them, as well." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' The water mage inclines her head just a little, jewelled earrings clinking softly. Her eyes remain at half-mast, although only a fool would mistake her expression as sleepy. That air of preternatural calm, that absolute self-control, is a necessity. If she did not, she couldn't say what the True Rune would do. Emotional instability is a gift to a willful True Rune. "I cannot tell you whether it is natural or unnatural, as I do not know what constitutes a normal influence in these lands. What I can tell you is that it is most assuredly supernatural in its nature." Sarah sips at the last of her iced tea. Her thoughtful frown is so faint, so subtle, that it could be missed. The king's marshal is a man of self-control, but this woman takes it to eleven. "That I cannot tell you, either." She does mentally file away the term Tylwyth Teg as something to inquire about later. It's not a term that she recognises. "I will presume that the native spirits' inability to determin the source is a troubling detail." Sarah tilts her head slightly to the other side, studying the cold and empty hearth. "However, it is ultimately irrelevant to me. I doubt sincerely that there is any spirit that would threaten the True Water Rune if I were to assist you in stopping the blaze – I presume, by the smoke, that there are still fires burning." "Master Luc and I are reluctant to involve ourselves in local affairs such as these, especially those pertaining to the weather and natural conditions of a land. To that end, if you have the worst of the fires turned away from this place, I would like to do a little research of my own, if I have your permission. I would be more comfortable communicating with the spirits of this place before asserting the True Water Rune's power. It is not a subtle presence," she adds, with a subtle little smile, "and it is not always taken to kindly when wielded as one would a bludgeon. It would take no more than two to three days, at the worst." 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Any passerby might wonder if the two women have any emotions at all, given their subtlety in expression. The servants were familiar enough with the mannerisms of their lord and lady, but their visitor is even more restrained. Such a thing might have drawn stares, but they are professional enough not to marvel that Arturia might have been openly emotional by comparison. The flaxen-haired Servant sighed softly. "I had feared as much," she admitted. "We have no other choice but to take action...trace the fires back to their source. For now, however, the priority is protection of the village." She smiled, but it was a rueful one. "It is regrettable, but yes...they burn still. I would imagine that the fae of the forests shall guard their home from it, as we must safeguard ours." At the request, Saber nodded. "Of course," she replied easily. "The spirits – the Tylwyth Teg, as they are called in my homeland – are capricious, but their way is to not trouble us if we leave them be. Yet, this fire troubles them, as well...I would imagine they would be willing to co-operate in these circumstances." With a slight smile, she added. "Naturally, the hospitality of our home is open to you for however long you have need of it." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:''' "I will do that, once I have spoken to these Tylwyth Teg for myself." Sarah sets aside her empty cup, drawing to her feet and smoothing down her dark skirt. She takes up her greatstaff in delicate hands, resting it in the crook of an elbow and smiling that faint smile. "In the meantime, call upon me if there is an emergency, if the fires threaten the citadel and absolutely must be doused. I will use the True Rune to quench them if I must, but I would feel more comfortable speaking with the people of this land, first." The True Water Rune is about as supernaturally subtle as a dump truck, made of dump trucks, wielding a dump truck. It's a blunt force solution to a problem, and one that some spiritual entities might not take kindly to. Its presence is somewhat... forceful. She inclines her head, jewelled earrings clinking softly again. "For now, if you will excuse me, I am going to wait until the sun has set before I do my own investigation. I will return here later, when the sun has set and the air is cooler. In the meantime, be well, Lady Arturia, and please contact me if there is an emergency." With that, provided the knight has nothing more to say to the pale woman, Sarah will take her leave, teleporting away with a bloom of blue-white light and the lingering sensation of fine mist. 

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:''' Arturia inclined her head in a nod of acknowledgement. "You have my gratitude, for speaking with them as well as coming to our aid," she replied. "They had been wary of my presence in particular, as a Servant, when we first settled here. Ours is a delicate balance, and any strife would only harm the people of the village." Really, it's nice that Sarah had taken the initiative on that and Saber hadn't needed to explain the situation further. "I shall do so," she replied solemnly before she smiled once more before the Runebearer teleported away. "Again, you have my gratitude." 
}}

5048/Repairwork

2017-01-25T03:52:55Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/01/24 |Location=Faraway Galaxy <FG> |Synopsis=Juno calls in a friend to help with some mechanical quandaries. |Cast of Characters=428, 414 |pr..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/01/24
|Location=Faraway Galaxy <FG>
|Synopsis=Juno calls in a friend to help with some mechanical quandaries.
|Cast of Characters=428, 414
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   Welcome to the Outer Rim, where lawlessness is the rule of the day. Even the Empire's long arm is tenuous out here, forgotten in the far-flung reaches of the galaxy, with pockets free from the stifling grasp of Imperial rule and law.   Off the hyperspace route of the Hydian Way there lies a nebula off the Hydian Way in shifting hues of violet and blue, shot through with the tell-tale red of hydrogen. It's too warm for star formation, and too cool for violent chemical reactions. Drifting in the abyss, it's too far from any nearby star to succumb to the pull and shred of gravity. Maybe someday, this cloud might cool enough to become a nursery of newborn stars, but for the time being, it's no more than a lifeless cloud... and a safe place to hide.   Here on the fringe of the cloaking gases, the Rogue Shadow is not drifting in the nebula, but perched on the surface of a completely dark and abyssally cold planet. Flung from its home star long ago, perhaps by the shockwave of a supernova, it's visible only by the absence of diffused, dim light from the nearest distant star. Coordinates have been fed to the Ebon Hawk, and this is where they lead. Yet the Ebon Hawk will have to look hard to find something just as dark on its surface -- the Rogue Shadow, its running lights and engines shut off. The Rogue Shadow's superior sensors were even able to forward its chemical make up to Revan so she has the /right/ dead planet and nebula combination.   She'd mentioned needing some mechanical help. Forced to subsist on a steady diet of improvised repairs and sub-par quality parts, the ship must not be doing too well.   Revan was told to dock whenever she was ready; PROXY would handle the specifics.   Yet it's not in the guts of the engine that the former Sith Lord will find the former Imperial -- but in the meditation chamber belonging to her companion, its door left open. Galen Marek is here, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed and hands at his sides. Infintesimally small pieces of machinery float in the air before him, an engineer's nightmare, groupings of pieces orbiting one another and attempting to form some order from the chaos. To the familiar, though, it's clear what the object is, or was -- the components of a lightsaber. To the unfamiliar, though... well, it's just a floating pile of junk.   Juno's here, too, slumped against his side with her head on his shoulder. She looks like she's asleep, and probably has been for a while. That seems to be fine by Galen -- he's busy concentrating, although the weight against his shoulder is distracting, and his arm started going numb a while ago. 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' The Outer Rim. A place Lowri Revan-Shan might have called home once, years ago before the Jedi found her and brought her to Dantooine for training. It was also where her new life as a Republic commando began after she had lost her memories -- or had them deliberately altered -- only to start a new Jedi path. And somewhere out among the countless, unnamed worlds was where she and her closest friend had been tortured to the point where their already-in-progress fall to the Dark Side became complete. Whatever threat to the galaxy lay out there waiting for the ideal moment to strike remained frustratingly beyond her grasp, likely due to the abrupt Unification which had merged it with a broader multiverse with no regard for time and space. That might have ended up prolonging her search...but then, it had also introduced infinite new possibilities.      One such opportunity had been forming alliances with denizens of her own galaxy, albeit centuries into the future. There was Kyle Katarn, fellow Jedi with similar Grey-leanings, and his pilot Jan, both of whom likewise joined with the Watch after the disintegration of the Elite factions. As did other new allies; a fellow former Sith, Galen Marek, and the formal Imperial ace pilot, Juno Eclipse. It was these two she made her way to now, the Ebon Hawk navigating the deep of space through the violet-blue of the nebula. Mechanical trouble, apparently.      Fortunately, the Guardian had a small crew of her own to assist, each one an artificial being. From her trusty untility droid T3 to the massive Insecticon Tiny to the diminutive shinki Ulaire, each was more than merely useful in maintaining a ship. It also helped that Revan had a passion for robotics which often frustrated her long-time instructor. For the time being, however, they remained on the Ebon Hawk once it had docked and Revan made her way to the Rogue Shadow.      She would have left Galen to his meditations -- surely he had sensed her presence through the Force -- but training was a vital part of a competent Force-user, whether he considered himself a Jedi, a Light-aligned Sith, or something else. It was hardly her place to question as long as he wasn't following in his former Master's footsteps. But the reason for that was at his side, seemingly getting some much-needed rest. Lowri really hated to disturb them, but the work needed doing.      Softly, she cleared her throat, hopefully not too loud to startle anyone. 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   One of the former Sith Inquisitor's eyes half-opens. They're a soft brown, the colour of chocolate, and not at all fitting to the kind of ruthless agent he used to be. The other follows, and after a half-second's delay the mechanical pieces clatter to the floor. Beside him, Juno jerks awake with the beginnings of a startled gasp, but he lays a hand on her arm to calm her before she can do anything rash.   Both of them look up to Revan, one blinking owlishly, the other distinctly bleary-eyed.   "You got here faster than I expected you to." Galen's observation is a grunt, as he uses one hand to sweep the pieces of his lightsaber into the other hand. "If you could find us that easy, anyone could. That's a problem."   Juno disentangles herself from Galen, clearing her own throat awkwardly and flushing a little, possibly at having been caught napping. Or caught napping on Galen's shoulder. "No, I sent her coordinates directly to this planetoid. Well, I'm glad to see you can still plot a hyperspace jump in this mess. Charting jumps anywhere since the Multiverse made a mess has been difficult, to say the least."   Raking fingers through white-blonde hair, Juno unconsciously stands a little straighter. Old habits die hard, and some of her military training still has a firm grip on her psyche.   She brushes past Lowri with a half-smile, gesturing for her friend to follow. "Come on. Both of you. I'll show you what the problem is. It's pretty rare that I need help with anything like this, but I think the old girl's improvisations and half-measures are finally starting to show," she adds, with a rueful pat to the Rogue Shadow's bulkhead.   "I've been having problems with the auxiliary systems. This wouldn't normally concern me too much, and while the climate control isn't exactly a critical system, it's been uncomfortable in here. Some days we're roasting, and some days we're shivering. The ion drive is also having problems. I think the quality of the last fuel cells I was able to trade for are suspect, and I only hope it hasn't done permanent damage. I know this ship inside and out but I can't seem to figure it out." She frowns as she walks, footsteps echoing on the metal deck plating. "I really hope it wasn't intentional sabotage. I can only find them on Malastare, and while I'm careful not to be seen, there /is/ an Imperial presence there..."   Sighing, she shrugs as she walks. "Anyway, maybe you might be able to find out something I can't. I don't like asking for help, but the ion drive and the climate control aren't really optional." Juno glances back over her shoulder, studying an access hatch as she passes by it. "At least the life support system is on its own array, thankfully." 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' "It's a pretty good hiding place, actually," Revan admitted, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded. She was dressed in the commando's uniform she still favoured for certain situations where the usually-practical robes were less practical. "It still wasn't easy to find. Goes without saying not to get too comfortable, but I believe you're good for the time being...At least enough to finally get some sleep."      Not that their situation could be called properly comfortable, but such was a life constantly on the move, especially one of constantly evading the forces of an entire galaxy-spanning empire.      The Jedi shook her head slightly. "To be fair, I did have a bit of Force help...though I wouldn't have made it this far without lessons from a fantastic teacher." Even without the Force she was a decent pilot, if nowhere near Juno's level even with it. She could give Carth a run for his credits, something she would have loved to see.      The improvised fixes were impressive, but the blue-eyed pilot was right; the ship couldn't limp along indefinitely. Proper extensive repairs in a real hangar were what it needed, but at least with her droids they could at least make certain repairs that simply weren't possible for a lone pilot, no matter how skilled and knowledgeable. Revan would have collected her droid entourage anyway, but their skills certainly were handy in keeping the Ebon Hawk in the air.      "It's what friends are for," the Jedi replied. She wouldn't rule out sabotage, but logically it was far more likely that the dealer had sold her defective goods...or that dealer's supplier had. Black markets were notorious for scamming...not that Juno had much of a choice to get the necessary parts. And the reputable sources in Revan's version of their galaxy only sold parts incompatible with ships over a hundred years more advanced. Still, it might be something that tiny robotic hands might be able to fix.      "Yeah, freezing to death out in the middle of space isn't ideal," she quipped dryly. "I'll see what we can do."      Using her communicator, the odd-eyed Jedi contacted her ship. "Tiny, can you do a once-over on the Rogue Shadow's hull? I doubt there's anything leaking, but I'd feel better if I knew for sure. Ulaire, can you grab your toolbox and join up on me? There's probably some micro-work that needs doing. T3, run a diagnostic on the system, just to be on the safe side."      Once she received their affirmatives, she grunted in satisfaction. "That should get us started, at least." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   "Nebulas are always a good pick." Juno trails a hand along the bulkhead as she passes, as though she had some mystical ability to diagnose the ship at a touch. She doesn't. The Rogue Shadow is both home and familiar presence to her, though, keenly aware of every subtle vibration, every frequency of the ship's mighty engines that she can hear. "They scramble sensors, and if you find something that's not too cold and still or too hot and volatile, you're fairly safe."   She shrugs. "Find something too cold, and you're going to get sucked into the core of a brand new star. Too hot, and it's anyone's guess what the chemical reactions might do to your ship, or your sensors. I'd rather not chance it with an array as sensitive as the Rogue Shadow's. I prefer them, though. Searching a large nebula for a single ship is damned tedious work."   "Heh. Cheater," Juno throws over her shoulder to the Jedi, grinning. "The rest of us mere mortals have to do it the hard way."   The blonde pilot marches along towards the engine room, leading her little entourage of Force-users. Honestly, between these Jedi and Sith, she might start feeling a little envious if she weren't so dedicated to her own training. She's a better pilot than any of them and she knows that to the core of her being. Probably. Maybe. It could be that she's a little arrogant where that's concerned, but she's earned it. Not many people can survive a hundred missions in a TIE fighter. Those tin cans are notoriously terrible and prone to mechanical failure, usually to the tune of killing their pilots. The bloody things don't even have their own life support.   Juno shrugs. "Neither extreme is very pretty to deal with. I can't sleep when it's too cold, and you start losing your sharpness when all you want to do is sink into a torpor and hibernate. The heat's just as bad, though. Can't sleep in that, either, and you start losing your edge when it's too hot to think. I can't afford either of those extremes. I have to stay sharp when I'm in the cockpit. Neither of these two can fly the ship as well as I can."   "I can fly the ship, but it's nothing fancy," Galen sighs. "I have to admit that she's better than I am. It's why I keep her around," he adds, serenely.   "Why, Galen. Was that a /joke/?" The blonde pilot arches a brow, flashing a half-smile. "Not bad."   Her mirth fades, though, as she keys open the door to the engine room. "Mind the heat, Lowri," she adds, to Revan. "This is well within operating parameters, though. It's hotter than Mustafar in here when the cloak is engaged."   "Hmm. Thank that creepy droid-thing for me. The hull could probably use a once-over," Juno adds, folding her arms and leaning against the bulkhead, warm to the touch. "I haven't had the opportunity to. I don't have any spare EVA suits, and frankly, the idea of venturing out into the vacuum is unsettling. I like having a stout bulkhead between me and the vacuum."   Looking over, she studies the equipment, resting her head against the bulkhead at an angle. Galen seems content to stand beside her, folding his own arms and leaning on her companionably as he watches Revan. "The mighty bot army. You could probably fully automate that ship of yours if you wanted to," Juno adds, with a grin. 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' And nebulas were rather pleasant to look at, Revan didn't add. At least, as Juno pointed out, one didn't generally get too close to one. "Even with the Force it's a pain in the backside," she agreed. "To be honest, my droids did the heavy-lifting in physical scanning."      Just because she /could/ do something, that didn't mean she wouldn't work smarter rather than harder.      "Hey, to be fair, if Carth was here I wouldn't be the one doing the flying," Revan quipped with a grin. "He might be a touch Force-sensitive, but his flying is /all/ skill. I'm not too proud to say I have nothing on him."      That was no Jedi modesty, either; she had told the entire truth on that. Though, if he was there, they would probably be mock-bickering to the point Juno might throw them out the nearest airlock, so it was probably a good thing he wasn't there.      Then again, with the way Juno and Galen similarly bantered, she wouldn't have much room to complain...even if she threw all three of them out the airlock. Force-sensitives had a habit of dying in horrible ways, so it would have been apropos. With great power came unhappy ends, it would seem.      "Sure thing," Revan replied. She was well-aware that she was the only sentient being to find the Insecticon cute. It was his personality. "The Ebon Hawk would have fallen to pieces long ago if he wasn't taking care of the hull."      The Jedi grinned at the ex-Sith. "And my Master used to rant about how worthless my hobbies are." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   "I was tested for Force-sensitivity when I entered the Imperial Academy at Corulag. As it turns out, I have the approximate sensitivity of a hull rivet," Juno explains, shrugging. "I never had that to lean back on, and I cut my teeth on TIE fighters. After a while you learn to start being paranoid in how you handle and repair those tin cans. It saves your life. After having to fight those things every step of the way, the Rogue Shadow was a joy. Still is," she adds, patting the bulkhead, "even in her current state."   Galen gestures with one hand, still leaning fold-armed against the bulkhead beside Juno. "It was designed to outrun anything in the Imperial Fleet. With all we've done to keep the ship afloat, I think it still could, but it would be a tight match between the fastest starfighters."   "Her top speed is thirteen hundred kilometers per hour with the ion drive fully committed and screaming," Juno explains, shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it aside. The engine room is entirely too hot for sleeves; even Galen beside her shrugs out of his jacket, doing the same, tugging at his collar with a grimace. "I'm fairly certain she couldn't make that, now, not with the fuel cells in the shape they're in. I've been monitoring for damages that could've been caused by faulty product, and so far it still looks good, but I'm concerned about that. What she really needs is a nice, long vacation in drydock and a chance for me to go over every square inch of her innards."   The pilot pushes off from the wall, sidling over to stand beside Revan, arms folded and lips pursed as she surveys the engine housing. Even with all the machinery off, it still hums quietly in its dormancy, a sound just on the edge of hearing and powerful enough to reverberate in one's teeth -- though to Juno, it seems more of a soothing sound; a reminder that all is still right in her world. "Heh. My hobby is making sure this ship is still spaceworthy, or we're both going to die."   "Hobbies?" Galen looks up. "You had hobbies? I think you had a leg up on me, then... I mean, sure, I like experimenting with lightsaber crystals, but I guess I wouldn't really call that a hobby." 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' "They're mass-produced from what I've heard," Revan agreed. "Seems to suggest the Empire thinks of the lower ranks as disposable. Or a way to weed out the less-skilled."      As for the Ebon Hawk, she shrugged. "The Hawk's not very glamorous...a local crime boss got his hands on an old smuggler's freighter and completely outfitted it to be his personal ship. Supposedly, it was the fastest thing in the Outer Rim...at the time. I, ah, needed to get off the planet post-haste and the Sith had already dropped a tonne of roof on him, so..."      In other words, she stole it. Davik Kang, being quite dead, wouldn't need it anyway.      Lowri shrugged off her own jacket, tying it around her waist, leaving her in the sleeveless form-fitting top underneath. "Even top-of-the-line ships need some downtime, like people. With the whole factions breakup going on, I was hoping the Watch would have something useful, but..."      That precluded evading the Empire long enough to make use of any facilities they might have, at least enough to avoid an incident. But for how long that could keep going, the Guardian couldn't say.      "Let's hear it for useful hobbies," Revan quipped before the mismatched eyes flicked to Galen. "The Masters let me tinker with droids when we weren't training, at least from what little I remember," she explained. "Most thought it was weird but harmless, some thought it pointless when we had /the Force/."      The way she rolled her eyes slightly at the memory indicated her own opinion of that rather arrogant assumption. " My Master was a bit strange...she found the skill to be useful, but she couldn't understand and disapproved of my passion for it. As if toying with droid innards was distracting me from yet more meditation." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   "That's becaues they /are/ disposable." Juno folds her arms again, shifting her weight as she eyes the engine housing. "Pilots and soldiers aren't even referred to by name. They're referred to by service number. It's just another way to strip away their humanity. Or whatever they are. If they're in the Empire, though, they're probably human."   Juno smiles a wolfish little smile. "So the crime boss wouldn't need it any more."   "The Rogue Shadow's not so different," Galen chips in. He lets himself slide down to land on his rump, grunting at the jarring impact and splaying his legs out in front of him more comfortably. "The way I saw it, the Empire wouldn't need it any more."   "And it was one less weapon in their arsenal. The last thing I needed to worry about at the time was someone coming after us in a ship I know inside and out, because rivet for rivet, I /know/ they haven't got anything that can match her." Juno cocks her head slightly. Facilities from the Watch? "No, not really. They're about as rag-tag and scattered as Galen and I. They have manpower, maybe, but that's not what I need. I need a safe place to set down where I can power her down completely and give her a thorough comb-over. If push came to shove, I guess I could do that on Malastare, but I wouldn't trust anyone there. Malastare is a desperate planet full of desperate people."   She pauses, thoughtfully.   "Also, I really hate high-grav planets."   "I'm not a great maintainer of droids, but I know my way around them when I need to. Mostly to put PROXY back together again." Yes, he still tries to kill his master at semi-regular intervals. And the both of them still get yelled at by Juno if they play their murdergames anywhere near the bridge. Or anywhere else that isn't the meditation chamber. "Meditation is useful, but it only does so much." Galen shrugs, expressively. "Sometimes you just need to /do/ something. Or hit something." 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' "I'd heard that too," the pale-haired Jedi replied. "Kyle also has more than a few horror stories." Between the two of them, she was starting to wonder if their war was even worse than the Jedi Civil War and her race to stop Malak.      "Essentially," Revan replied with a shrug. "Though I suppose that's one of those 'grey areas' the Order sometimes frowns on yet doesn't seem to consider stealing from a murderer to be strictly-speaking Dark Side, particularly when you're trying to get an important Jedi away from the Sith hunting her."      As for the Watch, the Guardian frowned thoughtfully. "It's turned out that way," she agreed. "I'd hoped they would at least have some resources, but not nearly what's needed."      She sighed. "Hunting down alternatives would take too long. I'll see what can be done with the ones you've got now, but there might not be any other choice but to go back to Malastare."      Revan was just as disinclined to go; even Force abilities didn't make a high-gravity planet any more enjoyable or less dangerous.      "I know my way around enough to keep my crew in running order," she admitted. "Nothing an actual trained tech could do, I imagine, but at least enough to, say, erase the assassination protocols of an ancient assassin droid when he asked me to." Having to talk her way around the Sith Master what had happened to the deadly droid guarding the tomb of Marka Ragnos had amused her companions in spite of the dangerous situation they had been in. And speaking of her adventures...      "The last time I opted to hit something rather than meditate...didn't end quite as well as I thought it would," she admitted. "Not that doing nothing /but/ meditating does any good in the real galaxy, but, well. Knowing when to hit and when not to isn't always easy." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   "That's right. I'd forgotten Katarn was part of the Empire in his own world. I don't know that name, so I suppose either they don't exist, or they're somebody I've had no reason to cross paths with in my own world..." Come to think of it, she'd still want to punch the smarmy bastard, anyway. That had been her inclination the first time they'd met, and the only reason it hadn't held strictly true was the fact that they shared the spirit of rebellion against the Empire.   Juno sighs, shrugging. "I'm sure he also has more than a few enemies. He might be willing to help me, but I can't say I get along with him very well. Our first meeting was a little rocky. It's been rocky ever since. He's a bloody mercenary."   "The Watch? It's a collection of freedom fighters and desperate people not unlike me. They have Elite resistance in the form of the Paladins, I'd imagine, from what I've heard of them. It'd be dangerous for them to flaunt any resources they did have, or associate publicly with the Watch... I can see how it'd be hard to have something like a base. It'd just be begging for retaliation from the law enforcement of a given place they're operating in, you know?"   She dips her chin, looking down at the deck plating with hooded eyes. "It's kind of unfortunate, though. Sometimes the law probably represents places like the Empire... 'lawful' doesn't necessarily mean 'good,' or 'good for the people...' so I guess that people like us are always going to be necessary."   It also stands to reason that they wouldn't have a lot of resources. If the Watch had a stronghold or a hub of operations, it would be too much of a target. More than that, though, it's probably full of desperate folk who live more on dreams than on means. They run on their ideals and their optimism, not funding and reliable gear. Juno can certainly understand that. Her bitterness towards the Empire and her anger at their treatment of innocent civilians, let alone the Callos' of the galaxy, are the only things keeping her going some days. Some days she and Galen have been hungry, or cold, or so exhausted they wanted only to break down and weep.   The life of a rebel isn't an easy one -- such is the price to be paid in this galaxy for having a healthy moral compass.   "Ugh. I really hope you can find something that isn't Malastare. That place is exhausting; high-gravity always is. I have enough sleep deprivation for the moment."   "So do I. Most of the time, we have to trade off shifts to keep an eye on the sensors." Galen frowns; his deep-set eyes make the expression seem more severe. "PROXY can do it, too, but it pays to be a little paranoid, these days. Vader doesn't like failure. He also doesn't like loose ends."   "I don't think he likes much of anything, really," Juno quips.   Galen shrugs. "Anyway... yeah. Sometimes things need to be hit, though. Words don't always solve everything... and I guess that's fine by me. I'm no diplomat, and I probably never will be. There's still a need for people like me."   Why, that's shockingly philosophic of you, Juno's arched brow seems to say. The pilot shrugs, too, retreating to slump down at the wall beside Galen. He puts an arm around her shoulders without thinking, and she leans on him in the same unconscious gesture. She flicks a hand, dismissively. "Do what you have to do. I had some scrap due for Malastare I was going to sell for a few extra credits, but if there's any of that you can use, help yourself. It's in the cargo hold. Just don't touch the podracer, and nobody gets hurt."   Juno's sweet smile means she's joking and won't actually hurt Lowri. Right?   ...Right?? 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' "He might be from your future...or one of these alternate future versions of the galaxy..." Another sigh punctuated Lowri's musings. "Well, all these complicated tangles of potentialities isn't really that important. I'd probably have fun pondering them all day if there wasn't so much important work to do." For all her love of doing the Consular thing and pondering scientific and life mysteries to her heart's content, the Jedi was nothing if not practical.      "Kyle's a good guy at heart just...rough around the edges." Really rough. "Mercenary work for him seems to be a way to root out hidden Force sensitives without attracting too much unwanted attention, I think. He's gathering students for a new academy, it looks like. Fortunately, minus the more unsavory practises, anyway. You can't tell me any lasting good can come from tearing families apart to train a Force-sensitive child, dangers of the Dark Side or otherwise." That was one thing she wouldn't compromise on, which to their credit, Kyle and his mysterious "Skywalker" seemed to be in agreement on.      "Naturally," Revan agreed. "That's not to say they don't have them at all, though...just not advertise them. I've aided my fair share of similar people, and some have been destitute rag-tag rebels while others have had outside backing that the governments or other entities keep quiet for plausible deniability. Not having at least some small base of operations -- even a mobile one -- for necessary maintenance is...unusual. At least in my experience." A rebellion, no matter how passionate, needed necessary supplies and equipment. Even small guerilla forces needed food, clothing, shelter, and weapons. There had to be at least some chain of logistics if they planned to keep fighting. It was for that reason that Darth Revan had targeted supply chains specifically; not as fear-inspiring as wiping out cities filled with civilians, but much more effective from a military perspective. Not very befitting a Sith Lord, but even her Dark Side persona had pragmatic to a fault.      The Jedi nodded. "Well before the Empire, the galaxy was a mixed bag. There were pockets of similar oppression where the local government was the law, but it wasn't exactly what one would call 'good'. Taris was like that even before Sith occupation; wealthy humans in the Upper City, aliens and the poor relegated to the Lower City, and criminals, the descendants of criminals, and the absolute destitute in the Undercity. It would be difficult to mourn the Sith bombardment except for all the innocent lives it took."      "I'll work on it," she replied, offering a rueful smile. "I might have to engage in that most dreadful of practices: diplomacy. Well, and some bribery."      One more sigh. "I'll look through it...there has to be something we can cobble together, if only for the short term." She paused to address the tiny shinki over her comm. "Ulaire, head down to the cargo hold, see if there's anything we can jury-rig. Leave the podracer, though..."      Revan stopped, eyebrows raised as it registered. "Wait...you got a podracer? Since when?" 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   Galen cocks his head at the mention of Jedi taking children away from their families to train them. He scowls even more deeply. "No. That's probably not a good thing. That's what happened to me, although the circumstances were probably a little different."   Juno squinches one thumb and forefinger together in sarcastic agreement. Just a /little/ different. Similar, but not similar enough to compare scenarios.   Galen stoically ignores her, although she leans her head on his shoulder. "Not to me," Juno says, with a shrug. "I'm pretty used to not having any base of operations at all, at least in terms of having a safe place to repair the Rogue Shadow. I really don't trust Malastare, and I really wouldn't consider it unless it were an emergency." Unfortunately, the state of the starship's engine is close enough to 'emergency' that she isn't willing to let it go much further than its current state.   The blonde pilot lets her eyelids droop to half-mast, keeping half her attention on the visiting Jedi. It is her ship, effectively, and she is sort of paranoid about its interior workings. With good reason. It's basically her home at this point.   "Mmm," she murmurs. "Short term is fine. Most of what I fix is a short term solution at this point. I don't have the resources for long term repairs any more. As to that... heh, heh. That's for me to know and you to find out. Actually, Vader ordered me to do that, once upon a time. It was a test of my engineering ability, and also something of a brainteaser. I was supposed to reconstruct for him something of 'cultural significance' to the planet Tattooine. So I did. Podracing's huge, there. It's where the Boonta Eve Classic is held. I'm pretty sure it doesn't run in its current state, but someday it might. Maybe I can sell it to a racer," she murmurs, because she'd have to be crazy to try and drive that thing herself. Crazy, and suicidal. 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' "To the Masters' credit, we weren't killed off when we failed," Lowri admitted. "Although the Korriban Academy was certainly fond of 'Succeed Or Die'." And boy, were they ever pissed at her in the end. Having to lightsaber the entire way to the docks through a whole school of angry Sith was something she would prefer not to have to repeat. "Speaking of when hitting things is a necessity, they weren't too inclined to talk things out like reasonable people."      "Maybe," she admitted. "But you can't blame me for worrying." Not exactly a very Jedi thing to do, but she was still human, and she preferred it that way.      This time, the Jedi stifled her sigh. "I'll find some way to get the parts. And at least Tiny can perform the outside repairs...that's better than nothing."      "There's not a whole lot to do on Tatooine /but/ race," Lowri quipped dryly. "Aside from hunting Krayt dragons and dodging Tusken Raiders, anyway. In my time, it's all about swoop racing, though with podracing being even more insane, they probably needed something even more adrenaline-inducing." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   "Heh. That's not the case with Vader. Vader can't stand failure, and his reaction to failure is pretty consistent," Juno mumbles from Galen's shoulder. "Galen's last pilot was late for a summons from Vader. The pilot died. Probably painfully, and probably messily, I'd imagine."   On the matter of outside repairs, Juno makes a soft sound of agreement. "Actually, the outside repairs are helpful. That's one of the things I can't do in our current state. Not without some kind of safe harbour or drydock."   The blonde pilot closes her eyes, although she still seems to be listening.   "Don't forget the Jawas. Or trying to get sand out of your everything," Galen adds, sourly. "I don't mind the heat, but I'm starting to hate sand. It makes such a mess with lightsaber assemblies if it gets in them..."   Juno snorts, eyes still closed. "Maybe. According to Juno, they say there was exactly one human podracer who managed to race, survive, /and/ win. We don't know who he was, though. The records are a little spotty for some reason. Otherwise, it's an alien sport. A human can't physiologically react in time at those speeds. I admire the machinery, but even I'm not suicidal enough to say I could use it." 

:'''{{#var:414|Revan (414)}} has posed:''' Her memories from before waking up on the Endar Spire might have been hazy, but Revan was fairly certain she hadn't zapped a subordinate for being late. At least, not fatally. The Dark Lord had been all about efficiency, and one couldn't very well be efficient when one kept killing off all the subordinates. Malak, on the other hand...      "My apprentice was like that," she admitted. "I mentioned the Taris bombardment before. Well, he was the one who ordered it. The search for a single Jedi must have been taking too long for his liking."      The Guardian leaned back against the bulkhead with a relieved smile. "Good to know we're of some use, at least."      She snorted softly in amusement."I suppose Jawas would be dangerous for anyone who can't refuse salespeople," she admitted. "All the sand's a real pain, though, no argument."      As if remembering his penchant for experimenting with any rock-like object as a lightsaber crystal, she added, "Speaking of lightsabers and Tatooine, only krayt dragon pearls work as crystals. Anything else out of a random desert cave is liable to blow up in your face."      Her smile was rueful, but with a hint of humour, as if her next words weren't especially serious. "Pity, that. Swoop racing was a rather fun past-time...not to mention a decent and /mostly/ non-violent way to earn some credits. Looks like I've been edged out of a lucrative racing career in the distant future."      The Jedi eyed Juno, a slight frown marring her brow. "If you need to knock out, go ahead. You could use the rest." 

:'''{{#var:428|Juno Eclipse (428)}} has posed:'''   Maybe Galen can guess at the Jedi's thoughts by the look on her face, or maybe he's using just a pinch of unconscious Force-sensitivity to cheat. Given how general his experience with the Force is, though, he's probably just watching her expression. Galen seems to have on capacity for or desire to influence minds using the Force. He's not a subtle man.   He frowns slightly. "Well, he can afford to. People are still recruited into the Imperial military branches in droves... so losing a subordinate here or there isn't really a setback to him. That never sat well with me, even when I was an Inquisitor." Maybe there's some hope for Galen Marek yet. "I was instructed not to leave any witnesses in my missions. I followed my instructions, but I didn't like them."   Shifting his weight with the utmost care, Galen adjusts his arm so Juno can rest more comfortably against him. The blonde pilot cracks an eye open and then closes it again, listening but not bothering to reply. It may be she's letting herself drift; she looks exhausted, and exhaustion seems to be an alarmingly regular state for her.   Tilting his head a little, Galen eyes Revan, a little speculatively. "Uh huh. I haven't gotten my hands on a krayt dragon pearl, but maybe some time. She can get parts in Tattooine; I'd be more afraid of her ruthless haggling than two suns and an entire desert planet trying to kill me."   Juno snorts, softly, just enough to suggest she's still awake and listening.   "I haven't even heard of swoop racing," Galen offers. "It must've died out a long time ago. Enough that people have mostly forgotten about it, and podracing's completely replaced it. You, and a lot of other people. There are some good pilots out there, and of course there's this one, too, but I don't think even Juno could keep up with that kind of input needed. Maybe on a straightaway, but even that makes me worry. There wouldn't be much left if she crashed at those kinds of speeds... even if it's hard to think of Juno actually crashing something. She's the best pilot I know."   "And you're biased," she murmurs from his shoulder.   Galen, for his part, grin. "Of course I am."   "Sorry," Juno adds to Revan. "I think I'm going to have to take you up on that. I'm exhausted. I've been going over the ship all day, and also keeping an eye on the sensors."   Galen shrugs. "I should take the opportunity to rest, too. I'm not going to be very useful to you in here. Juno knows more about my own ship than I do," he adds, with a grimace. He pushes to his feet, before reaching down and scooping Juno up into his arms; unconsciously, she throws an arm around his neck to brace herself. "We'll be back in a little while. Help yourself to anything we've got in the ship if you get hungry or thirsty while you're here... and thanks. You've been good to us."   Juno cracks an eye open enough to smile and give a mocking two-fingered salute, flicking her wrist with military precision. "Aye aye, sir. I'll get some rest, sir. Do what you need to do to the engines," she adds. "Though if I find out you broke something, I'll strangle you myself," she adds, sweetly.   Galen rolls his eyes and sighs as he carries the blonde pilot away. 
}}

4966/Classified: Sacred Security

2017-01-10T03:57:28Z

Hrimfaxi:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/01/01
|Location=Ad Coelum
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe finds herself recruited into Public Security, the Paladins' wetworks division.
|Cast of Characters=992, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' Heinkel received a form alerting her to a special opportunity, a form that was very sparse on details but very high on insistence that this was very opportunity itself was classified and that no further details would be forthcoming unless Heinkel spelled out that she knew she could not discuss this opportunity with anyone, and signed this fact. After agreeing, a few days had gone by, and then an invitation to a classified meeting in meeting room 1.69 aboard the Jus ad Bellum at thirty past noon on the first of January. From the outside, the room looks identical to any other meeting room aboard the ship. The inside is different, there's a lot of hardware and artifacts that seem to be monitoring things, and a half-circle table with high-backed seats surrounging the curved side. On the other side, a single wide and high-backed seat is turned away from the entrance, hiding the occupant from view, except for a single gloved hand holding a quill. The quill writes, and an impossibly pure voice repeats the phrases in a tri-tone melody, without regard for the content of those words. "Welcome, miss Wolfe, to the headquarters of Public Security. Let me be very clear, on paper, Public Security does not exist. We're a top secret division, and members are selected for a variety of skills, but most importantly, their discretion and their faith in proper procedure." "Do you understand?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The timing seems to have been perfect all the way around. There were plenty of places that Heinkel Wolfe could have been when the summons had arrived, but as it so happens, she had literally just walked in the door when it had reached her.   Barely had she had time to shower, change into something less covered in ghoul gore (the ravening hordes apparently didn't stop for New Year's Day), and promptly left for Ad Coelum.   So it is that the priest comes shuffling into the indicated meeting room, hair still damp, sunglasses very slightly askew and tugging crisp white dress gloves into place. She's wearing her usual -- cassock, overcoat, combat boots; and the addition of what looks like a clumsily hand-knit scarf draped around her neck. An unlit cigarette dangles from her lower lip.   That artificial-sounding voice brings her to stare, somewhat blandly, at the chair and its protruding hand with a quill.   "Vell," Heinkel mumbles around her cigarette, "that's not so different from Vatican Section XIII. It vas a classified division until three veeks ago, so..." She shrugs, audibly, heavy overcoat rustling; something in her pockets jingling to the tune of spare ammunition. "Ja, I understand that, but..." Her head tilts slightly to one side. "Vhy me?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "I am well aware of Vatican Section XIII and its purpose." The voice sounds as the hand writes, and then the hand waves briefly towards a whiteboard that's beyond the chair this mysterious person is in. A quick image appears of a vampire, then it fades and is replaced by an image of a dragon, followed by a fat cat businessman, and finally a king in an iron throne. Then this is replaced by the Paladin logo. "Your skills and background mean you are likely well-suited to our mission, as is your personality profile. I'll be brief." The quill is writing again, the same weird artificial voice speaking. "The Paladins exist to maintain Law and Order, but we also exist to ensure Law and Order does not get corrupted or abused by those who seek to turn it towards their own end. There are many Paladins diligently working to prevent this, but sometimes this work falls short." "So in times where this work and the Law fall short, Public Security exists to pick up the slack. If a criminal escapes prison one too many times, we are there to resolve the problem. When people take it upon themselves to take advantage of a flaw in the law, and resist efforts to correct this, we step in." There's a brief pause. "And we do so with as little of a push as necessary." "Do you understand?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Slowly, the priest folds her arms, frowning around her cigarette as that voice explains itself. There's not even a way to tell what gender the speaker might be. The words are spoken too crisply, the inflections and timbre too perfect, to be the work of any human voice. One supposes it could be the voice of an angel, but Heinkel hardly expects such a divine mystery to present itself in one of the meeting rooms of a starship.   Some distant part of her brain is still trying to wrap itself around that fact; 'a starship.'   Heinkel narrows her eyes at the displays that show themselves. Vampire. Dragon. Businessman. A king on a throne of iron. The latter three hold little recognition for her, at least as relates to real things that she has to deal with on a daily basis. Well, maybe the businessman. She's thoroughly tired of writing and filing expense reports--   "Hunh." Breaking herself out of her mental rabbit trail, she arches a brow. "So ve're the cleanup men and vomen, the vetvorks who ensure that the spirit of the law as vell as the letter ist held up. I guess I can understand that. In a vay, that's vhat I already do. I... 'solve problems.' Vhat's it to me if its' for Iscariot or for the Paladins?" Heinkel spreads her arms in a shrug. "I understand and accept. Somevon has to do the job, ja?"   Her arms fold again, and she grins around her slightly crumpled cigarette. "I resolved myself to that a long time ago. Doing this kind of vork so somevon else vouldn't haf to. Iscariot's agents are damned; vhat's a little more sin on the pile?"   Silence falls for a few seconds.   "Aside from the obvious issue of secrecy, vhat's going to be expected of me, going forward?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' The chair turns around to reveal Sigrun, without her mask in fact. "Welcome to the team." She speaks herself, instead of the magical quill she had been using, "I knew you would accept." There's a confident smile, and she pushes over a few more sets of paperwork, "Fill these in, sign and then hand them back to me." She starts with, and then she leans back in her chair. "How we work is simple. We're all Paladins doing regular work as expected of us as Paladins. At times, you will be scheduled for a meeting in this meeting room, that means there's Public Security work for you to be done." Sigrun explains quickly, with little concern, "At such a time, you will be briefed on the mission. You will be expected to follow the mission parameters and resolve the problem in any way you see fit. Generally, you will be working with others. All this work is top secret, and cannot be discussed outside of this meeting room without the permission of myself, mister Fairfax, Mister Ness, or our replacements should any of us leave our posts." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   When the chair swivels around to reveal who's sitting in it, Heinkel arches her other brow, until both of them disappear into her ragged bangs. It's not the appearance that does it for her, since she's never seen Sigrun without her mask, any more than Sigrun has seen Heinkel without her sunglasses -- it's the voice. She can hear every nuance, every little nuance of frequency that stamps it as the voice of Sigrun Stem.   Heinkel's mouth twists into a crooked smile around her crumpled cigarette, and she raises her hands, clapping heartily, the sound muffled by her gloves.   "Vell, vell. Congratulations, Fraulein Stem. I don't get fooled so vell too often, but you got me."   Her arms fold again, and she steps closer to the desk, tilting her head down to eye the paperwork when it's indicated. She half-skims the papers as Sigrun explains.   "Hunh. So, ve're the 'in case of emergency, break glass' solution to vhen the law ist being abused or loopholes are being exploited that may be dangerous or damaging. Ja, I'd be happy to do that." Paper rustles as she turns a page, head briefly tilting to show she's looking at Sigrun as she reads. "May be that Section XIII vas doing that kind of vork behind the scenes, but ve do haf standards. Ve don't attack things that don't go after innocents first. Ve also do things as quietly as ve can. Or did. Now, ve haf public image to keep in mind, too..."   "Ach, sorry. I'm rambling. I understand. All very hush-hush; I can understand that, too." Heinkel flips another page, before patting at her pockets, yanking her coat open, and rummaging around in an interior pocket for a pen. She eventually finds an example, the metal bar on its cap somewhat tweaked (and is that a bloodstain on it?).   Popping the cap with her thumb, she leans down to sign, movements quick and efficient, and entirely practised. "So, if ve can't talk about Public Security at all, if ve haf a problem ve need to address regarding, say, mission specifics, vhat do I do to get in touch vit von of you who has clearance to talk about it? Some kind of signal?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "Thank you." Sigrun smiles and listens, and then the paperwork is done and she takes it back for filing. "You send in a request to use this meeting room through normal means, and you will be told when a meeting has been scheduled." She explains succinctly, "At which point, it's the same thing. Do use this only if necessary, I'm quite busy and I prefer to keep my time focused on the work that needs to be done." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "You do vhat you haf to do. Iscariot is the same vay. I vasn't raised by the church like my partner or Father Anderson; I vas recruited, und I vas given a choice." Heinkel shrugs as she tucks the pen back into her pocket, sliding the papers across the desk to Sigrun and buttoning her coat back up. "I accepted, because if I lit a match to my own personal salvation, vhat vas it to me? Same here, really. I get the impression this ist about as dangerous und self-sacrificing as it gets... und I'm okay vit that, really. Somevon has to do it. Might as vell be me."   To the rest, she only tilts her head slightly, before inclining her head in a single nod. "Ja, that's fine. Good to know; I can understand vanting to keep the calendar open." She stuffs her hands back into her pockets. "Anything else you needed from me vhile you haf me here?" 
}}

4966/Classified: Sacred Security

2017-01-10T03:54:53Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/01/01 |Location=Ad Coelum |Cast of Characters=992, 363 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' Heink..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/01/01
|Location=Ad Coelum
|Cast of Characters=992, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' Heinkel received a form alerting her to a special opportunity, a form that was very sparse on details but very high on insistence that this was very opportunity itself was classified and that no further details would be forthcoming unless Heinkel spelled out that she knew she could not discuss this opportunity with anyone, and signed this fact. After agreeing, a few days had gone by, and then an invitation to a classified meeting in meeting room 1.69 aboard the Jus ad Bellum at thirty past noon on the first of January. From the outside, the room looks identical to any other meeting room aboard the ship. The inside is different, there's a lot of hardware and artifacts that seem to be monitoring things, and a half-circle table with high-backed seats surrounging the curved side. On the other side, a single wide and high-backed seat is turned away from the entrance, hiding the occupant from view, except for a single gloved hand holding a quill. The quill writes, and an impossibly pure voice repeats the phrases in a tri-tone melody, without regard for the content of those words. "Welcome, miss Wolfe, to the headquarters of Public Security. Let me be very clear, on paper, Public Security does not exist. We're a top secret division, and members are selected for a variety of skills, but most importantly, their discretion and their faith in proper procedure." "Do you understand?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The timing seems to have been perfect all the way around. There were plenty of places that Heinkel Wolfe could have been when the summons had arrived, but as it so happens, she had literally just walked in the door when it had reached her.   Barely had she had time to shower, change into something less covered in ghoul gore (the ravening hordes apparently didn't stop for New Year's Day), and promptly left for Ad Coelum.   So it is that the priest comes shuffling into the indicated meeting room, hair still damp, sunglasses very slightly askew and tugging crisp white dress gloves into place. She's wearing her usual -- cassock, overcoat, combat boots; and the addition of what looks like a clumsily hand-knit scarf draped around her neck. An unlit cigarette dangles from her lower lip.   That artificial-sounding voice brings her to stare, somewhat blandly, at the chair and its protruding hand with a quill.   "Vell," Heinkel mumbles around her cigarette, "that's not so different from Vatican Section XIII. It vas a classified division until three veeks ago, so..." She shrugs, audibly, heavy overcoat rustling; something in her pockets jingling to the tune of spare ammunition. "Ja, I understand that, but..." Her head tilts slightly to one side. "Vhy me?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "I am well aware of Vatican Section XIII and its purpose." The voice sounds as the hand writes, and then the hand waves briefly towards a whiteboard that's beyond the chair this mysterious person is in. A quick image appears of a vampire, then it fades and is replaced by an image of a dragon, followed by a fat cat businessman, and finally a king in an iron throne. Then this is replaced by the Paladin logo. "Your skills and background mean you are likely well-suited to our mission, as is your personality profile. I'll be brief." The quill is writing again, the same weird artificial voice speaking. "The Paladins exist to maintain Law and Order, but we also exist to ensure Law and Order does not get corrupted or abused by those who seek to turn it towards their own end. There are many Paladins diligently working to prevent this, but sometimes this work falls short." "So in times where this work and the Law fall short, Public Security exists to pick up the slack. If a criminal escapes prison one too many times, we are there to resolve the problem. When people take it upon themselves to take advantage of a flaw in the law, and resist efforts to correct this, we step in." There's a brief pause. "And we do so with as little of a push as necessary." "Do you understand?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Slowly, the priest folds her arms, frowning around her cigarette as that voice explains itself. There's not even a way to tell what gender the speaker might be. The words are spoken too crisply, the inflections and timbre too perfect, to be the work of any human voice. One supposes it could be the voice of an angel, but Heinkel hardly expects such a divine mystery to present itself in one of the meeting rooms of a starship.   Some distant part of her brain is still trying to wrap itself around that fact; 'a starship.'   Heinkel narrows her eyes at the displays that show themselves. Vampire. Dragon. Businessman. A king on a throne of iron. The latter three hold little recognition for her, at least as relates to real things that she has to deal with on a daily basis. Well, maybe the businessman. She's thoroughly tired of writing and filing expense reports--   "Hunh." Breaking herself out of her mental rabbit trail, she arches a brow. "So ve're the cleanup men and vomen, the vetvorks who ensure that the spirit of the law as vell as the letter ist held up. I guess I can understand that. In a vay, that's vhat I already do. I... 'solve problems.' Vhat's it to me if its' for Iscariot or for the Paladins?" Heinkel spreads her arms in a shrug. "I understand and accept. Somevon has to do the job, ja?"   Her arms fold again, and she grins around her slightly crumpled cigarette. "I resolved myself to that a long time ago. Doing this kind of vork so somevon else vouldn't haf to. Iscariot's agents are damned; vhat's a little more sin on the pile?"   Silence falls for a few seconds.   "Aside from the obvious issue of secrecy, vhat's going to be expected of me, going forward?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' The chair turns around to reveal Sigrun, without her mask in fact. "Welcome to the team." She speaks herself, instead of the magical quill she had been using, "I knew you would accept." There's a confident smile, and she pushes over a few more sets of paperwork, "Fill these in, sign and then hand them back to me." She starts with, and then she leans back in her chair. "How we work is simple. We're all Paladins doing regular work as expected of us as Paladins. At times, you will be scheduled for a meeting in this meeting room, that means there's Public Security work for you to be done." Sigrun explains quickly, with little concern, "At such a time, you will be briefed on the mission. You will be expected to follow the mission parameters and resolve the problem in any way you see fit. Generally, you will be working with others. All this work is top secret, and cannot be discussed outside of this meeting room without the permission of myself, mister Fairfax, Mister Ness, or our replacements should any of us leave our posts." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   When the chair swivels around to reveal who's sitting in it, Heinkel arches her other brow, until both of them disappear into her ragged bangs. It's not the appearance that does it for her, since she's never seen Sigrun without her mask, any more than Sigrun has seen Heinkel without her sunglasses -- it's the voice. She can hear every nuance, every little nuance of frequency that stamps it as the voice of Sigrun Stem.   Heinkel's mouth twists into a crooked smile around her crumpled cigarette, and she raises her hands, clapping heartily, the sound muffled by her gloves.   "Vell, vell. Congratulations, Fraulein Stem. I don't get fooled so vell too often, but you got me."   Her arms fold again, and she steps closer to the desk, tilting her head down to eye the paperwork when it's indicated. She half-skims the papers as Sigrun explains.   "Hunh. So, ve're the 'in case of emergency, break glass' solution to vhen the law ist being abused or loopholes are being exploited that may be dangerous or damaging. Ja, I'd be happy to do that." Paper rustles as she turns a page, head briefly tilting to show she's looking at Sigrun as she reads. "May be that Section XIII vas doing that kind of vork behind the scenes, but ve do haf standards. Ve don't attack things that don't go after innocents first. Ve also do things as quietly as ve can. Or did. Now, ve haf public image to keep in mind, too..."   "Ach, sorry. I'm rambling. I understand. All very hush-hush; I can understand that, too." Heinkel flips another page, before patting at her pockets, yanking her coat open, and rummaging around in an interior pocket for a pen. She eventually finds an example, the metal bar on its cap somewhat tweaked (and is that a bloodstain on it?).   Popping the cap with her thumb, she leans down to sign, movements quick and efficient, and entirely practised. "So, if ve can't talk about Public Security at all, if ve haf a problem ve need to address regarding, say, mission specifics, vhat do I do to get in touch vit von of you who has clearance to talk about it? Some kind of signal?" 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "Thank you." Sigrun smiles and listens, and then the paperwork is done and she takes it back for filing. "You send in a request to use this meeting room through normal means, and you will be told when a meeting has been scheduled." She explains succinctly, "At which point, it's the same thing. Do use this only if necessary, I'm quite busy and I prefer to keep my time focused on the work that needs to be done." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "You do vhat you haf to do. Iscariot is the same vay. I vasn't raised by the church like my partner or Father Anderson; I vas recruited, und I vas given a choice." Heinkel shrugs as she tucks the pen back into her pocket, sliding the papers across the desk to Sigrun and buttoning her coat back up. "I accepted, because if I lit a match to my own personal salvation, vhat vas it to me? Same here, really. I get the impression this ist about as dangerous und self-sacrificing as it gets... und I'm okay vit that, really. Somevon has to do it. Might as vell be me."   To the rest, she only tilts her head slightly, before inclining her head in a single nod. "Ja, that's fine. Good to know; I can understand vanting to keep the calendar open." She stuffs her hands back into her pockets. "Anything else you needed from me vhile you haf me here?" 
}}

4991/At the Lake

2017-01-10T03:54:13Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/01/06 |Location=Dun Realtai |Synopsis=Eithne studies a kelpie, and gets some company. |Cast of Characters=1016, 525, 482 |pretty=yes }} {{Pose..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/01/06
|Location=Dun Realtai
|Synopsis=Eithne studies a kelpie, and gets some company.
|Cast of Characters=1016, 525, 482
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     The winter in Dun Realtai is unbelievably harsh. Even a sunny day is freezing cold, with snow and slush clinging to boots and soaking through long hems. Even Eithne wears a pair of thick leggings underneath her woolen skirt and leather jacket. It shouldn't be warm enough in such weather, but she has yet to find a temperature that can best it. Thanks, Ma!!!     The mud at the edge of the pond sucks at her rubber rainboots. Occasionally she shifts her feet just to keep from sinking too deep, because her enemy is craftier than a regular horse and it can most likely swim better than she can. There is a plastic bag in one hand, full of something red and fairly unpleasant.     She's been staring out at the grey water for thirty minutes by now. Planning. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' When Inga heard of Eithne's intentions to leave the warm safety of the cottage to go try to get a peek of the kelipe, Inga reluctantly followed. Trudging through the snow, slush and mud was beyond unpleasant, her boots completely caked with mud that had hardened over them. They used to be black-no longer. The wisewoman is also dressed for the cold weather, probably more so than Eithne, wrapped in her warmest, fur-lined cloak, a wool hat on her head and thrummed mittens on her hands. She sits on a rock nearby Eithne, able to stay quite still and nearly silent, even without a spell. Moving though, she'd need a charm to not be noticed. Moving like a hunter is not in her skill set. "Eithne," she says quietly. "What are you thinking?" she asks, a note of anxiety in her voice. She half expects the girl to go wading in. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     She's quite often foolhardy, and terribly stubborn once she gets an idea in her head. Inga sometimes has reason to worry about her housemate's decision-making processes!     But she's not making any move to go beyond some invisible line in the mud, just watching the water. "Hmm?" The wind blows her curly hair across her face as she turns to look at the wisewoman, and Eithne swipes it away with chilly hand. "Inga, it's cold! What're yeh doin' out?"     Turning away from the water, she trudges back to the safety of the rock. "I'm watchin'," the Scion explains in a conspiratorial voice. You never know when fae might be listening, after all. "Were yeh worried that I might go fer a swim?" she asks, a wry smile curving the corner of her mouth. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga smiles slyly. "It is cold, yet here you are, and less prepared for the weather than I," she says, gesturing with her mitten-shrouded hand to Eithne's leather jacket, lack of gloves or a hat. "To answer your question, obviously I am out because I was checking on you. Indeed, I think you might do such a crazy thing as that," she says, smile still present. Good natured-teasing. Inga looks back toward the lake, reaching up to bring the long braid of her white hair over her shoulder. "Any sign of it then?" she asks. She's well aware of Eithne's kelpie obsession. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     That smirk turns into a full-fledged grin, wide enough to see the gap of her missing tooth. "I might've in the summer," she has to confide. "But I don't really feel like it today." Eithne certainly doesn't /look/ cold, despite her clothes. "Not a good day to start jumpin' into strange bodies of water to wrestle a creature that outweighs me by seven hundred pounds and eats human flesh."     What, like that would be fine if it were summer?     "I saw it peek out of the reeds twenty minutes or so ago. I tossed a bit of meat into the water but I can't see if it took it." She finds a seat on a different stone close by. "Nothin' wrong with feedin' the wildlife, yeah?" she grins. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga eyebrows rise, amused. "I dare say there isn't really a /good/ day for that, even if the water were warm, yet I know you may eventually attempt it," she sighs. Is this what it is like to have a child? A teenager? Inga sighs again, shaking her head. Surely this is what it is like to have a child, not approving of what they want to do but helping them to do it anyway, because it makes them happy. "It is not likely to appear just because you want it to. You must lure it with magic or with cunning--better yet, both," she says, then gestures to Eithne. "Come here." Inga pulls off one of her gloves, then reaches for the knife she keeps at her belt. She pricks her finger hard enough to draw blood enough for two staves to be drawn. "I do not know that this will work on one of the fae, but it is worth a try. It likely will not come because, quiet even as we are, it knows we are here. This spell might help," she says, reaching out to draw a sigil in blood upon Eithne's brow. Then, her own. Funny, Inga seems to be more difficult to see now. Eithne would know she was there if she concentrated on seeing her, but the eye wants to slide away--the mind wants to forget. "Throw the meat again, if you have more of it," she suggests, speaking quietly. If Eithne did not already know where she was it might be difficult to pinpoint from where her voice had come. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Well, sort of. This is what having a half-tamed animal is like. It plays nicely, and it likes you, but... it is its own creature.     "If the water was warm it'd be more comfortable. I regret that yeh've never really seen me fight," she sighs patiently, but watches with peaked interest as Inga cuts herself. For most of the Drowned Ophelia debacle, Inga had been 'occupied'. "Though I'll admit that cunning isn't really what I'm known fer."     Eithne's eyelids lower as the wisewoman dabs blood on her forehead, a dribble threatening to course down the side of her nose before the cold winter air thickens it. She looks better with red on her.     "No tellin'," she nods, but opens the bag to draw a half-thawed chunk of meat from it. She doesn't have to wind up, just underhands it - the tidbit sails through the air, landing in the water with a 'SPLUNK'!     Somewhere, Sheela is offended that he isn't being fed offal too. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' "Indeed, I was rather...upside down the last time you had to fight in my presence," she says, frowning slightly. An unpleasant memory, that. She's glad that it is done with, all that well and truly over. Hopefully. "I'm sure I will get the chance to see you fight. I have seen it in your wyrd, if not in the present," she replies. Would it be strange to say 'blood suits you?'. Blood suits Inga as well, stark against her pale skin and hair. "Well...lets wait and see. I can try a ritual to try to summon it, but..." she shrugs slightly. She's not sure it would work. Inga works with land spirits and what not frequently, but mostly just leaving them offerings to gain their blessings. Summoning a kelpie? Who knows. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It had been a bit scary. Not because Eithne is afraid of being hurt, but because there had been a chance that the black tears could've... Well. She'd have still cared about Inga, even if she were an avatar of Viking metal! "Harry was the really impressive one. That Pyrofuego bit was brilliant." Eithne throws her hands apart to mimic the explosion of flame, the plastic bag rustling. "Bwoooosh!"     They're both cut from the same cloth. Eithne hasn't ever really met anybody before, besides her father, who understands her quite as well as Inga does. And the child that she was and the creature she is now are still more and more different. If Eamon Sullivan ever comes back... what would he think, she wonders.     "Nah, let's let it be. I saw a program on television once, where yeh make a creature associate yeh with good things by feedin' it treats. Let it come to me if it wants." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga nods. When Eithne mentions Harry's display Inga actually blushes at the memory. "Yes. I have...never seen him quite that angry before," she responds sheepishly. Bloody man. Making with all the feelings. She laughs though, at Eithne's impression. Obviously, Inga feels likewise about Eithne. She's fiercely protective. Should she tell Eithner about Arthur? She might have threatened him juuuust a little bit. She's warming to him, though. She knows Eithne is perfectly capable of setting the boy straight if she needs to. Inga looks to the lake again, nodding. "Indeed. I am in agreement. If we stay a while and are patient...I think we could catch a glimpse," she smiles. "If not, ah well. We've had a nice chat, at the least," she adds. Inga pulls something else from her belt. A wineskin. She uncorks it and takes a sip before passing it to Eithne. It's mead, of course. "If we're to be out in the cold, we need something to warm us at least." Drinking age shminking age. Enya is grown, she can handle a bit of mead. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     She grins without one whit of shame. "He's a good man, I think~" Inga is lucky! And so is Harry. And so is Eithne, to be able to live the life she does.     Not-so-secretly, it warms her heart that Inga is totally willing to curse Arthur if he gets fresh. Eithne had kinda-sorta tried to behead him. She was mad, okay?     "I certainly wouldn't call it an hour wasted," she hums, kicking her feet back and forth contentedly. If the kelpie shows up, it's fine. If it doesn't, that's fine too. A certain sassy crow flaps down from one of the castle walls, hopping toward the two young women expectantly. "Aha, I knew yeh'd show sooner or later," Eithne tells him smugly, and tosses a tidbit to her pet before accepting the wineskin with her clean hand.     She lifts it in a toast. "Thanks Inga. Slainte!" 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   <Water-horses are notorious cowards, and it will not come because it has no reason to.>   The voice that greets them comes from behind and slightly to Inga's left, and it had crept up soft and silent as a shadow. The Black One's eyes glow before its body seems to shimmerinto view, hooves digging divots in the wet sand as it paces out from around the stone.   <Spare your silly charms and spells. This one knows they will not work.>   Ears flicking back, the colossal black war horse raises its head, muzzle tipped slightly skyward in a shockingly human gesture of disdain. Yet there is a rider on his back -- the silver-haired knight and lord of the Dun, armour newly lined in fur, heavy-mantled white cloak similarly trimmed and pulled around himself.   It seems the Black One has deigned to wear a caparison; for warmth, perhaps, if nothing else, and a saddle over that, because the Fae don't appreciate steel against their hides.   "I was wondering where you had gone, but I suppose I should have known." Bedivere half-smiles. "'Tis weather fit for neither man nor beast. You should both be in."   <You waste your time, O Master,> the Black One laments, breath fogging as it sighs through flared nostrils. <They are waiting-->   "I apologise for the rudeness of my steed," Bedivere adds, with a bland sigh. "It may be better to simply ignore him."   The Black One proceeds to flip his ears back and sulk a little. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' The wisewoman smiles back. "He is. Most certainly," she replies, remembering again their recent encounter with Arthur. And his question. She can't stop a wicked little grin from appearing at the memory, nor a flush to her cheeks. It's cold, alright? It's definitly the cold. Inga smiles as the crow appears, reaching into her pouch again. She has some meat on her as well. Usually does, for some reason or another. Things do not go bad in there, it seems. She tosses a bit to the crow. She likes crows. Similar to ravens, and ravens are of Odin. "We'll draw all manner of creatures if we continue to throw meat around," Inga laughs. She takes the wineskin back and raises it as well, "Skol!" she toasts. She drinks, then narrows her eyes as she hears Black One's voice. She reaches up to smudge the blood charm on her brow, dispelling the magic. "You reason that the kelpie will see through my spell, Black One?" she asks. She is not pleased with her magic being called silly, but he is fae. Sometimes he has poor manners. "Simply keeping Eithne company," she comments. Bedivere will see her now. She smiles to him in greeting. "Good day my friend--yes, it is thoroughly unpleasant out here, but I've come all this way and mead makes it a bit more tolerable," she adds with a slight shrug of her shoulders. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     "Nobody asked yer opinion, did they?" Eithne calls back to the fae, without nearly as much petty malice as she is capable of. She still remembers holding it as a tiny wee bat and how adorable it can be!     Inga removes the charm and Eithne scrubs the mark from her face as well, carelessly. "Don't be rude," she chastises the Pooka. "It's fine if it doesn't want to show itself today. It's too cold to try fightin' in water anyhow."     Sheela gulps down one piece of meat, and then squawks happily - Inga is his new favorite person, and he hops up onto the rock beside her. Then down to the ground, then back to the rock...     "I'm not cold." That's not anything special, she's got a nice warm jacket! "But what're yeh both doin' out here in the cold?" 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Sliding off the black horse's back, Bedivere's sabatons hit the wet sand with an equally wet squelching sound. It's thoroughly unpleasant, and hefinds himselfimmensely grateful that there aren't any holes or leaks in them. That water looks dangerously cold, if the air is any indication. Winters in Siberia are kinder.   "Good day, Wisewoman." Bedivere sketches a bow, reaching up to adjust his cloak. He's also wearing a scarf, which looks clumsy and hand-knit. A gift from Arturia, some years past, but a functional one; and one that he treasures. "Miss O'Suilebhain. I've no need of mead; I don't intend to linger for too long." Speaking of Arturia, she'll yell at him if he dallies out in this horrific cold.   He gestures out towards the lake. "Putting aside the crudeness of my steed--" The Black One snorts, switching his tail in obvious irritation, "--I could not say. I fear my own skill in such matters is fledgling, at best. Perhaps more an issue than matters of the otherworld, it is from my observation a canny creature, given to more caution than most of its kind."   Striding over, he stands near the rock Inga is perched on, looking out to the water and narrowing his eyes. "Like as not it knows we are here. It has watched this place, ere long; it knows who lives here, and what their patterns are, and when they draw too near the lake. Thank the Lord none have been taken, yet, to my knowledge. But I will rest easier when it is driven off or convinced that Dun Realtai is off-limits."   "I am reminded," he adds, tilting his head and regarding Eithne, who seems bizarrely unaffected by the bitter cold. "Lady Alaia has given her blessing, if you should wish to subdue the creature, under the stipulation that I and my king are present, as stewards, in the event that aught should go amiss."   ...Might be that the Fae can be tiny and adorable at times, but he's still a smarmy jerk.   <Patrols.> The Black One's tone suggests his care for this activity is less than zero.   "Patrols," Bedivere confirm. "Everything seems to be in order. I was on my way back to the citadel, if you should like to join me. I do not see Jodis, so if you prefer to ride, Wisewoman, you may use my steed."   <Pah.>   "It would be a breach of hospitality to leave her there," Bedivere says, serenely.   </Bah/.> The Black One curls his lip scornfully, ears swivelling back, but he doesnt' argue. Inga would absolutely make it back home in one piece without being thrown off. Probably. Maybe. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga and Eithne both seem to have supernatural qualities that help protect them from the harmful effects of such cold weather, but to her knowledge, Bedivere does not. He's the one that needs scolding. Luckily, Inga knows Saber is up to the task and may perhaps takes some pleasure in it. So, she'll leave it to her. "Ja, the creature likely knows we are here. But Eithne has made an offering, likely on several occasions. That may eventually bring it around. Patience is key," she replies. What's the deal Black One? He's rather grumpy today! What about all those apples she's fed you, hmm!? "Indeed, I did not want to bring Jodis out in this cold so I left her safe and warm in her stall. At cost to my feet I'm afraid, but I'm sure they'll be fine," she comments, looking down to her boots. "Worry not, I have other transportation. I'll be heading out of Dun Realtai to Chicago to meet Harry," she explains. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Too bad she can't check to see if he's wearing the socks she gave him, but Eithne believes in Bedivere to not be an idiot that goes out into the cold without proper preparation. That's kind of her job. But the scarf, though perhaps clumsily-made, is cute. It must be a gift, she supposes, because why else would a royal wear something less than the best quality? Not flashy, but ... substantial. Long-wearing. Something like that. She looks down long enough to frown and scoop a squawking Sheela up into her arms. "Behave, you," she murmurs to him. Such sassy creatures around here! "Thanks! I'm concoctin' a strategy as we speak~"     "Yeh know I'm perfectly able to go out on patrols as well, right?" she reminds Bedivere in turn, accidentally cocking her head at him in time with her pet. "I know yer the responsible sort, but yeh've also a responsibility to stay healthy." Is there no end to the number of women who would fuss at him???     If Inga's going to Harry's place, then Eithne can spend all evening being lazy in front of the hearth and read in her pajamas! ...Not that she couldn't do that already, but if she's alone she can wear the extra special (sorta scanty, sorta frilly) set she quietly bought for herself. And roll around on the rug for a while. "Tell him I said hullo, would yeh?" she grins. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Despite his middling talent in otherworldly arts, there are no techniques that Bedivere knows of to shrug off the effects of cold weather. Fortunately, he does have a passing good knowledge of how to layer his clothing most efficiently to shut out the cold and wet.   "Of course it knows. It isn't stupid. In fact, I consider it quite cunning," Bedivere muses, looking out toward the water again.   He hasn't seen it of late, but he hasn't made a point of looking. Reports still reach him of the white horse standing fetlock-deep in the cold, nearly-frozen water, staring at the citadel or the town itself. The knight will rest much easier once that thing is less of an unknown quantity, be it subdued, driven off, or dispatched.   Bedivere folds his arms.   The Black One probably doesn't like the cold, and isn't apathetic to it or inured to it as his human associate is. Maybe the almost-snow has him grumpy. He'd rather be inside by a fire instead of traipsing around in the slush.   "I see. Very well, then." Bedivere inclines his head. "Please give Master Dresden my regards, if you would be so kind."   Sighing, Bedivere cocks his head to regard Eithne, the gesture almost bird-like despite its inherent exasperation. "Why is it that everyone assumes, no matter the outcome or how carefully I conduct myself, that I will be struck down by the most pernicious of maladies the moment I set foot beyond the threshold? I am not made of spun glass, Miss O'Suilebhain, despite the fact that I do not bear divine ichor in my veins or a Servant's categorical superhumanity. I have survived where countless others have fallen, like it or no. Is that not enough?"   He even outlasted /Gawain/, for crying out loud. Doesn't that entitle him to at least a little bit of respect?   "Besides," he adds, mildly. "Lady Arturia is quite capable of badgering me into remembering to take proper care of myself, in the rare occasions that I do not. I have no need of hearing it from three different sources."   His poor dignity. It lives under a rock in a permanent state of terror. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga smiles and nods. "I will, of course," she replies to Bedivere. To Eithne, she asks, "You'll make sure Jodis is warm and fed?" she reminds. Eithne doesn't really need to reminder though. She knows Eithne can hold down the fort well enough. It's quite convenient having her there. And pleasant. A small laugh in Bedivere's direction. "It is only that we've seen you sick with some frequency--not any more than a normal person, but we have grown a bit unaccustomed to normal, haven't we?" she says with a grin. Multiverse, strange place. Speaking of strange, Inga pulls a glowing orb from her pouch. "Well, I will take my leave. Pleasure to see you Bedivere, Black One. Take care Eithne, and let me know if anyone comes from the village needing my services while I'm out." With that, she activates the agartha conduit and disappears in a flash of golden light. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Eithne returns his gaze, mild as milk, though she doesn't quite speak up until after Inga's had her say. "Probably 'cause yeh keep doing just that, as she said. Nothin' shameful about it - nobody doubts yer dedication or yer loyalty. But we're more than willin' to help as we're able to. Besides, wouldn't it be good fer me to get out now an' then?" The worst she could possibly do is spook the villagers by riding her bicycle too fast through the town!     Or, you know, destroy part of the countryside fighting a wandering monster. Whatever.     "Right! Same with the ducks an' pigs." She's not at all a poor hand to have around a small farm; her unnatural hardiness makes Eithne good at manual labor. "Byyyyye~" Aaaaand she's gone.     "I'll capture it one way or another. It'd be terrible if it came out on land and tried to eat someone. I suppose I'd have no choice but to kill it then." She... actually looks a bit distressed about it. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   <Fare thee well, Wisewoman.> The Black One apparently manages to sprout some manners in the eleventh hour, raising his head and whickering out loud to Inga as she takes her leave. That she does so through the Agartha Conduit doesn't seem to bother him at all.   The silver-haired knight inclines his head respectfully as Inga excuses herself, and he might stare a little bit at that conduit.   Just a little bit.   Bedivere glances back to Eithne once they're left alone beside the shore of a half-frozen lake haunted by a man-eating horse spirit. The ambiance of the place should be enough to send most sane and rational people running screaming. He may not be much in the way of supernatural, but Bedivere is by no means a normal person; no more than the other crazies who live here.   Dun Realtai is just full of the bizarre, abnormal outliers, isn't it?   "Well, for what it may be worth, the creature has not yet attempted to drag anyone into the lake. I suppose I have caution to thank for that. The lake is forbidden to most people. It's simply too dangerous to let others stray too close." Bedivere gestures with one gauntleted hand to the reeds poking just above the surface, brown and grey in their dormancy. "If one can see into the reeds, the kelpie can see them... and it moves far more quickly than any human."   He tilts his head in facsimile of a shrug. "I will not ask an eye for an eye. Until it actively attempts to do harm, I will not order it slain. Subdue it as you will, when we are prepared to, however. I will rest easier when it is honour-bound not to do harm in this place."   <Do not think of her so cavalier.> The Black One turns slightly, head lolling to one side in a very un-equine and slightly creepy-looking gesture. <This one has spoken to her but once, enough to know that those of the water and those of the land fare poorly together. But know that she is proud. Call into question her pride, and it will fare poorly for you, Daughter of the Morrigú.>   The Black One lowers his head slightly, fixing Eithne with the smoky gold of one eye. One can almost see the texture of smoke drifting across the surface of it. <Be cautious; that is all this one would advise. And do not think of her as a dumb animal. She is as intelligent as this one, wild and free.>   <She is a creature of the water, and water is her element.> 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     She's been through Agartha once. It wasn't good, and it wasn't bad. Maybe the Buzzing doesn't care much about what it can't speak to - there's too much ichor in her veins for honey to sneak in as well. Much the same, the shore of the marsh doesn't bother her. It's just a haunted pond. What's to be scared of?     Bedivere reminds her of the bargain she'd made with him and Arturia. "I've been watchin' the reeds. I saw it earlier," she tells him, glancing again towards the dead stalks. Sheela has already pecked the bag of meat the rest of the way open and is gorging himself on leftover scraps. She turns her blue eyes - a strange hue - onto the Black One and listens to him speak with a solemn expression. She meets his golden eye, unafraid.     The pink line of her mouth slowly thins.     "That's what I've been doin' wrong," she muses, tucking a blood-smeared hand underneath her chin. "I was looking at her as a predator first an' not a true fae. Too many stories, maybe..." Eithne looks a bit troubled, and turns to look out over the water. "I wasn't lookin' at her as a person." And she'd already been called out for it once, too, though not in such precise terms.     She turns back to face the strange duo, boots squishing in the mud. "I was wrong. Yeh've done me a great favor by remindin' me, <Ceann Dubh>." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   <Oh, yes, she is there.> The Black One turns toward the reeds, ears pricking and tilting his head in that odd manner again. <But she is hidden from even this one's eyes. Well-hidden, oh yes, of that this one has no doubt. But she cannot hide forever, and not from this one. The Tylwyth Teg know their own kind.>   For his part, Bedivere watches the reeds, but there doesn't seem to be anything to see. He isn't foolhardy enough to go poking at a cornered kelpie with a stick, literal or metaphorical, and so he returns his attention to Eithne. Any smarmy commentary from the ethereal war horse is stoically ignored.   "It would be wise to remember its nature, yes. It is of the Tylwyth Teg, and not any mortal predator. A mortal predator would be by far easier to address. Driving it off or dispatching it would not be half so much a challenge as this. No; this is a thinking creature, a creature accustomed to healthy fear, respect, and mayhap even worship." Bedivere reaches up, rubbing at his jaw absently, the leather pads of his gauntlets cold. "I do not know that I would consider this creature malicious, but it certainly does not... ah... 'play by the rules' that you and I are accustomed to."   Meanwhile, the Black One radiates smugness. It doesn't have to show any particular change in body language or anything. It just does.   <This one is pleased to be of service, Daughter of the Morrigú.> His head lowers, turning to regard Bedivere once more. <In the meantime, if this one is not mistaken, the Once and Future King will be looking for you, mortal, if you do not return to the citadel soon. The shadows grow long and the hour grows late.>   In other words, Arturia's going to go looking for him, and she's going to blow a few gaskets in sequence if she finds him out here on the shore of the lake.   Bedivere clears his throat, mildly. "In any case, I should be returning to the citadel, soon. If there is nothing more that you require, we will be on our way." One brow arches, faintly. /Does/ she need anything else? He'd be a poor host if he didn't ask, after all. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Mortal predators she's used to. Whether they wear fur or scale or skin... it would be unwise to think she hasn't done a bit of hunting on the streets of Belfast after her mother had come to find her. There's something about hunting wicked people that Eithne likes so much more than chasing down some poor animal.     Shaking herself out of her reverie, Eithne crosses one ankle in front of the other and drops a fair rendition of a curtsey. "Please don't let me keep yeh. It's cold outside an' the dark's coming soon, as yeh said."     She was very wrong. She's struck with the desire to run until her lungs ache... maybe after she's fed and put up the animals. "I'm absolutely fine. Have a safe trip back to the keep, yeah?" 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The silver-haired knight inclines his head in polite gesture, though those faded violet eyes are fixed on Eithne, muted curiosity in the arch of one brow. Everything does not seem quite alright with her, but he'd learned a long time ago not to question her strange moods.   It would be just a little hypocritical. He himself is given to strange moods and brooding, every so often; a man with unseen scars like his could hardly be faulted for it. No doubt Eithne, too, has her moments, and her scars that cannot be seen. So he lets her wear her strange mood, her strange desire to run and push herself to her limits.   "As you wish, then, Miss O'Suilebhain." The knight lowers his head, touching his forehead in a gesture of respect. The Black One stands quietly as Bedivere vaults astride the great destrier. How he does so in plate armour is anyone's guess, but it probably comes from years of experience, and half a lifetime wearing armour in that same style. He was one of Camelot's finest horsemen, and it comes as no surprise, even seeing him interact with a creature like a pooka.   The Black One tilts his head, curling his lip back and showing yellowed teeth to Eithne in a sort of weird, creepy horse-grin. <Do have fun.>   With a flick of the tail, the pooka wheels in the wet sand, kicking up saturated sand as he throws himself across the shore -- all the power and speed of the world's finest war horse.   Too bad it's paired with the personality of the world's biggest jerk. 
}}

4978/To Meet the Wizard

2017-01-10T03:50:56Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/01/03 |Location=The Great Ocean |Synopsis=Now no longer on opposite sides of the battle lines, Sarah invites Loros for a cup of tea and a chat..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/01/03
|Location=The Great Ocean
|Synopsis=Now no longer on opposite sides of the battle lines, Sarah invites Loros for a cup of tea and a chat.
|Cast of Characters=316, 303
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Although the multiverse has recently seen a catastrophic degree of upheaval, there are some areas that are either largely untouched by the reality quakes, or those that have recovered and picked themselves back up quickly.   There is a timelessness about the ocean. From water came life, in so many worlds; to water, some say, it will return. There is a cyclical quality to the oceans, shown in the ebb and flow of the tide and the wax and wane of the moon.   Islands dot the expanse, many home to different civilisations, but it's one here that looks as though it could have been at home in the Grasslands that Sarah has chosen. Buildings have been raised in stone or hide tents, with thatch roofs and beaten earth paths. The people here are dressed in the variegated manner of the Six Clans, and they seem openly accepting of visitors.   There is a small cafe off the main avenue, sprawling along the shore, with a magnificent view of the ocean. Moonlight plays off the waves, which rush the strand in roaring foam.   It's not difficult to find Sarah. The woman is abnormally pale, coming close enough to albinism that she stands out wherever she goes. Even if that weren't enough to pick her out, there is a preternatural calm about her.   To those that sense magic, she might as well be an industrial-strength floodlamp among candles. 'All the Water of the World,' Loros once described her, and it is as true today as it was then. More, perhaps. There is a self-assurance and confidence about her that was perhaps more act than truth, then; it is more truth, than act, now.   Her pale blue, almost colourless eyes are fixed on the distant ocean, as though she were listening to something. Slim hands are folded in her lap, and sitting before her is a cup of tea, a streamer of steam curling up from its surface. A plate of various local delicacies are spread on the table, and the second chair pulled out, as though she were awaiting a guest.   She is. 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' That guest sticks out among the more colorful locals, dressed as he is in his usual dark suit and hat. Taking a long slow draw off one of his cigarettes, Loros exhales a lungful of wispy dark smoke shot through with small points of light. Much less pale, his coloration fits in a bit more with the locals, as might the faint scar on his face. Making his way down the pathways to the cafe, he arrives to settle in the chair. Regarding the young woman across the table, he inclines his head deeply. "You seem a touch more settled in yourself." Reaching up, he plucks his cigarette from his lips and vanishes it... elsewhere. "It is good to see." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   The pale woman doesn't so much as look up, although her eyes slide briefly toward the side as the Wizard seats himself. This was expected; she does not do herself the indignity of jumping or startling. Once upon a time, she might have been so skittish, but those days are long past.   Sarah glances over when spoken to, arching one delicate, pale brow.   "Time has that effect on people, or so one would hope." Something flickers across her expression that might be the ghost of a smile. There is still that aura of calm, and that aura of closely-restrained, and absolutely monstrous, power.   Yet where Loros seems to draw on the things that live in the space that binds the stars, Sarah's is no different from the waves that rasp the shore. She /is/ the ocean, as much as she is the fog, the rain, the snow, the mist; the dew settled on the leaves at the break of day.   She reaches for her cup, cradling delicate china in even more delicate hands. Despite that aura of monstrous power, physically, she looks as though a stiff breeze could break her in half. Deceptive appearances. "Mm. Thank you. Indeed, it is good to know the battle lines are not drawn tonight."   "Order what you like. Consider it my treat, tonight." 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' "In my experience, you are correct about time. Even madness fades against it's relentless march." Loros regards Sarah for a long silent moment, watching that ebb and flow of water within her, the deep reserve of the power that's associated itself with her. His own smile isn't so faint, geniune and cheerful. "Even if they should be, we now find ourselves together upon a single side of it. Not that I think things will be quite so... rigid now. Flicking his fingers he suddenly holds a small slip of parchment that is handed to the nearby server with his order for a nice strong black tea 'surprise me'. Relaxing in the chair, his own magic unfolds a bit within him to the sight of those with the sense for it. Deeply complex and interwoven patterns of knowledge, blood and starlight flicker behind his eyes and upon his skin before he tucks them back away. "Again, I have to thank you for the invitation. I really do need to get out of the castle more." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "It is, as some have said, the great equaliser." Sarah sips at her tea, letting its steam curl past as she lowers her face to it. Even if she weren't so intimately connected to the power of water, that would feel good. It's a crisp night, almost cold, and the heat is welcome. "Time is many things. It all depends upon one's perspective. As a Runebearer, there is a distinct possibility that I will have all of eternity to contemplate its nature, although I am not so arrogant as to think that will be so. Even the most long-lived of my kind have not held their runes past a few millennia."   Perhaps Loros might notice the whisper of power and light from the True Water Rune at her right hand. The steam from her tea cup curls a little further, enough so to suggest that there is more than mere physics at work. The shape is faintly reminiscent of a serpentine dragon, complete with tiny, steam-tendril whiskers, and as its tiny maw opens, it gives a tiny puff of steam-smoke.   Her eyes hood as she regards the steam, absently adjusting details this way or that in idle exercise. She's still listening, though, and only a fool would assume she isn't paying close attention. Meeting with Loros is still a gamble; there is enough of him that is still an unknown factor, to her.   There is still a connection between them, though, and she is much too wise to call it mere enmity. She feels no loathing over him or what he may be; he simply is, much as the True Runes are, and it was only the battle lines of the war between the Union and the Confederacy that had dictated her own opposition.   Some part of her is still a little miffed about Manakoshi -- she had paid a heavy toll for exercising her power, in those days before the True Water Rune, and had spent the next week or two all but crippled -- but on the whole she bears him no remorse.   Why would she? There would be no gain in that, for her, and everything to lose. He could be a powerful ally, but only if she plays her cards wisely. In the meantime, Sarah sips at her tea. Those colourless eyes reveal passing little of her thoughts.   Despite the power he likewise indulges in, she senses little of it. She can sense him, the waters that form his being, though it is a strange and twisted form of it. Maybe that's just an effect of the things he's learned, and the ways he's shaped himself over the aeons.   "There is nothing to thank. In all honesty, my reasons were somewhat selfish." She cocks a pale eye at him, raising a delicate brow once again. "I have something of a proposition for you. How familiar are you with the situation in the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia?" 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' "Mm. Perhaps, but there is a danger for me in that inwards turning." Loros regards the woman across from him and nods slowly. "A piece of advice from one who has existed for so long to another who might. Don't withdraw too much from the world." He pauses as his tea arrives in its own delicate cup. Picking it up, he breathes in the steam and aroma together before shaking his head slightly. "Very little. Mostly rumor and speculation, hearsay and third hand accounts." The Wizard regards the Runebearer with a slight tilt of his head and then he smirks before asking, "Why do you ask?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I have spent enough time looking inward, and that was well before I was ever introduced to the True Water Rune." Sarah holds up her hand to indicate the mark at her right hand, which even now flickers softly; keeping time with the beat of her heart. "I spent fifteen years locked in the premiere library of Crystal Valley, Harmonia. My days of withdrawal have been over for many years."   She may withdraw at times, but she can't remain aloof from the world for too long. There's no reason for her to. Silence is not always a comfort for her.   Sarah's jewelled earrings clink softly as she tilts her head, regarding Loros thoughtfully. Her eyes are slightly hooded, the fingers of one hand absently drumming softly against her teacup. "Hm. Do not forget that Master Luc and I are of a kind, in this, and we will not allow ourselves to fall too far without attempting to intervene."   It's a mystery what she sees in the apathetic and antisocial Runebearer, but her actions over the years have spoken of her determination to support him. She has sacrificed herself for him on at least one occasion, without any expectation of resurrection.   A faint half-smile flickers across delicate features. The expression is restrained, but still a shade more genuine than most of her smiles. "Why do you think, Wizard? Before I make any revelations, I am curious as to what you might believe." 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' Loros chuckles softly. "Because you want my help. Beyond that, I suspect it has something to do with those fifteen years locked away from the world and the powers responsible." Lifting his teacup up again, he takes a careful, savored sip before setting it back down on the table with a soft clink. Settling his hands in his lap, he laces his fingers together as he leans back in his chair slightly, watching each little move she makes. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Hm." Sarah tilts her head the other way, jewelled earrings clinking softly. The sound is faintly musical, as one would expect of a very expensive accessory, though the shine of its silver is faded slightly, suggesting age. "A bit less subtle than I would have expected you to guess, but I suppose everyone is a bit less given to subtlety in the wake of the multiversal incident."   The Runebearer allows herself an unhurried sip of tea before she continues. As expected, every motion is calm and controlled, every nuance of her voice one of peace. Sarah has always been a person of masterful self-control, but the True Water Rune had all but demanded it. A Runebearer who cannot control their True Rune does not live for very long.   And usually, they tend to self-destruct in the most spectacular of ways. There is a crater in the Grasslands that still stands as a testament to this, and a lake without water in it in the Queendom of Falena that suggests much the same. Sarah has no wish to leave her mark on the landscape, no matter what the True Water Rune might yearn for.   Delicately, the pale woman clears her throat.   "You are correct, dear Wizard, but you are not wholly correct. Allow me to explain myself." Sarah fixes her eyes on him, that hint of a half-smile still lingering about her features. "I do indeed require your help, but it is not for the reasons that you may think. At least, not entirely."   "The Holy Kingdom of Harmonia has existed for nearly five hundred years, when its leader, High Priest Hikusaak, overthrew the ashes of the Kingdom of Aronia that had existed before it. As all kingdoms are wont to do, Aronia had presumably fallen into a state of disrepair, and it did not take much effort for Hikusaak, then deemed 'the Hero,' to dispatch it and begin anew."   Sarah raises a hand in sinuous gesture, and the True Water Rune stirs again, this time in the form of a tiny, intricate illusion that paints her narrative in imagery.   "Two years later, the Solar Calendar was adopted in commemoration of Hikusaak's victory, and he installed himself as High Priest of this new nation, which he would then go on to call the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia." The illusion paints the picture of a triumphant Hikusaak before his people, hooded and robed, but his face is never visible. What little of his hair is visible is not unlike Luc's.   Sensible enough, considering they had to clone Luc's genetic material from /some/where. Sarah has always assumed it logical that they look alike.   "Originally," she continues, "Harmonia was located in the furthest northern reaches of our world." The view of a triumphant Hikusaak fades, to instead show a small map of Harmonia, panning out to show the entirety of her world and its continents. Harmonia, painted in blue, soon spreads out to the south. "From there, Harmonia proceeded to conquer and expand in the centuries following Hikusaak's rule."   "In all of my research, I do not know where or how Hikusaak acquired it, but it was not long before he laid hands on the Circle Rune. That is one of the twenty-seven True Runes of my world that you show such familiarity with, and it is my belief that it has become a driving force of Hikusaak's rule." Sarah looks up, meeting Loros' eye, suddenly cold and serious as sleet. Her hand flicks, and the illusory map seems to evapourate. "Centuries have gone by without any public appearances. No one has heard any direct orders or statements from Hikusaak in at least two hundred years, and it may be closer to three." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "During that time, Harmonia has continued its aggressive expansion. Its most recent 'acquisition' is the territories of the Grasslands, some of whose residents are the people you see here in this village. I suppose those closest to Harmonia chose to leave, finding the unknown preferable to life under a Harmonian boot pressed against their throats."   Sarah pauses to sip at her tea, eyes hooding as she holds the cup near her face, steam obscuring her features for a fleeting instant.   "All that to say, it has become evidently obvious to me that it is debatable whether Hikusaak even lives any longer. Harmonia is on the path to self-destruction which, as you have already pointed out in part, I do not feel any particular remorse over. I do not care; there are those responsible for what was done to me, and much more, who will face immediate consequences if that is to be the case."   She looks Loros in the eye, steady. "What matters to me is this. It is not my imprisonment that I cannot forgive. Such things have happened to greater individuals than I, who have borne their fates with greater strength. No; mere imprisonment is not the extent of Hikusaak's, or the Harmonian government's, meddling."   "I have partial evidence and reason to believe that either Hikusaak or one of his sympathisers with authority in the Harmonian government had initiated a project, many generations ago, to... /breed back/ the lost tribe of the Sindar." It is rare for Sarah to trail off mid-thought, and even rarer for her to show emotion so openly, but there is a flash of disgust and something approaching real anger, for just a brief instant.   There is ice forming over her teacup, which probably speaks to why she is so forcibly calm most of the time.   "I cannot forgive a man or an establishment who would so brazenly play God with the lives of his people, let alone the other transgressions he and his ilk are responsible for. It would be doing the world itself a favour to remove him from power, and see to it that such opportunity is not presented to them again. If that means I must assume responsibility of Harmonia's ashes, then so be it. It will not be easy, nor will it be such a simple matter; Hikusaak is a complicated topic within Crystal Valley, and Harmonian politics are a convoluted nightmare."   She regards Loros calmly, although if he looks closely, he might note that there's a hint of wariness in that regard. "What do you think, Wizard?" 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' Loros picks up his tea and leans back in his chair as Sarah beging to lay out the long past history of Harmonia. Shifting slightly, he cradles his right elbow in his left hand while he sips from the teacup held in his right. As she finishes the founding tale, he gestures for her continue, his eyes intent upon hers as she speaks, his head tilted slightly to the side. As the little illusion of Hikusaak appears, he leans forwards to inspect it. Then she mentions the True Circle Rune and his eyebrows go up. "Hm." The description of the drawing back, and the accusing it of being the force behind Harmonia gets a small nod and another gesture to continue as he sets his tea aside. Much to his regret a few moment later as it freezes over a few moments later as she outlines her true outrage with Harmonia - although his expression is hardly one of loss. Fingertips steeple as he gazes at her over them, and then he nods once. "And I suppose the most recent fruit of that experiment... well. They'd want to keep them close for a while. See if they'd succeeded." Making a gesture of casting something away, he continues. "Although I suppose that is not of immediate importance. What do I think? I think that what you propose will come to war, or perhaps revolution. Those nations swallowed up, and who fear to be next." Rising from his chair, he begins to pace slowly back and forth, pulling a cigarette out of thin air. "Misrule is misrule. There is only so long before a failing empire will either collapse upon itself, or rush to consume everything. But with a True Rune involved... hm. Opportunity..." Pausing to exhale, he watches as the smoke drifts into the starry sky up above and half-freezes. "...stars." Upon which he begins to laugh softly. "Well now. I think this might be a cause of interest. I -do- suggest finding someone to take over when you're finished. I don't see you being happy upon an imperial throne." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Sarah does not lean back in her chair. She sits upright, prim and proper, and she keeps her fingers wrapped around her teacup. Every so often she sips from it, watching Loros almost languidly through a veil of steam.   She doesn't respond to him immediately, instead taking a few moments to savour her tea, and mull over the things he had said.   "I have reason to believe that whoever had been managing the particular 'project' of my village must have died, or the project fallen into disfavour. When I was taken from my village by a travelling Harmonian clergyman, no mention of such things were ever made that I can recall, and there was no recognition." Sarah shakes her head, jewelled earrings clinking softly. "They did not know who or what I was, at the time. It was only in generations-old research and notes that I had discovered any of this. Control was abandoned, for whatever reason."   "Yet it does not lessen my disgust that it happened at all, or convince me any less that such appalling things have no place in the hands of what is one of the two most powerful nations of my homeworld. That does not even take into account the other dehumanising things that Harmonia does to its conquered territories." Sarah looks down at her tea, considering. "And there are many of those. Holy Harmonia has a penchant for devouring whatever territories lie on its borders."   The water mage sighs, although she looks up as Loros pushes off from his chair to pace. Her eyes linger on the smoke he exhales, star-spangled and strange. It smells like nothing she can think of or put a name to.   "Yes. The broken vassals of Harmonia would support me, and so too would those who fear to be its newest additions. However, I do not think that an open war would be efficient. I believe a quiet assassination would be best; to offer those loyal to Hikusaak no opportunity to retaliate. Then, once control has been wrested, to establish a new system, as the rulership of Harmonia is currently tied directly to Hikusaak himself; he has established himself as its central, and only, priest-king."   Her fingers tap thoughtfully on the table, distant as she considers. "Once that is done, I can begin to elect officials, and establish a government that requires no direct input from myself, so long as it is understood that it is my authority that those officials follow. I had no real desire to involve myself in statecraft, but Harmonia is a potential threat, particularly if it continues sniffing about for True Runes."   Sarah holds up her right hand, the mark of the True Water Rune lighting faintly in time to the beat of her heart. "After all, I have one, and often two, in my immediate vicinity at any time. They know of Master Luc's, but they do not know of mine. If I secure his assistance, that would be two against one. Three, if I can convince Bishop Sasarai that this would be in his best interest; he is a man whose emotions can be exploited, in certain situations."   "Yet those odds are still not comfortable to me, and I cannot depend on Sasarai.   "Hm." In anyone else, the soft sound would be a chuckle. "I suppose I should count myself lucky that you've learned something of me over the years, then, when you make that observation. No, Wizard, I would not be comfortable upon an imperial throne. There are passing few people whom I will actively seek attention from. One of them lives with me, and I have not seen the other for many years."   "Even so." She tilts her head, regarding Loros with faint amusement. "Are you certain I would not be content in Imperial silks, ruling over the masses; securing my rule with the absolute power of Water?"   ...Now she's just messing with him. 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' Loros pauses as he considers Sarah's words, and he smirks right back at her when she delivers her parting volley. "In truth, I think Imperial silks would suit you just fine." A curl of his fingers captures a swirl of cigarette smoke, shaping it into a simulacrum of Sarah. Subtle shifts of fingers bleed color into the image, even as the clothing reshapes itself into a sweeping robe of state, shimmering satin in deep blue with hints of green and white flashing in the layers. Hanging silver chains drape lightly across it, embedded with glimmering aquamarines, sapphires and moonstones. "But for the rest of it... no. It would not suit." A wave of his hand disperses the image back into smoke. "As for your intent... one must ask. How do you assassinate a man dead for three hundred years or more?" Dark eyes meet hers for a moment before he settles back into his chair. "I am not so certain those who have grasped power in the absence of the central figure will be quite so willing to relinquish it, but I admit you have the greater familiarity." One raised hand makes a back and forth gesture. "You may still end up with war when others see their opportunity and seize upon it - this Sasarai seems a possible figure, if not likely in your estimation of the man." A final sigh gusts out another cloud of smoke - despite him not pulling off the cigarette first. "In either case. I'm willing to provide my assistance with your plan. And I swear to you, I have absolutely no designs upon the Circle Rune. From what I gather, it and I would be an... unfortunate pairing." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "What finery I do possess is simply a matter of station, and not of personal preference. I could not be seen in Crystal Valley without clothing and bearing appropriate to the station of a Harmonian Bishop." Sarah pauses long enough for a sip of tea, cradling the cup in her hands. It's difficult to say whether the china or her fingers is more inherently fragile. "I suppose I would not mind, but it would not be my immediate preference, no. These earrings are perhaps the most extravagant possession I own, excepting perhaps my greatstaff."   "In both cases, they were presented to me as gifts. I did not choose them."   She exhales softly, what might have been a snorted laugh in anyone else, at the show of Loros' own hypothetical illusion. "Well played, Wizard. You have an eye for colour. However, such extravagance for its own sake does not suit me. I was born and lived for many years with nothing to call my own. I suppose I had gotten accustomed to that."   Setting her teacup down, Sarah steeples her fingers before her, fixing those colourless eyes on the Wizard.   "You seize his True Rune by force, and then you finish him in whatever way is most efficient without being overkill. Or, perhaps in this case, by whatever efficient means /is/ overkill, because you can never be too cautious when one involves a True Rune." The water mage considers for a moment, earrings clinking softly as she tilts her head to one side. "Especially something as dangerous as the Circle Rune. Oh, yes, perhaps it does not seem so bad, on the outset. A defining force of sameness, of stagiation. But that is as horrifying to me as the awe-inspiring destruction of the Sun Rune."   She shrugs one narrow, delicate shoulder. "I expect he will fight it with everything in his being, because the Circle Rune would not like to let go of a suitable bearer. It would be the same if someone were to attempt to wrest the True Water Rune from me by force. We would fight it. It would perhaps Incarnate if I were pushed beyond my physical threshold. Things would end badly."   That happened, once. It was exceedingly unpleasant. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "As to Hikusaak's followers and lackeys, they will be the first to be excised from a new form of government. It is their ilk who originated such disgusting projects as to establish breeding and bloodlines in the remote regions, where no one would discover them, and where their careful planning would not have so many variables to throw it off." She lowers her head, something unpleasant flickering across her expression. There is a matching roll of power from the True Water Rune as Sarah lets slip just a hint of her displeasure -- but easily and deftly controlled.   She settles for taking up her teacup again, wrapping her hands around it and letting the heat seep into her fingers. "Mm. I do not expect Sasarai to rebel, when matters come down to the proverbial wire. Sasarai is a coward, and has always been. I expect when he sees that Hikusaak will be on the inevitable losing side of this affair, he will reluctantly side with his brother, and his brother's aide." Sarah shows a smile, but the expression is as cold and without mercy as an arctic ocean. "I would prefer more diplomatic means, of course, because if I can win his support organically, it would be much less wasted effort. If not, though, I am not afraid to secure his cooperation via other avenues."   Wind and Water would overpower Earth, easily; but she would rather things not come down to that. Forcing her will over another in such an inelegant manner is thrice the amount of work that coercion is, and while not necessarily lazy, Sarah is nonetheless fond of efficiency.   The smile fades, and she regards Loros more coolly.   "If we are being honest with one another, Wizard, I do not trust your reassurances, and I will have contingencies in place to prevent you from making a grab for the Circle Rune." Sarah sips her tea, calmly. "I intend to seal the True Rune, if it does not remove itself from the area."   "This is, of course, assuming that Hikusaak does not actually slaughter the lot of us. I will not pretend that this is without inherent, and extreme, risk. One does not meddle in the affairs of True Runes lightly." 

:'''{{#var:303|Loros (303)}} has posed:''' The smile vanishes from Loros face, as does most of his relaxed manner. The smoke behind him goes utterly still, the points of light in it burning brighter and brighter as he locks gazes with Sarah. "One does not meddle in the affairs of any Power lightly." A sussurrance builds behind him, between and from those now blazing points of light. "For me to take up -any- True Rune would put at risk far more important and binding Pacts. Make your contingencies, for such is wise. But do not doubt my word once given." A single blink and a slight breeze swirls the smoke of a sudden, dispersing it as though it never was. The burnt out husk of a cigarette is tossed aside and teacup taken back up. "I will, of course, require some form of payment. Your assistance with a task you do not find objectionable, or a choice bit of lore or knowledge." A slow and careful sip of tea is taken before he reachs out and picks up one of the biscuits. "Try not to corner the coward. They react badly when there is nowhere to run." He bites the biscuit completely in half and chews meditatively before taking a sip of tea to wash it down. "Still. The stars are interested in this, and thus so am I." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "No, Wizard, I do not meddle in such affairs lightly. Indeed, I would prefer to avoid them, and may in fact do so for some time before I choose to act. Perhaps I may even decide not to follow through with such a plan." Sarah lifts her teacup, sipping from it. She may appear calm outwardly, but the cup is trembling, ever so slightly; the only visible sign of her fear.   Sarah is not someone who shows fear often, or lightly. She knows the things that Loros is capable of doing; brave as this small, fragile woman is, she is not stupid.   The True Water Rune stirs restlessly as though sensing a threat, but she soothes it with an effort of will.   Yet Sarah does not flinch, or shy away.   "I will make my contingencies, because you are by no means the only thing that I would consider a threat to the stability of the True Runes. I do not know what would happen if an offworlder were chosen by such. What that would portend for the True Runes, or the Stars of Destiny, I do not know." Her lips curl in the faintest of bitter smiles. "And I do not like not knowing things, Wizard."   She tilts her head again, regarding him with a slow, measured look when he seems to return to himself, and speaks of prices.   "Payment? Of course. I would not dream of consulting your services, or the services of any other, for free. But I will not offer that payment until Hikusaak is dead, and the Circle Palace lies empty. That day will be a long ways off, yet, if it should even come to pass." Sarah shakes her head, jewelled earrings clinking softly. "I do not have a preference, however. Favour or knowledge, it makes little difference to me. However, I will choose the knowledge, if it should come to that."   Cornered? "It will be a defensive battle out of necessity, for we will be approaching him on his territory. Hikusaak has not been sighted leaving the Circle Palace for some several hundred years." She shrugs one shoulder, draining her teacup and setting it aside. "In fact, it is not known if he is even alive. All of this planning may well be for nothing."   "I suppose I would not mind that. I am not a woman who enjoys surprises, most days, but there are some that I believe I can live with." 
}}

4946/Building Bridges

2016-12-29T10:27:57Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/29 |Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1> |Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe meets with Seras Victoria in a London coffee shop. It's a great opportunity to..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/29
|Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe meets with Seras Victoria in a London coffee shop. It's a great opportunity to deliver a few reports, and also for each to learn a little something about the other.
|Cast of Characters=363, 1084
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Winter has drawn a veil of grey over the city of London. Too warm to snow and too cold to be tolerable, most of the populace has taken to pea coats and umbrellas, retreating to the comfortable indoors for the afternoon.   There's a coffee shop not too far away from the Hellsing manor that had a good reputation. On the recommendation of their newest vampire, the Iscariot representative had promptly turned her 'company' sedan to that address. Making the trip in minutes flat, and probably leaving a few terrified civilian drivers in her wake, Heinkel Wolfe opens her car door in time for the rain to start again in earnest.   By the time the tall figure pushes through the coffee shop's doorway, Heinkel Wolfe is already shaking out her umbrella and leaving a spreading pool of water on the floor, muttering in German under her breath.   It's something to do with Protestants and their miserable rain-soaked island, but the words aren't entirely clear.   Under one arm, the androgynous priest clutches a briefcase, which looks like it managed to stay pretty dry. She shakes her coat out, draping it over her arm to reveal a nicely-tailored cassock, starched collar, and cross of iron on a leather thong.   ...Wait, don't Iscariot's priests usually carry silver? But that's unmistakably not silver. It's too dark a metal, and even the brightest spots of it don't have the tell-tale tarnishing of silver.   Huh.   One finger rises to push her glasses firmly onto the bridge of her nose, and Heinkel Wolfe tilts her head very slightly to one side, rolling the toothpick from one side of her mouth to the other -- it wouldn't be very proper to smoke inside. More importantly, they'd probably make her go outside, and the weather's not fit for man or beast.   So Heinkel Wolfe lifts her head, hair slightly streaming water, shaking her coat out over her arm as she scans the tables for Seras Victoria.   ...Not that poor Seras seems to have any idea of whether she's dealing with a Brother Wolfe or a Sister Wolfe.   Oddly, the priest hasn't taken off those dark sunglasses they're wearing, either. They're sleek but completely wraparound, almost like vintage-style goggles because of the round lenses. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Said recommendation comes by way of Seras' police comrades. Now nothing but dust, but it wasn't so long ago to her. Not even a year.     Seeing as who she's going to meet, Seras has decided it's not a bad time to show off the coat Heinkel sent her for Christmas!     She strolls through not long after Heinkel arrives, brushing off a few dustings of snow. For SOME ODD REASON OR ANOTHER, it doesn't melt from body heat too terribly well these days. She scoots around past this table and that, seeming not too familiar with the place she suggested...     But soon ambles over to Heinkel's table , smiling merrily... although with hints of childish nervousness seeping into it. Just like that she takes a seat.     "Good... evening." There's a hesitation. Once more, uncertainty over just how to address the person she's working with.     A second or two of intense glancing over Heinkel's attire commences...     "You mentioned some tings that need relaying?" After another nervous second she adds, "Hope the coffee is to your liking. The others in D11 were fond of it, but... I never got around to coming here, before..."     Before THAT happened. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The Catholic has set the briefcase on the table, and she's meticulously adjusting her white dress gloves as she does. They're nice and crisp, with just enough grip to be able to sort through papers and the like.   She looks up well before Seras is actually anywhere near her table. She's learned to pick out Seras' footsteps from the tread of others. One brow slowly raises as Seras weaves past this and that table, so she's looking directly at the Hellsing agent when Seras approaches. This time she has both brows raised, as though silently asking, 'got a problem?'   "Guten tag." Heinkel lifts a hand in a casual wave.   Aside from the non-standard sunglasses, the rest of her attire is perfectly normal for an ordained Catholic priest -- the lining of her coat is what lends the snatch of violet colour, with gold-trimmed hems; classy and elegant. The cassock she wears under that is much more understated. Her hands are covered by white dress gloves, and the lustre of the fabric suggests satin, which also makes it conveniently difficult for Seras to discern gender by the appearance of her hands.   Still, it's a bit odd that she won't take her sunglasses off, and the fact that her cross is iron instead of silver is equally puzzling. Iron is an almost worthless metal. Why would the priest be wearing that? Is there some kind of sentimental reason?   Whatever the case, it's evidently clear that she /is/ of some station within Iscariot. Her clothing is not overstated, but its craftsmanship is superb, and the textiles used are elegant, quality; without being ostentatious.   "Ja. Mostly, these." Heinkel reaches around what looks like a generously large mug of hot chocolate to the briefcase. "Reports from Chief. They're for Integra. I don't know vhat he's got prepared, because it's above my paygrade. Ach, and the briefcase ist locked, so don't efen bother. I suppose they must haf vorked out a deal that Integra has a key, und Chief has his own key for relaying sensitive documents."   The priest snorts, leaning back in her chair. Her mannerisms is shockingly casual for such a priest and hunter of monsters; unconcerned and nonchalant, without being apathetic.   She grins. "The coffee vas shit," she says, casually. "They do haf really good hot chocolate, though. Tea selection isn't bad, either. Coffee's my preference, but it's just as vell. I felt like something sveet instead." A gesture is given. "Haf vhat you vant. Today's meal ist on me, if you haf time to stick around. Technically you're just supposed to courier this back to that voman you vork for, but ve might as vell get to know von another vhile ve haf time, ja?" Heinkel offers a smile that's actually somewhat friendly, rather than predatory or toothsome. "Sound good?"   Hmmm. Seems she's taking this whole alliance thing seriously!   ...She's probably one of the only Iscariots who /does/. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "Sorry... ordinary food and drink... I can't." Seras offers a slightly regretful, apologetic look. Lips pressed thin, brow furrowed a little. Her shoulders bunch up in a shrug. What's she supposed to do about it really?     With more and more oddities revealed as Seras scans over Heinkel, the draculina purses her lips thoughtfully... mulling over on some thoughts, by the look of things. She's clearly not one to hide her feelings very well.     In the end she can only nod at the briefcase arrangement... and set her hands on the table while she ponders a response. IN no time at all though her expression brightens. "There's no arguing with that! It's... I went from working with a firearms unit to this and." She briefly frowns, scratching the back of her neck.     "Not very popular with most of the soldiers, and the rest of the people I work with are... everyone's made of pure steel. Or stranger things. It takes getting used to."     She can only grin a little bit sheepishly. "How was your day, erm--" Once again, the matter of gender has her starting to stare... 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ach, I'm sorry." Heinkel sounds like she actually means it. "I forgot that about your kind. Ve don't vork vit vampires, so it's not like I vould remember that particular fact."   Iscariot is generally more concerned with putting bullets into vampires than taking them to a buffet. Up until recently, it had been extraneous information; mere trivia to be filtered out.   Heinkel leans back in her chair, arching a brow as she watches Seras. Oh, yes; she's well aware that the Draculina is studying her. She reaches for her hot chocolate, sipping carefully with an exrpession of apparent nonchalance. "Hunh. Something on your mind?"   "Guess I can understand that. Of course a vampire vouldn't be too popular vit the troops." When there's always the possibility that you could become emergency rations, it's hard to stay optimistic. "As for steel... you'd do vell to put a little of that into your spine, too, Police Girl." Heinkel gesture with one gloved hand. "Sooner rather than later. In this line of vork, not hafing your composure could get you seriously hurt... or the people around you."   She pauses to accentuate her statement with a noisy, and completely satisfied, sip of hot chocolate.   Her head is facing Seras almost completely, which suggests she's looking directly at Seras. It's possible she might be making eye contact if her eyes were visible. "Vhat ist it? Spit it out. Just because ve used to be on opposite sides of the battle lines, that doesn't mean ve can't talk to each other. That's the whole point, here." Heinkel taps at the table with a forefinger, as though to indicate it. "And I seriously doubt you're going to offend me, vhatefer you're going to ask--" She can guess, "--so just ask it."   Heinkel shows her teeth. It's supposed to be a grin, but it's a little like the wolf that cornered the rabbit. "Or are you so easily scaredn?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras' expression goes ful childishly indignant at being confronted like this! but she answers the challenge by leaning forward herself.     "... I can't tell if I'm talking to a Mr. Wolfe or a Ms. Wolfe under that outfit." The complaint is rather firmly grouched at Heinkel and matched by a faintly immature stare.     Despite the girlish exterior, this police girl does seem to have some steel in her already. "And on top of that... you're wearing sunglasses. Indoors. My Master does that all the time... isn't everything too dark?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Withdrawing from her lean against the table, the priest leans back in her chair, folding her arms in evident unconcern as she's summarily confronted by an indignant police girl. Her head cocks slightly to one side. "Hunh?"   Maybe Seras was expecting to be snapped and snarled at, but that's not what Heinkel does. No; she... grins? The priest chuckles, but it's not a full-fledged laugh. She doesn't seem the sort given to emotional reactions, considerably cooler-headed than her colleagues.   Not that this is a terribly high bar to pass, with Anderson for a colleague.   "Fine, fine." Heinkel reaches into a pocket, fishing out a battered old wallet and plucking identification from it. It's a small folded Vatican Section XIII document, which identifies the figure as one Heinkel Wolfe, thirty-seven years of age, with green eyes and blonde hair, five feet eleven inches, and one hundred fifty-three pounds.   It's a little curious that it isn't a driver's license, but it does all look very official. It even has approval by way of Vatican City officiaries stamped on it. She'll let Seras inspect that as long as she needs to, sipping at her hot chocolate. "I haf an eye condition." Her hand points at her eyes. "It's actually the opposite. Eferything is too /bright/. Nein, nein. I'm not trying to be rude. I just can't take them off."   Fingers lacing, she leans forward, resting her chin over her interlocked fingers. Heinkel smiles, and it manages to not look too much like a smirk. "Anything else...?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "Uh--?" Seras blinks, and shrinks back to give Heinkel space to proceed in presenting this document. Her gaze rather drastically sweeeeeerves to scan over the papers. Every second she's doing so feels increasingly embarassing... because...     It's a really, impressively dumb thing to not be clear about someone's gender. REAAAAALLY... she's got to be coming off like some kind of retard!     But there it is, on the paper. "...female..." Blink. Blink blink.     The vampire girl slowly sprouts a smile. The strangest, most out of nowhere, completely uncensored smile. No adult professionalism filter at play here, not for this brief moment. "So you're a Miss Wolfe. I couldn't tell..." The smile sliiiiiiiiiides towards shades of mortification and deepening embarassment, whole face quivering like jello through plane turbulence.     Yeeeeeep.     "And an odd eye condition. I get the feeling you and I have some similar problems, Miss Wolfe." Seras' voice is measured, but tiptoey as she touches on this topic....     The nervous gaze is rather self-evident. Well, especially there with a fang sticking out of an increasingly lopsided, stupid smile.     God, she must be INSANELY embarassed about this screwup right now. It's as if, were things to get any worse, she might melt into a puddle on the floor. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Once it's clear that Seras is finished examining the document, Heinkel gathers it back up, folding it crisply and tucking it back into her wallet. Two fingers dig around in it to flick out a driver's license, the plastic clattering as it spins end over end to stop in front of Seras.   It pretty much corroborates what's on the Iscariot document -- one Heinkel Wolfe, female, thirty-seven years of age, with green eyes and blonde hair. Five feet eleven inches, one hundred fifty-three pounds, and it's specifically a license with clearance to drive a motorcycle as well as a normal class-C vehicle.   The photo is very slightly blurry, but it's recognisable as her. In the photo, her eyes seem uncommonly bloodshot; red and irritated. Despite the assertion that they're green, they seem abnormally pale; almost a hint of blue. They look like they have some kind of condition. No eye should be that bloodshot under normal circumstances.   "That?" She raises a brow, tapping at the frames of her glasses. They don't move. "Hunh. I don't know vhat you're talking about. I vas born vit a condition. My eyes are light-sensitive. These are prescription lenses. Made for filtering out certain spectrums of light."   Another sip of hot chocolate follows. She'll just wait a minute for Seras to calm down; treating this all very business-as-usual and not harassing Seras for such a socially inept question is probably helping. "Any other qvestions...?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' THAT response just leaves Seras pushing her head a bit more forward, eyes squinted in a very clear 'if you say so' manner. She appears to be satisfied though, for she closes her eyes, inhales deeply - more to clear her mind than because she needs to breathe - and takes a moment to focus her composure again.     A more professional, but still genuinely friendly smile emerges from the kerfuffle. "Nothing comes to mind, Miss Wolfe! ... well... maybe one thing. Just... how long have you been in this line of work?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   With a flick of the hand, Heinkel gathers up her driver's license, tucking it back into her wallet and depositing the wallet into the pocket of her slacks. Her hands return to her mug, wrapping them around it for the warmth. Steam still curls up from the cup itself. Whether she's human or not human, apparently she feels the cold damp weather like a human.   Her head tilts to one side, as though she were genuinely not expecting that question.   "Hunh." Heinkel pauses for a drink of hot chocolate, as though she were either stalling or considering the answer. "There are two possible answers to that," the priest muses. "Von of them ist the line of vork I vas in before I vas efer recruited by Iscariot. That von's pretty much all the vay back. As for Iscariot, though, I'fe been in this business for eleven years."   She reaches into a pocket, withdrawing a toothpick and placing that into the corner of her mouth. If she can't smoke, it at least gives her something to do. She chews on the end, absently rolling it to the other side of her mouth as her hands drop to cradle her mug again. "I vas paired vit my current partner eight years ago. Und I'fe been dealing vit the multiverse for five years, officially und unofficially."   "Oh, und just call me 'Heinkel.'" Heinkel scowls. "'Miss Volfe' makes me sound like an old voman, ja? I'm not /that/ old."   She grins, showing her teeth. They are very, very slightly pointy; subtle enough that it could just be one's overactive imagination. "Vhat else? Might as vell take advantage of my villingness to gife answers right now. Then you can tell your mistress you vere doing your due duty, ja?" Her expression falls. "I haf every intention of honouring this alliance, because if ve spend all our resources fighting each other, ve're /all/ going to fucking die. I know some of my associates are a little narrow-minded, but I haf to play the long game. Und right now, our 'long game' is on a short timer, vit all the shit going on out there."   Heinkel jerks a thumb towards the door of the coffee shop, as though to indicate the world at large. "So if that's vhat it takes to keep /your/ allies' hackles down, then by all means, I don't care if you ask me things. So please. Ask avay, until your curiosity ist satisfied. Vhen I can think of a good thing to ask, I vill, so I can tell Chief the same thing." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "Wh--... augh, you think I'm here to spy and dig for information?" Seras' face turns childishly indignant again, cheeks puffing slightly and lips curling upwards. The expression's short-lived though. "I was just curious, Heinkel. It's under a year for me... two if you count D11. Didn't you say we should get to know who we're working with? I have only one complaint with your bunch is that one--" A shiver runs straight through Seras and kills a lot of her firm tone there. "... incident." She exhaaaaales, shoulders sagging, and folds her hands in her lap. "Catholic, Protestant... even if someone came out claiming things in the name of Zeus, I'm not picky about it. I joined the police to stop awful people from doing horrible things. And I'm still doing that! It just..."     She presses her lips together into a very thin line.     "... It just doesn't involve arrests very much..." She frowns. This apparently bothers her slightly. But oh well.     "This rivalry means a lot more to everyone else than to me." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Vhat? No. I'm expecting you to bring this back to show our superiors this benefits them, so they can stop trying to kill each other vhen the media isn't looking." Heinkel pulls a sour expression, gesturing with one hand. "Trust me vhen I say there's still no love lost between Hellsing or Iscariot. I'm saying that giving them some kind of useful information vould shut them the fuck up for a little vhile und leafe them satisfied that they got their digs in."   She leans back in her chair, comfortably. "Hunh. So you're not actually Protestant. I guess there's hope for you yet." Heinkel smirks, faintly. It's a joke. Mostly. "More seriously, I'd suspected as much. You don't haf an iron ramrod up your ass like Integra does."   As a matter of fact, Heinkel has plenty of respect for Integra. She just thinks that iron ramrod needs to be removed. Look, respect, from the Catholics; that's a start, right?   "Our job isn't to arrest freaks, und you can't read a ghoul its rights, either." Heinkel rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth, absently chewing on the end, and ignoring with valiant effort the urge to light a cigarette. "Ve're exterminators. Ve are the necessary evil. Ve do vhat ve haf to do so others don't haf to."   Releasing her mug, Heinkel cups her chin in her hands, regarding Seras. Although her exact expression can't be seen, her body languages suggests it must be casual and nonchalant, as she so often seems to be. "Tch." It's a soft snort, and this time one corner of her mouth curls down. "Ja. That much ist obvious. You don't come from a church background, so how vould it haf any relevance to you? Still an important conflict in parts of the vorld, though I think efen North Ireland's quieted down in the vake of the ghoul incidents."   "It goes like this." She raises her right hand, gesturing lazily with the toothpick. "Neither side ist villing to gife ground, und both think they're right. They'll go on shouting each other down 'til Judgement Day comes und ve find out vhich von vas right after all, ja? But I don't really care about that, either. I don't come from a church background any more than you do; I'fe just been vorking for them longer, ist all."   She shrugs. One has to wonder where she was if she went /to/ Iscariot, as a career choice... "My interest is in getting both sides to play nice long enough to stop trying to shoot each other in the face, und turn their guns on the fucking /freaks/, as it should be." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "Not much of one." Seras affirms mildly. "I get the schism. It's just... killing each other over an argument doesn't strike me as something Jesus would be very happy about!" Seras' expression screws up in a rather twisted fashion.     "Like you said, we have much bigger problems to deal with. I'm not keen on being at anyone's throat over a dispute like this-- errr--"     The Draculina blinks a few times, pondering over what she just said. "Oh god. That did NOT come out right..." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "I can't say I can argue vit that, but neither could I really make that judgement for sure, either." Heinkel shrugs one shoulder, draining the last of her hot chocolate before sticking the toothpick back into her mouth, tilting it this way and that.   The priest gestures, as though indicating one party pointing something out and another looking that way. "I just prefer to keep their attenion focused elsevhere. If they think they're getting avay vit something, it'll make them less inclined to vant to get aggressive, you see?"   Perfect silence falls for a few seconds, as Heinkel lets Seras blunder right into that botched metaphor.   And then the priest smirks.   "Uh huh. I'm just going to pretend you picked a different metaphor." Reaching over, she slides the briefcase toward Seras. "Here. Make sure this makes its vay to Integra's desk. Don't bother trying to open it; I'm pretty sure the Hellsing voman ist the only von vit a key aside from Chief."   Heinkel pushes herself to her feet, fastidiously shrugging back into her coat and adjusting it into place. Once that's done, she fishes through her pockets until she finds her wallet again, leaving her payment on the table. "In the meantime, as much as I'd like to stay around, I haf a few reports to finish putting together for Chief. Then, I think I'm going home to Ferdinand Luke's. I haf a powerful desire to bury myself in bed vit a cup of chamomile tea und a book."   "Danke, for the recommendation on this place. If I ever see my partner again, maybe I'll take her here. She has a fondness for sveet things." Heinkel rustles her coat about herself, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Auf wiedersehen~."   With that, if Seras doesn't have anything else to hold her up with, the lanky priest will make her way out, back to Rome, where things make sense and are made of eighty percent less gloom and rain. 
}}

4867/Uneasy Alliances

2016-12-29T10:25:38Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/12 |Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1> |Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe of Vatican Section XIII meets with Seras Victoria of the Hellsing Organisation..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/12
|Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe of Vatican Section XIII meets with Seras Victoria of the Hellsing Organisation. This can't possibly end badly.
|Cast of Characters=363, 1084
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The whole of Italy has been on high alert since the incident that reshuffled the multiverse. Patches of corruption have sprung up like mushrooms in the wake of it. Some countries have shored up their borders and become as a turtle before the onslaught. Other countries have been overrun, devolved into chaos in the wake of throngs of attacking ghouls.   Those secret groups that had once fought against the vile and the unholy have gone public -- one of them, at least; Vatican Section XIII had enjoyed a lengthy press conference, with Maxwell speaking of their purpose and their dedication to defending the faithful. He had answered questions, soothed worries, and generally come across as the charming and charismatic smooth talker that he is.   She'd been unconscious for that. Her mission with Maaka had necessitated acting as something of a very loud distraction to a man with a lot of flunkies that happened to have a lot of bullets. She'd been in surgery for a while, and then she'd been in surgery for a while more. By the time she'd gotten out of it all, she'd been reduced to hobbling down the corridor with a cane. One of those three men had been a much better shot than she'd realised; at the time, she hadn't even been aware of a few of those gunshots. (The most painful ones had taken priority, one supposes.)   By the time the sun is sinking below the blood-red horizon, Heinkel Wolfe is slowly and carefully hobbling her way to a cafe on the outskirts of Rome. She's wearing her customary cassock-like coat, starched collar stark against the black of its weave. Despite the hour, her sunglasses are firmly in place on the bridge of her nose, and she blows out a relieved sigh when she finally slides into a chair. She's slightly early, but she doesn't seem to care.   A signal to the nearest waitstaff has a cup of what smells like hot chocolate steaming in the twilight for her. Police Girl can order for herself once she arrives, but Heinkel would sooner have something warm. Rome is in the throes of a cold snap in the wake of the multiversal shuffle; some reports even claim there's a little snow dusting down in places of the city.   There's also a platter with a few pastries on it. Heinkel seems to have selected a croissant for herself.   Part of her is hoping Seras shows up, and part of her is hoping the Hellsing operative forgets all about it. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "What on Earth am I doing...?" Seras quietly complains to herself as she nears the cafe. She's wearing blue jeans, a grey blouse with a dark grey vest over it, and a light grey Gatsby Hat. Because nobody walks around in a uniform on a dinner meet!     That's just silly.     The Draculina sticks her head through the door and looks left and right, looking for a person who - she just realizes - she's never seen before. Not that this is terribly difficult. Intuition is enough to narrow down who of those here is Heinkel!     So Seras beelines for the table... though none too quickly. She seems a tad nervous and wary. "Good evening. Are you Heinkel?" The question's asked in the lightest and least certain of tones... 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The closer Seras gets to the table with the lone occupant, the more she might get the sense that there's more to this person than meets the eye. They have incredible presence, despite slouching in the chair, a cane leaned up against their thigh.   They're wearing a suspiciously cassock-like coat, and the starched white collar marks them as an ordained priest of the Catholic faith. Short, straw-coloured hair frames a face too androgynous to tell the gender of; cut ragged and somewhat scruffy-looking.   The closer Seras gets, the higher the likelihood that the Draculina will hear the sound of... faint singing?   It's hard to tell if the voice is a man's or a woman's, and it sings in soft Latin, half-sung and half-hummed. The voice sounds as though it could pull off Gregorian chant with excellence, and it makes even this simple, old .     "Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes     Venite, venite In Bethlehem.     Natum videte     Regem angelorum     Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite admoremus     Domin--"   It's about then that Heinkel Wolfe senses and hears someone approaching as the door opens just enough to admit Seras Victoria's head. It doesn't take long to find the person at a lone table closest to the warmest spot in the building. Snow filters down outside; the temperature is fiercely, freakishly cold for what should be a mild Mediterranean winter. Snow in and of itself is a rarity over Vatican City; now there are flurries to rival the Italian Alps.   The head tilts just far enough to regard Seras, maybe; those glasses shield the eyes completely, and seem completely unnecessary for a setting this dim. Those opaque lenses remain fixed on Seras long enough to perhaps make the Draculina nervous. She's being studied, and Heinkel makes no effort to hide that.   "Sit down." Heinkel jabs a forefinger downwards, towards Seras' chair. The voice is just as ambiguous in speech, with a heavy German accent; the specifics would, if Seras were aware, trace the stranger to someplace in Austria. But... is this a Pater or a Signora? "Ja, I am. Paladin Heinkel Wolfe, Vatican Section XIII, 'Iscariot.'" She shrugs, cassock-coat rustling. "You know, if I hadn't arranged this, my superior vould haf done so anyvay."   After a moment she shows her teeth in a sort of half-grin. They seem just a shade too pointed for normalcy. "If I didn't know any better, Fraulein, I'd say you're /nervous/. Vhat, you think ve can't hold to our end of a treaty? You're not talking to Father Anderson, today." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Singing in LATIN is pretty telling, and Seras' sharp hearing picks it up in no time at all.     Eye contact is made, and Hellsing's newest recruit briefly purses her lips...     But she bends down and slips into the chair nevertheless, keeping her eyes on Heinkel's. Well, her glasses, anyways.     And is it ever ODD not being able to identify someone's gender on a glance. That isn't helping matters!     "Would he?" She asks rather innocently, though the words end up being swallowed into a half-gulp of voice cracking. One smooth breath later (not that she needs it apart from talking), and she returns the smile, tentatively.     "Thank heavens for that..."     Anderson is SCARY. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Slouched in their chair and resting an elbow on the table, the priest doesn't seem to be very disturbed by the prospect of meeting with a pet vampire of the Hellsing Organisation. There's the possibility that she hasn't read the report, considering the scope of Vatican Section XIII. Iscariot have been very, /very/ busy people over the last forty-eight hours.   The priest drops their chin into their gloved hand, and the tilt of their head suggests they're watching Seras in spite of those opaque lenses.   "Bishop Maxvell? Ja, he vould haf. The Vatican ist very interested in good publicity, right now, and that means vorking vit the group ve publicly allied ourselfs vit." Heinkel sighs. "Actually, those orders come from above Chief, even... ve just don't haf the numbers to keep up vit everything, and from vhat ve know--" Heinkel grins, showing teeth, "--ve're pretty sure Hellsing doesn't, either."   It's a guess; an educated guess, but one that is hopefully unsettling. Keeping the Draculina on her toes seems to be the priest's go-to strategy for now. Or maybe the priest is just genuinely enjoying messing with Seras' head, since there can't be any hostilities.   Heinkel straightens with a grunt of clear pain, reaching for the hot chocolate and taking a nice long sip. It smells good. Quality chocolate.   Once that's done, Heinkel looks directly to Seras again, at least to go by the tilt of her head. "Down to business, I guess."   "Vhat the hell are you so scared of? Ve /did/ sign papervork, you know; extremely /extensive/ treaty papervork." 
}}

4928/Greenhouse 73

2016-12-24T04:29:33Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/24 |Location=Ad Coelum |Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe travels to Ad Coelum to meet with Na`Sabal-Une Fang for a meal and some gardening. |Cast of..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/24
|Location=Ad Coelum
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe travels to Ad Coelum to meet with Na`Sabal-Une Fang for a meal and some gardening.
|Cast of Characters=367, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:367|Na`Sabal-Une Fang (367)}} has posed:'''      Greenhouse 73, it's... a pretty big greenhouse, this one was largely darkened at the moment, as opposed to the rest that had much brighter lighting. There was light in the room, though. That was for sure. There were a few mixed plants that were already prepared and planted in the greenhouse, and sprinkled among them were several with bulb-like buds that gave off a subtle glow, likely a plant that grows in places of complete darkness.      Speaking of glowing things in the darkness, Nasa was nearby the entrance to the greenhouse, her purple eyes glowing faintly in the darkness and making it obvious where she was -- at least until Heinkel's night vision settled in at any rate. She seemed to be carrying a large basket which gave off a vaguely pleasant scent, some sort of seasoned meat, and presumably some sort of drink! ... Also sprouts. Lots of sprouts. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Even to someone who had been to Njorun Station, the sheer breadth of scale displayed by Ad Coelum is staggering. The yields from Res Communis are contributed toward an equally staggering breadth of relief efforts. Accordingly, its manufactories and agricultural facilities seem like they go on forever. They don't, but the sheer scale of the ship's production wing is an excellent means by which to put one's place in the cosmos into perspective.   Although Heinkel Wolfe had taken her battered antique German military motorcycle to reach the ship itself, she had parked it in the appropriate facilities and used the bullet train to reach the growing facilities.   Thus it is that heavy bootsteps announce the priest's arrival. Heinkel Wolfe is a tall individual, an inch shy of six feet, with just enough solidity to her to look intimidating in her cassock-like coat, starched white collar stark against the black. Her features are extremely androgynous, as much so as her voice, and her eyes are hidden completely by round sunglasses, designed more like optical shields than glasses; they prevent any light or visibility from reaching the eyes.   Dangling on a leather thong around her neck is a plain iron cross, large enough to draw attention to itself, but not so large as to be gaudy or to get in the way.   The coat is buttoned closed, but as she approaches Greenhouse 73, she starts undoing buttons. It's warmer in here than the wintry weather of Rome; it won't hurt to wear the coat open. It's a very nice coat, in all fairness. Under it, she's wearing a simple but classy-looking black vest; the inside lining of the coat is, in the bright lights, actually a very deep violet. Subtle gold piping on its hems lend it a little elegance.   So it is that the priest approaches, the beads of a rosary dangling from her hands. She's murmuring something as she walks, and once she gets close enough to see the rosary, she lifts it and presses the cross on it to her lips, tucking it back into a pocket. There might even be a faint hint of approval at the dimmer lights. Curiously, there's no adjustment period for her night vision -- she moves confidently and steps with sureness.   One hand is lifted toward the drow with the glowing eyes. "Guten tag!" the priest calls. Her voice is as androgynous as her appearance. It's genuinely difficult to say with certainty whether it's a feminine man or a masculine woman, unless Nasa can tell by scent or aura or something non-standard. Heinkel still manages a half-smile, especially at the sight of the basket. Dinner sounds good, because she realises she hasn't eaten since breakfast.   "Ah, danke. I didn't bring you anything, unfortunately." Heinkel shrugs a little helplessly. "I'll just haf to make it up to you, if you come to Ferdinand Luke's. Ah, vhat ist that? I don't eat meat very often at all, but it smells nice." 

:'''{{#var:367|Na`Sabal-Une Fang (367)}} has posed:'''      Yep. Heinkel is a very confusing looking person, that's for certain. And while Na`Sabal-Une Fang had a strong sense of smell, she'd never particularly tried learning to diseminate male from female with it, more the scent of game or danger. She had opted for a much warmer attire, wearing a large fluffy sweater that had a torn open back to allow her semi-transparent wings to peek through. Almost two feet shorter than Heinkel, she definitely has to look up to see her face. "Good evening!" She calls out in response to Heinkel.      She flashes a grin towards her, those sharp teeth of hers flashed, but not entirely intentionally. "Ah, it's a bit of deer that I caught earlier while hunting. I prefer to eat stuff that I've caught or hunted myself. There's some wild veggies and some berry water as well with it; all seasoned and cooked up." Over a fire or a barbcue from the wood smoky smell that comes from the basket.      "You don't have to pay me back though. You came to help with the gardening, after all. I just decided to provide food and drink because gardening can be hard work." Nasa says with a nod, turning to begin to lead Heinkel deeper into the greenhouse, where there were several pots of plants that were ready to be transplanted, and much more of the greenhouse was empty in the area.      "I'll have to come visit anyway though! That's where the children are, right?" The faetouched drow comments back towards Heinkel, pulling a simple cloth to set over the ground to place the basket on. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Since the greenhouse has such meticulous lighting controls, no light bleeds in from the surrounding steads. Heinkel seems to consider the lighting levels for a moment, looking about this way and that. After a few moments she shrugs, reaching up and whisking her sunglasses off.   It is eminently obvious the instant she removes those sunglasses that Heinkel Wolfe is not wholly human.   When lit in darkness, human eyes catch light, but it only reflects off of them. When lit in darkness, the eyes of cats not only catch light, but draw it in and reflect it from a special layer of the retina. The effect is that they seem to 'glow,' adopting a flat red or green colour when the light strikes them just so.   That's exactly what Heinkel's eyes do, but rather than a greenish colour, they're a milk-pale blue-white colour. Very bright, too. Enough to tell that they're throwing back all that light with incredible efficiency. With even the slightest twitch of her eyes, the light changes, sometimes brighter or dimmer depending on how the light strikes them.   She folds the glasses neatly and drops them into a pocket, along with her hands.   When she shows them, Heinkel's own teeth are just a little bit pointier than a human's should be.   "Danke. It smells delicious. I don't usually make a habit of eating meat very often--" The Wolf responds badly to the temptation of red meat, "--but I'll make an exception for this."   She enjoys meat. She used to eat more of it. The Wolf tends to react badly to the taste of meat, though, and it gets a lot harder to stuff the jackass primal spirit back into its can where it belongs. Keeping the Wolf under control is a constant struggle, and the Wolf doesn't really need to have any free advantages.   "Ja, gardening can be hard vork. It's revarding, though. At least, I'fe alvays found it to be that, as long as you can be patient. It's a hobby und vocation for patient people, ja?" The priest folds her arms, tilting her head, eyes gleaming blue-white in the gloom. "So ist my preferred method of hunting. I use a long-range Dragunov rifle. Vaiting for the perfect shot also requires a lot of patience."   She tilts her head, nodding at the drow's question. "Ja. It's an orphanage about tventy miles outside of Rome. It's vell-protected, since there's alvays an Iscariot agent around, und lately, more than von. It's the safest place I can go if I haf to stay somevhere. It's more a home to me than the motel rooms I rent, or the apartment I haf in Vatican City. I didn't grow up there, but I found acceptance there."   Shrugging out of her coat, Heinkel casts it aside to drape over the nearest available piece of furniture. Even a wooden crate will do. It turns out the vest she has under it is sleeveless, and it's the vest that bears the starched white collar; not the coat. Even the gloves are shucked off and tossed to lie over the coat. "So. Vhat needs to be done? Or did you vant to eat before ve get to vork? I could go either vay." 

:'''{{#var:367|Na`Sabal-Une Fang (367)}} has posed:'''      Oooh. Glowy eyes! Nasa's eyes glowed with more of an inner magic style of glowing, like a dim light that was in the back of her eyes more than the external lights being absorbed. Still, Nasa largely doesn't comment on the eyes -- her own glowed so it wasn't a huge deal, especially since she was not particularly human, herself. The only comment she makes is. "You have rather beautiful eyes." Before focusing back on getting food out of the basket to set out on the cloth on the ground. "Well, if you'd rather, there are plenty of the wild vegetables which should be tasty enough; I didn't do anything particularly special with them, mostly just spiced and roasted them over a firepit." She comments.      She slips her fingers under the edge of her oversized sweater and pulls out a small knife, which she uses to cut off a piece of the chunk of venison she'd brought; not a specific cut. Just whatever had been good off of the deer at the time it seemed. She almost daintily was beginning to place the meat and vegetables on her plate. After she was done with that, she offers the knife to Heinkel to cut off a piece of her own.      "It's hard work, and as you can see, I'm not actually the strongest or largest person in the world, so sometimes I have difficulties. I can cheat a little with my magic, but that's more energy used that could be put towards gardening." She says, motioning towards the plants that had already been established; probably given a small boost with her Hand of Growth to get them going so she can get her medicines into decent production as soon as reasonably possible.      "I see... I can't really do much with guns." She says, motioning towards her pointed ears. "They don't behave well with my sensitive hearing." The drowess comments, idly taking a small bite of a wild tuber; probably something related to a potato. "Will I have to worry much about them trying to protect it from me when I visit?" She asks curiously about the orphanage. "Or should my Paladins badge be enough to dissuade that?" The mention of finding acceptance there gets a briefly flashed grin. "That is a great thing to have gotten, though. I have found a place similar to that myself, in the faerie forest. It is not a glamorous home, but it is a welcoming one." She nods.      The question of what needs to be done gets her motioning towards the various pots. "I was thinking of eating first; I've been working all day to be honest. But anyway, mostly right now I'm just digging holes to get those transplanted into." She motions towards a few holes that she'd already made, one of which looked like it had just been started, with one of those small gardening hand-shovels sitting next to it. "I was going to work on doing about... five or six more, enough to transplant those plants before I rest for the night." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel's head tilts, and the wmoan arches an eyebrow in what looks like puzzlement. It seems she isn't accustomed to receiving compliments, especially those on her physical appearance. She opens her mouth as though to say something, but eventually she just closes it, baffled.   "D-danke." Spiced and roasted vegetables? "Ach, I may haf to pass on some of those, too. I haf a dangerous sensitivity to peppers und hot spices. Vhat a shame. I bet they vere good, too."   The knife is taken, a piece quickly and efficiently sliced off with a practise that suggests somebody familiar with knives. It's flipped neatly around and caught by the blade, hilt offered to Nasa. Once the pit faerie takes it, she doles out some vegetables, though the ones that have the most spice are carefully passed over.   "Ja, it's not easy. It's hard vork to dig a hole und plant a tree, you know. Most people don't think about that. It requires a lot of knowledge. It's also hard vork to cultivate fields." Heinkel half-smiles, spearing a little of the venison and popping it into her mouth. Going by her pleased expression, it must be tasty. "Vell-done venison."   "Actually, my hearing ist also sensitife, but I guess I'fe gotten somevhat used to it. Too much und I'm feeling pretty deaf by the end of the day, though." Heinkel gestures a little nebulously with one hand. "Vhen I'm sniping, I take some kind of ear protection vit me for vhen I take the shot. I listen before I put them in to make sure there's nothing near me."   "Your Paladin badge should be enough to put that down." The priest spears another piece of meat, popping it into her mouth. "Ve vere under contract to the Union, too, vhen it still existed... ve're used to multiversal travellers. It vas a bumpy start, but my vorld has never tried to close itself off from the multiverse."   She crunches on venison, shrugging. "Hunh. That's fine by me. I hafen't eaten all day, either. Five or six of those? Sure. Although ve don't haf plants that glow like that, back vhere I'm from. Hunh, I vonder vhat it takes to get von of those established..." The priest eyes the plants speculatively, eyes hooding and one brow arching slightly. 

:'''{{#var:367|Na`Sabal-Une Fang (367)}} has posed:'''      "Hm? Oh. Yeah... it has pepper on it. Nothing crazy or special, but it's still pepper." Nasa says thoughtfully. She should probably have asked more questions! Oh well, it's too late now! Nasa watches with mild interest as Heinkel cuts off the slice of the venison. She actually admires that silently, giving an approving look as she takes the knife.      She carefully cleans off the blade with a cloth and slides it back away under her sweater. After that, she takes another bite of her tuber, chewing on it in silence as she listens to Heinkel speak, her eyes shifting around the fields. "Mmm... I'm unsure if I really know how to tend proper fields. I can help a lot with my connection to nature, but I'm used to a garden. This is much larger of an area." She says with a small nod. "Luckily there's a lot of people willing to help, and some automated systems." She says, pointing out a few sprinklers here and there.      "Thank you; I have had a lot of practice cooking wild game." The pit faerie responds with a soft chuckle. "Mm. I'm not from a world that has much in the way of explosives and guns, mostly villages and cities. So I guess I'm less used to them, I've kind of avoided them where I could since coming to the Multiverse. Though I've come to appreciate the quieter guns." Nasa says with a small nod. The mention of ear protection gets another nod. "...I'm honestly too, well... I'm too overly cautious to cut off my hearing. I like to know where everything around me is at all times. Though hearing protection is preferable to a blown out eardrum.." She muses silently for a while, chewing on a piece of the deer meat.      She simply nods towards the mention of the paladin badge being enough. And the contract. "Yeah. I can understand it being a bit bumpy; you were around for when I first arrived here, I think. Remembering those times makes me cringe. It's hard to think of myself being that... ... insane... like I was back then."      The comments on the glowing plants gets a small smile, "They're actually subterranean plants, they grow in deep deep caves in my world, so they're very hardy plants that can grow in most dark places. They don't tend to do quite as well in direct sunlight, but they're good for a garden like this. It helps the people who don't have dark vision to get around safely without being too much light to make the other plants become sickly."      She taps a finger against her lip. "You could probably keep it in a bedroom easily enough, so long as you keep the windows covered most of the time. They require daily watering and can grow to be about 3 feet tall. They're... not really an edible plant, but they won't make the average human particularly sick, and they'll feed themselves on stray insects that come in -- which is why they glow -- so can help with flies." She explains. Finally, she adds, "The glowing bulbs can be used in a pinch for a particularly foul tasting tea that can help with constipation." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja. Unfortunately, I haf a sensitivity to pepper." Heinkel wrinkles her nose. "I used to like it, but I can't haf it these days. It's been a vhile since I vas able to eat something really, /really/ hot. Now, even mild things are hot to me."   The priest shrugs, spearing another piece of venison and finishing it off thoughtfully. Her eyes almost glow as she considers her plate. "I'm also used to smaller plots of land. Vhen I vas groundskeeping at the church in Brugge, it vas a lot smaller than von of these industrial-size plots. A little more manageable than this, you know?"   "Ja. I did that more than vonce. I vasn't really thinking about my hearing after... you know." She gestures towards her eyes, as though that says all that needs to be said. They aren't the eyes of a human. That's for sure. "So the next mission or two I vas on, I shot at my target, und... vell. Yeah. I vas pretty deaf for a vhile after those incidents. Bleeding ears, intense pain, totally deaf. Not much fun."   Heinkel considers the plate. She seems to be deliberately chewing it slowly and carefully. The Wolf likes to eat things, and it has food aggression. If she exercises that extra bit of self-control, she can foil it and keep the primal spirit stuffed in a jar where it belongs.   "Ja, I can understand that. I use my hearing to locate things. Most of the time I can filter out the obnoxious background noise, but most of the time, sudden loud noises are pretty painful." She shrugs. "Most of the time, I can deal vit the sound of my guns. I'm pretty used to them by now efen vit enhanced senses. I don't actually carry hearing protection unless I know I'll be using a caliber efen bigger than vhat I carry." She scowls. "That, or Police Girl brings that assault cannon she calls a gun vit her."   She shrugs. "So they grow underground. Vell, that explains why they'd glow in the dark. Ja, I don't think I could grow something like this, since the apartment I haf in Vatican City ist pretty bright. I guess I could try completely blocking off a room, though. Light-sensitive things tend not to need much light to ruin them." Boy, does she ever know that. That must be why she wears those sunglasses everywhere, to go by how insanely reflective her eyes are.   "Mostly, I just think they look cool. Ve don't haf any bioluminescent plants that I know of." Heinkel leans over, poking near but not quite at one of them. "I like plants. They can keep you company vitout being judgemental. Also, they're really resilient, most of the time. Besides, it looks like there's enough growing here for medicine that von plant from the processing varehouses von't be missed." 
}}

4879/Progressing into the Fordidden Forest

2016-12-23T07:27:47Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/15 |Location=The Quilt |Synopsis=The League wants to study an artifact that they can't get their hands on legally. The Paladins are there t..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/15
|Location=The Quilt
|Synopsis=The League wants to study an artifact that they can't get their hands on legally. The Paladins are there to frown at them and say no.
|Cast of Characters=1080, 961, 278, 10, 151, 363, 533, 152, 367
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' Out of the way in Punetia, a small mercantile republic in a fantasy world one, can find the Great Woods. At the heart of these Great Woods lies the Forbidden Glade, reported to be home to an ancient artifact not seen by mortal eyes since time immemorial. Reports on what it's supposed to look like, or what it's supposed to do vary greatly, but one thing is true without doubt. The doge's men do not take attempts to transgress into the Forbidden glade lightly. Henry Jekyll himself is still a small distance away from the Forbidden Glade, quietly observing the people guarding the perimeter. "This won't do." He mutters to himself, and gets out his flip phone, dialling a number. "Can I have some help please? This forbidden glade is annoyingly well defended." 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      Almost no sooner than the call is through than Henry receives backup.      The massive thing that lands next to him may or may not be what he had in mind when he asked for it, though. Nearly ten feet tall and five across, it is clad only in a bandolier, ragged pants, and a massive, tattered red cape. It is in the shape of a man, if men had lion's manes and massive jagged knives of teeth and claws that look sharp enough to rip through steel.      It lands in a crouch, rising slowly to its full height as its cloak billows around it. Sharp and predatory red eyes dance in the night as the backup sends its cloak billowing and starts walking forward.      This is the Warmaster, Victor Xix, and he has just uprooted a tree and slung it over his shoulder as a weapon because it is there and he is going to need one in just a moment.      The doge's men probably will not like what he intends to use it on.      (It's them.) 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' It doesn't take long for 'magic forest protecting hidden glade of ancient artifact' to attract certain attention. Especially when Bramble Patch has been so eagerly waiting for the oppritunity to make a good impression to her new allies. And see if the promises of actual aknowledgement and respect hold true. Grab her vest, grab her bags of some alchemical wonder she's been hording for such an occasion, and off she goes. One call and a few warpgates later (it's taking time to learn the new rearrangement of things) and the orange and green pony does eventually trot up to Jekyll's position. "You called for some extra help, boss?" The other large maned form arriving gets a look for a moment, but she's seen stranger creatures before. Not going to let that bother her. There was no words to express how -good- it felt getting out do something again, especially when it was now surrounded by many more like mines than before. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' A job's a job abd the league was paying pretty well also in things she needed. That the Paladins wouldn't or couldn't offer her. So here she was having picked up work for the league though she had to wonder about her time here? Either way she'd find out it's not like she had anything to lose really. She had every thing to gain with the leauge in the end. She head about what Heny was offering though given the nature of what she was doing she was brining a load out of less leathal load outs so long as they were out of the way, right? She was glad as she normaly was maybe some former union personel might spot the when they show up. She speaks quietly as she arrives. "So just what's the nature of the problem? I could likely act as a diversion to lure them away I'm good at making things flashy." 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     They get some opposition. The first one they find may not be the most intimidating.     A reptile woman floats down from up in the air, landing near one of the guards. She turns her head to check for the presence of the trespassers, and pulls the badge off her left breast pocket, holding it up so that the various League members hoping to break the law can clearly see the big glowing letters that manifest in front of her.     'Chevalier Ainsley - CB Judge'     And then she speaks out, her voice carrying more clearly than any megaphone. She has a stern but patient voice, very typical of police officers or other such law-keepers.     "The Paladins are here under the request of the local governing bodies, under suspicion of an impending trespassing on forbidden grounds. Please turn back immediately." She taps one of the guards she landed near and asides to him, "The moment we see they aren't going to leave, fall back, okay? Not an order, just a suggestion." She continues...     "This area is forbidden according to the laws of Punetia. You may not enter, forcibly or otherwise, without the proper authorization from the local authorities. Turn back immediately." She definitely isn't initiating violence, as that's not the Paladin way. She is also standing like a five foot tall feathered, semi-adorable wall of justice, with one hand resting on the hilt of the longsword at her hip.     Her heart hammers in her chest despite her brave face. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There comes striding from behind a few trees a tall and lanky figure, which strolls to a halt behind Ainsley.   Heinkel Wolfe takes a few long moments to go digging around in a pocket, probably in search of her badge. When she holds it up, there is no fanfare or magical enchantment to make it pretty. It's just a plain metal badge, glinting in whatever ambient light there is.   "Chevalier Wolfe. CC." The voice sounds like it could be a man or a woman, without leaning definitively either way. She doesn't say anything else to the trespassers; she just strolls up and stops next to Ainsley, with hands shoved in pockets and a bored expression on her face. What's visible of it. Her large round sunglasses completely block her eyes, and a cigarette dangles from her lower lip.   Her head tilts just faintly. "You think they're actually going to turn back...?" Both hands withdraw from the pockets, folding, and she stands there looming a bit beside Ainsley; positively towering next to the poor lizard-woman at five feet eleven. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Without looking away from the people weighing a criminal act, Ainsley answers Heinkel, speaking over her shoulder, "No... but it's best to give all due warnings whether or not I believe they'll work. We'll see." 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Following not far behind Heinkel, who follows not far behind Ainsley, is a knight in a black suit with a golden tie. Gawain has arrived, not bringing his boar this time because he didn't have time to check if it'd be okay, but is instead on foot, as he shuffles a hand into his jacket to pull out his badge as he steps aside, and slightly in front of, Ainsley. It has an identical enchantment. 'Warden Gawain' Waiting for Ainsley to finish her address (this seems to fall into her jurisdiction), the Knight of the Sun speaks up. "If you do turn back, everything will be alright, and you will not be arrested! However, if you proceed further, we will have to pursue!" He simply adds to her speech, attempting to give them motivation to turn back after going this far. He then asides to Ainsley and Heinkel. "I suggest, if it does come to blows, that we attempt to prioritize minimizing damage towards the grounds and that inside over combat with the criminals. Judge Ainsley, is this acceptable?" 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley speaks over to Gawain the same way she did with Heinkel. "Yes, it is. We mustn't allow this to cause damage to the area." 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' Not too long after Ainsley and company make their proclaimations, magic whips through the area near them. Space twists and contorts as figures appear. Two heavily armored figures in Templar armor hold shields and blades, reds and golds marking them as Inquisition members. Slightly behind them, in his robes now marked with an extra Paladins badge on a necklace around his neck, Inquisitor Senra arrives. "I would suggest leaving, gentlemen." He offers. Ainsley's already done the lawful tellings-off, after all. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      It is possibly a nice change of pace that Ainsley's, Gawain's, and Faruja's very thoughtful, very brave, very Paladinly declarations does not get a monologue from the massive lion-man-monster wielding a tree. A lot of massive lion-man-monsters wearing giant capes and wielding oversized weapons would probably launch into a spiel of overwrought mockery and purple prose to illustrate how little respect they had for the law.      Victor, very simply, says, "No," and brings the tree down very, very hard - hard enough to splinter the tree on impact, leave a crater in the ground, *and* probably damage the wall in the process, not to mention anyone silly enough to be standing in the way of the tree coming down.      Of course, now he is unarmed. But something about the way the giant lion-man is advancing makes it very much seem like that isn't really a concern he holds near and dear to his heart.      "Please do not surrender," Victor says, cracking his very large knuckles and shrugging his massive shoulders, "I am looking forward to this being a very good evening. I would hate to have you ruin it so soon." 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' "Thank you for making our point for us, mister Xix." Jekyll adds, and fishes a vial of some kind of liquid out of his pocket. "The League regrets to inform the Paladins that when the Law stands in the way of Progress, the Law must bend or it will break." Then, he pops open the vial and downs it. The result is pretty much immediate. He falls to one knee, his face twisting into an angry grimace as he gains at least a dozen pounds worth of muscle. When Mister Hyde rises, it's barely recognizable as the same person. Without further delay, and with a cruel twisted grin on his face, he rushes forwards, throwing a punch that could shatter walls right for the nearest hostile face. Heinkel's. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      "You are the Law in this metaphor. It is not a metaphor. You will probably break." Victor adds to back up Henry's statement, completely unnecessarily. It's hard to tell if the ancient Greaver is seriously explaining it or if he's trying to be funny. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel Wolfe looks up at the giant tree. It's coming down straight at her at terminal velocity, she observes detachedly. Sweet Christ that creature is obscenely strong--   That cassock-like coat rustles as Heinkel slides a foot sideways. Instinct kicks in a second later, and the paladin (Paladin?) throws herself sideways before the tree has a chance to break ninety percent of the bones in her body. If she lands badly, she figures she might break one or two, instead of 'most of them.' The latter would be very inconvenient right now.   Instead, someone aims a punch at her, and she stands back up in time for it to connect with her jaw. Heinkel manages a sound that sounds vaguely like 'hafohk?!' as her head snaps sideways.   She responds, reflexively, by snarling -- it's a shockingly inhuman sound, resonant and deep -- pulling out one of her two pistols, and attempting to shoot Henry in the throat. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     The tree comes down, used as a weapon by Victor Xix to prove a point. Ainsley doesn't let this just happen. Instead of shattering against the wall, Ainsley had pulled a metal book from her coat on reflex, and shouted a word that got lost in the swoosh of wind and power. The tree impacts, instead, a being that manifests from the air, who takes the tree to the face and lets it shatter to splinters. The turtle-like figure, probably about eight feet tall, grimaces and falls backwards, but the damage doesn't hit the structure itself. It just makes a mess.     The spirit(?) shatters apart like blue shards of glass, the shards vanishing, and Ainsley staggers and struggles to catch her breath under the sudden impact.     "This isn't progress, this is impatience!" she shouts back at Henry, one hand pressed against the side of her face. She glances at Victor Xix, his rather negative attitude making it pretty clear that they won't accept just turning around at this point. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' Crys sees sone of the Paladins arriving, she sees Ainsley as well that gets one eyebrow going up but then she sees something that makes her blood run cold. She sees a person she's pretty dman sure what they are. "An Iscarlot?! Here?!" She tenses she knows how bad this is going to be she doesn't get too shock at Gawain. She mentally goes over what she's carrying in her Photone trap. She knows some them and how they fight, but in turn they also know her. Faruja accidnely infering she's a man leaves her looking /very/ annoyed at that. She looks to the Paladins and shrugs for a moment. "I'm here on contract, I go with my employer says..." Well that's it and there's a started look as Henry starts to transform there's a look of shock on Crys's face, she doens't have weapons out just yet She has to wonder what the hell did she sign up for? It doesn't matter so for now. "It's hard to be paitant when your own life span is measures in a decade or two." Weapons are summoned but in the back of her mind? Am I going down the path Sue with the Black Paper? Two gauntles appear on her arms the Nei claws, the phone blades flare to life and she moves in on Faruja. "Heads up old man." She gives him long enough to react and she then breaks nto a charge launching into a combination of rapid strikes with the twin weapons. 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' As an experienced alchemist in her own right Bramble Patch knows what happens when people start chugging potions like that, and wisely takes a few steps to the side as Jekyll transforms. That, and Vix's bluntness, really has her feeling like she picked the right operation here. "As much as I like a good speech -when appropriate-, this is a nice change of pace." A hoof dabs into her vest for a moment, pulling out some large seeds. Which she tosses in front of her, as the gem-studded headband of hers starts to glow. As soon as the seeds hit the ground they take root and grow at an accelerated rate into a pair of oddly flame-like looking blossoms. Which start spitting small but hot gouts of fire at the local guardians as they open. "We tried to be practical, but you had to butt in. Now we'll just have to burn our way through!" Figures she'd find a way to make Fireweed a lot more literal. Probably want to do something about that before she does actually burn the forest up. 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' Faruja can't remain stoic. No, not after he hears that crack. He's been on the battlefield to recognize that particular sound far too well. A sub-vocal mutter puts a note to hopefully slide a white mage Heinkel's way when this is all over. But before he can offer any gravity-related help up for the Iscariot member, there's a woman black with flaming blades heading for him at speeds impressive yet suspect. Rather than move, the Burmecian nods to his men. Shields are held up and holy energy gathers in their swords before there's a clash of steel, fire, and likely bodies. One of the knights is blown back. The other, taller and more hearty, puts his back into it. The force required to hold back the woman has him digging in his greaves. The second knight doesn't rise for quite a few moments. The intervention does let Faruja get a closer look. That eye widens, recognition dawning. "My, my, my. I must say, I am quite surprised to see you here, Lady...Gattz, was it? I do not believe we were formally introduced. Inquisitor Senra, Chevallier of the Paladins. A shame 'tis under these circumstances. Do not turn the honor of your service to dust. Turn back, my Lady, please." A slow pause. He doesn't /really/ expect that to happen. Which is exactly why he mutters an incantation, and Crys might just feel the force of a Gravity spell trying to drag her back away from both Faruja, his Knights, and pointedly back towards the exit of the Forbidden ground here. As telling as her own force, his is like the force of a very cross parent dragging their child into their room for time out. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Well, this is going poorly. Immediately, they're struck at by a massive man. And after that, a Noble Phantasm is produced and a Servant is detected, but only then. The deduction is made rapidly: this is the Assassin-class Servant of the League of Progress, Henry Jekyll, and it seems he has just become Mister Hyde. And as he realizes that, the tree is still coming down. While Ainsley moves to tank it, the Knight of the Sun is taking another route: charging forwards at Victor. Gawain is /fast/, due to being a Servant. He dodges the tree even though he's still underneath it, instead moving directly for and to the side of Victor (specifically the one facing away from trespassing, in an attempt to corral). It's just a throw of weight, before magical energy wraps around the knight, replacing his suit with a set of shining floral armor, and his signature holy sword manifesting in his hand. "Mister Lionman, you are under arrest for trespassing, vandalism, assault, and battery! You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law!" Gawain isn't actually sure if the Paladins have Miranda rights, but it's good to be safe, as he forms a defensive stance for whatever counter-attack will follow. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      The tree fragments, and with it Ainsley's persona. Victor takes a moment to be fascinated by that, flat-out ignoring that Gawain just danced around the tree without trouble. That was new. New was interesting. But as he proceeds to move towards Ainsley like a slasher movie monster, Gawain puts on a very pretty light show and draws Victor's attention again. Those predatory red eyes turn to look at Gawain. Fangs more sabretooth shredders than lion bits glint off Gawain's lightshow like jagged knives of bone.      There's no hint of amusement or mockery on Victor's face, which is also perhaps refreshing. The massive lion-thing appears to be one hundred percent alright with the concept of being arrested, and doesn't even make fun of the law in the process (merely added his own addendum to Henry because he could). "I do not care what you use. Satisfy yourself as you see fit."      "Give me your name," Victor says bluntly as he turns to move towards Gawain."      "I am Victor."      "It is my name, my title, and my occupation."      And then he *moves*.      Gawain is fast due to being a Servant. Victor is fast for no visible reason at all. Something ten feet tall should *not* move like that, like muscles made of steel and violence are a launching mechanism for a deadly missile. Something five feet wide should *not* leave a crater from where it launched and should *not* be described in terms that might resemble ballistics.      Victor's lunge has but one purpose: to grab Gawain by the face and *drag him* along the ground *by* said face at those same unpleasant speeds. It'll probably leave him open to counterattack, but Victor is apparently the kind of fighter who just doesn't care.      That might be useful information! 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley is still reeling from the shock of being hit with a tree in the SOUL. She isn't as hurt as she would be if she got hit directly, but it slows her enough that the battle unfolding around her is hard to deal with. She stumbles away from Henry and Heinkel, and Faruja's status over there momentarily distracts her. And then she hears Bramble speaking as well in the chaos.     Her mind almost shuts off. These people want to get in here so badly that they'd kill to do it. They don't seem to be hesitating at all.     "You!" Ainsley charges toward the sight of the plant sprouting and beginning to emit a blast of fire in their direction. "Stop!" She isn't much for words when she has to act. She decides to summon her Persona again -- a flash of blue light, apparently the catalyst is looking at the metallic surface of a book she keeps on her -- in order to manage this threat without getting immolated for her trouble.     "Reflection!" she shouts, pointing to the flames. A series of strange translucent panels spawn in the air, reflecting the fire away from anything vulnerable, but putting severe magical taxing on Ainsley's body to do so. The panels allow Ainsley to get in close to try and SLICE at the plant with her sword, removing the threat.     The book is flipped open, and Ainsley shouts, "Cold Embrace of the Night Hag!" The book glows a bright blue, and she slaps it shut as she tries to get in extra close and... touch Bramble Patch on the nose. If she does manage to touch, her spell tries to emit a sensation of 'sleep paralysis,' to try to impair Bramble's nervous system, to 'trick' it into slowing down or making her legs give out with a false message. Essentially, a non-lethal attack to try to impair Bramble without putting a single bruise on the plant pony.     "CEASE AND DESIST!!" she bellows as she does this. 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' Mister Hyde does get shot in the throat, bullets piercing flesh as he doesn't even try to dodge. The wounds are briefly gruesome, then they settle into something less lethal. They still bleed, but slowly, as his body starts to restructure itself in response to the wound, it seems like many of the things Heinkel is used to fighting, this guy is tough. He's also relying on brute force over strategy, perhaps unexpected from the commanding officer of an organization like the League, but his response to being shot in the threat is simply to apply more physical violence, this time raising his knee to try to hit Heinkel Wolfe in the gut. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' Crys Gattz looks at Faruja for a moment as she closes in. "Throw it away? I spent most of my /life/ I with the Union since I was seven." She gets caught in the gravity and is flowed down she doesn't turn back she's got her job this is a contact but it doesn't sit well with her in the end. "Tch wait, be paitent I spent most of my life waiting. Fighting other people's wars. What does it matter I'm just going to burn out in the end." She lunges again but this time rather than strike with her wepaon she mutters something and sends a wave of ice at Faruja. She then flips away landing in a crouch. "The kind of laws the Paladin's enforce will be a death sentance to my species." 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' The deflection spell does it's job well, difussion the bursts of flame in other directions so Ainsley can get close and cut the problem down at the root of the problem. Being chopped down is a weakness that even magically infused plants can't do much to stop it seems. The Fireweed seems to almost burn itself up as it falls, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. The spellcasting and using the book hasn't escaped Bramble Patch's notice though, and while not as skittish as a normal horse may be, she knows to back the hell away quickly from someone trying to reach out and touch her. "I've already been in the embrace of one of tho--" Bramble pauses. "--Oh, HAG. I thought you said NAG at first." Nightmare Moon probably wouldn't take well to being called a nag, but she's not here to say anything about it. "Though come to think of it, hag would of fit too." Wow she's already dissing the previous master that seemingly ditched her to deal with Celestia's little goodie-two-hooves alone. How times change. Bramble grabs one of the vines entwinned in her mane with a forehoof, and it twists itself into a thorny ring as she pulls it free. "I didn't cease for a bunch of pamby ponies spewing happiness and rainbows, I sure as buck ain't ceasing for the likes of -you-!" She flings the thorny ring spinning in the air towards Ainsley. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   It couldn't be a nice clean job, could it? It seems like everything Heinkel Wolfe has a hand in, willingly or unwillingly, it turns into a bigger mess than a sprawling pile of spaghetti.   Part of her wonders if she can finagle hazard pay out of Maxwell, even as she's trying not to let that knee go anywhere near her solar plexus, because she's pretty sure this freak of nature could destroy her with a single blow if he had the opportunity.   This is really going to hurt in the morning.   Scratch that. It really hurts /now/.   Heinkel side-steps a little unsteadily, and the forest around her tilts and swims in her vision. That crack to the head was more than a little disorienting. By the time she can focus her eyes again, Mister Hyde is bringing a knee to her gut with enough force to put a dent in concrete.   The priest responds about as well as expected to that as expected: She manages to produce her other pistol from her coat, and both pistols roar -- along with their wielder -- as she proceeds to make every effort at emptying both clips into the hulking man.   She doesn't talk much, mostly because her jaw is still broken, and she's fairly certain her words wouldn't be even remotely coherent. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Ainsley, Heinkel, and Faruja are all alive and handling themselves. This is good, because this means Gawain can focus on his target. With his sword still at the ready, he begins to reply to Victor. "I am Sir Gawain, Paladin Warden! Please, stop this before anyone gets hur-" And then before he can finish, the hulking lionman is speeding straight at him, way too fast. Gawain's arms move to react, but the rest of him doesn't get the chance, as Victor's grip is firmly tightened around the Knight's face and used to pull him towards Victor. Gawain realizes pretty immediately that this man is not a normal human(?!) and therefore he can take normal fighting measures against him. Which is why as Gawain is pulled forward, his sword is also plunging forward, moving to lodge itself in Victor's shoulder...and set ablaze. Fire wreathes around the blade, magically channeled through, and attempts to burn the lionman WHILE stabbing him. Or, at the least, make him let go. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley misses with the spell. That's unfortunate. What's also unfortunate is that this pony seems to be under the impression that she is about spewing happiness and rainbows. When the thorny ring is prepared, Ainsley is already grasping the longsword with both of her hands. The ring is tossed at her and bites into her scales as her sword goes up to deflect it and she swipes to slice at it. It's not as bad of a wound as it could have been, but still.     Then she lunges forward again, but this time there's no words, no demand to halt. Just a calm, determined stare. Absolute focused stoicism. The sword glows blue, imbued with the spell that Bramble just made an effort to avoid. Ainsley leaps forward... and the arc is longer than Bramble might expect, Ainsley faking out a normal jump by just using her ability to fly to make it harder to predict where she'd land.     The sword comes down, and the flat end of it is used to try to strike Bramble anywhere on her body. It'll leave a nasty bruise if it hits, and it has a chance to transfer the magic into her target, communicating the false sensations. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      No, Gawain, Victor is very definitely not a normal human, lion-man, or whatever the appropriate term to dance around 'mortal' is here. If that wasn't apparent immediately, it's apparent when the Noble Phantasm has to *work* to dig into Victor's meaty shoulder and doesn't immediately pierce through - even once it's broken the skin, it's like trying to wedge the sword through solid concrete.      Gawain is, of course, strong enough to carve through solid concrete, so that ultimately means that it takes him a little more force - the force provided by Victor's own movement - to get it through.      Then he lights it ablaze. Victor roars, a feral, bestial howl breaking his otherwise hulking cool demeanor, and releases Gawain immediately. That *hurts*.      So there's that. But...at the same time, Gawain may notice that Galatine is not easily coming free. Victor, despite being *partially on fire*, has *flexed his entire arm* - and this has the effect of, essentially, *locking* the sword burning his insides in muscles like concrete. This hurts way more.      That says a *lot* about Victor.      The Warmaster punches a hole in the wall with his massive hand, grabs it, and simply rips a section of it free.      He is not doing this to get inside.      He is doing this to *beat Gawain with a brick wall while his arm is on fire and Gawain's sword is lodged inside it like the Sword in the Stone*.      What is perhaps more surprising is that the brick wall does not feel like an improvised weapon to Gawain. It is like he's dueling someone who has, all his life, fought with a brick wall, someone who has learned how to wield a brick wall like Gawain and the Knights of the Round Table wield swords and lances and axes. This is weird. This is not normal.      Of course that same guy is also intentionally letting his arm blaze out of all control, and the smell of burning meat might start to get to people pretty soon, so normal is vastly overrated and probably ended a while back anyhow. 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' For a brief moment, the rat's gaze softens. There's sympathy in that eye, before they close. He's silent at first as Crys mentions fighting other's wars. He knows well just how badly that can go. He's seen it in others. "...I'll not fault your motivations, or your desire for freedom from that endless bloodshed. And perhaps you are right. The Law is indeed often brutal and merciless. However, they can be changed." His voice drops to a whisper. "And once changed, that Law may well become your people's greatest ally." The smallest of meaningful smiles, gone just as quickly. "Still, it seems you have a job to do and I a duty to..." He doesn't get much farther as a wave of ice lashes out! Faruja teleports away. His subordinate isn't nearly so lucky. He gets launched into a tree, arms and legs frozen there. Still very much alive, cursing in Ivalician and accusations of Heresy flying. When Faruja floats back down, there's a block of ice on his right hand. Concentrating, a wave of gravity breaks it, leaving frost and one very limp arm. Seems she might have chilled the nerves to numbness. Magic flares around him, and there's a growing mystical clock-face that attempts to latch onto Crys and slow her swift movements! It's followed up by a blast from his sidearm, sending a warning shot of burning flame to nip towards her heels. Seems he's aiming for 'Fiery Deterrant'. 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' Well at least the bullets land easily, and they do have an impact. Mister Hyde can recover from them to a degree, but every shot draws blood, every wound takes a little longer to close. They still close, though the marks don't just dissipate, but they have little effect on what Jekyll is doing. Not in the short term, at least. The brute moves on undeterred. Closing in while being shot at, and picking up a chunk of rock nearby, a big heavy chunk he lifts as a weapon. Unlike Victor, there's no sense of this being anything other than just picking up something convenient to pummel someone with, no grace, no style. Just an overabundance of sheer strength. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' Fire it had to come to fire with Faruja. It always did end in fire, didn't it? She's going to have to roll with it and her photone barrier crackles to life taking the brut of the strike. She's still toased a bit she's sticking to somehing that wont' ruin the area however. She end up trying to deal with the debuff maci and it is slowing her down somewhat but she keeos mocving as she moves not to launch into another combination of strikes on Faruja. "Ya the WORKS crew was the law on my colony and the ran the damn BLACK PAPER!" 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' More like she was calling you less than the ones spewing such things, but there is no need to fiddle faddle over the nuances of phrasing. Not that Ainsley is trying to correct her. Or say anything in general. "Finally, someone that knows when to stop with the speeching and get on with the -- aw geez!" Maybe her opponent actually fighting instead of talking isn't entirely a good thing. Bramble jumps back, but the swing is indeed farther reaching that she anticipated as Ainsley's magical maneuvering gives her an extra point or two to reach. The sword broadsides the Earth Pony across the shoulder, sending her reeling from her failed dodge and tumbling across the ground. Only to land in a heap, twitching and flopping almost comically from the effects of the spell keeping her from getting her legs immeadiately under her again. "Cupel!" A flying squirrel pops up out of her mane... She has a squirrel living in her mane?? That cannot be sanitary. "Give me a hand here!" Cupel slowly claps his forepaws together. "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT! Just distract her a moment." The squirrel hops down from her head and disappears into her vest for a moment, then comes back out to stand on her shoulder with a large clump of -something- that is already emitting visible vapors even as he throws it towards the Paladin. It doesn't entirely matter if it hits Ainsley, her sword, or just hits the ground near her. On doing so the wad more or less explodes, releasing dusty plumes of nose wrenching, eye watering sulfuric stench! Equal parts smoke and stink bomb by the look of it. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Dimly, Heinkel is aware that she just fired a lot of bullets into a man who hasn't even slowed down. One alone ought to do that, considering the stopping power of those long-muzzled pistols. The fact that he just ate about two full clips is worrying.   She's too busy to be worried, however; jerking her guns and ejecting the clips, slapping new ones in with such a practised motion that she could do it in her sleep.   Oh hey look at that, that sure is a big heavy chunk of rock.   Heinkel squawks and immediately tries to throw herself out of the way. 'Tries' is the operative word in that sentence, because while she's mostly successful, she doesn't completely avoid the rock. It lands with brutal force on her leg a few inches up from the ankle, producing another sickening 'crack.'   Spitting a little blood (he may have cracked some teeth) and snarling muddy curses (thankfully mostly incoherent), Heinkel throws herself forward into what is bound to be the makings of an even worse day than she's already having. She doesn't do it recklessly, since she has more sense than that, but she knows that the wounds she sustains will eventually mend themselves in time. It wouldn't do to let this rolling disaster catch up with the likes of Ainsley or Faruja. She's willing to bet they're a little more fragile than she is.   Heinkel impacts the muscle-man with a grunt of pain and exertion, trying to jam one pistol under his muscled throat and one pistol into his gut, and proceed to try and empty both clips.   Part of her is wishing she'd asked Anderson to borrow a few of those bayonets of his. Sometimes it's nice to have something to just punch someone with. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' As the blade impacts and Gawain realizes that Victor is actually more likely described as 'some sort of combat monster', he can tell this won't be a remotely easy fight. But his face is freed, allowing him to pull back his sw- nope, it's lodged in there, and the lionman has no intention of giving it back. Servants, of course, can dematerialize their weapons. The problem is twofold: one, that is sort of cheating. Two, Gawain forgot about that. So instead, to prevent himself from being flailed around, the Knight of the Sun lets go of his sword and leaps backwards. And then he spots Victor rip out a chunk of wall and wield it with insane martial prowess, as if it was his blade. Unless Victor has actually trained with brick walls as a weapon (possible), then this man is doing something Gawain has only ever known one person capable of, and for a minute, he grimaces at that thought, because Victor is moving too fast for him to do anything else right now. This grimace is interrupted by the inevitable impact of that swing, slamming straight into Gawain's chest and sending him flying backwards. The knight skids back on the ground before leaping rapidly to his feet, and taking a look at his opponent, the wall, and the terrain. He needs his blade back, but he's going to need significant force to take it back. And to do that, Gawain starts charging towards Victor... And diverts straight for the wall, running up and alongside it. And as he does so, he smiles, straight towards the man twice his height. Not a smile of a cocky plan. Not a smile of enjoying a battle. A different type of smile, as he kicks off that wall, aiming straight to grab the handle of his sword, and with the force of the leap, rip the blade straight out of Victor's arm painfully, channelling some more mana into Galatine to keep the burn going. That was a smile of a man who enjoys life, every single part of it, even when he's being beaten with a brick wall, or fighting a man twice his size with a powerful skill. And it's entirely genuine. Also, that wall probably has a decent-sized crack in it from the force of the leap. Woops! 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      Victor Xix Is Loving This Shit.      If Gawain's smile is the smile of a man who loves life then Victor's feral grin is the grin of a man who is living for the purpose for which hew as born. This is entirely correct - Gawain's appellation of 'combat monster' is entirely, one hundred percent correct. Victor Xix exists to fight. He was *created* to fight. He does not have a thought in his head other than fighting. The idea of imagination is something so pointless to him he's actively quashed it.      So when Gawain runs up the brick wall he's actively wielding, Victor's first thought is not 'that's impossible,' because that would mean that Victor had enough imagination to imagine something impossible. His first thought is verbalized from those terrifying jaws:      "Fascinating."      Gawain grabs the Galatine and *rips* it through Victor's arm.      Victor's arm falls to the ground. Blood does not pour forth, because Galatine has *cauterized* the arm. There is a loud, meaty *thump* as the huge arm hits the ground, and Victor lets out a thunderous, primordial ROAR, a roar that is the roar of more predators than just a *lion* mixed into that horrible killing machine's DNA.      Gawain has proven that he does not need quarter.      Victor will give him none.      Even as he's reacting to the pain, he's reacting to the battle. Victor ducks down, snatches up his own massive, burning arm, and lunges at Gawain with those missile-launcher legs.      And he proceeds to put *all of his considerable strength* into hitting Gawain with the arm *so hard* that his arm *explodes* into a shower of blood, bone fragments, and gore in the process. 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' As the smoke clears, and flame blunted, Faruja blows off the end of his weapon. A glance back, and his two guardians are pretty much still useless. His tail sways, then stills. The rat is certainly scrappy oweing to his early years in Burmecia's slums, but he's by no means a physical powerhouse. The first few strikes are met with a deftly unsheathed sword-cane! Faruja, unfortunately, is a Temple Wizard by training. His sword skills are entirely defensive, at the best of days. Add his limp into things? And it doesn't take long for those strikes to deprive him of his walking implement. So too is there a squeak of pain as one of those strikes pierces through his sword-hand, sending the /other/ arm wounded to the point of uselessness. He's in a horrible position as a mage. Nor has he entirely lost track of the battlefield. Heinkel is in an awful position, and yet as far as he's concerned, a perfect one. In spell range. Two twin chants of arcane might, and both Faruja and Heinkel would be shrouded in time-space dilations. Haste and Float respectively settle upon them, gravity having less hold and their bodies moving far more swiftly as time itself speeds for them. A calculated zealous gamble, and one for which he pays as this lets Cryz lay into him. Only multiple, desperate weightless backpeddles let him skid back with multiple lacerations and bleeding everywhere that isn't entirely vital. He breathes heavily, and as that last strike comes in, it's his legs and sharp toe-claws that whip out. Faruja is going to try to leg-lock Cryz, and physically bite into her shoulder with sharp rat teeth violently. Rip. Tear. Spit. Ugh. "...Tell me more. These men reek of Heresy." He once more whispers conspiratorially amdist the horrible melee. 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' With those added bullets ripping holes in the flesh fo Mister Hyde, he's actually staggered for a moment. The wounds still start to close, but it becomes obvious that it's starting to strain his recover rate. And at the same time, his opponent is getting enchanted by someone else, which causes the brute to turn his head slightly towards Faruja. See, Mister Hyde may fight like a Berserker, may be tough like a Berserker and may be Mad like a Berserker, but he is not a Berserker. He retains sufficient of his faculties to quite clearly understand what Faruja is doing. He's familiar enough with Magecraft to recognize magic is afoot, he even understands what that float spell means, roughly. Thus the brute's hands reach to grasp Heinkel by her shoulders and with one swift movement he flings her towards the magic rat that is to blame for this enchantment, his aim isn't too bad, and he's putting a lot of force into that. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley is suitably distracted.     As it turns out, being able to be incredibly stoic throughout her pain and unhappiness does not mean she is immune to overwhelming stench. She steps aside, a movement clearly hindered by how much discomfort she's experiencing, and she fails to get out of range of the cloud of stink gas. It creates a coughing fit and it makes her eyes water, and she staggers out of the cloud of eye-burning sulfuric dust and tries not to throw up all over her uniform right there on the spot, bracing her sword against the ground.     Then she turns and gives what looks like a golf swing, stepping forward to do this and try to hit the squirrel with the same type of attack she hit Bramble with: A paralyzing sword slap. All she really needs, evidently, is one of those fancy stun batons, because that's what she's using her sword like. 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' What kind of sound does the flat of a sword hitting a squirrel even make? Whatever it is, it is made as the improvised swing whomps the squirrel off Bramble's shoulder and arcing high into the air. Good thing Cupel is of the flying variety of squirrel, which don't actually fly in the literal sense, but the skin flaps at least make a good natural parachute in this case. Wherever he lands. It got rid of the distraction, but might not of been the wisest of choices to do so. That squirrel may be a pet, but it is also one of the few actual friends Bramble Patch has. Seeing him get clubbed like a golf ball is enough of a surge of anger and spite to get the stubborn Earth Pony thrusting herself back onto her hooves despite the shaky effects of the paralysis spell. "Let's see.. how YOU like it!" Bramble rears on her back legs and uses the front to grab the spade off her back, barely leaving long enough to question how she holds that thing with hooves before she's heaving the backside of the shovel end at Ainsley's head! "Back off before I use this to dig your grave, lizard lips!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel Wolfe is indeed in an awful position. It may be the perfect position as far as Faruja is concerned, but it is a pretty awful position as far as Heinkel is concerned. Her pain levels are through the roof and local anesthesia isn't even an option.   Oh, right. Local anesthesia isn't even an option. It's been seven years and she still forgets that sometimes until it's too late.   Thankfully, Faruja's mumbo-jumbo is starting to have an appreciable effect. Heinkel growls low in her throat as gravity lessens its grip on her, and the world seems to slow down around her. Is it the Wolf? --No, she realises; the Wolf is snarling for blood, but she can still think clearly.   Think she does, but not fast enough. Before she can backpedal away from Mister Hyde, he's already reached out to grab her, speed and brute strength apparently enough to more than surpass the minor enchantment from Faruja. Heinkel makes a strangled sound as her definitely-broken jaw and definitely-broken leg are both jarred in a most unkind fashion. She tries to bring one of those pistols down on Hyde's head, even though she's dimly aware it probably won't have an effect.   The man is a monster.   He's as much a monster in this guise as any creature of the night.   And then before Heinkel can retaliate by pistolwhipping Hyde with her sceond pistol, she's flung through the air with enough speed to send her crashing into Faruja full-tilt. There's an agonised and angry howl all the way as the priest lands in a tangled heap of limbs and guns and an angry, mushy snarl bubbling up from her broken jaw.   Through some miracle she hasn't lost her sunglasses. Thank the Lord for small favours.   Lunging forward, Heinkel...   ...has every intention to eject her clips and reload, but she trips over her own broken leg, going down with an absolutely murderous sound at the back of her throat.   So she ejects her pistol clips while sprawled in the dust, and slaps new ones into her pistols, firing again at the bulk of Mister Hyde before he has a chance to advance on her. Even the Wolf is beginning to pause through its bloodlust; even its top-notch survival instincts sense that Heinkel is in grave danger if this monstrous man continues the fight.   All that to say, Heinkel has every intention of ending this battle sooner rather than later, before the next thing he crushes in his bare hand is her head. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' Crys didn't expect to get her self into such a fight and she's messing up Faruja fas she's closer up and personal with him fighitng and giving about as good as she can get and he would gind him gettng past her barrier and teating into her shoulder. "Well ofcouse they are not Aujorans are there and no .... ARGG.... have you seen what lurked beyond reaityu Inquisator? I have..." Odd thing to say s she's finding her shoulder whic has got cut up and well? She's not using that arm much now as she attempts to use her good arm to go after Faruja again. "I spent over a decade with the Union and what did they do for me?! My friends are gone, I saw a war that consumed everything it touched and all of that fed that thing /I fought/ On Ragol." She's not entirely with it form the pain as she keeps trying to take Faruja down. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' The manuever works. Gawain wasn't sure it would; Victor could have slammed him against the other wall like a pancake, or just swung him away. But he went with it anyways, because it was the best, bravest option he could, and it worked. A bit too effectively, as his arm is split straight off, but the Knight of the Sun is very much under the impression the giant lionman can handle it. Gawain doesn't get much of a breather, though, because Victor literally handles it. He picks up his arm and strikes Gawain across the face with it, blood, bone, and gore splattering across him and his armor and the sheer force knocking him off his feet. He expected as much this time, allowing him to land on them, albeit wobbily, as he grips his sword. A hit like that, normally, wouldn't have been too much of a setback. But at this time, at /night/? Victor's too much to handle. He should retreat. But then, they lose. The enemy gets what they want. They could hurt someone. They could do anything. And, to be honest, Gawain can still fight. So he's going to do so. He can't fight the ten-foot tall monsterman normally, but he is now aware that he can put a massive amount of power into his strikes and he will take it. So, like the brave knight he is, Gawain charges forward, straight for Victor. Sword first, flames roaring as he swings his blade across the lionman's gut with as much power as he can put behind it. And for the first time since he gave his name, Gawain speaks. "'Victor', you are a powerful fighter! But this needs to end! Surrender now, please!" He doesn't expect it to work. But he's wondering what this man feels, what this man thinks. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      The blade carves into Victor's stomach. Fire lashes right in, as much power as Gawain can possibly spare. Gawain is a Servant - that is not an insubstantial amount of power. Victor is literally covered in fire, his bare chest, his mane, and every part of him igniting. His cloak turns from a flowing red majesty to a blazing inferno wrapped around his shoulders. His body hair - NOT fur, noticeably - ignites. His flesh bubbles. The cut is cauterized and sizzles, and the smell of burning flesh fills the air.      "No," is all Victor growls as he reaches down with that single meaty hand, eyebrows catching flame to match his mane, and closes it around Gawain's blade. "I already told you."      "I am Victor. It is my name."      Victor shoves the blade forward, pitting his own massive strength against Gawain's in an attempt to knock the wind out of Gawain with his own blade. The flaming sword cuts deep in his remaining hand. He is beyond pain right now. Pain is subservient to the blaze.      "It is my profession."      His massive foot comes up towards Gawain's stomach with the same amount of force Victor used to launch himself all over the battlefield. It's a hard, brutal swing, aimed to launch Gawain up into the air as Victor releases Excalibur Galatine.      "IT IS MY TITLE!"      Victor is screaming now, a nonstop roar that fills the battlefield with equal parts pain and fury as he tears the blazing cloak off himself. The massive cloak swirls around him, igniting the perfectly-manicured grass, the beautifully-trimmed hedges, the flowerbeds, and everything. It is a holocaust cloak manifest. It swirls around until it lashes upwards, as Victor tries to grab Gawain by the face with that blazing cloak and bring him *slamming* into the wall - and, in the process, destroy what's left of its structural integrity and send it crashing down.      "AND! IT! IS! /WELL/! /EARNED!!!!/"      But in the back of his mind, despite the repeated boast, Victor is already tracking his own strength draining away. The loss of his arm hindered his efficiency. The fire is going to keep burning until he puts it out, and he simply can't afford to right now. He's going to be down in no time unless his party can take advantage of this moment, this moment he has bought with fire and blood, with a gut wound and wounds that are RAPIDLY approaching degrees that would kill humans and are CERTAINLY hurting the Greaver. 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' Today is not Faruja Senra's day. The blonde-Paladin Heinkel is hucked at him (successfully!) like a sack of gysahl greens. Crys slashes and tears into him just before impact. He bleeds red, falling back as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. His good eye first widens at Heinkel's alarming approach, followed by a narrowing of his eye towards Crys. A brief, muttered prayer for Crys and Heinkel alike. He's aware that things aren't going to go well for himself. Crys would find that her attacks rip into armor and flesh without resistance. Instead, in the chaos, he'll try to secretly slip his radio number into the woman's pocket. His voice is a whisper. "...Sorry, my dear. Enlighten me some time. The Law. Is. A weapon of the righteous." He offers, before there's the sound of one heavier body impacting a much more magely one. Heinkel hits, sending Faruja into a tumbling ball of ratty injuries and curses. Just before he finally falls still and blacks out, there's a bloody-toothed incantation. A Comet hangs low, racing for Crys to hopefully blow her back. He wasn't exactly aiming well or trying for help, given he'd just been smacked with a flying Werewolf-Iscariot. Faruja lands in a jumble, spell away, one leg in a very unnatural position. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     *CLANG*     Ainsley is still distracted by the scent and her burning eyes and she hasn't much capacity to properly avoid another hit. When she spots it, it's about a half second too late and she puts her arms up but completely fails to defend herself. So she stumbles back and lands on her butt in the dirt and feels her balance dance and her mind rattle in her head, and realizes that her nose just got smashed so she dribbles blood all over herself continuously.     She pushes herself up to her feet, growling through the pain and discomfort and trying to tackle Bramble. And she tries to cast the spell once again, but one more hit could render her useless to a further fight. But instead of the sleep paralysis, she does something else.     She tries to cast empathy into Bramble, skipping all pretense of words in the middle of the fight.     Ainsley pours a bucket of emotional energy into Bramble. Frustration. Dedication. Fear. Hope. She just wants the fighting to stop. She doesn't want to fight.     ("Please, just stop. There are ways to get what you need that don't need violence. Please!")     Ainsley loves her Emotion Bomb spell. It has never, ever gone wrong before if you discount all the times where it has gone horribly wrong. 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' Mister Hyde is a monster in more than one sense of the word. Even though he's clearly wounded, clearly feeling the hits from every bullet that hits him, staggering slightly at every blow, he is not deterred. In fact, he's smirking, a wide toothy grin that only further serves to emphasize that this bulky figure of a man represents the very worst that mankind has to offer. Cruelty and masochism, both, he's enjoying himself. And perhaps, that may be the only saving grace Heinkel has. They might never know, because as he approaches he seeks to grab the werewolf by the throat, trying to keep his grip steady enough not to crush it, but firm enough to be unpleasant. It's an uncomfortable balance, he doesn't quite know his own strength. "You are fun." Then, he adds on, "So go, run, so we can do this again sometime." His hand briefly twitches stronger, to emphasize that he means it, and then he flings Heinkel aside. 

:'''{{#var:10|Crys Gattz (10)}} has posed:''' Crys Gattz says "And a tool of the wicked." She syas nothing else as the come comes for her and Crys isn't abkle to get clear she was too up close she was too locked on to fighting Faruja when thecomet comes it catches het and sends her flying the Numan skids acors the gournd there are likely crushed or cracked bones but her barrier /did/ active which kept her rib cage from being crushed out right but she's not going to be getting up for a bit. The one eyed Newman isn't getting up anytime soon. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel is flung bodily into Faruja. It is very painful. Probably for both of them, but it is very painful for her at the moment. There are at least two major bones broken that she would really prefer not have been broken, and they are complaining very loudly at her that /they/ would really prefer not to have been broken.   All that to say, Heinkel is in agony and today is really starting to reach critical mass for being an awful day.   Heinkel crumples into the rat priest, while her wounds noisily protest such rough treatment. Before she has a chance to clear the starbursts from her eyes (her sunglasses are blessedly still in place), she's hoisted by the throat. She can't help but bare her teeth in answer to that grin, but it's more of a snarl on her face.   In response to Hyde declaring that she's fun, Heinkel raises a shaking arm and attempts to shoot the man, point blank, in the forehead. The shot veers wide, but maybe the bullet cut him on its way past. She hopes so.   The world is starting to dim. Spots dance at the edges of her vision. It darkens even more when Hyde squeezes his fist around her throat.   Heinkel soars with the grace of a sack of potatoes, and lands in a pile of agony somewhere close to where Ainsley is. The temptation to pass out is /unreasonably/ strong, but alas, she has no control over that reflex, and so she wheezes something unintelligable at Ainsley's (and probably Bramble Patch's) feet (and hooves).   She's still conscious, but sweet Christ her everything hurts too much to move. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Gawain knew, knew deep inside, that this was a dangerous plan. But he's a knight; he can't just leave combat against a dangerous monster like this and let him do what he wants. He's been forced into a horrible position, and his attempted attack backfires terribly. Victor easily grabs Gawain's blade and takes control of it. Gawain is at his mercy as he's knocked into the air, stabbed in the stomach with his own sword, and then ignited painfully with his own flames, followed by being slammed into the wall and devastating it. He now knows exactly what kind of man Victor is: one who knows nothing but fighting, and winning. But at the same time, he realizes, inside, through the pain wracking every nerve, what Victor is doing. As the smoke and the flames leave his face, Gawain is left in the rubble...but he's conscious, barely. And he's smiling, widely. Victor was a worthy opponent, even if Gawain lost, even if he could have died there. The knight attempts to rise to his feet, to keep fighting, but his body refuses, leaving him where he is. The remains of his radio lie to his side. Sir Gawain will not forget this fight. 

:'''{{#var:152|Faruja (152)}} has posed:''' Impacts are awful. There's no response to Faruja's opponent. No, there's only a myriad of pained squeaks at the world. Most of which end up going towards Heinkel by mere physical location. Just before he's out, the rat mutters amidst sounds of Burmecian-anatomy contorting in ways not meant by Faram, "...Lord...curse this Multiverse and it's demons!" Whump. The rat is a fuzzy landing pad for poor Heinkel at least. He doesn't move at all, except for labored breaths. 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' It doesn't take much to see that Bramble Patch is still suffering some hinderance from that spell she was literally slapped with. After clonking Ainsley with her spade she thunks the point into the ground and leans forward on it with a few hissing huffs. Physically she's not all that hurt, but contending with the effects of the spell and her own rage at seeing her little friend launched off is taking a toll on her stamina. Cupel is mostly okay by the way. Just landed waaaaaaay off in the background out of the fight. No squirrels were seriously harmed in the making of these scene! Then Ainsley comes back into things, tackling her with an emotional bombshell so to speak, one filled with Hope and Dedication and all sorts of powerful empathic force as the two topple over. Except what Ainsley gets back is a very different onset of emotions. Bitterness at being outcast from her own family because she couldn't grow 'normal' plants like Earth Ponies normally do. Anger at never getting the respect she deserved. Resentment at the entity that promised her such things up and vanishing literally into the night. Frustration at the loss of direction and purpose. And mingled in there stubborn Determination to impress her new allies before they decide to the same. "STOP SCREWING WITH MY FEELINGS!" Bramble almost literally screams in Ainsley's ear, if lizards had such external things. And, being an equine, abiet one that can talk and think for herself, Bramble does what comes naturally to having someone trying to grapple with her magically messing with emotions. Thrash around to buck her off. Abiet exhausting herself farhter in the process of doing so. 

:'''{{#var:961|Victor Xix (961)}} has posed:'''      Victor is still on fire.      This is now moving from an inconvenience to a pain to staggering agony. His vision is hazy, not only from the pain but from the actual fire. He's pretty sure the liquid in his eyeballs is going to start boiling soon. Unfortunately, it's advanced this far, so he can't do much about it. Fire is going to be his life for the next few minutes, minutes that are going to feel like an eternity.      His cloak will be no help. It is on fire. He slings it around his neck anyway, because at worst, it can join the burning, and it has become something he is comfortable having, so if he is going to suffer he will suffer with it.      A blazing icon of destruction, the Greaver strides slowly forward, his gait well-concealing his agony. Every step burns away the grass around him like a twisted god, making a desert of a fertile ground.      He pushes his way through the gap in the wall and looks around.      The guards would be wise to run. They probably are. Victor is in no condition to pursue even normal humans.      "The way is clear," Victor reports, "The mission is accomplished."      He gathers the last of his strength in his leg. All of it - all of what he has left - is focused right there.      His foot *slams* down on the ground, a shower of dirt erupting around him as he leverages his strength for the most impromptu fire extinguishing in his history. Dirt settles around his body and his cloak, smothering the flames as best it can. It puts him out from a blaze to a mere smoldering, which is going to have to be good enough.      The Greaver falls to both knees and exhales, expelling literally superheated air from his lungs. He does not breathe back in until the night air has dispersed the heat from his own flames, at which point it no longer matters, because standing is going to take a lot more than a few breaths to get back to. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley hears that, and Bramble would get a glimmer of an emotion -- a familiar defeated sensation, as if this isn't the first time this has backfired on the lizard -- before the lizard wizard is brought up into the air, and then slammed into the ground by the pony. She got a little air time because she is not really that heavy of a creature. When she hits the ground, she does not get up.     Ainsley wheezes, still conscious, but much like Heinkel, Faruja and Gawain, she wishes she wasn't conscious. She puffs and coughs and shivers.     "This went poorly," she murmurs, barely able to form words at this point. At least she didn't get hit in the face as hard as Heinkel did. 

:'''{{#var:278|Bramble Patch (278)}} has posed:''' She is so wrapped up in her tantrum that Bramble Patch doesn't immeadiately notice Ainsley is no longer upon her person, and it's a moment's delay before she stops thrashing about. Turns to shoot one last glare in the lizard's direction. "No one.. ever got... anything... for stopping..." Then the pony turns and walks away dramatically. Or at least that's what she thinks of doing in her head. In reality, she gets about three steps before the rush of emotions wears off enough for exhaustion to set in, on top of that paralyzing spell still lingering. So instead of an epic departure she ends up stopping, twitching a few timers, and then falls over flatly face first. "This isn't stopping it's just a breather!" Unfortunately the paralysis has had no apparent effect on her mouth. 

:'''{{#var:1080|Henry Jekyll (1080)}} has posed:''' As the fight is over, and mister Hyde is running low on Prana due to the sheer cost of repairing all those wounds, he falls to his knees and shrinks, returns to a more normal size, returns to be an unassuming gentleman, a bleeding one admittedly, and then he slowly but surely makes his way past the wall, using the opportunity Victor provided, and slumps into the glade, he can't rush like this, but he makes it there. Then, he sets up a camera and some other sensory equipment, and dematerializes. He's not taking it from its place. He's gambling on these people taking the forbidden ground serious, and allowing the equipment to observe it in peace. 

:'''{{#var:367|Na`Sabal-Une Fang (367)}} has posed:'''      A short while later, the cavalry arrives! Lead by Na`Sabal-Une Fang! Nasa flits quickly over to the location of her injured allies, taking stock of their various levels of injury and similar. She is, actually, holding a spatula. She doesn't bother making use of it, though! Instead, she lifts her hands and begins to focus her energy, speaking in the ancient language of the Forest. It roughly translates to 'Earth, wake up and carry these people around for me' with a few other mystic words thrown in that may or may not actually mean anything. "It may sting a little; as the earth jerks and lifts from the ground." She warns. "It won't sting for long, though." She adds, carefully unrolling a small cloth vial-holder and picking different strengths of painkilling/healing enhancement potions. One for each of the fallen allies. 
}}

4921/A Matter of Morale

2016-12-23T07:25:27Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/23 |Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1> |Synopsis=Several Paladins converge on Ferdinand Luke's orphanage to hand out some Christmas cheer. The..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/23
|Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
|Synopsis=Several Paladins converge on Ferdinand Luke's orphanage to hand out some Christmas cheer. They're met by Heinkel Wolfe.
|Cast of Characters=363, 20, 19, 1084, 533, 437
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Twenty miles outside of Rome's city limits, situated amidst pastoral countryside, there lies an orphanage in a small valley. It's one of the premiere orphanages in Rome, widely regarded as both spacious and extremely concerned about the well-being of its young charges. It's had such a reputation for many, many years.   This is Ferdinand Luke's Orphanage. It has a special place among the orphanages of Rome. Many of its young charges are inducted into Vatican Section XIII when they come of age; volunteering even before they can be recruited. As a result, despite its seemingly safe location, it is frequently under heavy guard. At least one member of Iscariot is there at any given time, and more often more than one. From the outside, they're not present as guards.   No, these busy warrior-priests are simply passing through on their way to their duties. Many of them grew up with Father Alexander Anderson as a defining figure in their lives; as a Regenerator, he has not aged since the day the surgeries were done.   Many more of those visiting warrior-priests linger an extra day or two for his cooking if their duties aren't pressing. They're always made welcome in the orphanage, treated like extended family by both the faculty and the children.   As a show of trust, members of the Paladins are permitted to come here to visit if they like... although they may be watched at all times. 'Trust,' those of Vatican Section XIII say, 'but verify.'   Today, the orphanage sports a fine layer of snow, the earth blanketed in white. Cold wind flings powdered snow across the valley. All in all, it's the perfect site for winter games, and that's what many of the kids are doing, under the watchful eye of an aged grey-haired Italian man wearing spectacles. He has a winter coat on over his cassock, and a scarf wound about his neck, mittens on his hands, and snow on his shoulders as he helps two little girls and a little boy in habits build a snowman. One of them has fashioned a little cross from twigs for the snowman, and seems to be trying to find something to tie them together with.   The valley floor is dotted with stout trees, some of them wild olives. It's high in the crook of a branch that one dark-clad figure is draped. Heinkel Wolfe looks more cat than human in her boneless sprawl between branches, gloved hands folded behind her head. Instead of a cigarette, she has a toothpick between her teeth, which she periodically rolls from one side of her mouth to the other. Her sunglasses are in place over her eyes, though one lens is cracked and the other side's arm is tweaked at an awkward angle. One leg dangles from the tree, combat boot left to bob in the air.   Very softly, a carol drifts through the air toward the children and Renaldo.     "Cantet nunc io, chorus angelorum;     Cantet nunc aula caelestium,     Gloria, gloria in excelsis Deo,     Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite adoremus     Dominum~"   It sounds like a man's voice, somewhat grizzled, but smooth and shockingly well-suited to song. Some of the children at the outermost fringes of Renaldo's group join in.     "Ergo qui natus die hodierna.     "Jesu, tibi sit gloria,     "Patris aeterni Verbum caro factum.     "Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite adoremus     "Dominum."   Heinkel keeps one eye half-open behind her sunglasses, though, and she's watching the road into the valley like a hawk. Rome has thus far established itself as safe territory, but she doesn't trust anyone in these times, and she doesn't trust that Rome will stay untouched forever. Freaks can seem to reveal themselves in any place, at any time. 

:'''{{#var:20|Toph Beifong (20)}} has posed:'''     Orphanages seem like dreary places if what she's heard is correct. Having grown up in a completely different environment makes it hard to imagine what it's like, but somehow Toph imagines that it can't be an easy life. Especially with Christmas coming up. Upon hearing that this place allowed visitors a plan did form in her mind, and so the metalbender gathered what she could...     While Heinkel might see the rough teenager's approach first from her vantage point, she's likely to hear it as well as there are some mutterings and curses that carry on the wind as Toph Beifong voices her displeasure with the fact that there is snow on the ground and that it's cold. There's also a loud 'wark' that echoes, as she's bringing a sleight with her, drawn by a red chocobo. The cargo is visible too, as it glints in metal. Sheets upon sheets of metal, along with some lumps of ore tossed in. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya had heard about the children Father Anderon took care of, a monster and heratic hunter who in his off time took care of a number of orphans? Maya knows that well. She with the man known only as Uncle raised over half a dozen orphened children and she is the only mother they have ever really known. She however had hit uncle up who was a baker by trade and the pair had worked for a good part of the day. So it's a bit of why Maya didn't come till just now, she's got a green santa hat on an scarf a friend made for her a long time ago with the rune of maduek and the union logo on it and several large boxes under her arms. It's full of all sorts of baked goods she's brought with her. After all Maya is an orphen herself in the end...too so she gets where these kids might be coming from. "Sorry I'm a bit late, Uncle and I went a bit into overtime in the kitchen!" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Since the Paladins were organizing a small get-together at Ferdinand Luke's, Seras Victoria found herself wondering if going would be smart. Those people don't really like her, and she wonders if giving Heinkel some distance after that escapade isn't called for. But, on the other hand...     It's Christmas. It's Christmas, there's an orphanage, and it's Christmas.     The answer is really, really obvious.     And whatever answer Seras reached, it probably has something to do with the toboggan she's hauling behind her over the snow. A toboggan that's helpfully piled full of some brightly colored packages... and circular tins with various Christmas themed print - snowflakes, nativity scenes, Santa Claus, all sorts of things.     All in all, the load - so large that it had to be secured with ropes - must weigh over five hundred pounds and she's dragging it across the snow like it's nothing. Straight towards the grounds in front of the orphanage.     And the person dragging this? Well Seras, of course, but it's not so easy to tell that at a glance. The girl's all dressed up in a 'Mrs. Claus'-like getup - basically a long red dress with the iconic fuzzy trim, boots, gloves, and the floppy conical santa hat. Except over this she's wearing a pink winter coatwith the hood up, and all in all it makes identifying her from afar pretty well impossible...     FORWARD MARCH, CHRISTMAS IS ON THE MOVE. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' When he last impromptu-visited Heinkel, Sir Gawain learned about the orphanage and offered to come give gifts to the various children, as well as let them meet a real-life knight. And of course, it's almost Christmas, so he should come early instead of late. Being Gawain, he actually had no idea other Paladins were doing this, he just has A-Rank Luck. And so, that is why a man in full-plate knight armor and a santa hat is approaching with a VERY large bag being easily hefted over one shoulder. The Knight of the Round Table approaches the orphanage in a brisk pace, but stops when he hears a familiar singing voice. Gawain waits for the song to finish, before cheerfully looking up towards Heinkel's position. "Chevalier Wolfe! I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced again. How are you?" And then, he glances to the side, noticing Toph, Maya, and Mrs. Claus. "Oh, hello, everyone! You all here for the same reason, I imagine?" 

:'''{{#var:437|Annie Sandberg (437)}} has posed:''' Annie's not an orphan, and (as she likes to insist) isn't a child anymore either. She certainly isn't the toy she once was. But, she still has a soft spot for kids. And, it's Christmas time. So, what better thing to do than to visit an orphanage? This happened to be the nearest one to her at the moment, which is why she's here specifically. Behind her, she's towing a red wagon with a pile of presents in it- albeit one that's stacked carefully enough to keep the boxes from falling out. As she approaches, she can't help but sing along to the Christmas carol, and then give some big smiles to those who are gathered- especially Toph, with whom she's familiar. "Hello, friends," she says. "It looks like the kids here are in for a good holiday!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The caroling priest draped in the tree looks up at the sound of something approaching, but she neither stops her caroling nor does she straighten. Heinkel is tall and lanky, and right now her languid body language is as at ease as a panther draped across a treetop.   ...Sure, she can spring at a moment's notice, but right now she's relaxed. Besides, she can hear if they're carrying weaponry or moving into a more purposed stride, neither of which apply. She hears no weaponry and the sound of their approach doesn't suggest any intent to harm. In fact, she can hear Toph's voice, before Toph is even in eyeshot of the orphanage, and recognises sound of the Earth Kingdom girl's voice.   The wacko in the pink coat is given a languid look every so often, because she can hear the nuances of Seras' boots crunching against the snow, and the heavy load she's dragging.   As soon as Seras is near the tree Heinkel is at -- which is really more of a watchtower out on the fringes than anywhere near the others -- she might hear from above the click of a pistol being primed, and the gleaming silver of Heinkel's special-issue Iscariot pistol pointed at her head.   "I suggest you stop und identify yourself before you go down this road any further, ja? This ist property of the Holy See... und it's not open to the public. Either tell me who you are und vhat you're carrying, or go avay. Please don't try to go ahead anyvay, because I'd be forced to shoot you, und that vould upset the children." Indeed, their distant laughter as bunches of them dissolve into snowball fights can be heard even on the outskirts.   The gun wavers a fraction of a second, because suddenly there is a Knight of the Sun approaching her. Frowning, because Gawain is probably better backup than the unknown quantities that are Toph and Maya, Heinkel replaces her gun into its shoulder rig, tugging her coat closed. "Guten tag, Sir Gavain. Don't vorry about it. Ve don't like the public coming in here, but Paladins are velcome. It gifes the children a little hope, you know?" Her mouth thins into a line again; it's invisible behind her damaged sunglasses, but her eyes have darted to Seras again, whom she apparently doesn't recognise as Seras.   So she folds her arms over her chest, idly swinging her leg at the knee as she watches the arrivals play themselves out, somewhat bemused. Is it a day for travelling, or what?   It isn't until Annie speaks that she actually recognises the android; at least she knows the voice from the old Union frequencies. "Hunh. Hallo, Fraulein Sandberg. I vasn't expecting to see you here. Did you bring presents for the children, too?" Heinkel actually smiles, and for once it's not the creepy intimidating predatory kind. "God bless you. Charity is an excellent virtue to uphold, ja? You can take those over to Father Renaldo. He'll see that they're tored somevhere safe until Christmas. Danke." 

:'''{{#var:20|Toph Beifong (20)}} has posed:'''     Well, it seems that the holiday spirit has gotten to more of them, huh? As Toph spots the others approaching the orphanage she grins, looking rather pleased as she holds onto Nugget's harness. "It's nearly Christmas, isn't this what we're supposed to do? Spread some cheer and crud?" she replies to Gawain. The others might be able to tell that Toph is observing them too, even if she's not looking directly at them. "Cookies is a nice touch, Maya. Good of you to bring that with you, Seras. Maybe we can give the kids rides later if they want. If somebody wants to try steering Nugget, you're welcome."     When Annie shows up Toph turns towards her, smiling widely. "Wolfie girl! Good, even more presents. Let's make sure that these kids get an awesome Christmas!" Heck, she herself didn't have Christmas when she grew up, and nobody should get the feeling that there aren't people out there who don't care.     There Heinkel speaks up, and Toph blinks as she hears the sound of the pistol being primed. As Toph can't see the gun being pointed at Seras it seems the blind teenager assumes the gun might be pointed at her. "I'm Toph Beifong, and I'm here to make presents for the kids! I even brought my own materials!" she states and gestures to the filled sleigh that the red chocobo is pulling along.     It seems that Paladins are indeed welcome as she heard, and so Toph tugs lightly on Nugget's harness. "Now come on guys, Maya's cookies will get cold if we keep on standing here, and my feet are already freezing! Into the orphanage they go! And once inside Toph takes charge, raising her voice to call out with a big grin on her face. "Okay kids, gather around! Santa has sent us to give presents to all the good kids, and he asked us to stop by here specifically!" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Ack, someone's pointing a gun at her again. Seras stops in her tracks, blinking a few times and slowly putting a few things together in her head. Blink blink. God is she ever on the spot! There's kids around, a familiar voice's covertly threatening her with a gun (AGAIN) and there's other people dragging things this way she wasn't expecting.     Like Gawain over there.     But in short order she turns to face Heinkel's direction, doing her best to maintain composure and not let her nervousness or fear show. The Santa Girl reaches up to remove her hood and show her face, but...     But the smile she's trying to show is forced, and both those things she's trying to hide are squeezing through in torrents. It's a trembling, quivery, mousey smile of such a critter looking right at a snake, childish and wide-eyed. "M-Merry Ch-Christmas, Wolfe. A-are you re... r-really pulling a gun out w-with k-kids around?" Put it away, put it away, her nervous tone suggests. For the kids' sake! 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya says "I'll keep that in mind in the future Heinkel." She grins a littlebit she'd just come honestly to bring thekids some holiday cheer and with Septerra getting off easy it was. She'll hang on to the packages and grins. "Cookies seem to be a pretty universal thing. So just lead the way to where I can set them down to be shared as these are mostly for now or when your caretakers say they are all right." 

:'''{{#var:437|Annie Sandberg (437)}} has posed:''' So, everyone else here was a member of the Paladins. It made Annie feel like a bit of an outsider. She had valid reasons to join the Watch, but she thought she could have done well in the Paladins too. It was mostly the idea of having to be part of a hierarchy and take orders that rubbed her the wrong way. Unfortunately, the Paladins didn't have an "ally" classification the way the Union did. You were either in or out, and Annie was definitely out. Instead, she'd wound up with the Watch- a group which also had some friends of hers in it. She hoped the two wouldn't come into conflict... *too* often.     "Yes, Ms. Wolfe," Annie answers, bringing the wagon over towards the priest. The presents were mostly board games, including some pretty obscure ones. "That's what I'm hoping for," she adds to Toph with a smile. As the others head inside, Annie returns to Heinkel. "Are you sure it's only Paladins allowed inside?" She'd understand if they didn't want to make any exceptions. Considering how much the Multiverse had rearranged itself politically and geographically, it wasn't always clear who could be trusted, or who might not be who they say they are. Paladins at least had badges, and presumably went through checks to ensure their trustworthiness. "I don't want to cause any trouble." 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Sir Gawain frowns slightly and blinks a few times at the gun. His omnipresent smile returns once its put away. Oddly, this doesn't actually faze him, mainly because Heinkel emphasized that this orphanage is protected. "I'm glad! The children deserve hope, especially after all of this. I'll go set these aside for now." The bag is carried over to Father Renaldo and handed off to him. It is full of various toys, stuffed animals, and other fun things for kids, and some of these weren't cheap. Gawain: not good with money. Gawain then goes to join Toph and her own present-giving. "Hello, boys and girls! I am Sir Gawain, and I'm here on behalf of Santa as a Knight of the Round Table! Please be patient, all of you will get something nice!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel leans over enough to look down at Toph, squinting behind those opaque and somewhat cracked lenses. She rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth, idly chewing on the end. While not expressly forbidden to smoke around the orphanage, it would feel somehow wrong, and she's too attached to that habit not to have something to chew on.   She frowns, eyes darting from one figure to the next, though her head barely moves to suggest any shift in focus. Paladin, Paladin, Paladin, former Union, unknown factor. These people should be fine, for the most part, with a few exceptions. Her attention is mostly fixed on Seras, because she doesn't yet know it's Seras, and paranoia isn't so much a hindrance as a necessary survival skill in her life these days.   A brief glance is cast as Toph ushers Nugget over to where the children are playing, but her head snaps back to Seras.   There's a frown as Seras makes her presence known, and the priest exhales sharply in an exasperated sigh. "Stop doing stupid things, Police Girl, und maybe use your head vonce in a vhile. If you're going to come someplace off the tourist maps like this, somevhere Section XIII has a /guard/ over, you'd damned vell better announce yourself as a division ally vhen you do."   She'll get a nicer reception than a gun shoved in her face. Or maybe she'll still be greeted with a gun shoved in her face. One never knows.   "They can't see me over here," she adds, to Seras. Between distance and trees blocking line of sight, Heinkel is probably not even visible from the orphanage building itself. "It's really more of a deterrent, although if I think something's threatening the children, ja, I'm going to shoot vhile Renaldo gets eferyvon inside."   Mama Wolfe indeed. Seems the gruff, grizzled priest has a hidden soft spot.   Meanwhile, Maya's given direction to the orphanage building by way of a flick of one hand. "Off that vay. Renaldo vill handle it."   Heinkel's head dips slightly to watch as Annie approaches the priest's tree. There's a bit of a squint given to Annie, though her face never seems to change behind those opaque lenses. She does frown around her toothpick, though. "Ugh. Look, you look pretty harmless, so I don't think it's going to be too much of a problem. I'll vouch for you as a former Union ally... but normally, no. Not just anyvon is allowed here. It's too much of a target othervise."   Inside the orphanage, Toph will quickly find herself the focus of a very large huddle of children. They're excited to see a stranger and naturally excited at the prospect of presents, though some of the newest additions seem quiet and uncertain; still in shock in the wake of the multiversal upheaval and the worldwide disasters.   Father Renaldo follows them in, too, laughing at their eagerness. "I suppose you've all been good this year! It's alright, children."   Oops. Toph might be mobbed, then, by curious and wide-eyed children, ranging from small toddlers to children older than her -- the older ones are still a little aloof, though, and their curiosity about foreign people is enough to mask their curiosity about presents. So do Gawain and Maya get mobbed as Toph had, because /presnts/. 

:'''{{#var:20|Toph Beifong (20)}} has posed:'''     With the Paladins and Annie here the kids might be even safer, one might conclude. And when Annie speaks up Toph nods in agreement. "Annie isn't a Paladin, but she's not a danger. She was in the Union, and I can personally vouch for her too if anybody gets on your... butt about it," she says. There are kids nearby, and even if they don't hear as well as she does, well... no need to upset the priests this time of year. Let's save that for April 1st.     It doesn't appear that Toph is upset nor worried when the kids come running towards her. No, she asked them to come, and this is kinda fun! The shyer ones will come sooner or later anyway, and there's no need to whine at them. Who knows what these kids have been through? Let's focus on the happy stuff now. "So you've all been good? Then let's not wait anymore! We will do this one at a time, and you will /all/ get something from me, so no fighting! Those who push or annoy the other kids go to the back of the line!" The blind teenager raises her hand and points it directly at one of the first kids who ran up to her. "You! What's your name, and what kind of toy do you want?"     Perhaps the kids will wonder, because there are no wrapped presents in the sleigh behind Toph. Just... metal. But that might change as she raises her left hand and twists her wrist slightly, causing some metal to tear off of one of the metal sheets. And then she uses her other hand, motioning the metal forward as it begins to twist and shape. "If you explain it to me then I can pretty much make anything! A doll, a car, a toy weapon, animal shapes..." she explains, perhaps a bit softer than is usual for her standard rough and tough demeanor. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' THAT gets a scowly look out of Seras, though she doesn't argue. Probably because it's a reasonable thing to note. Though... like she wouldn't get a sour reception at any gate also comes to mind. Whatever the case, with Heinkel no longer threatening her.... Seras resumes yoinking that sled and its load of goodies towards the entrance, falling into step with Maya and Gawain while giving Annie a curious glance.     "It's been ages since I've seen an orphanage. It wasn't very fun living in one... so any way to brighten things up's fine and dandy in my book! Asked around the normal Paladin soldiers for a little fundraising and we got this assembled. Eheheheh."     SEras is rather proud of the arrangement. What she isn't saying is that she somehow got stinkered into promising to wear this outfit by some of them.     But she's doing it, for the kids! 

:'''{{#var:437|Annie Sandberg (437)}} has posed:''' "Thank you!" Annie says, following Toph inside. She looks intrigued as Toph crafts her presents right there on the spot. "Well... my presents are for everyone here to share," she explains. "They're games that you can all play together." She tries her best to sound like her old, cheerful childish self as she speaks to the assembled children. "I really hope you like them!" 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya is moving ith Seras, Gawain and anyone else heading thier way as shey go she has a gift to deliver and she'll seem like the sort who would be happy to play with the kids as well and maybe share a story or two with the kids she seems in good spirits and honestly she needed something like this just as much as the kids did. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Inside the orphanage, the children are excited to receive gifts. The raw gratitude they show is touching and probably refreshing to any jaded sorts. These children, who have most probably lost everything, are now being given a chance to just... be children again, for the evening.   The one called out by Toph looks up, startled. It's a little girl who can't be older than four, clutching at the hem of her habit nervously and regarding Toph with wide green eyes.   "W-well... I... I like 'orses," the little girl says, in a voice heavily French-accented. One wonders how she wound up all the way in Rome. "Zey're pretty. But... but you don't 'ave anything in that sleigh."   Outside, Heinkel Wolfe sighs, hauling herself upright with a grunt and bracing a hand against one of the branches. She cocks her head to look down at orphanage's visitors and frowns a little, rolling the toothpick to the other side of her mouth. It's an expression she seems to wear often; one of mild annoyance, mild exasperation, and a weary sort of resignation.   There comes a double /thud/ behind Gawain, Maya, and Seras as the priest drops out of her tree, landing in a three-point crouch with no apparent difficulty in spite of that height. Okay, a normal person shouldn't be able to do that without at least /wincing/, right?   Her footsteps are regular as she trails after the three, hands slipping into her coat pockets, toothpick sticking out the side of her mouth.   "The children here are taken care of. Father Anderson's been personally looking after this place for decades. He can't alvays be here because of the crises, though, so I drop in vhen I can, as does the rest of Iscariot." Heinkel's mouth quirks in a half-smile, but it seems more of a bitter expression than anything else. "Makes me vish I'd had a place like this." Hmmm.   Heinkel shrugs. "Danke. I von't lie; vhat little respect I haf for you vent up a few notches, left-legger," she states cheerfully. "I'll be surprised if anyvon else from Hellsing bothers, though."   Heinkel takes up a place leaning against the doorframe, folding her arms and stoically ignoring when a dark-haired little girl detaches from the group and starts edging closer to her.   Annie receives plenty of assent from the children, who seem delighted by her generous offer. 

:'''{{#var:20|Toph Beifong (20)}} has posed:'''     So the little girl likes horses, huh? Toph nods at that, and then bends the sheet of metal, making it creak. It will take some seconds though, but slowly the metal shifts as Toph bends a doll sized horse for the little girl, all in shiny metal. Sure, it's not soft, but it's sturdy. With that Toph crouches down a bit and holds out the horse for the girl to take. "Here you go! Your very own horse!" With that Toph points to the kid behind her. "Your turn! What do you want?" Already she's bending another piece of metal forward, already in the process of shaping it dependant on what the next kid wants. 
}}

4916/Against the Unliving

2016-12-23T07:03:25Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/21 |Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1> |Synopsis=Vatican Section XIII investigates a region of the Austrian Alps that has been hit by a ghoul..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/21
|Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
|Synopsis=Vatican Section XIII investigates a region of the Austrian Alps that has been hit by a ghoul infestation, and brings along multiversal allies for the ride.
|Cast of Characters=363, 1081, 151, 796, 1084, 19
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Welcome to the Austrian state of Styria. The alpine terrain is famously rugged, going between high mountain pastures and knife-edged chasms. This time of the year, it's generally cold, and very snowy. Today the sky is overcast, completely blocking the sun, and there's no wind to speak of.   The village of Tragoess perches on the shores of a snowmelt-fed lake. For most of the warm months of the year, it forms Green Lake, so named for the emerald clarity of its water. In the winter months the lake drains and freezes, so the area is used as a county park.   Green Lake has been turned into a staging ground. Crates of supplies are stacked near the shore, with two tents staked into place. Most of the supplies are for combat, and include ammunition and the like; there's even a crate full of blessed silver bayonets (still sealed) and a crate full of boxes of consecrated ammunition (opened and partly missing). The coordinates transmitted to Vatican Section XIII's allies leads right here.   There's no sign of life on the shores of the lake, although Iscariot was supposed to have an agent in the area to meet the hired help. A set of tracks leads to the trail that returns to Tragoess.   They match the treads of Heinkel Wolfe's combat boots. Following the trail paints a picture of battle. Heinkel had met with resistance on the way to Tragoess. The remains of ghouls lie cast aside from the path, but the strangest part is that they haven't been shot.   They've been torn apart.   Spent shell casings on the side of the path suggest that Heinkel /did/ fire on some of these skirmish groups. One of the ghouls is charred in a way that suggests she had used her silver-plated pistol to bludgeon her targets when they'd gotten in too close.   The last group yields up a confusion of footprints; both marks from the victims' shoes, and Heinkel's combat treads. Amidst the churned-up blood and snow, there are prints that look reminiscent of a dog's paw, if a dog had a paw the size of a generously large teacup saucer. It could be that Heinkel was attacked by what the paw belonged to. The pawprints don't continue; maybe the priest drove off whatever it was.   Another skirmish site lies ahead. She must have been wounded; her footprints continue away from the skirmish with a trail of blood. It could be she was tracking something wounded, but ghouls don't bleed much. Maybe it was that dog-thing. She must have driven it off; there's no corpse, and the pawprints don't reappear.   Heinkel's footprints lead to the main street of the village: A few mobile homes parked to one side, a church, a tiny post office, and an open square. There's a pile of crates and boxes here, and the banner bearing Vatican Section XIII's standard hangs limp on its pole.   Perched atop the crates is Heinkel Wolfe herself. She has her right leg folded under herself, the other left to dangle over the edge. Her slacks are ripped at the left knee; blood pools in the snow beneath that dangling boot. Spent ammunition lies below her and she clutches her Dragunov rifle (stock slightly bloodstained). One of her sunglasses lenses is cracked.   On seeing her allies, Heinkel looks up. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth; she spits to one side to clear her mouth, blood in the snow, and laughs. The sound's as bitter as the winter chill.   "Ach, there you are. I vas starting to vonder if anyvon vas going to come. Good. Ve haf a lot of vork to do." The priest straightens, lowering her rifle and pointing the muzzle earthward. "I cleared a path to the main square, as you can see. The buildings are still infested. I vasn't going to go into close quarters vitout backup. Might be more around the lake, still, too." 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     EARLIER     "Terra, I need to borrow--"     As Celes enters Terra's quarters, she finds it empty, the half-Esper likely busy with something. The blonde glances about, spotting a pile of paperwork on a desk. Requests for help from all over the Multiverse, likely yet to be sorted through to organize meetings. One catches her attention, outlining an undead problem of some nature. Celes takes the slip of paper and exits the quarters like nothing happened.     NOW     When Celes arrives at the agreed upon position, she finds no one to meet and greet her. And so she follows footsteps, and past a point bodies. Then pawprints. Then blood. The caped woman has no problem following, right up until they finally come across Heinkel herself. By then, the former general had unsheathed Excalibur, holding the golden sword in case of ambush. She lowers her guard at the sight of the priest.     "My apologies for being late. I received the request from Iscariot only a short while ago and came as quickly as I could. The undead, what are they capable of?"     As she asks for details, Celes also lifts a hand towards Heinkel, and it briefly glows a comfortable white and green. Healing magic leaps to Heinkel, a basic cure spell, nothing fancy. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley arrives in her own coat. It's a black trench coat to go with the black police-like uniform that she has taken to wearing now that she feels comfortable as a Paladin. The coat is closed enough for the built-in heaters to keep her nice and comfortable, and her tail is wrapped up as well to keep it from getting too cold while she's out here. Her hands and feet are covered by thick white gloves and special shoes respectively. She didn't bother to bring her police-styled utility belt today... no, she just brought her sword, the scabbard held in her left hand.     A white ribbon sways in the wind, tied into her feathers where the red one is usually found. She looks around with interest when Heinkel says that she cleared the area. Her eyes trail down... the odd footprints of the dog make for a strange sight. Weren't they here for vampires?     She turns her gaze to focus on Celes. Blue eyes trail down to the sword in apparent interest. "Seems like it's swords today," she remarks, as one of the people that's going to be wielding a sword on this little mission of theirs. "Glad you could come to help out," she adds, hoping that Celes remembers her. "Sorry that I seemed grouchy when you saw me last." She did drag her colleague out of that meeting with the former navy man in an awful hurry...     She then activates her Sight and scans the immediate area, her eyes glowing with softly spinning blue magic circles on her irises. She's looking for short range broadcasts, or the distant vibrations of someone yelling for help. Anything that might give her a clue on where they should go first. Signs of living people. 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''     Sarah approaches flying low to the ground, looking somewhat lost. She's still not used to the reconfigured warpgates, plus she's never been here before. She's pretty much covered in cold weather gear. The outfit she'd normally use for this sort of thing is rather impractical for the Alps. Upon seeing the trail of carnage she sets down, staring in awe as she follows the trail into the village. After passing a particularly mangled ghoul she pauses to take her shield off her back, while her right hand fishes underneath layers of clothing to touch her necklace. A moment later Mjolnir appears in her hand.     "What went wrong!? She asks worriedly as she approaches the small gathering. "Usually a team tries to meet up *before* something like this happens!?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' There are too many oddities on this approach. Far too many. Even Seras Victoria, clad in a pink fuzz-lined coat and wearing knee-high boots can tell this much. One prodigiously long and thick CANNON-RIFLE is slung over a shoulder and toted with ease. Never mind the small lettering about its manufacture and specs, the name 'HARKONNEN' is printed bold and proudly on both sides of the weapon, along with the company name 'Hellsing Arms.'     Whoever's in charge of 'Hellsing Arms' has GOT to be crazy, because that's an anti-tank CANNON. A bloody CANNON. Who's going to be firing THAT?     Seras steps and shuffles through the snow, adjusting her backpack of ammunition and other supplies here and there...     It's not hard to follow Heinkel, the weird tracks and... dog tracks interspersed aside. Just follow the blood. Follow her nose, too!     Which leaves Seras giving Heinkel a soggy, disapproving look once she finally reaches her with the others! "Work to do? When you're in THAT condition?! Please... tell me you weren't bitten..." Seras' face turns long and disheartened already, because it's hard to imagine injuries from ghouls that DON'T involve bites! 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' The Undead had come to this place and Maya was here to help. She was clad in winter gear provided buy Section 13, which she was thankful for givne how cold it was. She could only guess how bad it was for Ainsley given she was a reptile after all. She was armed with her rifle at the ready. She chedked it and it seeme good. She follows the trail and Maya's keeps he eyes peeled. She often seen as fairly relaxed about the Paladin's HQ? Today? Maya's more of a predator sizing up the ghouls did before they were taken down and soon she catches up with the priest and nods once to her. "Good thinking, we can't miss a single one. Every last one has to be purged or this could keep happening here." She checks her rifle again and she seems ready. as Celes shows up and handles the healing and she nods to her. "Good to see another person who can heal along, we're going to need it I suspect Miss. I'm Maya by the way." She pauses looking to Wolfe again. "Nice work, saw what you did on your way in." She looks to Seras for a moment. "She'd have turned by now, I'd wager." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Chief must haf been putting out a lot of requests for help. I don't know who you are, but glad to haf you. Velcome to the Alps." Heinkel looks down at Celes with obvious curiosity, nostrils flaring.   Heinkel holds up a forefinger. "Freaks: Cheap knockoff vampires. They're hungry for blood und vhen they bite, they make more ghouls." A second finger joins the first. "Ghouls: The victims of freaks. They vere people vonce, but now they're not. Killing them ist a favour. To everybody. Including them. They can turn people, but ve don't know vhat the determining factor is. Be careful, don't get too close." A third finger rises. "Most importantly: They might be mindless, but they haf numbers, here, and I don't know vhere they're entrenched. The vons I killed are just a fraction."   Ainsley earns a careless two-fingered salute and a cheeky grin. "Chevalier Ainsley. The coat looks good on you."   The lizard-woman's Sight would not reveal much. Most of the central square must have been hit hard, because there don't appear to be any survivors here. There are still ghouls holed up in some of those buildings, but they aren't hiding so much as milling around aimlessly, as though confused and without direction. The freak that made them must not be too close.   "Because I vas ambushed as soon as I got here, und Grünen See--" That's Green Lake, "--ist too forested to haf clear line of sight. I decided vonce I cleared a spot, this vould be a safer place. See? Ve're overrun." She frowns. "This ist the same story as a lot of other places in Europe, but ve need this place because of the mines. Doesn't sit vell vit me to leafe other places in need, but... priorities. Ve can't fight vitout veapons."   Ah, and there's the Draculina. Heinkel swings her leg down, vaulting from the crates with a grunt and landing in a crouch, clutching her rifle as she straightens. "I vas starting to vonder if Hellsing vas going to send anybody." There's some grumbling under Heinkel's breath, something about Integra, but it's not loud enough to make out any specifics. Cats and dogs. "I hope you haf something for close quarters, too..."   "Heh." Heinkel looks to Maya; the lines around her eyes suggests she's squinting behind her sunglasses. "Danke."   "Vell, let's start. They're in the buildings, I know that much, but not how many. No fewer than groups of two. You haf trouble, you call for help as loud and immediate as you can, ja?" Heinkel slings the rifle over her shoulder by its strap, and reaches into her coat for her trusty Iscariot-issue pistols. "Vell, pick a building, I guess. Police Girl, you're vit me." 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     "Oh. I remember you, yes. I don't think I caught your name?" Celes says to Ainsley, without an ounce of judgment for her appearance. She's quested with a party that included a yeti, a moogle and a mime, she's not about to question the heavily-clothed lizard.     A nod to Maya, then. "I'm not as good as some others at using white magic, but I can get by. If anyone gets injured, I'll take care of you when we have some breathing rom."     Heinkel answers, finally, and Celes nods. "Celes Chere. I can't turn my back on people who need help. And, understood. So they'll focus on physical attacks and need to be kept out of biting range."     That's certainly one way to simplify what Heinkel said. Before everyone splits up, Celes raises her sword in the air, pointed up, and for a few moments her cape is caught in the wind (moreso than already) as a bright blue and white spell expands from her blade and washes over everyone else present.     It's protect, you all get a bit more physical defense.     This might be when people notice Celes' clothes don't exactly look winter-proof, but she's not shivering or complaining. Magic is great, and magical armor even better.     Protection and healing handled, Celes does as RPG protagonists do and instinctively picks a random house and walks into it like she owns the place. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras can't help but stare at Celes - who on Earth tromps around a mountain dressed like that, and carrying a sword? A very ornate sword, for that matter. And... did she just throw glowy green sparles all over Heinkel or something? Seras' mouth gapes open in wonder... and then the same magic shivers in the air around her body too!     "E-excuse me, but... what's with that getup? Are you sure it will--.....?" Aaaaaand off goes Celes. Right into a house. Easy as you please.     disappointed, Seras shuts her mouth tightly and turns back to Heinkel! "If this thing doesn't suffice as a club in a pinch, I don't know what will. Worst comes to worst there's always kicks and elbows! If it's only ghouls..." And, of course, the possibility of a Freak. But who knows?     Seras unlocks the Harkonenn's barrel and breach-loads a DU shell. Using explosives indoors is a bad idea for now!     "Are you sure you're alright, Heinkel? You're awfully bloody. Did a wolf maul you or something on the way here...?" 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley gets one piece of information from her scan: The Freak Chip vampires are not immediately nearby. "No sign of the control influence of the vampires," she says aloud, as her Sight fades out. She puffs a little sigh through her nose as she prepares for the mission right after having had the situation explained to her.     "Chevalier Ainsley," she introduces, holding up her Paladin badge to Celes, since she's not a Paladin and that's the standard method to introduce herself. She shines a great big smile as she does that. "Just call me Ainsley, or whatever suits your fancy. I'll know when you're referring to me either way." Because she's a wizard and she can just sense it. She leaves that part out.     Ainsley turns and just walks to find a smaller building to check. The front door is cracked open a bit, with blood smeared across the front of it. Someone was dragged into the building. She doesn't display shock or revulsion, she just draws her sword out of its scabbard and leaves it against the door frame. Then she pushes the door open with her foot and watches the inside of the building. It's an old house, it seems like. When no ghouls immediately lunge out at her, the police lizard steps inside.     She turns the corner and immediately a ghoul is sprinting across the dark room at her, knocking over a chair on its way toward her in its mad dash to try to bite her. She calmly raises her sword, and side steps into a well-practiced diagonal swing, lopping the rotten, slavering creature's head clean off with one stroke. The blood spray is not as impressive as the blood knights that fill this particular world would enjoy, but it's enough to spatter the door step she was just standing on, and the ghoul slams into the porch and sliiides to a stop. The reptile woman goes about this with a calm, brutal efficiency, not wasting a single sword stroke on butchery when she can neutralize a ghoul as fast as possible.     Plenty of sounds can be heard from inside of the house as she carefully exterminates the undead infesting it. When she gets done, she's stepping out through the front door again and cleaning her long sword off with a large cloth she brought with her. 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''     "Sarah Rogers, Squire." She introduces herself with a slight twinge of nervousness to the gathering. She nods a few times as she listens Heinkel explain the situation, "Can we assume that everything in the area is already dead.. or close enough?"     Once she's assured that what they're dealing with is essentially mindless ghouls, she offers Celes a quick smile of thanks, then starts down the street, finding a large house that looks particularly infested judging from the sounds coming from inside. She walks up to it and proceeds to kick the door in, the entryway is surprisingly clear, so she heads inside.     "Holy Fu--" Suddenly there's a crack of thunder, a wave of force blowing out all the windows, and lighting erupting from every crack and corner of the place, accompanied by the smell of ozone and burning flesh. Yay!     It takes only a few seconds more for the entire house to collapse in a heap of rubble, with Sarah slowly emerging shield first from a section of the roof, "Uh.. I think this ones clear!" She declares with a nervous grin. "Sorry.. still kinda new at this." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya says "Still it could mean the differnce between life and death after all. Don't sell your self short with a talent like that." It's time to go sweep the building and she nods to Heinkle as she does so.Does Maya catch the squint who knows either way. Maya enters into one of the houses, she's silent as she moves, well as much as he can, her rifle gripped and it's ready to go. Maya finds her wya in as she hears the sickly sound of flesh being torn, she sadly knows it and in what ws a common's carea are several bodies, with ghouls that are currently eating them. Now Napalm might be an idea but given this town does need to be recliamed at some point. The rifle comes up and the sound of the assault rifle can be heard spraying out bullets as Maya moves to gun the the group of Ghouls down, she leaps back as one gets close nd it takes full on burst to it's face causing the head to become a find mist and body to drop, the gun fire has also drawn more from hiding. Maya mutters an old prayer, if anyone had experiance with Babylon it would sound a lot like it. Maya has faced the undead and the horror of their existance and the possiblity the victem's souls are stuck in there screaming out to be allowed to cross over? Unsettles her and always will. More come and the rifle powers up again this time aburst of bight white energy comes from the underside of the rifle burning a hole in the first Ghoul. They try to get close and Maya weaves out of the way, and even uses her rifle stock to smack one. Still she gets how strong these thigns are, do not stop moving, keep firing. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Sorry," Heinkel throws, after Celes. "Ve'll handle introductions after ve kill these sorry sons of bitches, ja?"   The former general does get a bit of an odd look from the gun-toting priest, because apparently Heinkel just now noticed what kind of skimpy non-winter clothing Celes is wearing. The lines around her eyes suggest she's squinting really hard, because seriously, that looks so cold it's painful to imagine.   She remembers one last thing, and raises her voice in a bellow after Celes: "TAKE OUT THE HEART OR THE HEAD! ONLY VAY TO KILL THEM FOR GOOD!" Knew she forgot something important. Hopefully Celes heard.   "True," Heinkel replies, to Seras. "You're a freak of nature, now. A creature of the night." The priest grins, showing her teeth, but the way she says it suggests it's not actually meant as an insult. It's more of a fact of life. There's nothing like Alucard or Seras in nature. "Your hands qualify as veapons, now. But it's not only ghouls. There are freaks in here somevhere, and you und I und the others, ve're going to kill them all. There's at least von, probably two." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Only then can they start ushering in relief efforts, once the threat is eliminated. Maybe Hellsing can get one of their fancy helicopters involved in the relief efforts, and airlift supplies. It's one of the only feasible ways to move material in these high, remote places.   Checking both pistols, she grunts in response to Seras. "Nein. I got mauled by ghouls. Von of them had long nails, und no real care about breaking them. So I broke her face," she reports, grimly. "Eh. Don't vorry about me; I'fe had vorse. Thought I saw something in the voods on the vay, here, but I vas busy vit the rabble. Keep an eye toward the treeline. Might be another freak. The people those things keep creating don't seem like the kind to vork together, though."   CELES CHERE will find that her house is full of ghouls. They do the predictable ghoul thing, rushing toward the living once they sense her in the immediate vicinity. They're slow and clusmy, uncoordinated; it could be that the cold is affecting them. It would be trivially easy for someone of her caliber to avoid their attacks and and dispatch the unliving.   AINSLEY seems to be well in hand with dispatching the unliving, as evidenced by her return to the world of the living, slightly bloodier for the wear but whole and evidently unhurt.   "Close enough," Heinkel adds, to Rogers. "Don't assume anything. If there are survivors hiding, your priority is still to kill the ghouls, because they can turn any survivors they manage to find. Nobody is safe until they're /all/ taken care of, ja? I can't underscore that point enough." Both of her Iscariot pistols are twirled, with the kind of tight control that speaks of someone with a lifetime of experience wielding them. "Be caref--"   A house collapses, by all appearances with SARAH ROGERS still inside it. That's probably not good. Heinkel is already raising a pistol and pointing it at the rubble, just in case something that /isn't/ Rogers comes out.   Nope. She's good. The pistol lowers and Heinkel frowns, before shaking her head with a grumble and trailing after Seras.   MAYA stumbles upon a ghoul enjoying dinner. It isn't enjoying dinner for much longer after she stumbles in on it. So is the sound of a lot of automatic gunfire.   The sound of gunfire warms the cockles of Heinkel's black little heart, because it means one or more less ghouls in this world to torment the living. And, hopefully, one or more souls put to rest.   Seras might hear the priest intoning solemn prayers beside her with every report of gunfire; every hint of ghouls falling. It starts as a quiet murmur, and rises into a rasping growl, steely and angry.   Meanwhile, HEINKEL WOLFE and SERAS VICTORIA are headed for a large building that looks like it was the town hall, once upon a time. The door is slightly ajar and there is a suspicious lack of bloodstains around. Heinkel's prayers cut off almost mid-word; she taps Seras on the shoulder with the muzzle of her pistol, and then points with clear deliberation toward the town hall's door. We're going in there, the gesture says, and we're doing it quietly. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' No insult meant sure, but Seras doesn't apparently like being called a 'freak of nature'. She fixes Heinkel with a soggy look while that's being laid out - but is SWIFTLY distracted by THUNDERBOLT-CRASH and a house collapsing on Sarah. "What the--?!" And somehow Sarah is completely unscathed.     Seras slumps forward and stares in UTTER disbelief. Did someone just magic a house into splinters? That is SO unfair, close to unbelievable... but also COMPLETELY unfair. Relieving, but just as crazy, Sarah just brushes off a house collapsing on her.     For Seras, the sound of gunfire not hers that she can't see isn't comforting. It gets a tiny flinch from her in fact. But she catches onto Heinkel's signal nonetheless and nods her understanding. Seras ducks down low and slowly approaches. If there's a window she can covertly peek into she'll take the opportunity... and if not, she readies the Harkonnen and takes a position ready to kick down the door! 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley turns and starts walking to the next small building. The scabbard is collected in her tail as she goes. Her eyes half-lid as she goes, finishing with cleaning off her weapon as she reaches the next door. It's a small store that sells... she decides that didn't matter. The scabbard is left by the door here, too, as a sort of marker of which building she was clearing out.     The main room was empty. She spared a glance around, and saw a door to a back room, likely where the stock was stored for replenishing the displays at the front of the store. She looks back over her shoulder, briefly thinking of calling to the others to check if anything is wrong... but decides they have it handled. And so she heads up to the door and gives it a quick testing turn of the door knob. It doesn't budge. She steps back from it and frowns...     And then there's a loud SLAM against the door. And a surge of ghouls pours out of it. Not enough to overpower her, but enough to suggest that people had tried to hide in the back room and wait out this disaster, and it didn't turn out well for them. This time, Ainsley doesn't have time to properly aim her strikes, and has to maim the ghouls just to prevent them from grabbing her as she takes retreating steps and takes advantage of the display cases. It leaves quite a mess, and she is forced to pause to catch her breath by the end of it, covered in blood and exhausted. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya does not hate the victems here, there's no hate towards who they were no. It's an act of mercy and Maya goes to make sure that there Maya does also make sure to fire extra shots to make sure the Ghouls she took out are down and then moves on leaving only carnage and shell casings in her wake. Maya doesn't like it but she's focused on making sure she does not miss a single one. She keeps stalking through the building moving to tract if there were more Ghouls they would be drawn by the blood of the fallen and the sounds of gunfire. Maya remaisn on edge knowing just how dangeou these things are. She moves to check the basement now as she contiunes her sweep and she'll not be alone, Maya's junped and she soon finds her seld with a Ghoul slaming into her, she kicks it in the chrst forcing it off then opens fire with the rifle again. "To the afterlife you have been deined." 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     Celes memorizes names and faces. She knows none of these people! It's a bit awkward. At least she heard Heinkel's advice about hearts and heads before wandering off to mess in a house.     Once inside, she sees what she was warned, but didn't really expect them to look so... well, put it this way, the undead Celes has faced before have generally either been dead for a long time, or not in much of a state to visibly be 'people' anymore. This is a little bit offputting, but thankfully her former employer frequently had her kill people, so... well, you know. Not saying she can kill in cold blood, but.     The way she swings Excalibur, artfully, precisely, lopping off heads, impaling, kicking away, deflecting blows by cutting arms off, and occasionally aiming for legs when she needs to put distance between herself and the horde, certainly would say a lot about her if anyone had followed her. It's also possible Excalibur helps here; it's a holy sword, inflicting holy-elemental damage. Even without a weakness to it, white light like flames would have a tendency to scorch targets hit by it. It's nothing like the faith-based weaponry of Iscariot's best, but it might be better than a regular sword.     She makes a mental note to ask Heinkel how these sorts of infestations begin. Having whole villages or towns swarmed over by the living dead isn't usually something that just kind of happens... right? 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''     Sarah's not *completely* unharmed. There are a couple tears and blood spots on her coat, too fresh to be ghoul blood. These are likely from the house collapsing on her, but having a vibranium shield and a natural toughness helped a lot. She pulls herself out of the remains of the house and brushes herself off."This place was close to a solid mass of undead." She explains apologetically     After checking over her pile of rubble to make sure nothing else survived it, she decides to tone it down a notch, hanging her Hammer on her belt so she doesn't accidentally level the next house she clears out. She picks a smaller, quieter one this time.     Searching it slowly and methodically, this time she dispatches any ghouls she finds by decapitating them with the Star Shield, preferably from a distance, but she'll deal with them up close and personal when necessary. Especially if she's near a load bearing wall. Not making that mistake again! 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   In contrast to her bouncy associate whose attention keeps getting dragged all over the place every time somebody does something multiversal, Heinkel is calm under fire and keeps her attention focused on the task at hand. She is nothing if not meticulous; the quintessential 'professional.'   Even in a division full of lunatics and fanatical warrior-priests, she seems uncommonly calm and methodical. The gunfire is only a comfort because it means more of these creatures are being put to rest. This group is far gone enough that they probably couldn't figure out how to pick up a gun and work it.   Peeking into the window provides enlightenment. No, not for the meaning of life.   Yup. Ghouls. It just lets the two reluctant associates discover that there is a room full of ghouls on the other side of that door and window. Heinkel's face twists into a sour expression. Seras might hear her cursing beside her.   It's kind of impressive, because while Heinkel pauses to figure out how best to wipe out this nest of ghoulkind, she's cursing steadily for thirty seconds straight and doesn't repeat herself once.   "Alright, Police Girl." Heinkel sighs, jerking her pistol toward the door. "Time to see vhat you can do vit that big gun of yours. Try to kill as many as you can; I'll stay back und take care of the vons that you flush out. There might be a freak in there; there's an awful lot of ghouls in that building."   AINSLEY has slightly more luck with a small building, once she's cleaned up the mess that was left behind inside. Never mind that there is now two hundred percent more mess inside. That's not interesting; what's interesting is the fact that there are footsteps sounding inside the room, echoing. What? Suddenly, there is automatic gunfire sweeping the room where Ainsley's at. Apparently that's one of the possible multiple freaks. Some punk kid in a ski hat with red eyes and a semi-automatic assault rifle that's probably illegal in a dozen countries. He doesn't look particularly interested in negotiating. In fact, he looks pretty crazed, screaming in German while he sweeps the room with another volley of gunfire. Have fun with that, lizard cop! Maybe she can use what's left of the display cases to her advantage. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   CELES CHERE is having more luck, mostly because she has an awesome weapon that has elemental damage. The divinity therein may not be quite the right sort, but fire is an excellent tool against ghouls, and they burn like anything else flammable. They groan, but they don't really seem to be in pain. Maybe they stopped feeling pain when they were turned. Gosh, that sure would be a relief. Too bad we'll never know! She does make short work of them, and investigating them would prove that they were probably a mixture of locals and tourists. Their clothing all looks like it's a pretty similar style -- probably they all came from this world, at least. None of them are carrying anything suspicious.   Oh, but there's movement on the far side of the room. A slow clapping, in fact. "Very /good/! I'd heard about the multiverse, but this is the first I'd seen of it myself." A German-accented voice, from the far shadows; a woman who seems not too young, and not too old. Blood-red eyes gleam from the shadows. "Stick around. You can replace the underlings you so thoughtlessly killed."   There's the sharp /crack/ of a revolver, pock-marking the ground near Celes' feet with splinters and bullets, followed by ill-intentioned laughter. "Shall we dance?"   SARAH ROGERS has more luck when she isn't blowing up houses, and whoever's left to worry about property damage is probably thanking her in spirit. The ghouls prove no real challenge for Sarah; they go down easily enough. As Heinkel had cautioned, they're essentially mindless, and they seem to rely on numbers and brute force. Probably they aren't smart enough to use weaponry. Which is why the loud /crack/ of a pistol is a little out of place, and wood chips shower around Sarah. There is a bullet lodged in the wall about five inches away from her head.   "Stay back--!"   Ghouls don't seem to have enough brain left to talk, so it's probably a survivor. There's a frightened young man huddled behind what looks like a jumble of tables, chairs, and other furniture. A shaking revolver is sticking out from the morass, and the click of the hammer suggests it's being primed for another shot. It then lowers, because apparently he catches the fact that Sarah Rogers is not a ghoul. "Oh, thank God. Have you come to get us out of here?" 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     The thing about punk kids firing into rooms with automatic weapons is that it is a very blatant thing to see. The lizard woman realized that this person was one of the Freak Chip vampires, and that this was the perfect time to get a look at one of them in the wild. She realized this as she grabbed and used the full weight of her body to shove over a display case toward the German vampire. As she knocked over an array of trinkets and bits and bobs toward him, a brief distraction, she turned on her Sight.     A brief scan. She didn't have a lot of time. She glances over him, seeking signals, or perhaps even just a fragment of what it is tuned to receive. Perhaps it had a self-destruct mechanism in it.     Ainsley didn't push it. The moment hostile intent refocused on her, shining white hot in her Sight like a lighthouse, she turned her Sight off and charged. She charged without a roar or a single warning. He tried to shoot her down and fired automatic weaponry at her in the process. She didn't chop or slice or swipe, she abused her ability to fly to lean forward in an odd manner that made it very hard to hit her, holding her sword behind her, then turning it about and completing the motion by trying to impale the kid through the chest.     Ainsley preferred to talk. But she didn't hesitate to try to impale someone that tried to kill her. 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''      Sarah whirls around reflexively putting her shield between herself and the gun shot. "It's cool! I'm staying back! I won't hurt you!" She replies as she peeks above the shield, "Yes, we have a team here trying to make the village safe again. Are you hurt?" She looks the man over for obvious wounds, especially bites. "Is there anyone else in here with you?" She asks cautiously.     She gets on the radio to the rest of the team. "I've found survivors! Can I get a healer over here!?" She proceeds to explain which house she's in. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Ghouls. TONS of them. Densely packed, too. "Right!" Seras agrees, resolving herself to what's about to happen. She has a mission, and it involves turning all of those ghouls into a bloody paste. Or ashes. She's had some weird results in the last week!     The situation's changed, so Seras pops out the DU shell and instead stuffs in an explosive round! With a *WHUNK* The Harkonnen's closed.     A slow inhaaaaaaaale.. and then!     She rams the weapon's butt against the window to shatter the glass then whips out, jamming the barrel through the break and OPENS FIRE. Two cacaphonous BOOMS go off quick enough to overlap! The middle of the room where a huge group of ghouls were roaming just got PASTED into a fireball of shrapnel. OTHER windows also burst outwards rather noisily.     Of course, she doesn't just leave it at that. Seras loads and fires another within a few seconds. Breach, load, close and fire! Over and over! Within ten seconds she's sent four shells at various points of the flow and sent ghouls flying around - in pieces...     The walls and ceiling are starting to get absolutely covered in blood and... other things that drip... it's messy in there. 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     Celes turns sharply at the voice, Excalibur already held in a defensive stance. Gleaming red eyes, ability to speak, obvious taunt. Must be one of those 'freaks' Heinkel mentioned. So that's how it started, then? Someone decided to come here and just... murder everyone. Turn them into those things.     "I hope you have a good explanation for killing everyone here. I might let you off easy if you do." Easy being relative. But she doubts very much there's an explanation good enough to justify what happened here.     She doesn't flinch at the gunshot either. She glances down at the damage, then back towards the weapon. The wielder is skilled enough to issue warning shots. Best not to underestimate her.     Celes will give the woman a moment to answer the question, but at the first sign of hostility or non-compliance, and most likely even after the question is answered, retorts not with words but with a spell. Lightning blasts out of her sword, a trio of lightning bolts spreading, arcing and then converging back into one as they near the faux vampire. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   AINSLEY turns her Sight onto the freak, and she is met with a wash of absolutely nothing, insofar as communications are concerned. Apparently the freak chips are transmitted their one-time activation signal, and then they're forgotten about by whoever it is that's doing the controlling. A literal 'fire and forget,' turned loose against the masses once the necessary alterations have been made. There's something chilling about that implication; that the lives of not only the freaks, but their ghoul victims, would be valued so little...   The freak fires, but this isn't somebody who's trained to use a gun. It's the wild staccato of panic fire, instead of the disciplined, measured shots of deliberate aiming. Ainsley is able to dispatch the young man with ease. He at least has the dignity to die withuot begging, mostly because his chest is impaled, and therefore so too is his heart. He flops over like a sack of grain once a hole is put into his heart.   There's nothing particularly unusual about his corpse, except for the part where it bursts into blue flame, charring away into a disproportionately small pile of ashes. Left behind in them is a tiny chip no bigger than a grain of rice, and the trained eye would see the microcircuitry in it. It could even be missed in the ashes, even, so tiny is the device.   SARAH ROGERS whirls around, though she's too slow to block the shot; the splinters sticking oddly out of the wall next to her attest to that.   The man's head peeps out from behind an overturned table. The voice is American, and he looks like he might be a tourist. Round wire-frame glasses, a smattering of freckles, and vibrantly red hair suggest Scottish descent; a ski hat, a scarf, and a goose down windbreaker suggest a penchant for skiing. Carefully, and without ever putting his gun down, he extricates himself from his improvised barricade.   "H-hello?" He looks dubious, to say the least, and kind of bloodless, because this kind of ordeal would probably drain the blood from anybody sane and rational. The tourist blinks blue eyes somewhat blearily. "No. I think I'm okay. I--I think I'm the only one. Everybody else..." Shiver. The look he turns on her is haunted. "No. I think I'm the only one here. Thank you. But... who are you? Are you alone? There's more of those things out there," he adds, a little panicky. "They're everywhere. I heard this weird woman laughing and then suddenly those damned things were overrunning the town. I had some vacation time so I came here; I was supposed to be skiing, not caught up in this ungodly nightmare!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   HEINKEL WOLFE is very hastily putting distance between herself and the town hall building, once SERAS VICTORIA makes it clear she intends to fire the Harkonnen. No, not so she can shoot Seras in the back. She's getting away because a weapon the size of the Harkonnen is bound to make a lot of noise appropriate to a weapon the size of the Harkonnen. Her hearing is orders of magnitude better than human standard (although Seras probably doesn't know this) and she would really prefer not to be stone-deaf after that thing goes off.   So when Seras shatters the glass and opens fire, Heinkel is across the town square, taking cover behind the smoldering remains of a building, with her hands clapped firmly over her ears.   The Harkonnen roars, and once it's done roaring, there's not much to be said about what was inside. It used to be People, and now it's sort of a vague paste. None of these appear to have spontaneously combusted. Explosive rounds, however, mean that the town hall is now on fire.   From over by the rubble, Heinkel lets out a long, exasperated sigh. While it's nice to have removed the problem of a ghoul infestation, it's something of a Pyrrhic victory if there isn't going to be a Tragoess /left/. Nonetheless, she slinks back over to Seras, pistols drawn just in case there are any survivors. (There don't appear to be.)   CELES CHERE is confronted by a guest. It is not a nice guest. The woman slowly, languidly steps out from the shadows. She looks like she might be in her late twenties or early thirties, with dark hair and eyes the colour of fresh blood. They're actually luminous in the dark. A bit like Seras' eyes, when the Draculina means business.   The woman smiles at Celes' unsmiling regard and question. "I consider it doing the rabble a favour. Such short, pointless existences... but we can be so much more. Just a little sacrifice, and we can attain heights humanity can only /dream/ of." The gun is still drawn on Celes, but for now, the woman isn't shooting. Yet. Apparently she was expecting words, not lightning. When the arcs converge, the woman fires, but more from convulsive muscle spasms than any intent to fire. The shots swing wide, although maybe she'll get lucky -- but that seems to be it for the woman.   Much as with Ainsley's freak, this one also crumples in on itself in a rush of blue flames, leaving behind a tiny pile of ash and an equally tiny microchip. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' There's so much carngehere so much soreow but she'll leave here allies and firneds to clea out the other area aa shemakes usre her sweep is ronr of the place. The House Maya is sweeping is generally cleared out the building she was in. Maya at least thinking she's cleared the plac is going to move on trying to find people hwo are still alive. She knows there are people here and well she needs to find where they are for after they are done clearing out any of the remaining undead is there are any form the sounds of it her allies are doing a hell of a job though someone whose been able to hide from the Ghouls for so long? Might just be able to get the /drop/ on her. 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     Rabble, favor, sacrifice to attain greater heights. Celes isn't sorry at all she just shot right away. Reminds her of bad things. These kind of people are just...     Thoughts are interupted by the sudden impact of the dying woman's stray shots. One on her pauldron, making her shoulder flinch a bit. Another hits the clothes protecting her chest, and don't penetrate so much as bruise the material. One grazes her arm, barely. It could have been a lot worse.     Celes approaches what's left of the fake vampire, picking up the microchip and examining it. She's no engineer, but she knows enough to guess it was inside her. Heinkel called them knockoff vampires. Created? Experimented on? Artificial? She'll hold on to the chip, ask Heinkel what she knows.     Ensuring the house is truly empty, Celes eventually leaves and returns outside, looking to check on the others and get a status update. 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''     "Alright, come with me." Sarah urges the man, "Though I'd be a little more comfortable if you put the gun down." She's bullet resistant, not bullet proof. Getting shot's not fun.     She offers her free hand to him to help him up. "I'm Sarah, what's your name?" She asks with a smile. "I'm not entirely sure this place is empty, but there should be a safe path to the door." On the way out she calls on the radio again, "I'm bringing a survivor back to our little base camp. Still need someone to look him over." She asks hopefully. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     The sword plunged into the fake vampire's chest. Ainsley had taken a shot in the charge, but it hadn't hit anything vital. The decisive blow meant that her opponent burned up and fell into a pile of ash. She paused in this moment to check her coat. Surely it couldn't be good for the electronics in the coat to be so drenched in the blood of the dead, and she suddenly found herself considering the horror of approaching someone in this coat that would not take her bloody appearance well. The reptile frowned at the idea of a survivor shooting at her...     Ainsley resigned herself to tracking down and slaughtering any remaining ghouls. She couldn't talk to anyone like this. Hearing the others on the radio, she let out a bit of a sullen sigh and began the arduous task of clean-up. Even if survivors have been found, a single ghoul could be disastrous. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' After the first few shots were fired Seras accompanied the others with outraged SCREAMS, letting her pent-up frustrations with the undead horrors loose! Finally she lowers the Harkonnen, leaving what's left of city hall in flames. Oh well...     There's nobody left here to run the place anyways...     She's ANGRY about this, and when she turns around her eyes glow bloody red, like the pits of hell.     "Who did this. WHO DID THIS?!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Back at the town hall, Heinkel Wolfe stands up, frowning around her sunglasses as she peers into the dark and silent structure. The silence is abruptly broken as some of the timbers collapse in on themselves near the window, clattering to the ground and raising a cloud of choking dust. She staggers back, coughing; waving away the dust.   Heinkel leans into the window, narrowing her eyes as she scans the floor. A few traces of movement are punctuated by the sharp bark of her pistols, the precise one-two-three of a practised shot.   When the dust starts to settle, she seems to be satisifed that there aren't any more moving targets to shoot.   The Hellsing vampire is shouting something, which only dimly registers as background noise. Seras then might feel the incredibly cold muzzle of a gun pressing, very sharply, into the back of her neck.   "Gife me a reason."   The voice is cold and hard and terrifyingly flat. Heinkel gives absolutely no inflection whatsoever to her words, as though shooting Seras would be just another day on the job.   It's also an unspoken threat: If Seras doesn't calm her vampiric ass down, Heinkel's going to pull that trigger, and she absolutely won't lose any sleep about it. It /will/ be self-defense, if the Draculina actually loses control of herself. 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     Now back into the cold winter air, it's not hard to spot Heinkel as she makes her way over to Seras, who isn't hard to pinpoint on account of the screaming. The angry screaming. Celes sighs, recalling similar episodes with the people she'd call friends now. At least one caused by her.     Without words she approaches the commotion, though she's completely passive and non-threatening in how she tries to defuse it.     "Please, there's no need for this. We all came here to save lives." She pauses. "Or at least, stop these creatures from claiming any more. There's no point shedding more blood now." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya hears the call for a medic and the warning Seras has given. Maya grunts and knows it has to be done if it comes up but Ainsly is here who has far more refined magics than Maya will quickly go check she's praying right now for no bite marks, she won't like what she has to do if she doesbut she damn well won't try to make someone else do it. She tkes a deep breath now as she moves to catch up to Sarah and she is now moving. She knows seras is also losing her temper and is just pausing. "Fighting like this means the cancer can keep spreading!" She is however still moving to Sarah to get to medical work and she's going to check the wounded for bites too. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Oh, this is not good. The hairs on the back of Seras' neck stand straight on end and it's rather like a chill wind just froze her anger - but in the rising terror, with her shivering there!     The last time something cold touched her there... it was a blessed bayonet. She shivers pretty badly there.     "This isn't how you build trust with a partner," She glums out sarcastically, doing her best to cover up the fear with a stiff upper lip. Her voice does waver a little though...     Of course from this angle Heinkel can't really see her eyes, can she? They've gone back to blue...     But one has to wonder. Could Heinkel really pull that trigger as quickly as she'd need to? 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel's head doesn't so much as twitch away from the vampire. Her gun is stock-still in her hand, without so much as a hint of trembling It's possible she's been planning on this possibility; that Hellsing's monster on a leash might slip its choke chain without closer supervision.   Despite the clear threat, her finger is actually somewhat loose on the trigger; to the observant, it may show that she's not actually inclined to shoot unless she's given good reason. She appears neither eager nor reluctant.   Much as she'd told Seras, in no uncertain terms.   "Oh, but there ist." Her answer to Celes is given without turning her head. Heinkel's attention is riveted on the vampire for now. "This ist only a polite reminder to control the thing inside her, because ve're all going die if she doesn't. I haf no intention of shooting her unless I haf a reason to."   What she doesn't add is that she knows what that event horizon looks like, because she herself fights the good fight every day. It's both possible and probable that Seras is in better control of herself than she lets on, but Heinkel can't take that chance. Not with her allies all around her, or vulnerable survivors in the area.   Freaks and ghouls are one thing, but a full-blown vampire, descended of a true vampire, is quite another matter. Cleaning up this kind of mess would require calling in people Heinkel would really rather not call in. Anderson would just make a political mess all over the floor.   Her coat rustles about her ankles, and the wind ruffles her hair, but that's the only movement the priest gives. Her gun remains exactly where it is, pressed to Seras Victoria's neck. She's patient, and doesn't seem to mind waiting and studying, to make sure that Seras is well and truly in control of herself. She can wait until the cows come home from the mountains. Which they may do, eventually, if the ghouls didn't eat them.   "Nein, nein," she asides to Maya, though she doesn't look at the Junker. "I'm only reminding the Draculina of her place, because if she loses control of herself, I'd be forced to shoot her. How terrible," she adds, flatly. "If I vere interested in a fight, I'd already be shooting, and vhile I'm pretty sure I vouldn't be able to kill her as I am now, I vould damn well do as much damage as I could before she ripped out my throat."   The cold certainty with which she gives this indicates that she's both willing to do it, and also not particularly afraid of dying if it meant sacrificing herself to shield her allies, however little good it might do.   Apparently Heinkel is using some other senses to gauge the Draculina.   The gun withdraws, very slowly, slowly enough to make it clear that Heinkel could still aim a shot if she felt the need. Eventually, the hammer cocks, and she thumbs the safety and replaces the gun back into her shoulder rig.   Heinkel calmly turns on her heel and trudges across the ruins of the town hall. If Seras does lose it, she can trust her allies for the split-second of warning she'd need.   "I think ve haf them all. I'm thinking von freak, two at most; just going by the number of ghouls. They're probably not going to be in the remote areas." She reaches into her coat, producing a cigarette and lighting it with a quick, efficient flick of a thumb over the lighter in her hand. The lighter gets dropped back into a pocket, followed a second later by her hands. "Fucking freaks," she breathes, along with a wreath of smoke. "I really hate this part of the job, you know." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Sighing, she turns, glancing at Seras; although her eyes are still hidden by those sunglasses, her expression still manages to convey how flat the look is. "Don't think I von't be reporting this to Integra, either. Vell done, othervise, but... next time, I don't suppose you could leafe the building intact...?"   Heinkel sighs smoke, morosely. "I'm going to haf hell to pay vit the papervork on this von. Chief's going to rake me ofer the coals on that von, and it's not efen my fault this time..." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Oh thank god. The gun's finally withdrawn. Only when she hears the safety click does Seras risk MOVING. "Riiiiight. That makes two of us. We're -supposed- to be working together." Her tone turns almost comically grouchy. "More backstabbing over misunderstandings? -Really?-" With lips pursed, brow furrowed and eyes a bit narrowed she can only turn her head and childishly glare a bit at Heinkel.     But she forcibly exhales to cool her head some. Her lips press together thinly as she looks over Celes, Maya, and Ainsley. "Is everyone alright? Nobody was bitten, were they?!" 

:'''{{#var:796|Sarah Rogers (796)}} has posed:'''     Sarah hands the man she found off to Maya, "I don't think he was bitten, but the situation in there was a little tense. I thought it was best to get him to safety first." She explains.     It's okay to relax now, right? Nope! There seems to be another tense situation going in the direction of the flaming remnants of City Hall. "What was that all about!?" She gasps as she runs up next to Seras. "I thought we were all Paladins here!? She calls in Heinkel's direction, "They did their homework on both of you before they let you in, right?" 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     Celes tenses as Heinkel explains her reasoning. She doesn't know how much truth there is to it. Doesn't know whether Heinkel can accurately gauge the weight of everyone present when assessing the threat, either. But it's clear the gruff woman is coming from somewhere with her words and that there's a good reason why she's so careful. The former general only allows herself to relax when Heinkel lowers the firearm, and then she awkwardly scratches the back of her neck.     Maya having gone to handle the medical issues, Celes is mostly left to sheathe Excalibur, remembering she's still holding onto it, the curved, golden blade fitting into the simple scabbard by her side. Then she remembers she had something to ask.     "Ah, right... in the house, I encountered one of those freaks, I think. There was a small microchip left in the ashes after it burst into flames. What's that about?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Nein. That vas a varning." Heinkel's tone is steely. She stuffs her hands into her pockets, slouching against the cold breeze, coat flapping about her ankles. "Hellsing might be cozy around vampires, but you're still monsters that prey on the blood of others. Maybe you don't take this too seriously, but /I'm/ the von who has to, und not just because you think I vant to stab you in the back."   One hand rises from a pocket to jab a forefinger in Seras' direction. "Stop fucking around, Police Girl. You do something stupid that /looks/ like you could lose control, /I'm/ going to take it seriously and assume you /are/, because /somevon/ has to, und it's /my/ job. Remember that the next time you throw a fit und start screaming like a maniac, ja?"   Folding her arms and grumbling under her breath, Heinkel rolls the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other, glaring. She makes a point of ignoring Rogers for a moment until she can answer that glib remark calmly.   "Ja. They did. You vant to take up my qualifications vit our superiors, you go right ahead." Heinkel puffs smoke a little more harshly than strictly necessary. So she focuses on something more constructive, which in this case is Celes asking about the freak chips.   The priest frowns around her cigarette, thoughtful. "Ja, that's vhat I thought. Those chips are vhat creates the freaks. Somevon triggers them from some remote location, und /bang/, you haf a cheap knockoff vampire on your hands. Vhile they don't haf the same power as, say, Alucard, they're still a threat to a lot of people. Vhere the freaks go und feed, so too are the ghouls found. Ghouls, those poor shuffling bastards you cut down, vere the unfortunate souls the freaks fed on."   "I don't know vhy they burn vhen they're finished, but they do. I'd guess it has something to do vit a vampire's veakness to sunlight, but I couldn't say for sure. They're imperfect copies of /something/. Ve don't know vhat. More importantly, ve don't know who's churning them out, or vhy." Heinkel pulls her hands from her pockets, spreading them in a gesture of helplessness. "I can't efen begin to think of a reason how this vould benefit anyvon." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya says nothing and simply nods to Seras. "No I was not." Maya is meanwhile catching up wwith Serah and working to treat the man she's also praying near constantrly that he has nobites. She keeps her work she's calm but mostly silent as she works to check the man over for injuries. The talk of the chips is listened to and she grimaces a little bit. she contiune with her wor and ideas for a moment. A thought strikes her, some men wish to just see the world burn, she's seen enough people in the multiversewho /wants/ things like that. She knows this from personal experiance. However talking about what she's thinking on may be best kept to the comm for now. 

:'''{{#var:1081|Celes Chere (1081)}} has posed:'''     "So someone's using chips to turn people into monstrous supersoldiers... to what ends?" Celes asks Heinkel, looking rather uncomfortable with the subject. It's not like Heinkel could answer-- she literally just said she didn't know, in fact. It's more musing out loud. "And how much does the chip change them? Are freaks still the same people they were, or...?"     Regardless of the answer this doesn't look like a pleasant situation. Seems they're not in short supply of people looking to help, at least. Celes looks around, at least glad they were able to stop this from spreading, even if it was a bit late. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "Real vampires don't burst into flame." Seras explaisn to the others. "Ash and dust. That's all that's left behind. There was... this vampire pretending to be a priest..." Well she's not going to go into details about that one.     Nor is she really able to come up with a good response to Heinkel's continued accusations about her control and sanity - so all it gets is a brief side glare that lasts no more than a second.     "Supersoldiers is giving them too much credit. They're rapists. Murderers." The police girl's head turns Celes' way as she firmly states such. "But we don't... really know. Background checks usually turn up the worst of the worst kinds of people. And these Freaks can't create more vampires. Every victim always becomes a ghoul. Even ones that... that shouldn't."     She's not about to explain the details there unbidden, but her face does flush a little there... 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, that's about the size of it." The priest stuffs her hands back into her pockets, hunching her shoulders again in a futile effort to ignore the winter winds. "Someone's churning these things out like they're going out of style. They show up all over Europe. I hafen't heard of any international cases, but I vouldn't rule it out, especially vit communications in such disarray after the incident."   Heinkel sighs smoke, somewhat irritably. "Vhat burns me ist they're getting avay vit this vitout tipping their hand at all. These things are cropping up all ofer Europe, vit no rhyme or reason as to vhere they are. I've been tracking incidents for years, und I still haf no better answers than anybody else in Iscariot studying this."   Reaching up, she pulls her cigarette down to tap ash into the snow, before placing it back into her mouth. The priest lets out a puff of smoke, which the wind quickly shreds. "I don't know. The common factor I'fe found ist the fact that they're alvays--"   Murderers, Seras explains. Criminals. Heinkel sighs, cigarette drooping from the corner of her mouth. "Ja. Basically that. Seems to be the common denominator among them."   "Maybe putting them down might put their souls to rest. Frankly, I don't gife a damn any more. I really don't." Heinkel frowns around her cigarette, glancing toward the town hall building, or what's left of it. "I haf a lot more sympathy for ghouls, who don't ask for vhat happens to them."   Muttering under her breath, she shoulders against the wind. "I'm going to call Chief und tell him vhat happened. He'll send in a cleanup crew und get some disaster relief crews in here. Good vork, everyone. Danke." Shoulders slumping, Heinkel sets off across the snowy square, provided nobody actually tries to stop her.   One could almost think, by the slump of her shoulders, that this part of the job actually gets to her sometimes. 
}}

4894/The Space Wolves

2016-12-17T05:00:39Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/17 |Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1> |Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe meets with Karian Icefang to discuss, in brief, her world's persistent problem..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/17
|Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe meets with Karian Icefang to discuss, in brief, her world's persistent problem of cheap knockoff vampires.
|Cast of Characters=363, 451
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Outside the city of Rome is a number of abandoned properties, where people have packed up their things and moved inward to the city centres. With ghoul attacks on the rise and contamination spreading freely throughout the world, people feel safer in the cities.   Never mind that none of this stuff seems to have happened in the whole of Italy, at least not yet, but people like to be prepared.   So, miles outside of the city where strange visitors wouldn't be noticed as much, there's a motorcycle out in a large abandoned lot. It's an old but serviceable model, a German military bike with what looks like reinforcement or armour over its body.   Slumped over it is a tall and lanky figure, androgynous enough that it's hard to say whether it's a man or a woman. The figure wears dark sunglasses, wears a heavy cassock-like coat and the starched white collar of a Roman Catholic priest, and heavy gloves. Leaning against the handlebars, the figure has a cigarette dangling from lower lip, the light of the tip flaring every so often as it's drawn on. The figure also has a scarf wound around the neck, which has the slight clumsiness in its stitches of a handmade garment.   The area is cold; colder than Italy of any world has a right to be outside of an ice age. There is snow on the field, and there's a track worn through the slush leading to the motorcycle.   For now, though, Heinkel waits and keeps an eye out, one hand drumming absently on the motorcycle's handlebars. 

:'''{{#var:451|Karian Icefang (451)}} has posed:'''     The cold reminded Karian of his home. Granted his home was more blizzard levels of cold, but it was still a nice feeling for him. Walking up, flanked by a greyish white wolf the size of a small tank, Karian scans for the person he was speaking to on the radio. He was unhelmetted, his hair and beard both tied off into viking-style braids, and the eye-patch firmly placed over his lost eye. He wore his battle-plate, making his footsteps thud hard every time. "Heinkel Wolfe, I presume?" He asks, his voice gruff, but hinting that there was more to him the the look of 'viking warlord'. But if one looked close, they would spot the canine fangs, and the yellow color of the eye. It appeared as if he were some human-canine hybrid. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The figure looks up at the approach of Karian. It's hard to tell what their reaction to Karian's approach might be behind those flat lenses, but the bland expression suggests Heinkel Wolfe is staying carefully bland and neutral. Freaking out every time one meets a new ally is just childish.   "Ja." Heinkel exhales a plume of smoke. Raising an arm, the priest gestures toward the ground. "Sit. Or stand. I don't care vhich. Vhat do you vant to know? I don't haf much time." 

:'''{{#var:451|Karian Icefang (451)}} has posed:'''     "To the point...I like that. I would like to know your enemy, size, weaknesses. If I'm to hunt them, I like to know my 'prey'." Karian says. Yep, definately confirming he's some kinda wolfman. Ygdril sniffs around, head tilting curiously towards Heinkel. He understood she was an ally, but he offered a soft whuff in her direction, definately unsure. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest frowns at the giant wolf, reluctantly offering a hand for the creature to sniff. "I actually detailed all of this in my report. I very clearly described vhat ve're up against, and the only reason I haf no numbers listed is because nobody knows how many there are."   Ygdril might be confused by what his nose tells him. Heinkel smells, in order; female, human -- and also wolf. Wait, what?   "Ve haf entire nations ve still hafen't heard from. No status. Ve don't know if some of them are destroyed or still defending. Communications are down vorldvide." The frown deepens. "Are you sure you read that report...?" 

:'''{{#var:451|Karian Icefang (451)}} has posed:'''     Ygdril curiously headtilts again, beginning to wonder. Karian, meanwhile, nods. "I did, twice over. I was hoping for more of your personal experience with these 'vampires' if you've had any. One priest to another." He says. He slowly moves closer, taking a knee. "I know of one chapter...the Blood Angels....Rumor is they drink the blood of their enemies in fits of rage. Is it similar?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Might be that you're a priest, but ve aren't cut from the same cloth. Not even remotely," Heinkel points out. "Don't get too companionable vit me. This ist just business. I appreciate the help, really I do, but I don't like other priests. Not too many Catholics do."   In other words, let's just get this over with. Maybe that's not surprising, coming from another priest. Just because they're both priests doesn't mean Heinkel's going to get along. Vatican Section XIII is among the most dogmatic of the Vatican's divisions; they don't play too well with others when it comes to other religions.   She sighs, exhaling smoke. "Nein. They're being created by somevon. Ve don't know who or vhy. They haf a small chip implanted into them, und from vhat ve can tell, that chip is remotely activated. Vhen it does, they're turned into a vampire. A pale imitation of a vampire, really. They're not even real vampires."   "But they feed on blood like von, und they're categorically superhuman vhen it comes to physical traits. Faster, stronger, they can see in the dark; that kind of thing. Vhen they bite somevon und feed on their blood, they create ghouls. Ghouls are just shambling husks that vere people, vonce. They haf no mind und no vill of their own; their only motivation is to feed und sate their hunger for flesh und blood. Human flesh und blood."   "I recommend talking to Seras Victoria, of the Hellsing Organisation. She might be able to gife you more information. I don't know how much Hellsing's been studying these things, but they're a similar organisation to ours." She wobbles a hand. "Same goal, different ideology. The best vay to deal vit them seems to be fire, from a multiversal perspective; fire seems to be a universal element. Und they don't like it."   Heinkel flicks ash from the tip of her cigarette, eyeing Karian. "Vhat else?" 

:'''{{#var:451|Karian Icefang (451)}} has posed:'''     Karian nods. He listened closely, then ponders. "Nothing comes to mind, though I am curious about you. Though we can save that for another time. I suppose I should ask if you have questions for me." Though he does note the bite. "Easy, Heinkel. Didn't meant to push buttons. I just wanted to get better info before I commit my pack to something." He still had burning questions, like why Ygdril seemed to be in the stance of 'friend-wolf-being' and what Iscariot was. But he figured maybe this Seras person could answer those. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel reaches for a pocket, pulling out a gold pocketwatch on a chain and checking it, frowning. Despite the sun going down, and how dark the field seems to be getting, she has no apparent trouble reading the watch face. With sunglasses on. Yeah.   "I guess I haf a few more minutes. I'm sorry if I seem sour; it's not very Christian, especially to somevon who just vants to help." The priest snorts smoke. "It's been a long veek," Heinkel grumbles, around her cigarette. Smoke drifts as she exhales, looking back to the Wolf Lord and his, well, wolf. "An extremely long veek. The entire vorld's turned into a disaster area."   She frowns. "At the moment, no, because I probably von't remember them in the morning through the sedatives I haf prescribed." She'd asked for that very specifically. If she's asleep then that means she's not walking around on injuries and making them worse, right? "Maybe if you can catch me tomorrow, I might haf more time. Tonight's been a vhirlvind of reports und deliferies und a lot of other things I really don't haf the time to go into."   Ah, paperwork. Forget the Warp or Chaos or whatever. Paperwork is the universal bane.   "In the meantime, talk to Seras Victoria. She'll be able to answer vhatefer questions you haf about the situation." Heinkel shows her teeth, though it seems more of a grimace than a grin, starting the motorcycle's engine with a flick of the keys. "She seems to haf more time than I do. Besides, I vork vit her now, so you might as vell meet her, too. In the meantime, I'd better get back to Vatican City."   The motorcycle engine revs, and Heinkel pulls on out of the snowy, slushy field. "Be seeing you. Go vit God... or vhatefer God it is you follow." Then, engine roaring, the bike pulls away and onto the nearest road, driving out of sight quickly enough. 
}}

4887/Visitation

2016-12-17T03:34:56Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/15 |Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1> |Synopsis=Sir Gawain visits Heinkel Wolfe in the hospital. |Cast of Characters=363, 533 |pretty=yes }}..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/15
|Location=Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
|Synopsis=Sir Gawain visits Heinkel Wolfe in the hospital.
|Cast of Characters=363, 533
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   In the wake of the multiverse itself playing fifty-two card pickup with its territories, some worlds have gotten out of it with better luck than others. The world that Heinkel Wolfe and Seras Victoria come from is not one of these lucky territories.   Most of the geography has been set down right next to the absolute worst place in the multiverse that it could be set down, and that is the contaminated earth that seems to spawn a nigh-endless amount of twisted undead monstrosities. With a rash of undead already plaguing population centres, this has only compounded things into an awful nightmarish undead mosh pit of Hell. Sort of.   There's a saving grace, and it's that Vatican Section XIII and the Hellsing Organisation have both made their existences public. So there's that.   Today, one of the former's operatives is cooling her heels in Rome, because it's probably one of the safer places in the world. Heinkel Wolfe is laid up in a Vatican City hospital, watching snow falling outside her window with a slightly bemused expression. She'd gone to help Dresden with a matter and come back with a little bit of hypothermia and a chunk of aggravated fractures on the break above her ankle.   So she's back to hospital gown and bed rest, and a very emphatic note from Bishop Enrico Maxwell not to do something idiot-brained like that again, Or Else.   She looks very bored. Also, she looks just a little out of place, considering she has a hospital gown on and those sunglasses placed neatly over the bridge of her nose. The room itself is kept dim, just the way she likes it.   Without all that heavy and obscuring clothing, it's probably patently obvious that Heinkel Wolfe is not actually a man, despite sounding close to one and endlessly confusing poor Sir Gawain on the matter. She does have her cross pendant on, and she absently toys with one end of the knotted leather thong as she watches the snow drifting down.   Right now she's just lying there looking out the window. On the bedside are a well-worn bible, a set of keys, a sheaf of papers in a folder that bears the stamp of Vatican Section XIII, and a glass of water. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Despite getting beaten to hell and back, slammed into a wall, stabbed, and set on fire, Gawain is alive! And a Servant, which means he's already back on his feet. And because he's already back on his feet, he can go places! Probably not fight, that'd kill him, but he has something else in mind! Which is why Heinkel Wolfe suddenly gets called up by a nurse saying that 'one Sir Gawain of...a lot of things? is coming up to visit you'. The Knight of the Sun shortly arrives afterwards with a courtesy knock on the door, waiting to see if there's any protestations before he actually opens it. Gawain's dressed in his suit, because he hasn't actually had time to change, as he cheerfully enters the room, taking a second to adjust to the dimness of the light. In his arms are two things: a box of what seems to be some nice candies, and some manner of stuffed animal. He speaks at room level, for once, as he addresses Heinkel. "Chevalier Wolfe! I apologize for dropping in, but I thought you may require some company! If you would rather be left alone, though, I can leave these here!" He gestures with his objects. Also, Sir Gawain still hasn't realized Heinkel's a woman. But to be fair, would anyone have expected him to? 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Snow drifts down to the ground in flurries of white flakes. It's a beautiful effect, even if it's an indication that something is very wrong with the fabric of the world itself. Italy should not be experiencing such a cold and precipitous winter. These are not normal weather patterns.   As he opens the door, he'll be greeted by the sound of...   Singing?     "Adestes fideles laeti triumphantes,     "Venite, venite in Bethlehem.     "Natum videte     "Regem angelorum:     "Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite adoremus     "Dominum."   It's the carol of O Come, All Ye Faithful in its original Latin, and the priest sings it with shocking elegance -- not something one would expect from such a gruff, seemingly coarse type of person. Even in song the voice sounds like it could be a man's or a woman's; the kind of voice that could pull off beautiful Gregorian chant.   The voice trails off when Gawain opens the door and takes a second to adjust.   "Herr Gavain." Heinkel looks over to him, raising a brow. Her eyes are invisible behind those lenses, but her surprise is still clear. With a grunt, she pushes herself up to more of a sitting position, fluffing the shapeless pillow behind her. Why are hospital pillows so uncomfortable? "Nein, nein. Come in. Haf a seat. I don't haf any visitors right now, und I vasn't expecting any."   She does manage a faint smile at the sight of Gawain Bearing Gifts. "Ja? You didn't haf to do that." Aww, that's actually touching. What a nice guy. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Gawain takes a moment for Heinkel to finish her singing. He's not actually familiar with this carol, because it postdates him by a millennium, but he enjoys the sound of it! The Knight just waits patiently, and when she stops and glances at him, he just continues smiling brightly. Luckily, she's not mad at his presence. He approaches as asked, voice still at an all-time low. "Everybody should expect visitors! It's sad to be in the hospital without anyone visiting! You seem to get laid up a lot, so I decided to be the one to visit!" Gawain takes the seat next to Heinkel, turning to face her. He lays out the gifts. "But I did! It seems to be having the intended effect of cheering you up, too!" A box of assorted candies, and a stuffed...snake. Well, it seems Gawain is more observant than he might appear, after that first meeting with Heinkel. It's soft and snake-y. "So, how do you feel? Your jaw was broken, but it seems to have healed extraordinarily fast!" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Actually, it's not much that people don't visit me, but more that eferybody I know is dealing vit more important things, like... uh. Vell. You know the situation, here. I filed a report on it." Heinkel's brow furrows, and the priest lifts both arms to fold her hands behind her head. "It's not really sad to me. I don't usually spend long in most hospitals, and the people I vould haf visit are busy dealing vit disasters und crises. Iscariot is scattered all over the vorld right now. Ve don't haf a lot of manpower, vhich is vhy I'fe made a point of formally asking for help."   The priest scowls. "I actually don't usually get laid up a lot, but this veek's been eventful. Ja, ve'll go vit that. Also, I vasn't expecting my first formal assignment as a Paladin to chuck us up against that crew. As I recall, you veren't hafing a better time of it than I vas."   At the sweet gesture of bringing chocolates and a new friend, Heinkel manages a smile, and for once it's not a creepy or predatory smile. It's just a simple, genuine show of gratitude. She picks up the snake and looks at it a bit, tilting it this way and that in apparent bemusement.   It is appreciably soft and cute, and she can't help but think one of the orphans at Ferdinand Luke's would appreciate a cuddly little friend like this. Maybe one of the new children, fresh in from whatever awful situation they'd come from, still shy and scared... even if Anderson would never let her hear the end of showing a soft spot like that.   She thinks she can live with that. It'd be worth the end result.   "Danke. Most people don't really think to do things like that for me." She holds up the snake, letting it dangle somewhat adorably. "I don't vant to sound ungrateful, but do you mind if I gife him to von of the children at Alex's orphanage? I know a little girl who vould really appreciate a new friend. Probably not the best sort of animal to be giving a Catholic, but it vas given in good faith, so I'm sure nobody vould mind."   "I'fe had better, I'fe had vorse." Heinkel shrugs, setting the stuffed animal aside and folding her hands behind her head again. "I haf... reasons for it, but I don't take as long to heal as our normal Section XIII operatifes. So vhile it still hurts like a bitch, most of the bone has already started to knit itself together again. Enough to start overcoming the vorst of the damage." She brings one hand down to tap at the side of her jaw, very gently. "Most of vhat damage is left can't be seen. Same vit my leg, although that's in a little vorse shape."   "Come to think of it, you don't look so bad, yourself." She arches a brow, then, eyeing Gawain curiously; it isn't visible through those opaque lenses, but the directness of how her head is pointed at him suggests she's studying him. "How are you holding up, anyvay?" 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Well, that's a relief, she does in fact have people to visit her. Gawain nods, putting one hand under his chin as he thinks. "Well, are they doing alright? I hope you won't have to be visiting them in the hospital! That'd be very sad." A nod in agreement about last night. "Those were some scary people. That Victor almost killed me. Though I wasn't fighting at my optimum, I still think he would have been dangerous even then." Heinkel's odd glances at the snake cause Gawain to actually speak up about it. "You were very fond of Judge Ainsley, so I thought you'd like that! I'm not entirely sure what she is, but it was the cutest reptile one they had." He listens slowly to Heinkel's goal for the snake...and his smile just widens. Not as wide as the type of smile usually found on her world, but it's still pretty wide, and he just laughs cheerfully. "Of course! Christmas is also coming, so if you want me to collect more, I can. Just give me a list of how many need presents!" Gawain thinks of suggesting dressing as Santa Claus, but he's not sure he could do it well. He's too young and blonde. "That's very handy. How long does it usually take to get back to prime shape, if you don't mind me asking?" The Knight is simply curious, though he responds with his normal good cheer as Heinkel asks how /he's/ holding up. "I'm still in a lot of pain, but I should be better in a day or so! I've used my magical energy to patch up my wounds so far, and therefore they won't be getting in the way. Though I'm out of combat for a while, because without a full supply of energy, a battle like that would probably kill me." And then Gawain pauses, and for once in a millennia, makes a conclusion. "Wait, do you actually know what I am?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Chief tells me they're still alife, so that's all I can really hope for. There's just too much going on right now for any of us to pay a social call on the other." Heinkel shrugs one shoulder and reaches over to dim the light. Once she does, she leans back and folds her hands behind her head again. "Mostly, ve haf to trust that the others are doing okay. Ve at least get to hear occasionally vhen they gife their reports to Chief."   "The von I had vas the one that I thought vas the most disturbing. Look at how normal he vas vhen ve started... somevon like that can go into a crowd unsuspected, und then drink vhatefer it vas he drank, and... vell." Her expression falls slightly; grave. "Vell, you know how that vould end, vit a lot of unprepared civilians..."   The light gets dimmed a little more, and then with a shrug, Heinkel clicks it off. Despite the lack of lamplight, it's quite bright in the room, with the blinds tilted to allow moonlight in.   Reaching up, she flicks off her sunglasses, swinging the arms in to fold with a practised flick of her wrist.   What Gawain gets to see next probably wasn't what he was expecting. Instead of an eye that would be lost in the darkness, there is a flare of flat blue-white. It's the same glowing effect as a cat in the dark swept suddenly by a flashlight; only instead of phosphor green they're a pale, pale blue-white. They actually glow with every slight movement as the moonlight hits them this way or that, throwing light back like lamps.   There's a faint sigh. "That's better." The sunglasses are deposited on the endtable, with its obligatory single vase with a single flower in it.   "It's vhat I'd do for any comrade-in-arms. If you needed a heater, I'd gife you von, too, ja?" Here the priest mumbles a little, shrugging one shoulder. "Or if maybe some other Paladin might need it. Iscariot looks after its own, so vhy shouldn't I look out for the Paladins as long as I'm here?"   Spoken simply, in so many words, like the spirit of the Good Samaritan. It may be that her division busies themselves with killing a whole lot of demons and undead, and there's virtually every guarantee against any of them visiting the Pearly Gates. That doesn't mean the condemned warrior-priests of Section XIII need abandon their humanity, though. No matter their sins, they still strive to behave like good Christians; even through the work they do, they profess their self-sacrifice for others in willingly abandoning their own shot at salvation. They fight, they damn their own souls, so others won't have to. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, I guess she's von of the good vons, though." Heinkel tilts her head at Gawain, though, half-smiling. "Ja? Vell, don't blow your entire stipend on it, but I'd appreciate the help. Ferdinand Luke's ist a good cause. I may not haf grown up there, but I vish I had, und I tend to spend my downtime there. It's... grounding." It brings her back to reality when the mental rigours of the job get to be too much.   "Father Anderson? Not long at all. I'fe seen him shot in the head und he vas able to not only shrug it off, but expel the bullet from his body." The priest shivers. "It's a little disconcerting the first time you see it. I'fe seen him suffer that more than vonce on an operation, though. He's geared toward fighting the... strongest threats ve haf to face down. Iscariot's ace up the sleeve, vhen Chief needs something to hold the lines. He's the best hunter ve haf. Anyvay, depending on how badly he's hurt, it can be a few hours to a few days. I don't think I'fe efer seen him down more than a day und a half, though."   To Gawain's status, she only tilts her head a little.   "You are? That's veird. You don't seem to have any obvious vounds... I mean, if you closed those vounds it didn't efen leave a mark, vhich is just... veird." Heinkel tilts her head just slightly. "I vas pretty sure you veren't human or anything. A ghost or something, maybe, ja? If not that, vhat are you?" 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' There's another nod from the knight as it's confirmed Heinkel's coworkers are still alive. He doesn't have much words on it, but he's relieved, despite knowing nothing about them. But then, Heinkel talks about the person she fought last night. "Henry Jekyll, Assassin-Class Servant. What he did there must have been his main power, I assume he became Mister Hyde...he leads that new League of Progress organization, so they might end up being a problem. Let us only hope they don't pull something like that again!" The light then dims, but atleast there's moonlight, so Gawain isn't bothered by it. He does, however, notice the oddness of Heinkel's eyes. "Oh, that's cool! Reminds me sort of like a cat." And then Gawain proceeds to grin silently, not responding to what is said to him. Heinkel, despite being coarse and rough, seems to be a very knightly person in her own ways. "I usually only spend my stipend on pizza, video games, books, or clothing. I think donating it to this orphanage would be a worthy location to put it, especially after everything that has happened. Are they okay, with everything that's happening in your world?" Gawain seems briefly worried about the orphans, because he is a knightly knight and orphans are important. He waits a bit for an answer before moving back to the discussion about regeneration. "And do you regenerate like he does? Your jaw's already healed, but it sounds like you regenerate in a different way!" The knightly knight isn't attempting to pry, however. He's just too curious of a creature. It's true, Sir Gawain looks fine. There's no signs that he was set aflame, or stabbed, or smashed against a wall, or any of the things that happened to him. "I healed all my wounds up within a few hours, but it took a major expenditure of my mana. And there's a reason there's no scars, too." He nods towards the ghost statement, but sort of waves his hand. "Close! I am the same as Dr. Jekyll: a Servant, a Heroic Spirit from legend who died and was brought back by maguses in order to fight for them. I'm not quite a ghost, because my body is material, but it's made of magic. Ainsley's Servant, Berserker, is also like me in that regard. There's more to it than just that, but I don't think that's really important right now. So, I guess I'm dead, but alive again?" Gawain shrugs as if he's not...entirely sure how to classify it himself. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Henry Jekyll?" Heinkel arches a brow high enough to suggest she recognises that name. "You mean Doctor Jekyll? He vas in an old story. Drank a potion and turned into Doctor Hyde, vhich ist the bigger, meaner version of himself. Like a berserker. Ach, ja, it's like a berserker. My partner is von, you know. Vell, she's more..."   "Yumie ist two personalities in von body. Vhen Yumiko is out, she vouldn't harm a fly. Vhen Yumie's out... vell." Heinkel grins. It's more skinning her lips back from her teeth. It's also eloquent, and speaks volumes about what a violent sort of person Yumie must be. Very useful for the line of work that they do.   She tilts her head at his assessment. "Ja, probably. They're vorth keeping an eye on. I don't trust them, so it vould be good to monitor their activities, going forvard."   Gawain's observation on her eyes brings her to glance at him, causing them to flicker and gleam with every slight movement. She chuckles. "Our little secret, if you don't mind. Even a lot of Iscariot doesn't know about this." She points toward her own eyes, a little ruefully. "Had a little accident on the job seven years ago. I vas bitten by a lycanthrope. Now I'm cursed, too. That's vhy I can regenerate, too. It's not as strong as Father Anderson's regeneration -- und no, he's not a verevolf, his ability to regenerate ist through technology -- but it does help. Mine is from the curse, though."   "The trade-off," she explains, "ist that vhen it's bad enough, it puts me into a torpor. You know, academically, I alvays vould haf thought that kind of advanced healing factor vould haf made a person haf a bigger appetite -- to make up that energy burn in calories. But I guess I just get narcoleptic vhen I rip open more than I can heal."   The orphans? Heinkel grins, although it's the non-creepy version; the shift in her expression causes her eyes to gleam as the moonlight hits them. "Ja. They're fine. The orphanage ist only about tventy miles avay. Ve can visit there some time, if you vant. I'm sure Alex vouldn't mind, und the children vould be delighted to meet a real live knight. Ferdinand Luke's ist safe, betveen Alex und being so close to Iscariot's base of operations."   It'd have to be the Apocalypse itself to make a dent in that place. Just having Alexander Anderson around is protection enough. Heinkel knows she sleeps better when she's stopping over at the orphanage; it's as good as having a phalanx of soldiers guarding her.   Not that she needs guarding.   "So. Basically a ghost, efen if the details aren't the same. Hunh. I vant to say I'fe heard of that kind of thing in previous years I'fe been on active Union service..." Heinkel snorts. "Ach, ja. That's vhere I heard it. Ainsley vas talking about her own Serfant. I remember, now. She just appeared out of thin air. Kind of unsettling, really."   Her head tilts a little further as she studies Gawain. "Hunh." That seems extremely out-there and bizarre to her, but that's pretty much what the multiverse is, so she just keeps her weirding out to herself. She absolutely still freaks out at things; she just does it very, very quietly and subtly. 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Gawain nods in affirmation that it is indeed that Jekyll. "Mister Hyde, actually. Who is who you fought, seeing how he was big and mean and a transformation." Gawain states the obvious as if it wasn't obvious at all. "That sounds pretty similar to the story of Jekyll and Hyde, actually, except without the potion. She sounds like an interesting person, though. And a great partner." He gets that last part just based off how fondly Heinkel seems to talk of Yumie. He also nods regarding the League. "I'll see what we can setup about that one. Though they're also aiding in relief efforts in the Multiverse, so I don't believe they're entirely a threat." Heinkel's story fascinates Gawain, but his response is probably an odd one to her, because he just takes it all in, nods, and accepts it perfectly. "Understood. I'll keep it between us, though I do suggest informing the rest of Command Staff if you believe it'll be a risk at any point." This is standard business to him, as he moves to the subject of appetite. "Oh, that's one of the ways I refuel. Eating large quantities of food. Though, to be perfectly fair, I ate large quantities when I was alive, too!" He must have had a /wonderful/ metabolism, because it's not clear at all. "I would love to, when things aren't busy! I don't know if they know what's happening or not, but either way, it should be a good and happy experience for them." Meeting a knight, not the ghoul swarms, that is. Gawain nods again about the ghost thing, but still isn't very sure. "She had been taking spirit form. It's a thing we can do, though I don't do it often, so I frequently forget about it." The knight then glances out at the moon. "It's getting pretty late, I don't know how much longer visiting hours will be going. Do you need anything? I can go pick it up and drop it off with a nurse." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja." Heinkel leans back, thoughtfully, over the matter of Mister Hyde. It really does seem quite like the way that Yumie and Yumiko operate, except that they're wholly loyal to Vatican Section XIII and personally loyal to her. "She's interesting, all right. A lot of people don't know vhat to make of her. I respect her, though, und she'll valk to the Gates of Hell for me because of that. She saw more in me than the criminal I vas vhen I took up vit Iscariot, vhen others only saw the former criminal. I'd do the same for her."   She lets her eyes drift to the ceiling, still flickering intermittently as the light catches them at different angles, this way and that. "They may not entirely be a threat, but they still haf to be vatched. Just because they're offering relief vit von hand doesn't mean they hafen't got a knife in the other."   "I think last night vas a pretty good sign of that, anyvay."   "Danke. The people in Paladin Command who haf to know are avare of it, und some people in the Union did, too. But even a lot of Iscariot are unavare, after all this time. Only Alex, Chief, und Yumiko und Yumie know it in Iscariot. I'd appreciate it if it stayed that vay. I also don't like outside entities in the multiverse knowing that. If I do haf to use it during a mission -- und I don't like to do it, but I vill if it's more efficient to fulfill an objective that vay -- I prefer it to be a surprise; a hidden advantage."   It's a toss-up whether he actually keeps his trap shut, but she's done what she can and now she has to give it to, and trust in, God. Here's to hoping he doesn't let it slip in his overenthusiasm.   "Ja. I think the older vons know vhat's happening, but the younger vons... they vouldn't understand, und it's kinder not to let them know. The only reason the older vons aren't panickig ist because they know they haf Alex." Heinkel smiles a wistful half-smile. "It's the safest place in the vorld they can be, because it's Alex's orphanage; they trust him, efen if he's not there. Vhich he's not. He's been dispatched, too, but they're in good hands."   Who knew? Heinkel, secretly a softie.   "Hn... ja. It's getting late." Heinkel can feel her eyes drooping a little. It is entirely possible that the doctors plied her with more sedative just to knock her out long enough to let her wounds start healing. It's also entirely probable that they know what a restless patient she is, and planned the sedative expenditure that way. "I should probably sleep for a little vhile more, vhile I can. Hnn... sedatives here are great. Not much vorks on me since the accident..."   Those reflective eyes droop lower, until the light finally winks out. "I think I'll be alright, danke. Go vit God," she offers, "in His care und keeping. Amen."   Seems she'll make good on her word, closing her eyes whether he's left or not. It's not long before she's genuinely unconscious. 
}}

4884/The Big Bad Wolves

2016-12-16T01:34:42Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/15 |Location=Chicago-667 |Synopsis=Bigby Wolf requests a word with Heinkel Wolfe. The irony of the latter's name is not a fact that escapes..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/15
|Location=Chicago-667
|Synopsis=Bigby Wolf requests a word with Heinkel Wolfe. The irony of the latter's name is not a fact that escapes its owner.
|Cast of Characters=363, 585
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest pauses on her way back to the motorcycle. A glance is cast to the vehicle, somewhat longingly. Enduring the cold wind of a ride means getting back to a place that has central heat and air, or a fireplace, and she...   ...gets a signal from Bigby, which she seems to hesitate over.   "Excuse me," she mutters, frowning around her cigarette.   One does not refuse the summons of a creature they acknowledge as their direct superior in terms of raw strength and presence. Wolves generally know their place in the wild, and violent disputes are actually comparatively rare... and Heinkel is no exception to this. She has a feeling if she resisted her throat would probably be torn out.   Turning, the priest hobbles around her crutches toward the Big Bad Wolf, limping her way over. She's watching him warily the whole time; were she in her other form, her tail would be low, and her ears would be back, teeth showing ever so slightly.   Half a glance is cast back to the others before returning her attention to Bigby's imposing bulk.   "...You vant a vord?" she says, a little dubiously. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' It wasn't one of those 'obey or I'll tear your throat out' matters, really, but Bigby can certainly understand why Heinkel's Wolf would feel that way about it. He walks a few paces down the pavement, far enough to have a quiet word in private but not so far as to make her hobble along unreasonably. "I just wanted to let you know, I have no intention of eating you, tearing your throat out, or whatever else you've been imagining this whole time," he states simply and matter-of-factly, flicking ash from the end of his dwindling cigarette. "You know who I am. That makes me your alpha, not your enemy." He studies her curiously, eyes raking her over with intense but not predatory intent. "I'm guessing you're one of those part time Wolves, three days a month and out? Otherwise -- why not change form to heal that wound? Or does it not work that way in your world?" See? That's all. He's just curious. Now, as long as she answers all of his questions to his satisfaction she's sure not to get ripped apart. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The fact that Heinkel can't fold her arms is a personal annoyance, because she feels like the projection of mild annoyance and attmept at intimidation would be a comfort right now. She's used to being loomed over; Alex is a giant of a man, but there isn't much that can rattle the primeval half of her instincts these days.   Heinkel settles for exhaling smoke, and glaring at Bigby behind those flat lenses. He can't see her glaring, but her body language probably suggests as much.   Yes. Even with crutches. Don't ask how.   She studies him for a long moment after he asks that question. The fact that he says he's not going to pound her into a fine red mist is not much of a consolation, because people can say all sorts of things, and that doesn't mean they're going to do them. Or not do them. So she puffs another wreath of smoke.   Having some stranger she doesn't know from Adam declaring themselves her boss or superior out of the blue doesn't sit well with her, but even her instincts know better than to raise a fuss. For once, the Wolf shuts up and listens.   Man, what she would've given for that kind of control the first few years...   "It doesn't vork that vay in my vorld, in any regard you're assuming, und I don't like to do that trivially. It's not just 'turning into a volf,' you know." Heinkel scowls around her cigarette. "Besides, vhether I'm that or the other, I still heal faster." 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' "That's too bad," Bigby remarks, shaking out another cig and lighting it with the glowing remnants of the first. Because no, he doesn't know. For him it really is just a matter of deciding which form to adapt, or any stage in between. Natural as breathing. "Sorry," he adds, though it's unclear if that's meant as a sincere apology or if he's just expressing his condolences that she can't change at a whim. "Look. You're a cop, I'm a cop -- kind of -- there's no reason we need to clash. You want to play the lone wolf, that's fine, I get that. I don't run with a pack myself. I just don't get to MEET people all that often who... share our condition," he smiles dryly around the newly-lit smoke. "Look, I just wanted to make sure that you and other-you both know where we stand. We're cool. I'm not a threat to you, you're... certainly not a threat to me. Since we both seem to be friends of Harry's, and that says a lot for your character, I'm hoping we can work together." Hell, maybe some full moon they could even chase down a bear. That'd be fun. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, vell, it ist vhat it is," Heinkel says simply, shrugging and contentedly puffing a cloud of smoke. To his apology, she only looks at him flatly. She's squinting behind those lenses, but they do a good job of masking her expression. In fact, they look like they're constructed almost like goggles, allowing no light to reach the eye beneath, and keeping it hidden from view. That's some pretty hefty, and definitely custom-engineered, protection. From what?   To the rest, she only tilts her head. "Not alvays," she clarifies, reaching up. Hooking a finger into her collar, she gives it a sharp tug, pulling it just far enough to show a broad stripe of scarring at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It looks like something tried, and mostly succeeded, in ripping a chunk out of her that by all rights should have included her throat.   The scarring is old and faded, but the marks of enormous teeth are unmistakable. "Seven years. Almost eight. I didn't really vant it, but the stupid mongrel vouldn't take no for an answer, and by 'no' I mean 'I emptied two clips into its ugly face.'" Her mouth twists. It's almost a rueful sort of half-smile, and also sort of a grimace. She lets the collar go, and it springs back into place. "I guess it vas hungry."   "Nein. I don't haf a 'pack.'" She reaches for her collar this time, pulling out the cross and dangling it by way of explanation. It's iron instead of silver, gleaming only dully in the light. "I haf something better."   Her meaning seems vague. Religion itself? The support of her fellow clergy? It isn't immediately clear.   "So long as you're not trying to kick down local laws, I haf no quarrel vit you." Even if he makes the Wolf inside gibber and foam at the mouth, even if just standing this close to him makes her hackles rise and the most uncomfortable sense of apprehension twist her gut. Heinkel has dealt with feeling unpleasant before, though, and she can ride it out just fine. "If you do, vell, tut mir leid. I might just haf to shoot you."   He might smell gunpowder about her, this close; not to mention silver and steel. The former must be a real pain in the ass to carry around for somebody like her. "'Other-me' has no say in anything," she adds, flatly. "Most of the time I haf my vork cut out for me keeping it sealed in a can, vhere it belongs. It ist foreign, und it /knows/ that." That's right. Bad doggy. No eating people.   His offer, however, seems to mellow her out a little. He seems sincere enough, and so far he hasn't tried to rip her head off her shoulders. It would be pretty trivial, and so she figures he would've done that by now if that were his aim.   Heinkel balances herself against the crutches and sticks a hand out, offering it to him. "Heinkel Wolfe. Vatican Section XIII. Paladin, in more than von sense of the vord. I vas a paladin before I joined the Paladins." Her mouth twists. "Now I'm a Paladin paladin, I guess you could say."   Her mouth twists even more.   "...Ach. Nein. That just sounds stupid." 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' Bigby chuckles a little bit at the idea of her shooting him. Granted, silver would fucking /hurt/, but he's taken silver bullets before. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm a law abiding citizen then," he quips. He clasps the offered hand. "Bigby. It's short for Big Bad. So I think we're even on the funny sounding names. On hearing that her wolf-part is less a part of her and more an intruder, his brow furrows. He doesn't have a wolf spirit, he IS Wolf. Lycanthropy just gives him a means to shift forms, since he never learned to do it properly as a child. Heinkel's condition sounds more like a curse. For both of them. The human trying to stay in control, the wolf struggling to be free. "If there's anything I can do to... help you with that," he offers, cautiously, "let me know. I have a unique WAY with all things lupine," his lips twitch upward around the cigarette. "I'm on the StarkNet. I may be shit with most technology but I can work a radio, at least." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ach. There's nothing wrong with my name. It's not supposed to be a reflection on vhat I am." Heinkel huffs a breath, exhaling smoke, but there's no real animosity in the gesture. "That vas my name /before/ the Volf tried to rip my fucking head off. I had it first."   The Wolf may or may not grumble something contentious, but the Wolf is also famously contentious for the sake of being contentious. She's learned to tune it out most of the time.   Apparently she picks up on his furrowed brow. "Ja, it's a curse. I vasn't born this vay," she adds, gesturing nebulously at the scar across her neck and shoulder, neatly hidden by her starched white collar, and the high collar of her coat. "God knows I vouldn't haf been inducted into the church like this; ve make it our business to kill things like the Volf, because ten times out of ten in my vorld they're assholes who go around murdering entire villages because they feel like it." Her expression sours, and she rolls the cigarette to the other side of her mouth.   Her tone might be completely and utterly androgynous, but Bigby has wolf-senses. He probably knows he's dealing with a woman, albeit one who hides herself very well. Heinkel shows her teeth in a humourless grin. "Danke. But I've spent seven years learning how to control it. I think I haf it in hand, at this point. If I ever lose control of it, I already haf contingencies in place."   That is to say, she specifically asked Anderson to put a bayonet in her throat, because she knows she won't present a problem to him.   Heinkel taps ash from the end of her cigarette, glancing down and watching it scatter across the slush underfoot. "Ja. I hope ve haf a chance to vork together some. You haf a name other than Bigby, or ist that it?" 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' "I mean the... paladin Paladin thing -- you know what nevermind." Bigby can imagine what kind of 'contingencies' she has planned, if not the specifics, and shudders slightly. "Okay, but if you ever decide you want to try a more /diplomatic/ approach, I'm here." Him, the diplomatic option. Heaven help us all. "Just Wolf," he replies amusedly to the question of his name. "And to be fair, back in the day I WAS the murdering asshole. These days I try to stick to being a regular asshole though." Replacing little pig houses gets expensive when you're actually held accountable. He glances toward Heinkel's motorcycle, and Seras if she's still hanging around waiting for a ride back to wherever they came from. "How about the vampire? She's new, right?" To be fair, 'new' is extremely relative to someone who's been around for centuries. "Some church you must have, there." This is Bigby, trying to make small talk. He shakes his head. "--Anyway, I represent a small community now located on the outskirts of what they're calling the Quilt. You ever find yourself -- yourselves -- in the vicinity, drop me a line. First round's on me." God knows Fabletown could use the commerce. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "It's not a natural state of being like it ist for you," Heinkel points out. "It's a curse. An infection. There's nothing natural about it at all. I know there are actual verevolfs out there who are genuine freaks of nature und they vere probably created that vay. Genuine monsters. But I'm not von of those. I'm just an afflicted human."   She shrugs one shoulder, gesturing with a hand while bracing against a crutch. "It doesn't listen to diplomacy. I don't think it has enough of a mind for that. It's like a virus in the blood. It's vhy ve exterminate things like that vhen ve find them. It's also vhy I haf contingencies in place."   In a backwards sort of way, it takes bravery to arrange one's own death with full knowledge of what they're doing.   "Draculina? Ja. She's vit the Hellsing Organisation. You can think of them as Iscariot's contemporary, und also ally." Heinkel pulls a face that suggests she's not really thrilled about it, but far be it for her to complain. She's not the zealot that Maxwell or Anderson are. "Actually, she ist pretty new. I'd say she hasn't been turned more than a year or so."   Heinkel balances against a crutch, sighing and reaching up to scratch at the back of her head. "Still getting used to unlife, let alone the multiverse, but she needs to learn to put a lid on being incredulous at eferything. It's going to get her killed if she doesn't pay more attention." The priest snorts. "Dumbass." It's almost an affectionate insult. Seras' naivete is almost endearing in an aggravating sort of way, when it's not being... well... aggravating.   Shifting her weight on her crutches, she tilts her head at him when he mentions the church. "It's like any other Catholic church you may haf heard of. It just happens to haf a formerly-secret division dedicated to seeking und destroying bloodthirsty monsters that prey on our flock, ja?" Heinkel shows her teeth. "Ve vent public after the incident. There's so many fires burning east und vest that ve need public funding to handle it all. Fortunately, the public seems to be taking it vell, so far."   "Hunh. The Quilt. I hafen't been there yet, but I'll remember that. My vorld ist in the garden spot of the Contaminated Flatlands." Heinkel sighs, blandly. "God has a sense of cosmic irony, I think. Anyvay, it might be better if you let me know if you plan on showing up. I can vouch for you, or you might haf a few silfer bayonets sprouting from your torso. Some of my associates are..." She trails off. "Dedicated to their vork."   Yeah. We'll go with that. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' Bigby grins. "But I'm not a monster!" he declares, pressing his hand against his chest in a gesture of mock dismay at being so accused. "Well, no, hold that thought, I suppose I am. Just probably not the kind your church usually goes after. Still, I appreciate the warning. Silver is a pain in the ass to heal from. Same offer though, you need a hand with any of those bloodthirsty monsters, I'll never turn down a good fight." Even if she isn't a REAL volf. Er, Wolf. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Not you." Heinkel plucks her cigarette from the corner of her mouth, gesturing lazily with it. "The things that eat people in my vorld. Those are. They don't listen to diplomacy, unless you count diplomacy as silfer bullets loaded vit vials of holy vater."   She shrugs. "Ve don't haf anything that really compares to you. Oh, ja, I guess somevhere there's some kind of ancestral original verevolf that got the ball rolling, just like Alucard ist for vampires. But if there ist, I'fe never heard of it, or seen it." Thank God, she adds silently, emphatically. If it's out there, it's probably a monster on the same level as Alucard.   "Ja. I might, some time." Heinkel sighs, looking over to the empty street. It's so peaceable and quiet! It's probably a good thing she can't see the Nevernever. "Ve haf more than ve can deal vit. Several nations haf declared a state of emergency. Ve can only help so much; a lot of them are on their own, fighting a defensive battle until reinforcements can arrive. Others, ve lost contact vit. Still hafen't heard anything from the Americas or East Asia."   She shrugs. "Eh. Can't do much about it right now anyvay, I guess. Anyvay, ja. You'd be velcome." A grin, slightly toothed. "Chief might efen offer you a little recompense, too, if I guilt him into it enough." 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' "Wouldn't say no to that, either," Bigby mutters. Snow is always up his ass about operating expenses. Sure would be nice to pull out a nice fat sack of cash as a surprise for her some day. Although she'd probably assume he'd murdered someone for it. This plan needs more thought. "Well, if you ever find it, I'd love to meet it," he grins, showing his teeth. Which are perfectly normal and human looking. "I'm not the FIRST wolf from my world but, well." Just the biggest and baddest. Bigby takes one last drag of his latest cigarette and then snuffs it out on the sidewalk. Hopefully the Paladins won't silver-bullet him for a little littering. "Don't worry, I hear new areas are coming back online all the time. On the radio, I mean. Lot of stuff's been moved around but so far we haven't got any reason to think anything's been /lost/." He flips up the collar of his coat. "I'd better get back and report in, myself. You take care of yourself, Ms. Wolfe." So he definitely does know her gender, then. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "I know I don't, though sometimes I haf to eat it in expenses. Chief und I haf had some regular sparring matches about that." Heinkel sighs, reaching up to scratch at the back of her head again, idly ruffling her hair to straighten it out. "He seems to think money for ammo und travel is trivial... I haf to convince him othervise each time this comes up."   She leans on one of the crutches, favourin the right side. Going by how she keeps holding that leg awkwardly, that must be the one that tanked a boulder. "Maybe. If I don't shoot in the face, first. If Alucard's any clue, it's probably arrogant as shit and thinks it has the right to go eat whoever it vants. Not so much. Ve haf our territory, it can haf its own."   "And ne'er the twain shall meet," she adds, in a sour tone.   Shifting her weight, she glances down at the cigarette butt, but doesn't seem to comment. Hey, it's not her city. And she'd probably be hypocritical if she said something about it, given how much she smokes.   "Ja. Just can't find it, and there's a difference."   "Auf wiedersehen." Heinkel offers a lazy mock salute as Bigby flips his coat collar up and excuses himself. "Keep in touch. I'm sure you can ask Dresden for my frequency if you vant to talk, or ask for me ofer StarkNet. I'm all for vays to keep in touch vit people, or at least keep an ear to the ground."   There's a short pause, as he addresses her by title. Reasonably, she knows that he probably just used his nose. Or he's particularly observant in a way that most people aren't.   "Not bad."   Turning, she starts hobbling towards her motorcycle, cautious not to slip on the slush. Maxwell might strangle her if she went home with a compounded fracture on top of everything else. And so, the priest goes about stowing her crutches and powers up the motorcycle.   Sure, she'll wait for the Draculina to catch up, sure, but she'll do it from the warmth and sanctity of a coffee shop somewhere in this miserably cold city. 
}}

3329/Lost Dog Returns

2016-12-16T00:44:48Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2015/11/04 |Location=Boston-666 |Cast of Characters=253, 363 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''  &nb..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2015/11/04
|Location=Boston-666
|Cast of Characters=253, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     Since the tower renovations, it's usually Psyber that mans the front desk. At least, that's where he can be found when he's not doing field work. Today is, luckily, a slow day for him. Since the events of Terra Majora and Lordran, he's had much more downtime. So, thusly, he can be found precisely at the aforementioned front desk.     The building is open for business, though as usual most of its clients are handled via online or phone, with every few walk-ins. Plus, Halloween just passed so the city is in clean-up mode rather than making trouble. That means that during the downtime of no phonecalls, Psyber is casually leaning back in an office chair and reading a newspaper with his feet up on the counter.     Overall, it is a pretty quiet and relaxed afternoon. Not much to worry about or focus on. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There's no rest for the weary or the wicked. So it goes that the resident Vatican operative has been halfway across the globe in pursuit of the freakazoid mass-produced vampires that she's really come to loathe. One lead led to another, which then led to no less than three red herrings and several headaches.   After chasing leads for what felt like and probably was months, Bishop Maxwell finally decided that nothing was going to come of having Section XIII investigate the problem, and left his operatives to their own devices until more information came to light.   So, after another headache-inducing scramble through the airport, Heinkel Wolfe had booked herself a ticket from the Vatican back to the fair city of Boston, and the agency which she does occasional work for.   Outside one can hear the sound of a motorcycle headed down the road. A very old motorcycle. An antique motorcycle, in fact, a German bike that sounds like it's been restored just enough to make it run. The engine shuts off, and there comes a hearty thud, as of something heavy being dropped.   About ten minutes later the agency doors bang open on their hinges. In staggers a familiar figure -- tall, slightly disheveled, and muttering darkly under her breath in German. In marches Heinkel Wolfe, lugging two very large suitcases, which she lets drop on the floor. She's wearing her usual rough and tumble long coat, priest's collar, and dark sunglasses; although it's not possible to see her squint behind the dark lenses, she does frown and tilt her head like a confused dog.   "Vhat." Her voice is a croak. She snorts, absently adjusting the lay of her collar. "I go avay for a few months, you get demoted into desk vork. I see how it is. You rent out my room here vhile you're at it, too?"   Stern, stone-faced expression... wait for it... grin.   "Vell. Good to see the place hasn't burnt itself down vhile I vas gone, anyvay. So. Vhat have you been up to, Boss?" 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     It's always a pleasant surprise when Heinkel finds the time to return to the office between the long jaunts that the Vatican sends her around hither, thither and yon all over the world for business. He looks up from his newspaper, peering over the end of it as she arrives back through the front door of the office and tilts his head a little, "Hardly anything so dramatic. I prefer the front desk when I'm not doing fieldwork or taking time off."     Her grin is returned in kind, the paper folding up and setting down on the desk in front of him, "That's a trick question, though. You don't have a room. You usually only stay long enough to get comfortable on the couch before you take off again," He points out as he starts to adjust himself in the chair, "So I can't have rented out your room."     "Welcome back, though. It's nice to see you're doing well, despite Vatican business," He comments, answering her question a few moments later, "I've been busy. As usual, quite a few changes have happened over the past year or so. Nothing particularly amazing, but it's always busy." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Hunh. Vould've pegged you for someone out there to do the hunting, not a desk jockey." Heinkel shrugs out of her coat, tossing it over one of the suitcases, and revealing a sweater underneath. "Guess papervork isn't so bad. I end up doing a lot of it for Yumie." That is to say, when Yumie inevitably flips out and does incredibly violent things, Heinkel has to exercise damage control. And also handle the invoices for travel and supplies.   She grins at the assessment about the room. Maybe it's something of a trick question. With a trick answer, apparently.   "Thanks." A forefinger pushes the shades more firmly up the bridge of her nose. "Vell, I don't haf any bullet holes in me yet, or tooth-marks. At least nothing so bad you'd notice. Figured I'd come back and offer my services to the Union again. Ve lost our leads, so vhile the Vatican figures out vhat ve're going to do about this ongoing investigation, I haf nothing to do but sit on my hands. Or maybe do a few odd jobs for this place." She listens a moment about his statement on changes, and rolls one shoulder in a shrug. "It's the multiverse. Everything changes. Is changing. I'd expect that much."   She sidesteps around the unburdened suitcase to sit down on top of it, apparently trusting its sturdy, tank-like build to support her weight without caving. Wait a minute, are those things reinforced with /metal/? "So. Any open cases I can stick my nose in?" She shows those slightly sharp teeth in a grin again. "I don't vant to report back to Bishop Maxvell just yet. Von't kill him to stall for a day or two." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     "Oh, I do both. It's part of what comes with running the whole place, you know that," He waves a hand vaguely around as if to indicate the office itself, "I handle office work when there aren't field operations I need to be out on." He lets out a somewhat tired yawn and then watches her as she pushes up her sunglasses.     "If you wanna cool your heels and hang around here until the next bout of work, you know you're always welcome. Your access codes and keys should still work and all," Psyber comments as he watches her sit down on her suitcase. When she asks about open missions, he pulls open the desk and seems to go through some files.     "Banari's world seems to be growing active again recently. There's also a world unified with fairy tale connotations. One of the Hyrules has an ongoing crisis. Priscilla's world is moving into a new phase of existence and needs stabilization. One of the Gensokyos also seems to have ongoing incidents," He muses as he looks over a list.     "Plus whatever other flare-up incidents occur day to day." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Leaning over so she can rest her elbows against her knees, Heinkel glances up, raising a brow. Oh, good. Her keys still work, and her access codes also still work. That's always good to know, especially when you're getting back to the agency in the middle of the night, covered in monster ichor, pounding on the door because you need a shower so badly you're ready to kill something else to get into one--   Ahem.   "Never a dull moment." She laces her fingers, resting her chin on the backs of her fingers. "Hunh. Tell me more about the Banari case, and the Gensokyo case. Might be something I can do vit those." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     "The Banari case is that her world has an ongoing series of paranormal crises that arise and abate depending on unknown factors. Substantial active periods and then lots of silence. I've yet to personally dispatch to the world due to the fact my own schedule was tied up in Terra Majora and Lordran," Psyber hands her an abbreviated casefile, "You can talk to Riva for more information and see what she needs people to be doing out there."     "The Gensokyo issue..." He flips through numerous files and pulls out another, sliding it over, "A being from Gensokyo seems to be making repeated incursions into the Multiverse, based off my intelligence. I'm not sure what they want or what they're doing. Marisa Kirisame or Konoe Kanno are good points of contact for that."     "The former will almost certainly be a good fit for your combat skills and capabilities. I've been getting reports of monsters and undead." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "So, something's causing trouble, and nobody knows vhat it is just yet. Sounds like an investigation's in order, although I guess someone's bound to have thought that up. There's just no leads, probably," Heinkel muses, frowning as she reaches into her pocket, withdrawing a small plastic baggie of... what looks like celery sticks, one of which is plucked free and crunched on thoughtfully. The bag is silently offered to Psyber. Want some? "Maybe I can have a look around. I doubt I'll see anything that other people missed, but it's vorth a look, anyvay."   Crunch, crunch. Heinkel considers for a few seconds, flopping the folder open and skimming through it. "Ja, I'll talk to her. See vhat I can find out." She snaps it shut, setting it aside.   The next case file is taken, and skimmed through even as Psyber explains the nitty-gritties. "Hunh. Ja, I'll talk to them too. If it's something that shouldn't be here, ve can talk to it, maybe. Or I can start shooting it, if that's vhat it needs."   Monsters and undead? Heinkel smiles, slowly, the sort of toothsome smile that sets no-name Iscariot personnel on edge. "You just said the magic vords. I'll get in touch vit' Riva immediately. Oh, and about transportation. I haf another car, so I'll need some room in the garage. Maxvell's going to haf a 'company car' sent out to me." One can almost hear the air-quotes. In reality it's just a black sedan with heavy armour plating, tinted windows, and probably something made of silver somewhere in the body. Running over the things that go bump in the night with a car is a completely legitimate tactic. "Just von, though, and I probably von't drive it much. Official Iscariot business is few and far between on this side of the pond." She wrinkles her nose. "I trust my motorcycle to get me vhere I need to go a lot faster than those boats; you know, I really don't like driving large vehicles."   Leaning back, she looks over, studying the office foyer. "Not too much different around here, though. It's nice to haf a place to jump back into things." Her sunglasses turn back to Psyber. "I should introduce you to Yumie some time. I think you'd like her." Pause. "Vell." Longer pause. "Yumiko, maybe." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     Psyber brings up a hand and waves the celery sticks off. Not much a fan of them outside the context of hotwings, in his case. He adjusts his chair a bit and nods his head, "You can go ahead and keep the file, it's not my original copy." (OOC: And consult with Riva where necessary for what it might have in it.)     "Riva's good, I think you'll get along with her well if you can put up with her eccentric nature." He slides the drawer in the desk shut, nodding his head, "We can get a place for you in the car port, no problem. I'll get you a spot number as soon as I figure out a good place for you to put it. No hassle at all."     "Always preferred cars to bikes, myself. Better for what I need them to do, that is," He notes off-handedly, leaning back in the chair and saying, "Yeah, you've told me about Yumie... or Yumiko... before, vaguely. She sounds like a nice girl," He remarks as he start shutting more drawers on the desk, "I wouldn't mind meeting her at some point, no." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Thanks." Heinkel stands up, kicks her suitcase open, and stuffs one of the two folios into it before latching it closed and dropping back down to sit on it. "I'll talk to Riva vhen I can. She'll haf more details than this."   Eccentric?   She snorts. "I vork vit' Section XIII. How is she going to be any more eccentric than them?" Heaving herself back up to her feet, she nudges one of her suitcases closer with a boot, folding her arms. "Ja, just leave the number on my radio or something. I'll put my motorcycle there in the meantime." Flipping through the remaining folio, she shrugs. "Prefer bikes to get from point A to point B, but I need a car if I'm going to be shooting something. Can't exactly fit that case on the back of my bike, even if I love that bike. It's not exactly subtle."   Yumie? She grins, toothy. "Nein, nein. I probably told you about Yumiko, and she /is/ a nice girl. Yumie is her other personality. Also, Yumie is a bloodthirsty berserker who'll kill any person she thinks is a threat to the Church. Or, you know, even if they're not, just to be safe. I'm her handler; I know how to vake Yumie up vhen she's needed... or put her to sleep."   "Ve had a job in the Middle East, a few years back, before I joined the Union. Nobody there knew she vas a split personality. The papervork from that took a vhile," she sighs.   Stooping, she grabs hold of her suitcases, coat still balanced on one of them. "Anyvay, I'm going to go dump these upstairs. You're right; I like the couch, but I can't really fit my crap under it, so I'll just pick a room. Call me if anything comes up; you haf my number."   With that, if he hasn't got any other pressing reason to stop her, she'll shuffle along on her way. "I'll see about dragging Yumiko over here. Don't vork too hard," she tosses over her shoulder. 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     "Sure, sure. Feel free to settle in. Leftovers in the fridge and all that," Psyber gives her an off-hand wave and then settles back into his chair, not bothering to help with the suitcases. It's not meant to be rude, he just doesn't doubt Heinkel can handle them on her own and doesn't want to insult her by implying otherwise.     "We should still have a few spare rooms open, sure. Nothing special, but I doubt you need much," He sighs and picks up the newspaper again, unfolding it and going back to flipping through the pages to look for an interesting story to read, "Welcome back and all that, Heinkel."     There's a bit of a yawn as the feet go back up on the desk and he takes a more relaxed position. 
}}

3382/Big Trouble in Little Midoriyama

2016-12-16T00:44:36Z

Hrimfaxi:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2015/11/13
|Location=Hellsing Earth <HE>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe shows up to collect a few Union Allies for Iscariot operations, and starts with a strange girl named Sachi Yuukizura...
|Cast of Characters=881, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     The small town of Midoriyama is exactly what you would expect from a hillside town in the middle of the country: Spread-out, just enough of a population that people won't notice most visitors come and go, but small enough that rumors spread quickly. On this particular clear-sky afternoon in the midst of fall, the digital-synthesized bell tolls for the end of the day. Students prepare to scatter for their respective clubs, while a few students decide to chat as they make way to the school courtyard.     Before she hits the lobby, she hears the whispers.     'There's a scary person outside! Did someone call a teacher?'     'There's something weird out there...'     'Is that a motorcycle?'     'Is she a foreigner?'     'What's going on?'     Among those leaving is a short, thin girl with dark hair and a few dyed-in streaks. As students pass, almost /all/ are watching the strange woman ont the bike. There is however, one, just one, slightly different from all the others:     Sachi Yuukizura does not have her mouth covered to hide her whispers. She does not have a look of terror on her face, nor does she look nervous. From the stern look on her features, she looks less like the strange, klutzy, care-free student they all know her as...     ... and more like a predator, those brown eyes with their tight band of red staying tightly focused. THAT EVENING     Doing her homework isn't that much of a chore. She's more or less got the school thing licked, so long as it doesn't interfere with her work. Since their induction to the multiverse and their politics, the UGN has been scrambling to try to minimize the impact-- and knowledge-- of all of these other worlds, resources stretched thinner than they have been in ages... all in preparation for the day they can drop the veil of secrecy and giving their staff able to control media blackouts and the occasional memory-wipe a well-deserved vacation.     "Kuroda, I'm going for a walk," Sachi says, already halfway out the door. Wandering down the twisting, winding roads of the small town-- with not /that/ many people on the streets-- she is otherwise no longer in her student uniform, instead wearing her track jacket, exercise leggings, and a t-shirt, feet firmly tucked inside running shoes.     She's dressed for a patrol-- for work. Something about that woman doesn't sit right with her, and all things being equal...     .. she's expecting something bad to happen. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   About twenty minutes down the road from her household, the UGN operative will find the mysterious person that her schoolmates had pointed and whispered about, idling on that same antiquated German military motorcycle, which has all sorts of concealed things strapped onto the back, over its cargo rack.   It's difficult to say whether the figure is a man or woman, androgynous by lines, dressed in fairly unenlightening clothing. They're wearing a long black duster, dark brown-tinted sunglasses (at night? who wears that at night?), black leather gloves, and what looks like the white of a priest's collar folded neatly at the throat. The figure's hair is somewhat on the short side, ragged but not quite unkempt; the face hard lines that could be either male or female.   There's a faint red glow, and a streamer of cigarette smoke rising steadily from the figure's head.   "I vas starting to vonder if you vere going to come out or vhat." The voice is also androgynous, but there's just a touch to it that suggests it /might/ be female. It's also a grumbly sort of tone that seems to say, 'man, what a pain in the ass.' "You're Union, aren't you? Sachi Yuukizura, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     The smell hangs in the air-- she doesn't like it that much. Reminds her too much of the facility. They're definitely not Kuroda's brand, either; something that makes Sachi's nose scrunch a little. Looking in either direction at the surroundings of Midoriyama, Sachi does not answer the mystery German woman at first-- instead, she closes her eyes, nudging her glasses back up on her face. The red band in her eyes widens just slightly.     Even the German woman can feel it, even if she isn't affected by it: A pressure in the air, weighty enough to be felt, but something that passes by like a warm summer breeze.     Suddenly, things get more quiet. The townspeople don't even seem to notice, or stop their conversations-- they just keep a wide berth around the two, as though something were unconsciously warding them away, keeping what's going on just outside of their perception.     "That's right, I am," Sachi says, the warmth in her tone held only at a minimum. "If you have any intent on starting trouble here, I'll have to escort you out-- one way or another." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The German woman can feel it, alright. Although her own eyes are not visible behind the opaque lenses, they narrow at the shift in ambient power. Her response is to exhale a plume of smoke, outwardly unbothered by the display, even as the wolf inside demands blood.   Heinkel ignores that old, familiar baying.   With great deliberation, she reaches for her cigarette, stooping over the side of her bike to stump it out on the ground, before grinding it under her combat boot -- a single quick, sidelong jerk of an ankle putting it out beyond any question of a doubt.   "Gut." Good. She leans forward over the handlebars, gloved hands draped over them. "I'm from Iscariot Section XIII, a detachment of the Vatican. Union ally. Heinkel Wolfe." With some deliberation she pronounces her last name free of accent. Reaching up, she whisks off the sunglasses, to reveal eyes that are so pale blue they seem almost white; very distinctly luminous in the light of the moon. And she grins, showing teeth that are just a degree or two too sharp for normal.   Escort? Heinkel actually throws her head back and laughs at that. "Hah! Posture all you vant, but I'm not here for trouble. I vas sent here on behalf of Iscariot. Father Anderson thinks you might be a good sometimes-ally of the Church, since your file suggests you're not half bad at killing things that go 'bump' in the night. Ve'll pay you, of course." Again, she grins, and it's just a hair less predatory-looking. "I'm too lazy to start any trouble. You know vhat kind of papervork that'd mean for me?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     As the sunglasses are taken from her face, Sachi gives pause only for a moment; the color of her eyes and the shine of teeth that hit a little too close to the mark of the name of 'Wolfe' evoke memories and worries of people she's taken on in the past-- and a few of her less just and righteous allies. She's a predatory Chimera if she's ever seen one before.     There's something a little offputting in the air-- and it isn't just the cigarette. Sachi frowns, dark ashen tresses shifting with the turn of her head. While the pose would suggest a hand on the hip, there's little of that actually shown; the tension in her legs, the straightness of her back, the fact that Heinkel is not ever once taken out of the range of her vision-- the small movements of hands far too used to combat for her age standing ready at a moment's notice.     The motorcycle. Cigarettes. The attitude.     "I'm not really a religious type," Sachi says, trying to play it relatively cool-- and gauging Heinkel's reactions. "Besides, I have a job already." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest seems content to lounge against the handlebars of the motorcycle, now that she's delivered her speech and offer. That vague animosity just melts away, and she even goes so far as to raise a hand to rest her cheek against the heel of a hand, elbow planted against one of the handlebar supports. Her sunglasses dangle from the other hand, reflective eyes casting back light every few breaths with the movement of her eyes; watching Sachi with a sort of relaxed interest.   Heinkel blinks a little owlishly, watching the lines of the younger girl's body and perhaps recognising a fighter when she sees one. Tight as a coiled spring, she is, as though in defiance to Heinkel's now-relaxed posture.   A few seconds tick by.   "Oh." She doesn't sound disappointed at all, just accepting. "No, I'm not trying to convert you. Think of it as mercenary vork," she explains, still casual. "Bishop Maxvell already drew up a contract for you, if you vant to sign it, although it's not usual for us to actually go out of our vay to hire somevon, but... multiverse," she adds, with a shrug. "Vhat can you do? Some persistent problems of ours haf some help from beyond the varpgates, now, and it means ve're burning the midnight oil more than ve might like."   She straightens, setting her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose, patting at her coat pockets and muttering to herself. "Vhere'd I put... ach, there ve go." She fishes out a slightly-crumpled paper from her pocket, and stretches over the handlebars, passing it to Sachi. "Haf a look at that; that should explain everything you need. Ve vouldn't take you from vhatever obligations you haf here, either."   It's a pretty basic contract, basically entitling Sachi to ludicrous pay in exchange for whatever 'work' Section XIII might need her for. It's all very neat and tidy, and somewhat generic in its wording. Even travel expenses and 'business' expenses are accounted for.   "Up to you, of course, but ve vouldn't mind somevon of your obvious skill." Heinkel gestures, faintly. "Bishop Maxvell had a look at the Union records, and I guess he vas impressed. This isn't really normal procedure. Think of it more as a side-job. Occasional bonus, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     If it were possible, Sachi somehow tenses /further/ as Heinkel's hands start plumbing the depths of that massive coat; half-training, half-warranted worrying. ... Or is it? The Overed doesn't sense any of the latent, lingering signs of the Renegade Virus from this woman, and other than a few stray features she seems to be entirely normal (if dangerous)?     No-- get your shit together, Yuukizura.     With steps softer than a cat, Sachi starts to approach, getting herself close enough to take a closer look at the contract. Adjusting her glasses with a soft touch, she starts to read the documentation at a glance-- and pausing briefly at the promise of exorbagant pay. That kind of money would pay for college tuitions. A trip overseas. The chance to study at a real culinary school.     The chance to have those wonderful rose-colored student life days that she secretly enjoys and wants to cherish!     Extending her hand to take the papers, Sachi tries her hardest to maintain her composure. "You should realize I can't make any decisions like this on my own. You probably should have made an appointment with my handler, Kuroda." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   By the time Sachi takes the paper, Heinkel's gone back to lounging against the motorcycle's handlebars, chin planted firmly against the heel of her hand again while Sachi scans over the document. She's patient, apparently not minding the chill of an autumn evening, warded by her heavy coat.   Casually, she whisks off her sunglasses, polishing them on the hem of her coat while she waits. They're replaced once more on the bridge of her nose, and those reflective eyes settle on Sachi once more.   Handler?   "Ja, I can understand that." Heinkel sounds amused. Yumie needs a handler; the berserker has the social grace of... well, a berserker, but this seems to be a slightly different situation. "I'll talk to him on behalf of Section XIII. Ve can't afford to pull Father Anderson or Bishop Maxvell avay from their current duties, but I've been given authority to speak for them in this."   She looks casual still, apparently unmoved by the sorts of sums discussed on that single piece of slightly battered paper. "Vhat kind of person is Kuroda?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     Sachi's attention is split; the precarious balance of a teenager's immaturity and the life-long training of a soldier that's needed to keep a tight leash on themselves for most of the years they've been alive seems to come into play more obviously than normal here. Unlike her usual daily routine, however, she is not a klutz or a menace to all of society here. She flips the page, glancing it over with those scarlet-tinged eyes.     What kind of person is Kuroda?     "A mastermind," she says.     Flipping the pages back to the front, Sachi shifts her weight, arms folding and head cocking to the side. "He coordinates our branch's activities in Midoriyama, and makes sure that I stay off the radar of the locals and the police. A lot of folks around here would disapprove of a seventeen-year old superhuman fighting the occasional gjaum with their blood or investigating... worse things," the Overed says, expression relatively flat. "I keep the peace, he keeps the paperwork off me."     He also taught her a lot about how to be a person. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   A mastermind? That doesn't seem to be the expected answer, but it is an illuminating one. Heinkel lifts her chin from her hand, rubbing at her jaw thoughtfully. That's going to give her some food for thought, at least until she has the opportunity to meet Kuroda for herself. Privately, she wonders if it might have been better to have someone else from Section XIII handle this...   Her expression stays carefully blank as she thinks over her Iscariot compatriots.   ...no, better if she does this herself.   With their blood? That draws an interested quirk of a brow, but Heinkel doesn't comment on it. "Sounds like Section XIII. Ve make sure nobody else knows vhat's going 'bump' in the night. In my vorld, anyvay. I doubt you haf a Section XIII here. Sounds like you haf this organisation instead. So, he's basically vhat Bishop Maxvell is for most of Section XIII. Handler."   "Ja, I could talk to him." Heinkel frowns, folding her own arms, tapping them thoughtfully against her forearm. "It might be better to haf Bishop Maxvell handle this negotiation, but I think he has his hands full vit' the South American front, probably." The frown deepens. She intensely dislikes paperwork and politics, and increasingly finds herself dealing with it from a multiversal front. "Bah. Ja, I'll talk to him."   A second or two of silence pass, and then Heinkel grins a good-natured, if slightly toothy, grin.   "Vant a ride home?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     Sachi's head tilts a little. "It's a little tougher than that to explain. The UGN is ..." The girl's head shakes, exhaling a heavy sigh. "It's big. Global."     The South American front? Getting her own first clue from Heinkel, her eyebrow quirks in a display of curiosity, though she doesn't push on it further. Closing her eyes, Sachi gives it a moment's consideration before fishing her phone out of her pocket-- complete with a few cute mascot charms hanging from it-- and tapping out a few things and bringing it up to her ear.     "Kuroda. I'm bringing home a guest. ... Yes. ... Yes. Right."     The phone beeps at a squeaky pitch as she hangs up, tucking it away into her pocket. Approaching the back of the bike, the short girl's brow scrunches. "You're supposed to wear helmets in Japan." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Maybe your handler can explain it better, then." Heinkel shrugs, heavy black duster rustling with the movement. "Sounds like the Vatican, though. Vorldvide branches and operations, that kind of thing. I can vork out the details vit' Kuroda, I think."   She watches as Sachi makes her phone call, draping herself over the handlebars once more and waiting, patient as a panther in a tree. Beep, click. She straightens once the phone is hung up and slipped back into its pocket, mascots and all.   Helmets? "Ve'll be taking the back roads," Heinkel points out. "Don't vorry, you'll be perfectly safe. Hop on and hold on tight. I don't really haf seatbelts on this thing," she adds, droll. "Just tell me vhere to turn."   She'll at least wait for Sachi to hop aboard before she ignites the engine -- which seems quieter than many, perhaps as a result of custom work. 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     "It's not that far," Sachi says, giving a small gesture back up the road whence she came. "Third left, then second house on the right."     Throwing one leg high and pushing up onto the balls of her other feet, Sachi climbs onto the bike, settling herself behind Heinkel. There's an oddly wet sound for a moment's time, and should the blonde look back... Sachi is now wearing a helmet-- one that has a distinctively scarlet tone, a metallic finish, no visor, and for some reason...     ... two cat ear-like bumps near the top.     "Just watch the speed through here. People walk around at night." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel glances back to see that her passenger is situated, using the mirror on the bike's handlebar -- and staring flatly for a second after that schlorping sound -- before turning the bike on and coasting easily over to the road.   Unlike the top-speed death chase Sachi might be expecting, Heinkel actually pulls her bike out slowly and carefully, flicks the headlight on, and rides along at what is probably a slower pace than is strictly necessary. And she might be trying not to think too hard about that helmet Sachi's wearing.   It doesn't take long to get to the Kuroda household. Or Yuukizura household. Or whatever it's called, really. Heinkel pulls up to the house and shuts off the engine, glancing back at Sachi, as if to say, 'this is your rodeo, kid.' 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     She's being safe, that's all! In more ways than one, no less-- as the bike gets going, Heinkel will undoubtedly feel it as they pass by that same strange wave, that subtle pressure that Sachi seemed to exert as they pass beyond the boundaries of that strange effect that sent others packing-- or at least walking around the immediate area without even really realizing it. Once they're past that line, anyone that could recognize Sachi on that bike... it would be a little awkward if the rumors started to fly.     Hopefully nobody catches sight of the track jacket. That'll probably start a few wild rumors of it's own.     Still, the sidewalks are sparse in the evening; Midoriyama may be a small and quiet enough town that there's people comfortable with meeting, talking, and hanging out outside all times of day. Sachi points for the simple directions back to the house, down the road and on the left, and the Just Over Yonder point with the other hand while they ride.     The house is two stories. Not quite large enough for a full family but roomy for man and his super-soldier charge, Sachi waits until they've arrived to stop, look around cautiously, and then dismount from the bike. Opening the gate outside the low fence and heading up the short walk, her keys go into the knob and she pops the door open, signalling for Heinkel to follow.     "Kuroda, I'm back."     "Sachi! Great, tell your friend that we're having--"     And then, he steps around the corner from the kitchen, where something smells... pretty good. 'Kuroda' is tall for a Japanese man, in his mid-to-late thirties. While Sachi gave the description of him being some kind of politician or mastermind, he has a fairly fit build, short hair, and the squared jaw that would put him better as an actor on one of those police dramas. He's probably had his fair share of girlfriends in the past. A pack of cigarettes stick halfway out of his shirt pocket, too.     Dressed in a white shirt, tie, and dark trousers, the thing that probably throws it all off is the pastel blue apron with plaid patterns on it, and he is clutching a rice cooker dish roughly the size of a football stadium.     "Oh. You didn't tell me we were having /that/ kind of guest."     Using the toe of one shoe to pull her heel out from the sneaker, then repeating with her other foot, Sachi leaves the sneakers at the door and walks to stand astride the man, pulling off the helmet-- which then liquefies /into blood/ and seems to slither back into the skin of her hands.     "Kuroda, this is Heinkel Wolfe. Ms. Wolfe, this is Kuroda, local branch chief of the United Guardian Network."     "And the apron isn't my usual color." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Yawning and showing sharp teeth again as she vaults off the bike, Heinkel throws out the kickstand, stands it up, and then turns to wander after Sachi. Her hands are promptly stuffed into the pockets of her coat, strolling after the girl with that long, lanky stride sufficiently tall, lanky people seem to possess. There's not much awkward or even predatory about it, though; it's just a casual amble.   She keeps her expression blank as the door opens, and it stays blank as she takes in the man named Kuroda. He looks like he could be an Iscariot operative, except for the part where he's wearing a pastel blue apron patterened in plaid.   Heinkel Wolfe stares a split-second or two more.   Right, then, moving right along. She glances over as Sachi removes her shoes, before grunting and stooping over to unlace her boots and leave them by the door, too. Straightening, she looks back to Kuroda, studying him. Curiously, she doesn't remove her sunglasses.   "Heinkel Wolfe. Section XIII, Vatican. Not your vorld, but von like it, maybe." She reaches up to scratch at the back of her head, grimacing a little. "I vas sent here on orders to arrange an alliance between your organisation and Section XIII. From vhat I've heard, ve serve a similar function to yours." She shifts her weight, folding her arms, head lolling slightly to one side as she regards Kuroda thoughtfully. "Actually, more towards the point, I vas sent here to hire Miss Yuukizura on a provisional basis. Ve could use someone of her talents."   Bonus points; she pronounces the name with not even a hitch. Helps to have someone she works with who's also Japanese!   She grins, perhaps ignoring the slightly creepy way the blood slithers back into Sachi's hands. "Nein, nein, Frau Kuroda. I think red is your colour, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     Kuroda gives Heinkel something of a thoughtful look; though his eyes stay locked on the blonde German's face, something about his expression suggests that he's actually attempting to figure her out in the same sort of sizing-up manner she does with him. "Mikiya Kuroda, Midoriyama Branch Chief of the United Guardian Network. Oh, uh-- sorry about the rice."     Turning, he strides off into the living room, setting the cooker dish down on a traditional low-set table. The TV is sizable for the apartment, and there are two game consoles (one of which specifically has a large piece of tape on it with 'KURODA' written on it) wired up to it. A sofa is set to one side, and the whole home at a glance seems to convey a small, cozy atmosphere that is not befitting someone with a title /that long/.     "Sorry if little Sacchan was a little rude--"     "Kuroda!!"     "-- but she's still pretty immature, you see."     "Kuuuuroooodaaaa..."     Sachi grouses a bit, hucking her jacket onto the sofa and practically throwing herself into a seated position at the low table, legs folding in and starting to scoop a /lot/ of food up.     For his part, the elder man returns to the kitchen just long enough to pick up an open can of beer. "Oh... /hire/ Sachi?" he asks, his expression almost a little lost, vacant, and maybe terrified. "That would be a little ... difficult. Sachi's the only Overed that we were able to spare for this town. Our organization is run a little thin in the last year, and the only reason we were allowed to get away with sending her to visit was due to it being a little quiet in the last few weeks."     After a long pause and the realization he's still wearing the apron-- even after Heinkel's joke-- he turns away, slips it off and hangs the garment up on a wall peg. "I didn't realize the Vatican was in the practice of hiring people like you, either." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The sniper keeps her expression carefully blank, eyes following both the handler and the Overed as they go about their settling into the nightly routine of dinner. She'll stay standing near the table until she's invited to sit; arms folded, though the posture doesn't seem to be a hostile one. It just is.   "She reminds me of a few people I've known," Heinkel tosses out, somewhat dismissively. Everyone's immature and rude at some point, and she used to be there, too, once upon a time. She doesn't have a hard time thinking of Anderson as a rude little brat on the streets of Glasgow or something, either. Yumiko, though... probably wouldn't hurt a fly. She wonders briefly if Yumie had ever manifested as a child, and then quickly decides she doesn't actually want to know that, letting it go with a shudder.   She tilts her head slightly, but something suggests her attention's still on Kuroda, despite not taking the sunglasses off. In fact, closer inspection of them proves that there is /no/ light reaching her eyes; the design of them actually keeps her eyes completely shielded, both from light and from view.   "Ja," she drawls. "Hire. I haf orders from Section XIII to bring in a few specialists, and Miss Yuukizura's talents match that profile. I could haf my superior talk to you, but he's terribly busy at the moment. I haf authority to speak for him. Ve'll compensate you for her time, of course, and ve von't need her for too long at a stretch."   Shifting her weight, she looks to the kitchen, before looking back to Kuroda. "Ve can also offer help. I can't bring any of my associates vit' me, but I can offer my services to vhatever problems you haf in this place."   There's a long pause of her own, and she finally grins, tilting her head the other way. "Vhy, Mister Kuroda. Vhat makes you think I'm anything but a priest?" The collar is given a pointed flick, but her sharp teeth suggest otherwise. The grin fades. "They aren't. Iscariot, Section XIII, is apart from the rest of the Vatican. Ve haf authority to do vhat the others can't do." She shrugs. "I vas hired a long time ago. I vas a professional assassin. Retired to a church in Brugge; Iscariot's operatives looked me up there. Been vit' them ever since. I spend most of my time at Father Anderson's orphanage vhen I'm not vorking."   "I'm a tracker and a sniper for Section XIII, though." She grins, toothy, again. "I specialise in extremely long-range operations, so if you haf any targets that need dealing vit'... vell. Maybe I can help you ease some of that pressure, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     The look on Kuroda's face is pretty straightforward-- he doesn't buy the 'just a priest' thing for a second. She confirms it, too, mentioning her past as an assassin, but working at an orphanage. The man's jaw sets, expression shifting to something that is both thoughtful... and utterly unreadable.     At times, he could rival a Neumann in terms of tactical acumen and strategy; people whose Renegade affliction could grant them the mental ability to figure out how to end a battle in thirty steps he could calculate in ten. Options that wouldn't normally be considered, he leaps for.     Plucking an extra plate and silverware from a cabinet, Kuroda indicates to Heinkel to sit. "Admittedly, I have some reservations... while the UGN does practice in the hiring of mercenaries, the higher-ups tend to frown on using people who are assassins for their dirty work." Setting down the dish and flatware, he steps around the table, sets down his beer and sits at one side of the square table, adjacent to Sachi, sinking rather comfortably into his place.     Dinner seems to be a beef curry. Spicy.     Pouring water from a pitcher-- perhaps in preparation-- Kuroda continues, "Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not against a helping hand. I'm certainly open to the prospect of working more with our otherworldly allies at a time like this. Hunting and tracking would be invaluable considering the auspicious surroundings of our glorious and large town, but ... I should warn you, though, that we try to keep... a lower profile around here."     Kuroda is also staring straight at the priest outfit as he says this.     Sachi's head tilts, pausing in her utter slaughter of dinner to first chew, and to pull the contract papers out, setting them down before her handler. "It's been one thing to keep the Renegade under wraps, but it'll be a lot harder to keep something like 'the multiverse' quiet for the long term," she says, glancing at Heinkel. "Eventually, something is going to give." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Half a glance is cast to one of the chairs before Heinkel shrugs out of her coat, folding it a bit and tossing it over the back of her chair. Her gloves are shucked off and stuffed into a pocket. It makes a rattling suggestive of ammunition shells, but there aren't any tell-tale bulges in the pockets. She's also wearing two shoulder holsters, which have two very large, very heavy-caliber pistols, plated in silver, which she seems particularly careful not to touch as she shrugs out of the harness. The harness is in turn set down carefully behind the chair.   Under that coat, which the collar seems part of, she's wearing no more than a grey halter top, and a heavy combat knife is stuck through her belt. That gets tugged off and shoved into a pocket that is very definitely too small to contain it.   All that taken care of, Heinkel seats herself in the chair; tall and lanky as it is, she's just a smidge too tall for it, but she doesn't seem to care.   Heinkel leans back in her chair, casual as can be, apparently unbothered. Curiously, despite all the stuff she's taken off, the sunglasses stay right where they are.   "Actually, technically, I'm a priest." Heinkel thumbs at the collar on her coat. "And ja, I'm actually licensed. I just happen to do more than that as part of my unofficial duty. Officially, Section XIII doesn't exist. Neither does Section I through Section XII. I vas a gardener and groundskeeper vhen Iscariot hired me, und technically I still am."   "As for me... I do more than assassination. Actually, tracking is my other specialty," Heinkel offers. "Maybe I should offer some background. My vorld is in the midst of a crisis, the same as it sounds like yours is. Ve haf cheap knockoff vampires multiplying faster than ve can keep up vit' them, and even Iscariot is hard-pressed to even track them all, let alone eradicate them. There are /real/ vampires, too, but those are fewer and further between than these veird mindless pseudo-vampires." Heinkel raises a hand, gesturing vaguely.   Her knuckles are scarred, and her hands are callused in precisely the spots suggestive of wielding a gun for a very long time. "There are other things, too. Ghouls, zombies. They're usually brought about by the freaks -- the cheap knockoff vampires -- and they're also a nuissance. There are verevolfs, too. Lycanthropes. Stuff you'd expect to see from fairy tales or nightmares." She shrugs, casually. "It runs the gamut, but most of it vants to eat people in some capacity or another. That's vhere ve come in. There are other organisations like mine, too." Her mouth twists, distasteful. "The Protestant Church has their own group, too. Hellsing. They're... you could think of them as our rivals in Iscariot." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Anyvay," she offers, lacing her fingers and resting her elbows on the table, leaning forward a bit, "My point is this. Ve haf similar problems, and I'm offering that ve can help you vit' /your/ problems. No payment necessary. Ve only vant to borrow Miss Yuukizura from time to time, and she vould be compensated for it."   She reaches up to adjust her sunglasses. "As a Union Ally, technically I'm expected to offer help anyvay, which I vould, regardless of vhether or not ve can depend on Miss Yuukizura's help. So, if you're interested in that, use Iscariot a few times to help you out. See vhat you think later." She shrugs. "Ve're in no hurry; the freaks aren't going anyvhere, and neither is Iscariot."   At the warning, she grins, showing those sharp teeth again. "Low profile? So do ve. Like I said... officially, the thirteen Sections of the Vatican don't exist. Each von has different duties. Section III concerns itself vit' information-gathering, and also suppression of information. If ve haf to exercise damage control, Section III is usually there to invent a public story."   She shrugs to the potentiality of the multiverse getting out of hand. "Ve haf knowledge of that in my vorld, but it's limited. They don't know about the spooks in their own backyard. And if Section III has their vay, they von't find out about that for a long time yet. Helps us do our job quickly und quietly, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     Sachi and Kuroda both listen closely... though the moment that the v-word is used, the pair exchange a brief, albeit pointed, glance at each other while they eat. The information is welcome-- eagerly so, even-- and Sachi settles back a little in her seat. The way she eats is precise, efficent, and militaristic in nature... she gets that food down and plows through it like she's trying to get right back to work immediately!     "... Maybe he got a little worried when he saw what strain I was infected with," Sachi says, glancing at Kuroda. He says nothing, instead taking a larger swig from the can of beer, letting the Overed continue. "I should probably be up front with you: I'm infected with a virus, called Renegade. It allows me to do what I do-- it should be in the Union database. As far as we know, it can't spread to other worlds, and ... people whose virus is 'active' are able to manifest abilities. And... it varies from person to person, but each of us... it all ultimately boils down to twelve strains of the virus. Sometimes someone carries two, or three."     "I know how this is going to sound." Sachi looks up at Heinkel, straight in the eyes. "Mine is called 'Bram Stoker.' But I don't go around sucking blood or sleeping in coffins or anything like that!"     Kuroda closes one eye, lowering the can and shifting his gaze to Heinkel. "Is that going to be a problem?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest leans back in her chair, arms still folded over her chest as she listens to the explanations being given to her by both parties. Her head is canted slightly to one side, and in general she doesn't look too worried about the proceedings. They're talking about the very thing she's bound to hunt, but... she must be pretty laid-back.   There's a reason why she's here and not, say, Anderson.   "Hunh. Guess I should be up front vit' you, too. It's in the Union databases anyvay; you just might haf to dig for it, I think." Standing, Heinkel stretches -- she has a pretty impressive spread of those lanky arms, and might have made a good melee combatant, too -- before letting her arms drop and taking a few steps away.   Turning to face them, she pulls off her sunglasses. Her eyes are closed, squinched tightly shut, and she tosses them toward her coat, where they bounce off and land on the floor. She doesn't seem to care.   And she /changes/.   Letting slip the shackles of the wolf isn't difficult, though sometimes reining it in can be -- but she's had years of practise, and she has established herself as the master; not the primordial thing that dwells in her hidden heart.   It's difficult to see the transformation, it happens so quickly. One moment the woman is standing there, the next there is a very large, sand-coloured wolf sitting on the living room floor of the Yuukizura-and-Kuroda residence; bigger than any natural wolf has any right to be.   When it opens its eyes, tilting its head and fixing both with a stare that somehow manages to be droll, its eyes are so pale a blue as to seem almost white, but the colour of it is a shade or two lighter than Heinkel's hair.   Curiously, there's a cross-shaped burn in the fur of the chest, long healed, but scarred such that the fur's never quite grown back.   Then the long jaws part into a lupine grin, which somehow manages to seem just a little sarcastic.   <I've got secrets of my own.>   There are no words spoken, and no sound made beyond a soft, low growl reverberating in the wolf's chest, but the intent is nonetheless crystal-clear.   A brief instant later, a swirl of something dark, and Heinkel stands where she was before, absently rubbing at one arm. Her eyes are screwed shut again as she sidles toward the table, stooping to retrieve her sunglasses and pop them back on the bridge of her nose, flopping back into her chair and looking just as casual as she had before.   "Had a bit of an accident on the job a few years ago. Iscariot vasn't sure vhat to do vit' me, at first, but I agreed to report to them regularly. I also agreed to train the thing I'd become so it vouldn't control me. And I made arrangements vit' Father Maxvell. If I ever lose control, he'll personally dispatch me." That sarcastic smile again, showing just a hint of teeth. "You haf nothing to be afraid of, though. If it didn't take me in the first year, they said I probably vouldn't efer haf a problem vit' it." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Her arms fold again, and she cocks her head, regarding Kuroda.   "Nein, nein." She gives that slightly mocking grin again, showing just a hint of teeth. "It von't be a problem at all. I know Hellsing has their own pet monster, but he's a vampire, not a lycanthrope. /The/ vampire. Sir Integra keeps him on a tight leash, I'm to understand; far tighter than the leash Bishop Maxvell affords me." She shrugs. "A lycanthrope doesn't rate too high on the grand scheme of things. There's probably a verevolf or two left out there. The real thing, not just some shaggy dog like me. But I don't know vhere they are, if there are, and I never vant to run into von."   "I keep it under my hat, so to speak. It's available in Union databases, but not too many people even in Iscariot know about it. Trade secret, you might say. Could be dangerous. Oh," she adds, grinning again. "If there's any silfer involved in a job, you're going to haf to let Miss Yuukizura handle it. Haf a bit of an allergy to it, these days." 

:'''{{#var:881|Sachi Yuukizura (881)}} has posed:'''     Kuroda sets his thumb and forefinger to his chin. "Real live vampires, huh. We've had stories and myths of all kinds of things in our history, but as we're slowly learning more about the Renegade, we're considering the idea that a lot of these mythological figures may have actually existed-- because of the Renegade."     "I can't promise that the higher-ups of the UGN will want to do this over the long term. However, for now... we should be all right. I'll run the proposal by the regional chief. The Union's going to do some good things for us, I think."     Sachi eventually nods. "Then ... I'll do what I can to help you." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Real life vampires," Heinkel confirms, languidly, stretching comfortably and leaning back in her chair. If she's on her guard here, she hides it pretty well. "Vell, cheap knockoff vampires, more like, but still vampires. The real monsters are elsevhere. In fact, that vould describe Hellsing's own pretty vell. He's /the/ vampire."   "Also," she adds, casually, "he's an arrogant bastard, but I guess that's beside the point."   She looks thoughtful about the Renegade, frowning behind her sunglasses. "I'm not really asking for any promises; just offering my services on a provisional basis. But maybe those things exist in your vorld, ja? I don't know. Run it past your chief, and I'll keep Bishop Maxvell apprised of the situation."   Several seconds of silence pass.   "In the meantime, that rice smells damned good." One hand rises to tap a forefinger against the side of her nose. "Nose got better, too, so I can smell /all/ the nuances in that dish, you know; ja?" 
}}

4810/It Came from the Pond

2016-12-16T00:42:19Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/24 |Location=Boston-666 |Cast of Characters=582, 363 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' At long last,..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/24
|Location=Boston-666
|Cast of Characters=582, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' At long last, seasonal weather patterns have begun to prevail across a particular Boston. That means that fewer people are out and about in the early evening, much less in a park where there are fewer sheltered spots to duck into, should the chill become overwhelming. There are still a few dedicated joggers, though, passing by under the sparse street lamps, bundled up in sport sweats and insulated against the cold. Overall, it's fairly serene, until it is suddenly punctuated by a yelp of surprise from one of those same fitness junkies. It came from next to one of the municipal ponds, where a lane runs right next to the water's lip.     Though it may have sounded alarming, it turns out to not be a significant emergency. It was more of a sudden startle, as the residents of this Boston are used to unusual sights. In this case, they had stumbled across a strange creature that is swimming around the pond. In the fading light of dusk, it's hard to make out details; a sleek, aerodynamic shape can be vaguely guessed from errant lamp light, as well as two glowing 'eyes' which function almost like dim headlights. Regardless, it doesn't seem to be attacking anyone. If anything, from the splashing and rolling in the water, it seems to be playing, not unlike a whale or dolphin.     A few other runners and joggers, that had stopped initially to check on the welfare of the original observant, stay now to watch the large dog-sized creature swim around. "You ever see anything like that?" "Now that you mention it, I think I have. One of those living boat things? Not the ones that look like chicks, though." A function of a presence in the city is that people eventually get used to you, despite how odd you might be. Eventually, though, the show is over. The strange beast's headlamp eyes happen to sweep over that small gathering, which seems to alert it to the fact, finally, that it was being watched. It gives a strange, buzzing hiss, which somehow manages to convey a sense of feeling embarassed at making such a spectacle, and it begins to swim off to the far side of the pond.     The glow of the lamps wouldn't be difficult to follow, however, for the adventurous, even though the joggers quickly return to what they were doing. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The shuffling of newspaper is crisp from beneath the nearest street lamp, and Heinkel Wolfe pays the fitness junkies no more than a cursory look as they go bouncing past.   At least until one of them goes 'yelp' around the corner. Her eyes narrow, and she looks up from her newspaper, page crinkling it as she squints suspiciously towards the pond. How she can actually see the print in such dim lighting while wearing those sunglasses (and why is anybody wearing sunglasses at this hour?) is anybody's guess.   If not for the tidy white collar, Heinkel's priest robes might just well vanish into the gloom. As it is, light gleams off the lenses of her sunglasses, and she reaches up to adjust the lenses and quirk an eyebrow.   The other brow vanishes into her ragged bangs, and she leans forward from her park bench vantage point.   Plucking her newspaper from the bench, the paladin half-jogs, half-paces after the strange lake creature. A fastidious flick of the wrist straightens out her newspapers as she walks, long stride carrying her alongside Wo easily. A second flick tucks the papers under an arm; at about the same time, she drops her hands into her pockets, climbing down into a crouch to peer into the lake. Her head tilts just slightly as she eyes the shallows.   "Hallo...?"   The voice that issues from the tall, lanky figure is thoroughly androgynous; if it's a female's voice, it's so low that it could easily be mistake for a slightly feminine male's voice. Heinkel leans forward just slightly, squinting into the shallows.   She may or may not have one hand hovering about where her gun is, but she doesn't reach for the weapon just yet. One never knows, after all, and in her line of work paranoia isn't so much an undesirable personality trait as it is a survival skill. 

:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' Must be all that sensitive pit viper-like heat vision, that would be too overwhelmed even this close to total nightfall! Regardless, the creature isn't hard to pursue, especially for one trained in that sort of thing. It stays well away from the water's edge, though it does pause in its movements as it appears to hear the voice calling out to it. That only causes it to startle and begin to swim away faster, though in the moment it turns around, a good look of its features finally present itself. It's a vaguely shark or whale-like shape, with its outer shell a deep but reflective black, which would definitely explain why it was difficult to see at first. The weirdest thing, though, is that it has two rows of oversized, but otherwise perfectly formed, human-like teeth, set into a ratched jaw structure. As it turns to leave, it's possible to see a fixed, tail fluke-like structure at the end, though it doesn't seem to receive most of its impulse from it.     Hopefully, any misunderstandings won't turn into unnecessary violence. The creature swims to another humanoid shape that presents itself, on the shore of the pond. Is it planning to launch an attack!? Hardly. Should Heinkel continue to approach, they would see the shark-like being hop out of the water, but rather than flounder and flop about, it actually has two tiny, stubby legs, which it uses to scamper quickly behind the apparently female figure. There, it shivers and shakes, thoroughly spooked by the experience of being chased. In naval terms, that seldom ends up well. As the decidedly humanoid counterpart turns, she has subtly glowing eyes, as well, of a pale cyan blue, though thankfully not as intense as the other's headlamps.     "Don't wo-rry," comes a subdued, almost monotone voice, with a light dose of anime-style villain's reverb. "This child won't, harm any-one." At least, unless ordered to, but even then it might be a tough sell. She's not as blood thirsty as many Abyssals. With this, the more human-looking of the two steps into the light of a street lamp, as the one from before peeks around from behind her lower legs. With that ridiculously pale skin, it could be forgiven to mistake her for some kind of vampire; she has the canines, to match, though not bared. There's also the matter of that hat on her head, smaller than her usual battle-worn model, though still with the same distinctive black with teeth aesthetic.     "She was, just scared..." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   A gloved hand hovers just above the stock of the pistol, but Heinkel makes no move to draw the weapon. She simply waits, studying the bizarre creature to see what it might do. Her reactions are purely reactive; the Iscariot is a rarity in that she usually doesn't shoot first and ask questions later. She's patient enough to study, and answer her own questions.   Also patient enough to stop and ask the questions in the first place. That's a good deal more patient than a lot of Iscariot paladins that come to mind.   Heinkel strides forward, unhurried and undistirbed. She watches as the shark-like thing puts on a little extra speed, following it with unhurried steps. Her lanky long stride works in her favour in this case. Her hands remain stuffed in her pockets, cigarette dangling from her lower lip.   She comes to a slow halt as the thing scurries up and out of the water, with alarming agility. Is Boston coming under attack from some terrifying new enemy? A collective of partly mechanical monstrosities, to rampage through the city? Are these scouts?   Heinkel's head lolls very slightly to one side, and somehow, the fact that her stare is blank is clear even through the opaque sunglasses.   The Iscariot paladin blinks once or twice, frowning and sweeping the sunglasses off her face. The instant light touches her eyes, they flare into blue-white light, just like the eyes of a cat caught on camera. They fade and flare to life with every slight change in angle, and Heinkel has those milk-pale eyes fixed on the Abyssal.   After all that, the only thing Heinkel can do is stare blankly. It's rude. She knows that. But she can't really help herself in this particular instance. "Uh. Vell, that's not something you see every day. Hi?" Her head tilts the other way, frowning around her cigarette. "Actually, I think Boss might have mentioned something... you must be... Vo?" Pause. "Wo," she adds, with a little conscious effort.   That hand is still hovering over her gun, and she pointedly moves it away. Either she's deciding to trust this young woman, or she's at least acting in a way meant to put the stranger at ease. She rolls the cigarett from one side of her mouth to the other, bemused. "Who are you?" 

:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' The description definitely matches, as well as being accompanied by this biomechanical creature, which is effectively a 'less evolved' form of the more humanoid Abyssals. This being is none other than the Wo-class aircraft carrier, given the same form as the surface dwellers. It's a fact that, despite the odd pronunciation, she passively accepts with a soft but confirming tone coming from her throat. "And 'Boss' would be...Psy-ber," she presumes? "Kon-gou's, Admiral." It's difficult to get much of a reaction out of the humanoid carrier, even if she's socially improved in many ways, since first hitting the surface. What does happen, though, which perhaps Heinkel's attuned senses could catch on to, is that what little tension there was to her muscle fibers soon fades.     Bending down, she scoops up the still-troubled beast from before. While it's a bit large to fit comfortably in her arms, and probably weighs a good deal in its own right, she seems to have no trouble with it. Instead, she lays an arm across its back, and rests a black gloved hand upon its head. It does seem to calm it down, somewhat, as the buzzing and crackling sounds become less agitated, or frightened. "We are...spirits. Ships that, fought in an old -- war. Though...now, we look like, this." Her own pale eyes glance down toward the creature, which she finally gives a name, or rather designation, by way of introduction, "I was an air-craft carrier. This child...is a des-troyer. I-class." The hissing coming from the latter seems to indicate a form of rudimentary agreement, and it's almost like a proper bit of intelligent vocalization is trying to come through, but it's impossible even for the translation effect to make sense of. Too much noise, too little signal.     Enough about her, though. Wo raises her head back up fully, and seems to be studying her counterpart. "You are--?" Psyber is a decent person, as far as surface people go. He was also one of the first to acknowledge that the Abyssals weren't just a disease to be cured, and subsequently turned into their more public relations-friendly alter egos. She's willing to give the benefit of the doubt, here, despite the originally, somewhat tense circumstances. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, that vould be Psyber." Heinkel straightens, dusting off her coat, although the direction she keeps her head facing suggests she's still watching both the Abyssal and the lesser Abyssal. Taking a pull from her cigarette, she watches as Wo scoops up the little whatever-it-is.   Her nose wrinkles briefly. No, there's no scent of fear. Would that really smell the same in something like this, though? She can't say she's too sure of that. Cool as a cucumber, this Wo sort.   Ships that fought in an old war... Heinkel rubs her jaw with one hand, studying the design of the little Abyssal creature. Child? Heinkel squints a little, and manages not to look too creeped out by the hissing. Still definitely pretty creepy though.   "Heinkel Volf... Wolfe," she corrects herself, having to consciously speak around her own accent. "Iscariot operative. Assassin and tracker. I also vork for Heaven or Hell. Haf for years."   Settling down on the shore, Heinkel lets one leg splay out, bending the other at the knee. "I'fe heard about these ship-spirit-girls around the Union and othervise. Hafen't actually met one yet, though. It's a pleasure."   The Abyssal will have a gloved hand stuck out in her general direction. Sure, she's just a little bit wary, but if Psyber vouches for this Abyssal, she trusts his judgement. 

:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' The Abyssals, the allegedly 'dark' counterparts to their flip sides, which look much more like everyday people. The reputation is well earned, however, and if it were most any other, Heinkel would have reason to remain doubtful. Instead, the extended hand is gripped with a firmness that might not be expected, for such a rail thin, almost emaciated, frame. Undead(*) are strange like that, huh. "The Union," Wo echoes, with perhaps just a trace of either annoyance or regret; it's honestly difficult to say, with how reserved her tone is. "I have, dis-agreements. But...they aren't bad, people. Or ships." She's even managed to make a few friends among their number, though they remain estranged for the time being. Their goals and extistance are basically impossible to reconcile over just a couple of years.     "Hein-kel," she vaguely struggles with, herself, though less due to an accent. Simply, it seems to be a battle to string things together. If she is a more developed being than this hissing, buzzing I-class, it makes an odd sort of sense. She moves on, however, committing the name to memory. "I visit Hea-ven or Hell, sometimes. The I-class likes to meet, the o-thers." There's a cheerful agreement, by way of what sounds like electronic static coming from the other Abyssal. "...per-haps, we will meet more o-ften, too." As she breaks away from the gesture of shaking hands, though, she freezes into place for a brief moment, as her eyes gain a distant look. Is she spacing out? The mysteries of these ship people are various.     "They'll be land-ing, soon," she intones, which could be mistaken to be ominous given her tone and the subtle, internal echo to it. Indeed, above the relative silence of the night and against the backdrop of the more distant sounds of the city, sudden engine sounds make themselves more obvious. They appear to be on the approach, as well. "They want-ed to practice, night flying. ...and the I-class, wanted ex-ercise."     Rather than be more horrors from the deep (which she totally has, make no mistake), the aircraft that appear out of the night sky seem to be...well, normal, if slightly outdated. If Heinkel is versed in them, it's a B-25 Mitchell medium bomber, being escorted by an F4F Wildcat and Type 0 Model 21, both fighters. It would be ridiculous to land full sized ones here in the park, so thankfully the scale also becomes apparent; they're on the large size of model aircraft, though Wo doesn't seem to be controlling them with a radio remote or anything of the sort. Instead, she simply watches as they pitch low and reduce speed, while preparing to make a somewhat bumpy landing on the same paved walk the runners use. They're also ridiculously detailed, if they are models. The lights even come on at the tiny landing gear. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, Heinkel." The priest rolls the cigarette to the other side of her mouth, as though she were trying to determine what to make of this pale slip of a girl. She may have a humanoid form, but there's no mistaking the undercurrents of inhumanity. Like attracts like, though; of Heaven or Hell's variegated number, Heinkel is probably one of the least inclined to flip off the handle and start shooting unprovoked.   Actually, that's pretty much why she's handling multiversal matters and, say, Yumie or Anderson aren't. Heinkel is a lot more level-headed than a lot of her associates. She comes from a different background than her dearest friends in Iscariot. However much she may be devoted to them, even she acknowledges that they have a tendency to fly off the handle a lot of the time, especially where matters of faith are concerned.   Sighing and rubbing at her face, Heinkel nonetheless stops and eyes the Abyssal curiously when she seems to space out for a few minutes.   They're landing? "Vhat--?"   That's all she has time to say before the hardware of a world long past swoops down out of the night. She squints at the Mitchell, and the Wildcat and Model 21. Hands on her knees, she leans over to watch them as they come rolling up the gravel 'runway.' Awww, how adorable. And kind of creepy. And weird. She's of German descent, herself; she's familiar with the relics of World War II.   Heinkel Wolfe does what anybody in her shoes would do, and just sort of stares for a few minutes. The cigarette is jabbed towards the model aircraft, along with their itty bitty detailed running lights and landing gear.   "...How the hell do you do that?" 

:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' It's hard to say if Abyssal ships as a whole would be deemed unholy by righteous orders, though they certainly have all the hallmarks. Thank goodness for them that moderates like Heinkel exist, and those willing to take a deeper look, like the ever-mentioned Psyber. They're not really that different than those 'fleet daughters' that the surface people accept more willingly, just with different motives. The fact that the freshly awakened tend to not have much anger management or impulse control, another vampire analog, never helped matters. For now, however, Wo doesn't seem to be focusing on that. Instead, she watches the planes set down, and the first real hint of emotion seeps out of her. A relieved breath of air, a sigh.     She then hesitates somewhat at Heinkel's question, even if it's clear that she heard it. There are still a lot of mysteries, even to her. "This equipment," she begins, "Is re-lated to what we used, in the times before. It's...a natural part of us. Like a hand would be, to a surface per-son." She sets down her 'pet' I-class on this, and helpfully holds what had seemed to only be an accessory, before, a shank of metal fashioned into the shape of a rod or cane. Judging from the concentration, it's her that makes the Wildcat fighter taxi further than the others after landing, practically right up to Heinkel before the engine cuts out, again apparently at her will. "This...isn't standard Abyssal e-quipment, though," she allows, as she's something of an outlier in yet another respect.     "It isn't, only us, though," she continues. Right on cue, the glass of the cockpit's dome swings open, revealing a diminutive figure inside. They aren't human proportioned, though; a relatively large and plump head on a miniscule body, with two button-like eyes staring up after a set of aviator goggles is raised. The tiny pilot takes a long glance, then pokes her tongue out and to the side, as she gives a thumbs up. Mission accomplished! "...the fairies, too. The equipment, also has spi-rits." It only follows the strange logical order in Wo's origin. Subsequently, fairy pilots and crews also file out of the other aircraft, though they stick close, as Wo begins to gather them up. "Everyone returned, safe-ly. This time." The I-class also seems excited, bouncing on those stubby legs. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   One could probably argue the definition of an Abyssal either way. While they do exhibit ferocious tendncies, they also exhibit reason, and some of the more moderate ones can put a lid on the monster act. Heinkel certainly doesn't seem inclined to pull out her pistols and start shooting. In fact, she seems calm, all things considered.   Heinkel looks down, straight down, and stands a bit forward on the balls of her feet. Her boots are too scuffed for the Wildcat to leave a reflection. She does crouch down to look at the little plane, though, absently poking at it in open curiosity with a gloved forefinger.   The spirits of the equipment... she considers the fairy with open fascination. Half a glance is cast over to the bouncing bubbly I-class, and Heinkel offers a hand for the bouncy little thing to inspect. "I'm not completely up on my history. I haf my hands full vit other things. But the designs, they look familiar." She looks sidelong at the little Wildcat fighter plane and its tiny fairy pilot. "Never seen anything like them, though." The fairy is gestured to, vaguely. "   "Vell, it vas nice to finally meet you. Heard the Boss talking about you sometimes." She'd partly tuned it out because it hadn't really seemed logical or believable at the time, so she'd assumed she'd been hearing about something... else. She seems about to say something else, when her cell phone rings.   A forefinger is held up as she flicks it open. "Ja. Heinkel. Chief?" Silence. Heinkel looks aside, frowning as she listens to the voice on the other end. She even starts to pace a little, puffing smoke in her wake. "Ja? Uh huh. Are you sure? And you said Yumie's over there?"   Silence, again. Heinkel's expression turns even more sour. "Ja. I understand." Sighing, she snaps the flip phone closed and drops it into her pocket. "Unfortunately, I haf to go. My superiors in Iscariot haf something for me to deal vit." She offers a wave, although it's a little awkward. "Nice to meet you, anyvay. I'm sure ve'll see more of each other around the Tower, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:582|Wo (582)}} has posed:''' The fairy seems to be friendly enough. The Wildcat's pilot is quite outgoing, after all, sometimes even daring. Now that the I-class has had a chance to warm up and determine that Heinkel isn't going to shoot at it, it also waddles up and gives a big, toothy grin. Not that it isn't its default expression, but it seems to be a welcoming look. While Wo is gathering up all of the 'model' aircraft, which are fundamentally equivalent to their larger variants, she details them all. "...Mitchell, Wildcat, and Zero. A bomber and fight-ers, from what the surface peo-ple call, World War 2." There's another tinge to her voice, one that sounds regretful and perhaps mournful, leaking through her near monotone. Even if it's the environment she was born into, and even if she was created for battle, it doesn't mean one has to like their origin.     The fairies seem to have gathered on Wo's shoulders and hat, much like air crews might disembark onto their carrier between sorties, as her arms are full of scale-sized craft by now. She doesn't get too nosey with what suddenly captures Heinkel's attention, though her eyes still pivot in that direction. "Busi-ness," she wonders? While she's not a resident of Heaven or Hell by any means, she's familiar with enough professionals from it that she knows that tone of call response. Regardless, she leaves it at that, and manages to quirk her deadened, mask-like expression into a reasonable facsimile of a smile at the apparent parting nicities. "I'll...be sure to, stop by. Heinkel," she responds, this time managing to even parse the name a bit more fluidly. "Psyber mentioned, Thanks-giving...perhaps then."     The I-class pads a few steps after Heinkel, before stopping to bounce a few last times. These 'tame' Abyssals are certainly an odd bunch, but at least they don't seem to be too bad to interact with. Raising a hand though not quite waving it, Wo turns on a heel to begin moving in the opposite direction, toward her Boston safe house, with the hole destroyer escort and fairy entourage. 
}}

4861/Hokkaido Heist

2016-12-16T00:32:34Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/10 |Location=Neo-Fuji |Synopsis=From a watery insertion to an intense indoor assault, Maaka and a team of assorted specialists infiltrate a..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/10
|Location=Neo-Fuji
|Synopsis=From a watery insertion to an intense indoor assault, Maaka and a team of assorted specialists infiltrate an R&D compound in the subarctic mountains of Hokkaido. Many cyborgs and droids get trashed, and valuable prototypes and data get raided with glee.
|Cast of Characters=571, 711, 934, 391, 7, 62, 673, 304, 1065, 1007, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     HOKKAIDO, JAPAN - DECEMBER 11th, 2097     23:00 JST     -3 degrees celsius     https://youtu.be/6miaTf1gF4g     The Hokkaido research facility is over a mile away from where the sub carrying you is, currently. The sub's Chinese in identification, Singaporean if you want to be pedantic about who actually built it, and belongs to the Sino-Pacific Coalition, an alliance of nations ranging from China, to Singapore, to Thailand and other smaller countries, sans the Izunagi-run Japan, Philippines, Indonesia, and the United Korean Republic. The Sinos, to oversimplify things, have their own axe to grind against the Izunagi. Given they're currently in the middle of their own problems with the Slavs, it's up to you guys to do their dirty work. Fine by Maaka, she prefers working with people she can count on over any one nation.     The Sino nuclear submarine is just outside of Izunagi scanning range, and the alarms signaling insertion blare from within the vessel. "All hands, all hands, remain at your posts and prepare for launch at bays three, four, five, and six." The Captain orders, as a group of sailors at the launch bays help with last-minute preparation for the jump.     Everyone who lacks equipment of their own will be issued sneaking suits designed for subarctic temperatures, wetsuits basically, with oxygen masks and tanks to go with them. The suits will keep them warm, as well as refract light in ways that will make them impossible to spot by the naked eye or imaging software, with coating that scrambles other means of detection as well. Not to be outdone, they will also be given either a sidearm or a submachine gun with a suppressor attached, for stealth purposes. All in all, the equipment is high quality work, black ops grade that should double as light body armor too.     Everyone will be going into insertion pods, basically torpedoes designed to insert occupants into enemy territory stealthily underwater. They're not exactly made for comfort, but fitting in each pod won't be a problem.     "Good luck, wish our guys were going in with you." One sailor says, before flashing the team a salute. His fellow servicemen and women do the same, before a countdown is given.     "TEN...NINE...EIGHT...SEVEN...SIX...FIVE...FOUR...THREE...TWO...ONE. LAUNCHING NOW!"     The pods launch, and the g-forces that result are intense for a brief moment. Everyone, even Maaka, is forced against their seat as the pods rocket through the waters, streaking past patrol drones that float amid the dark, frozen depths.     Eventually the pods slow down, and the hatches open. Maaka disembarks from Pod 1, her armor providing all the oxygen she needs as she begins to move towards the objective. The HUD readout everyone sees in their gear will point northeast, where they're meant to swim. "Fan out, three meter spread." Maaka says over radio, using a small burst every few meters from her thrusters to keep her moving. Everyone will be using similar thruster packs, to do the same. They're the opposite of cumbersome, surprisingly enough, but it's recommended to swim anyways. It's good exercise!     Of course, patrol drones will be swimming by as you approach, but they should be easy to dodge. Infrared sensors will only reach so far before you get nothing but little blots, and people tend to get confused with large local fish anyways. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona Arclite probably had the least issue with the torpedo pod's lack of space. Being she is somewhat on the smaller side of humanoid scales at only just over five feet tall. Plus a fluffy tail that was apparently used for extra cushioning, if anyone picked up her light snoring over the radio earlier. When the vixen said she could catch a nap almost anywhere she apparently was not just being a smartass. Fortunately it wasn't a very heavy sleep and the warnings they were reaching the lauch point had woke her right up. Minutes later the pods are coming to a stop and she pops out of the hatch of her pod as does everyone else, sporting the same suit and gear as provided at least for the time being. She wasn't worried about the cold or the water, but no point in passing up free bonuses. Never know when it might make a difference. Though she did have to replace the normal breating mouthpiece with her own to fit her muzzle but that was hardly a difficult modification. Gotta be ready for anything. Probably why she took one of the suppressed sidearms too, even if she has plenty of guns of her own. Forgesweeper wasn't exactly subtle after all. But right now, swimming! With an occasional bit of thrust to keep position and momentum. And avoiding drones. 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:'''     What happens when you stuff a powered armor into a torpedo? Nothing good. Fortunately the trip doesn't take too much time. The screw-propelled cylinder screeches into position and pops open and allows Will to... To sort of kind of shimmy himself out. It's hard going. He's kind of in something that practically doubles his size in pretty much every dimension. And there's... There's something in there with him. He hauls it out with him. They look like... Enormous rubber sacs. "Okay. Uh. So we need to go up, right? Okay, opening valves--"                                  -=FOOOMF=-                                     Suddenly, the world goes white and red. Or rather, a whole bunch of colorfully painted swimming balloons inflate into everything. The T-45 starts... floating vaguely in the direction of the target. 

:'''{{#var:391|Reina Kinney (391)}} has posed:''' So yeah, Reina's being dispatched to another operation. Standard drill, right? Except she's being put into a tight suit and being sent in what looks like a miniaturized missile or something. At least that's for part of the way, then she's on her own, swimming the rest of the way. Yes, GUARDIANS taught her how to swim and things like that, but they never taught her how to do something like this. Which is why she really hates having to tie her hair into a bun as she prepares herself to be deployed, glad that she snuck a scrunchee into her pockets just before she got suited up. The pod is a bit cramped, and it makes Reina a bit more irritated at this whole thing, but she goes along with it, eagerly awaiting the launch. When they finally do launch, Reina suddenly gasps at the abrupt thrust as the pod goes shooting through the water, and she tries not to gag. "Ugh... dammit..." She says, wondering how she'd managed to go for many years without getting motion sick in any way. She takes a few deep breaths, and the sensation passes. After a few moments, the pods break away, and Reina is going for a swim. "Now I'm starting to feel it," Reina comments as she finds herself a little more free to move around and she swims along with the others, dodging the obstacles with ease. "This sure beats swimming at the beach, that's for sure!" 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' Kotone had no idea what she'd be waking up to in the morning. For now she's crammed into a torpedo wrapped up in her optic cameo armour and feeling like some sort of packaged action figure in a Gatcpaon Machine. The mental imageis amusing to her but she also knows she can't let her thoughts stray today. She braces as she's fired out of the tropedo tube with everyone else. the G-forces hit her hard but she's able to deal with it, she knows it will be soon hitting the target. They were to get in, get the technology and get the hell out as well. Maaka was here, so was Corona, William. She knew them all well. Black Arachnia was a very old Union operative, Genji hadd proven himself for some time, with Heinkel service record with the union spoke for herself too. Devon was new but seemed to hold his own and Reina had been around for long time. Kotone was finally feeling like her choice to join the Union was working out pretty well. She now was heading towrds the target and she was getting ready to deploy, it was funny to think five years ago? She'd have no idea what she'd be doing now or what she was. It's funny the way life goes sometimes. 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Elise Leroy is here. Along with a small Fire Team from XCOM. They're not obviously from that organization, but they have brought along some of their own equipment. Laser pistols, only for emergencies, and one of them is loaded for bear with demolition charges, a massive mountain of a man, Argentinian with a close cropped hairstyle and a plasma burn scar on his right cheek.     The group let themselves get fitted for the mission, checking the gear with an air of military precision, before getting into their launch vehicles. "Hammer Team is go for op." says the Commander, settling in. She feels naked without her rifle but she'll make due with the heavy weight of her Hellquake Hammer on her back, the Warhammer only just barely fitting into the launch pod. The G-Forces pin her back into her seat, and as the pod gives out, the squad emerge in unison, forming up in a loose formation, similar to shoaling fish as they swim to catch up with the Cyborg. <Mind the 'bots, Killzone, make sure you don't lose any charges, we might need all of them.>     The troopers nod in response, breaking up a bit more to avoid becoming a large, obvious target. 

:'''{{#var:673|Rory White (673)}} has posed:''' Rory White isn't human. She hasn't come in human form. No sneaking suit for her! Her flexbot's currently configured in a gecko-like shape, and shimmers weirdly. Seems she's seen fit to coat the bot in something that has an effect very similar to the camouflage coating and baffles imaging technology. The Flexbot itself is capable of optical camouflage, of course.     The lizard-like configuration has six legs and sports a number of small, swiveling turret barrels on its belly and back, several along the tail.     This shape is immune to the cold. It can see in the dark. Climb walls vertically. Camouflage itself. And should it not be sufficient, she can always shapeshift into something else later!     Rory's already suppressed her wi-fi transmission, but she has passive scanning of signals going. Perhaps with some time she'll be able to hack the base's systems... 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' "You do realize that I'm a black widow, not a water strider," Black Arachnia complains (under her breath and to nobody in particular) as she arranges herself inside the insertion pod. Tight space? Meh, she can retract her spider legs and shoulder shields while she's in robot mode. Water? Cold? She's not subject to drowning or hypothermia in the usual senses, but either one can impair her function. That's basically the only reason why she went to the trouble of pulling on one of the insulatd jumpsuits. She's not going to keep it any longer than she absolutely has to, though - most of her best skills are badly hampered by actual clothing. Besides being a black widow, of course, Black Arachnia *is* a robot. That conveys some advantages which she not only plans to take full use of, but are in fact why she was asked about joining this mission in particular. The pod itself seems pretty straightforward; actual submarines are more complicated, this thing doesn't make her worry about ballast or submerging or anything. It's just a matter of steering, and even that is grossly simplified - most of the course is pre-programmed, as far as she can tell. And then ... the pods stop. Not just stop moving, *stop being intact*. The Maximal suppresses a mild oath with the benefit of long practice, and just makes the best of it; the diving suit turned out to be a pretty good idea, even if it does pitifully little to offset Black Arachnia's negative buoyancy. If push came to shove she might be able to walk along the bottom, but it would be a lot less convenient than 'swimming' and using her thruster packs. It's not exactly a pleasant swim ... but she makes it. The possibility of whoever planned this insertion being found dead later is a little bit higher than 'zero,' but she makes it into the base with the others. Much like Rory, she's not actively transmitting anything (save for encrypted burst signals on the mission's comm frequency), but she *is* 'listening' to as much as she can, and starting to try and 'silently' break into any encryption that seems to be in play. 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     With a suitable codename picked and gear kitte out, Devon-7 is ready. He politely declined on the offered equipment, preferring to fit out his own gear from his personal supplies, and that means the space cowboy is in a bit of a different loadout than the norm. Gone is the tattered old duster coat and sand-colored armor, replaced with a sleek black suit, pressure sealed and environmentally sealed, with a moderate amount of armor plating. The helmet is a cross somewhere berween a ski-mask and gas-mask, and worn draped over it all is a black cloak, his Ghost already hiding herself in the fabric and folds.     He spends good moment checking his weapons, loading a silenced sidearm, checking the sharpness of a wicked looking knife, before slinging an auto-rifle on his back and feeling good and content enough to climb into his pod. He probably has far more than that hidden away to boot. The pod launching hits with hard force, but it's not the same as escape velocity force. He feels almost at home in the process until the hatch pops, already steering his thruster pack to evade the range of the patrol drones. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     https://youtu.be/2yEuJITe-Sw     The docks are just within reach, and Maaka reaches there first. There's a guard in white body armor, with a dull red glowing visor and everything. THe last thing he ever sees is a black figure reaching out for him, like a demon of the depths. His screaming and struggling is cut off with a progressive knife through the neck, and his heavy equipment seals his fate even without a slit throat.     Climbing onto the docks proper, Maaka wastes no time in advancing, and climbs a small flight of stairs leading up to the rest of the docks. They're rather small, clearly meant for underground deliveries and the arrival of VIPs, with massive shipping containers lining the equally gigantic hall five rows high, six rows long each. Additional guards patrol the bay, toting assault rifles. "We need to move." Maaka says, before her suit cloaks and she disappears from sight, Kama in hand as she heads down the rows of containers.     There are about six guards onsite currently, waiting for the elevator to come down for a cycled out shift. These men are on edge, ready to shoot at a moment's notice as they go on their route.     You can either slip by the guards, or take them out stealthily. Your call! There is a freight elevator down the rows, where Maaka is headed for. Additional guards funnel out from the elevator, and it remains there for now. Better hurry before the patrol cycles out.     GUARD STATUS: UNAWARE. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' They're already starting the trail of bodies? Black Arachnia eyes the guard's corpse, then simply sheds the diving suit she came in with, folding it up and tucking it into the subspace pocket she uses for storing things - like her mandible grapnel, when she's not using it. And speaking of that ... "Beast mode." There's a relatively quiet sound of machinery at work as the robot transforms into her spider shape, and she engages her electro-disruptor as a precaution before climbing up one of the nearby walls. She can only use that device for a limited time, so her priority at the moment is to get over next to the elevator - where the guards would have to be looking practically straight up to notice her - and *then* to disengage it so she can lie in wait without wasting operational invisibility time. Sure, they're waiting for the elevator, and she may not have much time before other, better-rested and more-alert guards are in the dock instead ... but it'll be easier than killing them, and there'll be fewer dead bodies for anybody to notice. 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' it doesn't take long for Kotone to free herself from her pod and soon she's ripping then vanishing from view as her optic cameo kicks in. She's going to move to get past the guards she rather sneak in get the items and get out. <<I'm going to try to sneak past let's not alert the guards if we don't have to, right?>> With that Kotone is going to take the stelthy route and she's also armed to disable the guards if she needs to. She seems as ready as she's going to be for thise though with everyone here she's got a feeling things will get loud sooner or later, for now though Kotone's going to try to be a ghost and keep her self aware of any wireless systems or jack in points she can use to help the team get ot the objective. 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     That's a lot of guards, isn't it?     Oh wait, no. No, the ones that just got off the elevator are all keeling over. Nevermind, it's not so bad now.     ...wait, what?     The one furthest back suddenly jerks, as if struck in the back of the neck. He slumps downward, only to suddenly stop, and then move back onto the elevator... no, he's being dragged. It's hard to make out by whom. He's very good at using the body to conceal himself, and it lasts only a second.     The first one is quickly and quietly downed, then deposited in a corner of the elevator. The humanoid figure then darts forward, one hand flashing out - a small number of projectiles fly with unerring accuracy, each veering apart to slam into the back of one newly-arrived guard's neck, ensuring that they won't be getting back up /or/ calling for help. They receive much the same treatment - dragged back onto the elevator where they will be out of sight, at least for a moment.     Then, with a swift and silent movement, the shinobi darts up onto the cargo containers, disappearing from sight. Moments later, a short-range transmission is sent.     "Do not worry. We will have a few moments before the bodies are discovered, and the odds have been tipped in our favor."                              "Genji is with you."                             

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Elise and Hammer Team follow quickly behind Maaka, drawing their provided weapons and activating the stealth systems on their suits. They fan out splitting into two pairs. Elise and Killzone follow after Maaka, while Werewolf and Desperado head down a couple of rows before juking between the container stacks, and into the back of a patrolling guard. A Gene-Mod enhanced rifle butt striking the back of his head before he can scream, knocking him out flat, before his sleeping form is propped up against a container. Hopefully they won't realize his actually been KO'd instead of fell asleep on the job. <Hammer 3 to Hammer Lead. KO'd a guard. Hopefully they won't realize until we're out.> says Desperado through subvocal comms. <Lead copies. Try to keep the count low, we're here for tech, not a body count.>     And then Genji does his ninja thing. "Ooooh, boy." the Belgian woman mutters under her breath, before turning and sprinting to the elevator, letting Killzone shoulder charge one of the patrolling guards who came out of the stacks at just the wrong time, right into one the the containers, denting the metal with a guard-shaped imprint... which doesn't slow the Gene-Modded Heavy Trooper down in the slightest. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' The first thing Corona does upon pulling herself up onto the deck is take off the breathing apparatus, tucking it away. Then pulls a good ol' stetson out of whatever spot she'd stuffed it in and plops it on her head, tugging at the brim to adjust it. No one should be surprised she doesn't go anywhere without one of those hats. Though it's not her usual one, as this version lacks the extra steampunk greebles and is a stealthy dark grey in color. There, now she's ready for this proper like. Then she unholsters a sidearm and flattens her small profile back to one of the stacks of crates. But before she can actually make use of it someone ninjas in. Literally. And takes out most of the guards at the elevator. "Welp, that's convenient." Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth she scurries for the elevator. Need to actually get inside before she starts pulling out her own tricks. 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:''' ENEMY GUARDS KILLED WILL DISAPPROVES: -10     "...Ain't there a way we could sneak in without... You know, killin' everyone in our way?" Will mutters morosely into his built-in radio. The T-45 has clambered up onto dry land and took a moment to stuff all of its floatation devices- now thoroughly deflated- into convenient carrying sacks. He takes a moment to unholster his ever-present rootin' tootin' shootin' tool, the weapon briefly flashing to life as it's fished out of its water-proof pouch. Well, nothing to be done for it. All they can really do is keep moving forward. 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     Maaka handles a guard. This is all well and good, as a clawed gauntlet grips onto the edge of the dock. Devon-7 pulls himself smoothly from the water, landing in a crouch, knife in hand, sidearm in the other already. And then with a flicker he's gone. There's just a soft crackle of stealth systems kicking into gear and then the Guardian is a phantom; little more than a walking silhouette, armor refracting light to bend off and away from him, rendering the Hunter almost invisible to the naked eye,     He doesn't make a sound, climbing onto containers, higher and higher until he feels he has the best vantage point on the docks, putting the smaller weapons away for a long barrelled rifle he... Pauses. He only catches the very tail end of Genji's handiwork in 'clearing the way'. "Whelp. If it works."     Devon-7 Approves: +10 

:'''{{#var:673|Rory White (673)}} has posed:''' Much as Kotone, Rory White is most interested in taking control of the base's resources. If she can hack into their systems she can lock soldiers out of their way, turn defenses against their makers, suppress alarms... gain map information... the possibilities are endless, really!     She's certainly no fan of all the bodies the group is leaving behind. Those are people doing their job after all!     She scuttles along the path that's been opened. Then the lizard lowers its body and panels on the belly open. Tiny mice-like robots, camouflaged against the surroundings, zip off in different directions to map and establish early warnings... 

:'''{{#var:391|Reina Kinney (391)}} has posed:''' ENEMY GUARDS KILLED. REINA DISAPPROVES: -10 "Was that really necessary?" Reina asks as she gets herself accustomed to being on terra firma again. As she removes her oxygen mask, she shakes her head. "We should try to avoid letting them know we're here. They see that guard dead, they're gonna be suspicious as hell." After that, she crouches down slightly and attempts to make her way towards the elevator, moving as deliberately as she can to avoid making any noise. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Maaka seems to decloak just as the guards fall, finishing a switching soldier off with a shot to the head.     It's time to move on. Maaka reaches the elevator, guiding the others aboard. Alarms blare as the lift begins to move...and boy is there a long way to go.     They have plenty of time to prepare, and Maaka produces a holoprojector. They're going to the landing pad, leading toward the hangar that's a good mile above them in the mountains. Connecting it to the labs is a passageway that wraps around the mountain ridge, intended for transport on foot or by jeep.     "We've got twenty minutes to get the package before they can lock the place down. There's no bones about it, we'll need to break into the facility directly, and to do that we need a diversion. Team 1 is with me, our mission's to take the package. Team 2 will split off from us once we hit the bridge connecting the storage facility to the research labs. You guys are gonna have the hard part ahead of you, dealing with onsite personnel along the ridge line." She says, as alarms blare, signaling they're almost at the top.     "Good luck, people. Remember your teams, and let's get this done. If anybody is wounded and needs to bail out, I won't blame you. That's what the beacons on your belts are for, to get to the Spectre for medical attention. Otherwise, we're on our own. The Sinos can't risk implicating themselves with this, so they can't spare any reinforcements of their own." https://youtu.be/r4mTEePbGZU?t=29     TThe elevator slowly ascends to the heliport, and you'll be greeted by unforgiving cold. Be lucky you have those suits, or other means of enduring the cold, and the blizzard is strong enough that the naked eye will have no luck detecting you if you're careful, using cover via storage crate or conveniently sized walkways to go the low route.     There is a VTOL gunship already landing. There, a mountain of a man in powered armor is disembarking from the transport, blond haired and blue eyed. Commander Rossovich is being briefed on the security breach no doubt, possibly the submarine wasn't as undetected as one would hope. Time's shortened now. Better move. The commander heads inside with his posses, elite soldiers in powered suits like his own, sleek but solid looking armor that resembles Maaka's own STALKER suit, with red stripes. Rossovich's has the classical Sickle and Hammer, which is all one needs to know about this guy.     There's guards and spotlights everywhere, white-armored soldiers with assault rifles, hovering security drones, and powered suit troopers patrolling the area, with a few routes into the warehouse, whether going in by the front door, or through access hatches used by maintenance drones, large enough for an averagely sized humanoid to slip through easily on the ground and upper floors. There are also a number of storage sheds and structures one can use, if they're so inclined, to jump between in order to get to the upper levels and reach that hatch, there they can sneak in through the traversal vents without so much as alerting a soul.     Maaka cloaks again, and disappears into the snowstorm. 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Elise listens to the briefing. Looks like she and her group are going after the target itself... good, she brought the wrecking ball for that purpose, after all. She looks around at the others. "Alright, we need to make this fast... if you can handle it, lets go through the upper storey vent, here. My group all have Gene Mods for this purpose." Elise herself has a different set of Mods, but she has a micro grapnel to do the same job.     Once the elevator opens, and the VTOL is gone, Elise's Hammer Team all cloak, and begin making their way around the outside, towards the storage sheds. Killzone, Werewolf and Desperado leap from the ground on top of the first shed, then leapfrog across to the vent hatch. Elise deploys the grapnel, and hauls herself up via the Alien Alloy cable and modified MEC servo drawing the wire back in. Killzone holds the vent open for the others to get in, then carefully closes it behind Team 2. 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     On the elevator, up close, the group will get to see two things about Genji. One is... that he's wearing one of the suits Maaka has offered the group, right over his cyborg body. It seems to have been slightly modified to accomodate, but other than that he's 'dressed'. The other, is that all the lights on his suit are off.     As soon as the elevator reaches the top, Genji lifts a hand, forming a single-hand sign in front of himself. A cloud of smoke slowly whirls its way up his body, enveloping him... and then drifts away on the wind.     When next he's spotted by his allies, he's behind a storage shed. And then with a sudden, darting blur of movement, he's behind another. He's carefully keeping pace with the Commander, staying /just/ close enough that he can hear the discussion. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' Or they could just kill every guard they run into and alert security just by the fact that so many guards are no longer responding to radio check-ins, thinks Black Arachnia as the guards are mercilessly slaughtered. And here *she* used to be one of the bad guys. (Although really, holding off on the trail of dead bodies is just pragmatism on her part ...) Then she hears that Maaka knew all along that the check-ins are at ten-minute intervals. *THAT* is where she almost facepalms. She suppresses the urge, though - spider mode doesn't have as conveniently palmable a face as robot mode does, and she's not transforming just for the transient satisfaction. In fact, the Maximal rather pointedly remains in spider mode for the more detailed briefing about where their objective is, how long they have, and what they need to do. Thankfully, Black Arachnia is a pretty clear shoo-in for Team 1. As long as the snow doesn't freeze her servos, she can just trundle along behind the crates and whatnot. The fact that so mcuh snow is blowing around means she doesn't need the electro-disruptor to be essentially invisible, which is just as well for multiple reasons. Stay out of the spotlights, avoid drawing attention, all fairly basic stealth skills. She does take telscopic note, in passing, of the powered suits; hopefully the diversionary force will be the only ones who need to worry about the soldiers thusly equipped. Still, a system-freezing paralytic cybervenom might be a good thing to have handy, just in case. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Unlike some people, Corona just smirks at the ten minute interval thing. "Well now, wouldn't want this to be too easy after all." She's use to narrow crunch times, this isn't anything new. Once the briefing is over and the elevator comes to its stop... Snowstorm? We can work with snowstorms, it's only slightly different from sandstorms, and Corona's already getting her goggles on by the time the elevator reachs its apex. Though as it comes to a stop her ears flick upright, twitching back and forth a few times. Even in the wind and snow the sound of aircraft engines doesn't escape the machinist's highly trained ears. "Sounds like we ain't the only one's payin' a visit," she mutters softly. Guess it's time to get moving. The wily fox girl disappears into the blowing snow easily enough, using it and the scattered structures for cover. Until she gets up along side one shed, peeks around the corner, and ducks back when she sees a couple of guards standing by the other side, huddled together as much for warmth as for doing their job. Thankfully facing the other way. Corona presses back against her side of the shed, and activates her matter manipulator to drop something lightly in the snow next to her. A few moments later a lightly thumping sound drew the guards' attention, one whipping around towards the shed and raising his gun... Only to lower it a moment later at the small form in the snow. ".. Is that a rabbit?" "Do they have rabbits up here?" The other guard replies as he also turns and squints. "That..." The form moves closer to them, and becomes visible in the snow to be a rabbit. Made of metal. And with a pair of antlers. "That's not a norma--" And a jolt of electricity from the antlers of the 'rabbit' arc out before they can lift their weapons again, and both men drop as if hit by a a couple of high powered tasers. "Good job," Corona darts up once the smoking forms are down. She gives the men a quick pat down, but ignores their weapons and instead snatchs whatever sort of radios they might have. Now if the do wake up they won't be able to immeadiately call in.... If they wake up at all. Corona darts off again, the mechanical jackalope hopping along after her. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     GENJI: Genji goes unnoticed as Rossovich and his men are brief by a posted officer. They seem to be discussing the current situation while walking toward the hangar, their pace brisk.     "We're still working on identifying the source of the intrusion, but we're getting reports of patrols going dark down in the cavern port."     "Do we know the cause? It can't be morale."     "We're not sure, but there are reports of life signs going dead. We could be under attack."     "Double patrols, my men and I will be heading for the armory. Have the facility locked down, goes double for R&D."     "Yessir." 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:'''     Will is quite glad that he's not being asked to go along with the team specifically built to shoot some dudes. 'Shoot a guy' is actually pretty low on Will's list of conflict resolution, right down there next to 'explode everything.' "Ten minutes is a bit tight but it ain't the worst kind of time limit in the world." At least if they take too long it's just mission failure and not EVERYONE DIES. That would be just plain awful.     The T-45 doesn't really blend in too well with the driving snow, being a hulking mass of steel, metamaterial and awesomeness. It does, however, come with a set of hand-made treads. A set of powerful microservos humm quietly as the armor speeds off towards the target.     Of course, just because they're not going to charge head-first into a bunch of armed men doesn't mean that they're not going to run into any hostiles. Will catches sight of some of them. They're in armor much like his own, but... Probably a little less roughshod. Still, that gives him an idea. He glances to his sidearm. The blue light briefly flickers, then shifts. The air around the Solano seems to ripple gently, now. Maybe this'll be a good opportunity to test out his new toy? 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' She knows how the team is breaking down on this operation she takes a deep breath, more out of force of habit, while she's a cyborg? She's not a cold weather model so there may be issues with her freezing ups and she'll keep an eye on her HUD's tempature indicators far more closely than she normally does. She keeps with the group and knows they have only a short amount of time to get the goods and get the hell out of here. She knows whom she's sticking with and she's going to keep with Alexis Maaka and the rest of the team that will be going with her. In the cold unforgiving weather? Kotone is looking for any wireless signals still if she can with Rory subvert parts of the local network here they could do a lot to make their own lives easier, right? It's also not unlost on <<Rory? Maaka? BA? Any luck on finding any networks or terminals we might be able to get into??>> 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     Into the elevator, and with another soft crackle, Devon is there, crouched, elbows on his knees, cloak and armor good and dry. The Hunter listens to the plan. The timeframe. And the basic MO for the op. He says nothing, and aside from the lackadaisical seeming posture, this is perhaps the most professional anyone has ever seen him. He doesn't even flinch when the elevator alarms go off. No he's just waiting for those doors to open.     As soon as they do, he's a phantom again, cloaked and pointedl avoiding spotlights and slinking past soldiers.     This is when Genji, shadowing Rossovich, will realize he has a shadow. Just as fast, though with a lot less ninja-finesse to his motions, and just as silent and stealthy. Devon keeps pace completely wordlessly, showing that cowboys can keep up. The only reason anyone would be aware of him, at this point, would be if he wants them to; excepting in Genji's case, who would probably have picked up on him, on his own, anyway. 

:'''{{#var:391|Reina Kinney (391)}} has posed:''' As the elevator begins to rise, Reina ditches the remainder of her swimming equipment, giving her better mobility on her feet again, and is finally able to untie her hair from the bun she was forced to tie it into, then retie it into its usual ponytail. Despite seeming preoccupied with her hair, she is listening and paying attention to what is being said. "So we're the ones dealing with the enemy forces." Reina says as she nods, acknowledging what is being said. "Understood. We're gonna do this!" 

:'''{{#var:673|Rory White (673)}} has posed:''' Rory can offer little to this endeavor that others don't have covered unless she can play to her strengths! Her Lidar has picked up plenty of things along with passive radio sniffing.     The lizard opens its 'maw' wide, revealing several more piles of gadgetry. With a tiny *POOF* of air pressure, a graspping hook's fired up at an airborne drone with full intent of snagging the thing and reeling it into her grasp, to the ground - right into a spray of radio-baffling foam to prevent it from calling for help or seeing ANYTHING going on!     She's going to quickly get to work after hiding behind some walls, using fractal digits to pry into it and try to perform a COMPLETE dump of its electronic memory. Whether this be its flash memory or equivalent or the equivalent to running memory (RAM) matters little. The latter is better, since it's unlikely to be encrypted and her AIs will have a FIELD day with that scenario... 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     Well. They were bound to be found out eventually, this just moves the timetable up. Privately, Genji calls it a necessary tradeoff; those men down there are no longer a danger. They'll just have to find other ways to... oh. Hello, Devon.     Genji actually gives him a quick-two-fingered salute.     But then he's all business again, darting between obstructions until he can get past a security drone and climb up onto the second level. He's heading into the hangar on the second floor. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     TEAM 1: Maaka takes the high road, as she proceeds to Spider-Woman her way up the wall of a storage shed. She leaps across the gaps deftly, using brief boosts to carry her across before she reaches the outside of the Hangar. An unfortunate guard on overwatch will receive a bullet to the brain, as Maaka catches his body and sets it down.     She'll help with opening the vents for everyone to slip in.     For those more technically oriented, this place is a goldmine for mischief making. There are shutters that are electronically opened and closed one can hack, as well as data terminals to rob blind for juicy information, and hovering drones buzzing overhead that can be either taken over, or hacked entirely, as well as security cameras that may need to be avoided.     As those entering the hangar file in, whether by doorways or vents, they will find themselves in a much warmer interior. The guards indoors are wearing OD green combat uniforms instead of the stark white worn by the guards outside. THere are APCs and jeeps in the hangar, currently being worked on by drones and technicians at the moment.     Maaka takes the vents, crawling slowly through the cramped corridors before she worms her way inside. With her thermoptic cloak, she should be able to avoid the odd glance or two as she finds a high position, trying to call out patrol routes.     She spies guards on the upper walkways, currently looking down as they look for any intrusion. Honestly it may be much smarter to hit the high road, if one is able. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' Proper bandwidth at last. Black Arachnia is starting to poke at the security on the network even before she reaches the building proper; she knows she's not the only hacker in the group, so dividing up their tasks is probably in order - just for efficiency's sake. The data they're looking for is probably going to be under better protection than the more surveillance- and access-oriented stuff, so the spidery Maximal claims that task for herself. She's not above swapping tasks around if the need presents itself - and she's certainly willing to share her 'entry point' with the other hackers in the group, if they need it ... and if that's ENOUGH bandwidth for all of them to do their respective things. In the meantime, if the vents are big enough for a very large robot spider to crawl through them, Black Arachnia will use it. If, as she suspects, they aren't quite that big, then she'll have to usurp control of a door long enough to get inside. It'll be a good test of just how good the security on the network is, and how well she can convince it that she's an authorized superuser. What she *can't* hack is human eyesight; she has her electro-disruptor for that, and for stymieing cameras that aren't disabled in time. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona Arclite picks Hopalong up under and arm while Maaka is getting a vent open, then follows her up inside. Now we're getting more into the sort of environment the fox is familiar with. Not to mention the somewhat warmer temperature is a nice change of pace. Won't have to worry about Hopalong's furnance freezing over from prolonged exposure. At first she follows Maaka, but then as the team leader finds herself a spotting position she crawls off into a different ventway. Until she can find a grating looking down into the motorpool before. Gently she pries it open, watching one of the technicians working below. She motions to Hopalong to say put for a moment, then shimmies herself down through the grate. Halfway into the engine block of a jeep the technician doesn't hear the light foxwoman drop to the ground behind him. Or notice her until Corona reachs over to tap his shoulder lightly. He starts to ask "What?" as he pulls partway back out to look, but only gets to making a gasp as he sees a gloved hand grab for the hood of the jeep, and slam it down on top of him. Between the metal hood and the engine block, his head doesn't stand a chance. Corona tugs him back out and shoves the body under said jeep so it won't be quickly found. Then grabs the hood, motions to Hopalong in the vent, and slaps the hood down to close it and make just enough of a noise that would be normal in the hanger to cover the mechalope hitting the ground. Corona hunches down, pulling a sidearm out in each hand and starts sneaking along between the vehicles, using her smaller size to her advantage and keep her profile down. 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' At this point Kotone does find what she can get into she's going to try to get into the security drones, wait Rory seems to be on that she'll leave her long time friend to handle that with the drones. Ktoones is going into the shutters to try and get them under control to use them when needed to cut off security teams from getting them, or helping the team to get past any that might have been dropped. That's Kotone's plan anyhow. <<I'm going after the shutters. How much time do we have left?>> he'll be in the vents soon too and she's getting pretty tense she knows they have to be careful or things could get very bad. She also hopes the ducts will hold out against her weight. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Not far from the other group, there is another lone operative heading towards Rossovich's position. The local Iscariot operative has been fast, observant, and generally very good at avoiding notice from the patrols. Best of all, she hasn't had to leave any messes yet.   Having taken the callsign Lammergeier for the mission, the Vatican Section XIII assassin has been stealthily approaching Rossovich from the other side of the facility, having infiltrated separately.   Right now she's making her way down a corridor, one silver-plated pistol drawn. Thus far she hasn't had to use it, yet, but that could change. 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:'''     T-45s do not fit inside vents. They're a lot too bulky to squeeze through a space like that. "Ain't really got too many options here," Will grouses as he makes his way to the front door, "Gonna have to go in the hard way." Apparently the 'hard way' involves going up to a shutter and trying to force it open. Of course, as he's a gunslinger in a huge suit of armor, he's not exactly able to be... subtle about the way he tears a keypad straight out of a wall.     "Okay," Will mutters, squinting at the electronics inside. Everything's about the same in the end, right? You send a signal to the right place, and the machine does what you want it to do. "So if I stick this wire here, uh..." Will frowns. "Well. I THINK this'll open things. Open things, or burn the power out. One of the two!"     He takes the handful of leads. Handful here meaning 'everything that looks like it could possibly go to the door open-y bit.' He takes all of that, and he takes his pistol, which is currently crackling with what anyone with the right sensors could tell is a pretty high-energy electromagnetic field. And then he pulls the trigger, and there's a big ol ZZZOLT that gets blasted right into the thing's electronics. And whatever they might be attached to. Will it open the door? Will it accidentally short out the entire security system? WHO KNOWS, WILL IS FLYING BY THE SEAT OF HIS PANTS. Go go gadget JUNKYARD ELECTRICIANS. 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     Howdy, Genji.     Devon reaches up to tip his hat. But then he's back to being serious, as well, silently sliding into the hangar after Rossovich and his ninja-tail. Still cloaked as he ues, the Hunter eyes the interior guards... And then. Something sputters.     "Whuh?"     "Uh oh, y'pushed the cloaking too hard again, Devon!" Oakley hisses in his ear.     "Aw chucklefucks." He grunts to himself, cloaking flickering as he quickly looks for a means to conceal himself. And dives under the first thing he finds without a sound.     It's a box.     A cardboard box. 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Hammer Team creeps through the vent network, using their augmented vision to see in the darkness. They move through the vents to the main warehouse area, scouting the area before committing to anything overt. They group has been spotted, so far as they're not entirely stealthed anymore.     Elise radios in. <Where is our primary target?> before signalling for her team to move on. Might have to acquire some kind of vehicle. 

:'''{{#var:391|Reina Kinney (391)}} has posed:''' Meanwhile, Reina finds the vent network to be no problem for her. She is used to things like this, not just from training as a GUARDIANS member, but also from her time as a mercenary. Don't ask how she knows this. But she is wondering if this is really worth going through all the trouble to catch their target or not. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alarms blare as William, in lieu of trying to squeeze through a vent, shoots a junction box with Solano. The junction box sparks brightly, and the entire facility's power grid practically skips a beat. There's a pregnant pause as smoke emerges from the electronics, before the door slowly lurches open, alarms weakly blaring a distorted howl.     Guards jump from their routine as alarms are set off, and drones flutter about. Rory may be able to hack them easily if it means slowing down their response, but the human guards aren't so easily misdirected. THey have eyes, and guns too. "What the hell was that?" "Spread out and search the hangar, we got guests, folks, KILL 'EM!"     Maaka blanches from her little perch, and she sighs. "Fuck me...guess we better speed this up." She runs for the balcony and leaps over, throwing grenades into the midst of the fray. "Firefox, back off!" She calls out, before she heads for the distant doorway, marked as leading towards the R&D section of the complex.     Humanoid drones and cyborg guards arrive toting machine guns and the like, opening fire upon the intruders, and Maaka returns fire.     MEANWHILE, Heinkel is unnoticed so far, the excitement drawing everybody's attention. Same goes for Genji and Devon as all three trail the commander. They may actually be able to use this to kill a few patrols along the way, while they hunt for Rossovich and his bros. 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     Genji is able to quickly and smoothly get through the vents, and where the guards are looking down, he goes /up/, as best he's able. It's a good, silent path to take... well, until the alarms blare.     There goes the subtle approach. Things are going to move quickly, so letting the target escape is a no-go. That's fine, though. There's a reason Shimada ninja train so hard in flat-out combat skills.     A trio of shuriken embed themselves in the ground in front of Rossovich. They're deliberately thrown to get attention. To have him look for the direction they came from. But Genji is already moving. He leaps out and away, soaring over the open space of the hangar and then suddenly /darting/ forward - such that, while Rossovich is looking towards where he /was/, the shinobi will be dropping down behind the colossal Russian. It should put him in a perfect position to draw his shortblade and strike at some of that exposed skin. It's very /vital/ exposed skin, after all.     On the way down, all the lights on Genji's body light up as one. 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     And the alarm starts sounding. "Looks like we've been made. Hammer Team, go loud." she says. Killzone grins a bit, pulls his weapon from his back, and primes a demolition charge like a hand grenade, before booting open the vent with a heavy kick. "Loud it is, Commander." he says, then hoicks the charge into the midst of the power armoured guards, before dropping down to ground level and taking cover behind some crates.         Desperado and Werewolf grin as well, following after the larger Heavy with a little more finesse, beginning to weave through the guard's line, shooting at point blank, or going in for kill strikes with Alien Alloy blades.     Elise herself unhitches her Hammer, and waits. She's got one, maybe two swings , and if she misses, the entire building might start coming down, best to make it count. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' How is it, Black Arachnia wonders in a brief moment of overwhelmingly intense exasperation, that she *ALWAYS* winds up with at least one ally who doesn't understand that the whole point of sneaking into a place is *not to be detected*? That the higher a place's security is, the MORE likely it is that something like a 'random' catastrophic failure is going to, at the very least, prompt somebody to go and check out what failed, and in more paranoid settings, is likely to set off alarms whether localized or general just to be on the safe side? She'll berate the clumsy morons later, assuming everyone survives to either issue or sit through the lecture in question. Survival is the important part right now - well, survival and accomplishing the slagging mission. She does her best to minimize the noise she's making on her way through the vents (metal on metal is bad for stealth) and continues deeper into the building, switching the electro-disruptor back on to mask her presence from any MORE of those sensors. If the whole network can get taken down - Well, it's not like they can be any LESS sneaky at this point, can they? 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     Well that could have gone better. But to Devon's credit, at least he's not the one that set the alarms off. In the confusion and chaos, people might be very hard pressed to notice the box that sprouts legs and starts waddling around inside the hangar, keeping to the walls and hiding behind other boxes.     "Left left, go left-- no Devon your other left!" Oakley hisses, the Ghost's cycloptic eye peeking through the slat in the box and trying to guid him.     "Durn it Oakley I /can't tell where 'm goin' if yer in the way!/"     There is a moment of bickering as the box thumps into a wall. It's short-lived though before the BOX is on the move again. The wrong way.     See as Genji eschews subtlety and makes to get attention with shuriken and flashy lighting, before moving in the kill, the box toddles right up... And bumps right into the leg of ont of Rossovich's guard.     "Uh oh." 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona Arclite's ears slick back as the alarms go off. So much for that. She ducks down at Maaka's warning, if only because it keeps more obstacles between her and the incoming surge of forces, with Hopalong close behind her. Though at the moment he's just vanguard in case anyone gets too close. "Welp, seein' as stealth is pretty much off the table at this point." An ear twitchs again, homing in on the direction some of the reinforcements are coming from. She reachs back and pulls her preferred weapon out of it's sling, giving it a cock and flipping it into her hands as the power core crackles to life. "Time fer some fireworks!" Corona backs up a few steps and .. aims off to the side of where the guards are arriving actually. Forgesweeper cracks loudly as it spews out a hissing green-blue ball of plasma to slam into the side of one of the parked jeeps. The resulting explosion of metal, glass, smoke and other bits of vehicle reduced to shrapnel should erupt right into the faces of the reinforcements. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Genji Shimada may be a master assassin and spy, however he does have one mistake. He expected way too easy a kill from Commander Nikolai Rossovich. Alerted by the box, the Russian stops just short of getting shurkien in his feet, and he about faces just in time to see the cyborg ninja coming for him.     Genji's tanto slashes at the Russian's neck, drawing blood and a grunt of pain...but not much else. The Russian just laughs, before he grabs Genji by the shoulders and slams him against the ground in a chokeslam. "That...that tickled. Did you really expect that to work, boy?" He chuckles, grinning way too wide considering he has a wounded neck. An inch deeper and his jugular would be gushing right now.     The Russian commando strikes Genji with the force of a rushing rhino, before he grabs the ninja by the throat. "Who else is with you? Speak now and I'll make your death quick, boy. I suggest you take my offer while you can still speak!" He's woefully unaware of the others, but his men are currently scouring the corridor as Rossovich and Genji 'chat'. The guard that the box nudges against looks down in confusion, crouching as he nudges the box up. "What the fuck is this...who just leaves boxes around a place like this?"     "Hell if I know, do we use cardboard?"     Rossovich sighs. "Idiots." He looks back to Genji, shaking his head, "Ignore that. Now tell me what I want to know, cyka."     MEANWHILE, back at the hangar bay, things escalate further. Robots and soldiers alike open fire upon the intruders, and a mechanical lurching signals the arrival of a power loader.     Wait, no. THat's a powered suit alright, but it's sporting a massive mini gun in hand. "WHO'S FIRST? WHO WANTS SOME?!" The heavily armed and armored trooper opens fire with 25mm rounds, aiming straight for Maaka first as she runs like hell for the doorway, returning fire in order to draw his attention.     [Whipserwire, the big guy. Kill him.] SHe orders into the radio, marking him on the tactical net.     Desperado, Werewolf, and Killzone will have plenty to do as well, as soldiers open fire on them and their boss. Combat droids rush them with rapid fire, one of them charging Killzone like a linebacker as it attempts to shoulder-check the augmented trooper, another rushing Elise with similar goals. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel Wolfe skids around the corner, and her guns are up and pointed at the platoon of Rossovich's guards as she does.   "Guten tag~."   The Iscariot sniper manages to get that much out, along with a sweet smile, before she raises each pistol just slightly. Both heavy-caliber pistols proceed to roar as she opens fire with both, aiming to rake both over the guards in front of her.   Bracing herself right in the middle of the hall, Heinkel is pretty sure this is going to get their attention. Just to be sure, she draws in a deep breath, and /bellows/, over her pistols' gunfire.   "ACH! /ROSSOVICH/! OFER HERE, YOU SPINELESS SON OF A PIG!" 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:''' WELP. This is why you probably shouldn't try to open a door with a gun. Someone will inevitably take issue with it and try to push in all your stuff.     The power-armored cowboy's lips draw into a tight grimace as the doors slooowly start to slide open. That's not exactly fast enough. There are people showing up. People, not robots. There are definitely robots too, but he still isn't particularly interested at shooting anyone with actual lives to lose. "Okay, uh. Need to kind of... hurry..." He murmurs, moving to grab hold of the great big doors and leveraging the T-45's augmented strength against the steel. Eventually, he manages to squeeze his way in, and then... Uh. Well. This is where they're going, right? But there are people in the way! That's NOT GOOD. Especially not when Maaka decides to straight up hurl grenades into the lot of them. "Durandal, I'm reaaaaallly not comfortable with all the dead people we're makin' here," Will says uneasily into the comms. He tightens his shoulders and starts rolling forward. The Solano fires, sending nearly invisible, rippling waves of electromagnetic madness towards the things that definitely do not twig as 'alive.' "Headin' to the target now! Let's just get what we need and get out 'fore anything else goes wrong!" 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Killzone opens fire on the rushing droid, bracing for the impact, then ducking under the robot's center of mass. His augmented muscles strain under the impact and stress, but he pushes back, and flips the droid over before unloading a full magazine into the droids center mass, looking to core out something important. Werewolf and Desperado continue to dance, though Werewolf takes a few bullets for the trouble, grunting in pain and backing out of the fight to apply some emergency first aid.     Elise looks at the rushing droid, and with an almost elegant twirl, aims to smash her Daemonic Warhammer into it as it gets close. The impact would be much like getting smacked into by a Mack Truck travelling at highway speeds... and that power suit has to go. "I have a can opener." she says over radio, before charging the minigun toting suit. Hopefully it's distracted enough that she can slam her Hammer into it's back, but if not, well... she can really bring the house down if needs be. 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     WHAM. THUD. "Ugh-!" Genji was expecting a tough opponent, but Rossovich surprises him with just how sudden and ferocious an attack he can muster. When he's finally lifted up by the neck, he manages to reply in a shockingly calm voice, free of any real strangulation - probably thanks to his cybernetic neck. "There is no one else here. Even I'm not here. You're just imagining things."     A trio of shuriken quietly deploy to Genji's hand.     In the moment that Heinkel yells and starts shooting, Genji snaps his hand up to try and drive all three shuriken into Rossovich's neck in a single vicious punch. Whether that works or not, though, he swings both his legs up, plants them in the big man's chest and heaves, pushing himself out of that grip in a fast backflip that gives him just a bit of distance. He pauses for a moment, waiting to see if it worked or if someone else gets the kill...     ...but just in case, reaches around behind himself, resting a hand on the grip of his larger sword. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona switchs weapons, opting for her repeater it's faster rate of fire than the plasma-shotgun's large but slow blasts. After alternating a few times between standing up to fire, then ducking down as return fire punchs more and more holes in the jeep she's using for cover, Corona decides it's time to put her alternative tactic into motion. As she ducks down she looks to Hopalong, gesturing a few instructions to the automatron instead of speaking up. Hopalong gets the message though, getting down on all four of his limbs and disappearing under the jeep. Corona pops up again just long enough to fire off another shot and keep attention on them. She's counting on the men and drones being too focused on the people to notice the smaller mechanimal creeping under the vehicles. Not notice the mecha jackalope until he pokes his head out right by the guard position. Which is all the moment of surprise he needs to open his mouth and blast out a plume of scorching hot flames and scalding steam from his internal furnance right into their ranks! Will it do much damage to the augmented soldiers? Maybe not, even with the extreme temperature. But it's suddenly RIGHT THERE and hopefully enough of a surprise distraction to give the others a chance to drill in some good shots. Corona certainly tries to capitalize on it, popping up and snapping off several armor-piercing shots at the security drones with her riveting repeater. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' Oh look, a new priority objective. Not that Black Arachnia minds taking the time to deal with the big, noisy, obnoxious oaf with the too-big gun, too many bullets, and too loud a mouth. Never mind that some others are probably inclined to take him down themselves ... She's going to *enjoy* this. She's already got her hooks into the local network; with Maaka highlighting the target's location, it's easy enough for Black Arachnia to focus in on him, his implants, and his powered armor. And she starts hacking, physically still traversing the ducts while she splits off some of her attention to the other task. First order of business: infiltrate his armor's systems, without drawing attention to the fact that she's doing so. Sure, she COULD probably lock the powered armor down easily enough, but where's the fun in that? It's more interesting to start messing with his targeting, and the armor's visual relays - make him think he's shooting the intruders when, in fact, he's helping gun down the other security forces. Once a sufficient quantity of the (comparative) mooks are out of commission, she starts screwing with his weapons systems. Jamming the ammunition feed sounds good. Force-ejecting it sounds even better. And shutting off the big guy's cameras sounds better still, making sure he can't just pick it up and stuff it back into the minigun's loading port. But just for good measure ... she's going to try to freeze his servos as well - oh, and his comms. No point in letting him call for help. And on that note, punting his implants into 'autistic' mode sounds good - don't actually disable them entirely, but freeze all input and output beyond the limits of his own body. Trap him, helpless, inside his own mind, and leave that impressively over-armed suit of powered armor as the most expensive and intimidating paperweight in this part of the Multiverse. For now, anyway. Maaka did say 'kill him' but if somebody else delivers the coup de grace ahead of her, no big loss. 

:'''{{#var:1065|Devon-7 (1065)}} has posed:'''     This is bad. The alarms, all the guards, all the GUNS.     When that guard lifts the box up, Oakley looks up from where she was hiding at the bottom of it. The little blocky construct, no bigger than a baseball, tilts up to stare at him with her glowing eye. Her whole... Baseball-sized self is quivering.     !     "Um. Howdy?"     And she is the ONLY thing inside the box.     This is because as Genji faces Rossovich, and Heinkel swings in around the corner, guns blazing at the men, there is motion from up above. In the hangar rafters, something flickers. And then drops.     Devon's cloaking cancels out again; this time on purpose as he freefalls down he holds his hand up. But he's not reaching to catch back on the ceiling and arrest his fall. In his clawed gauntlet a light forms. A blazing hot orange-gold light as bright as the sun itself-- no- blazing as though it WAS the sun. Or was made out of it.     Devon draws upon the Light within his body, calling upon the Solar aspect blazing within himself as a gunslinger, Light spreading from his fingers and coaslescing into a new form, smithing a gun of golden sunlight within a mere feaction of a second.     A gun that he he turns down upon the guards below, two explosive shots hailed down to join Heinkel's fussilade, and then he lands, a third intended to catch Rossivich off guard and open him up for Genji a bit better.     "Oakley always says I was too proud t' ask for directions."     "DARN RIGHT YOU ARE!" 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' Things are serious tonight she'd make some jokes normally but she knows they need to speed it up? Then the fight gets going. Kotone is now moving in to go after the drones as she breaks into teh fight maybe she could attempt some combat hacking on the enemy cyborgs? Bad idea she's not a Wizard Class Hacker. She's become good but she's not /that/ good. She now bursting out of the vents along side everyone else she's still cloaked though. She'd rather have nabbed the loot and got out but that doesn't seem to be in the plans anymore. She also did wonder /what/ is her life coming to? She hears the target painted and Kotone drops in, to it making for them she does nopt like it, yet she moves opening fire as she closes in this had better be worth it. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     ROSSOVICH: The Russian cries out in pain as he feels shuriken embed themselves into his neck. "ACH! BLYAT! FUCK, YOU FUCKING BRAT!" He stumbles back a few paces as Genji gets himself some space with a heaving kick and a sick backflip. He draws his sidearm with one hand while the other tries to pull the shuriken out of his neck, blood covering his armor and the floor while the .50 caliber pistol in his free hand fires repeatedly. It's a beefy sidearm, one you do not want to get hit by.     Wolfe's barrage of pistol fire gets his and his men's attention, and the Russian barks out an order. "Kill the bitch and her friends!" THey follow it, as they open fire. A few of them seem intent on suppressing Genji and Heinkel while their friend, toting an automatic shotgun, rushes them, sprinting swiftly before he fires a couple of shots at the werewolf and ninja.     Of course, they didn't count on Devon to arrive. If Oakley had put the soldiers on edge, then Devon would've justified those feelings had Genji and Heinkel not done so already. "What the fuck is-ARGGH!" Rossovich catches a round in the leg, while two of his subordinates are blown apart by shots from the GOlden Gun. Rossovich drops to a knee, giving up on removing the throwing stars, and reloads his pistol before he fires at the Exo Hunter. "You shit, you bitch, you and your bitch, the ninja, AND YOUR FUCKING FAIRY are /ALL/ dead, you hear me? DEAD!"     Yeah, he isn't one to accept any kind of defeat. He'll be damned if he doesn't go out fighting. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     HANGAR: Maaka runs like hell as she tries to evade the Big Boy's barrage of firepower. "That's it, fatass!" She calls out, tossing an EMP at the feet of Big Boy's underlings. They're caught flat-footed, staggering as their numbers are cut down by XCOM's finest, as well as Corona's firepower as well.     Speaking of firepower, Hoppalong sneakily gets himself into position before lighting a handful of soldiers on fire. They are not taking this well, as they frantically fire upon the robotic Jackalope. "AAAAGH! AAAAAGH! FUCK, AAAAAGH!" One soldier throws himself on the ground, rolling to smother the flames while another fumbles for fire retardant, only for Corona and Elise's men to cut them down by gunfire.     Meanwhile, Killzone puts the droid charging him down like a sick cow, the machine crushed like it was hit by an industrial press. Elise has similar results, her hammer smashing the robot. While Big Boy is busy spraying fire at Maaka, he's wide open for the XCOM Commander to strike, and she takes that chance.     Her hammer strikes Big Boy in the side, leading the massive cyborg to stumble forwards, his mini gun dropping to the floor while he tries to figure out what hit him, fists flailing.     Then he sees Elise, and a wicked, disgusting smile is on his face. "Oh. OH, it's /fucking on/, bitch." He laughs, before he charges Elise, intending to drive her to the ground before he brings his fist to her face.     That's when Blackarachnia's handiwork kicks in. He was too caught up in the midst of combat to notice his armor, and body, were being hacked. While he isn't immobile entirely, he's still very much slowed down. Servos audibly seize up, and he has to put more effort into just moving. "Wh-what...what happ-happened..what...what..."     Going from grossly overconfident to terrified within moments, Big Boy slumps to his side, fear all over his face as he tries to regain control of his body. Sadly, it's not happening. 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     "I know it may be difficult to believe with my boyish good looks," Genji replies, his voice calm. "But I'm well past thirty. I'm practically a geezer." The calm in his voice becomes even more noteworthy when his shortblade begins dancing in front of his body. Bullets ping off the blade again and again, the deflections almost casual. "Would you like me to tell you my secret for staying so healthy and youthful?" Ping. Ping ping. Ping- and that should be the last bullet.     Without skipping a beat, Genji acts.                            "THE DRAGON BECOMES ME!"                               The blazing emerald Dragon of Shimada erupts to life as Genji draws the Dragonblade, its edge shining brightly. In the next heartbeat, the shinobi becomes a blur of green light, charging forward with the weapon. He takes a single, vicious slash as he passes Rossovich - and then stops, turns, and unloads several more from the other side. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Once the return fire starts to thin out from the men going down Corona climbs on top of what remains of the jeep she was hiding under. Most of the men and drones are down, and the power loader as been stalled out by the looks of it, though it's not entirely down yet. She gave a vage wave to motion Hopalong to come back to her, then hopped down from the jeep. The punktech bot has quite a few dings from the wild shots but nothing too severely damaging. Corona hops over some dead guards and grabs the mini-gun Big Boy dropped. She has to grab it with both hands and put a foot on the butt end to even lift it a bit off the floor, but it's enough leverage to get it angled up. So Hopalong can scoot underneath and use his horns to brace it. With the jackalope doing most of the supporting like a living bipod, Corona can at least grip the big fucking gun decently enough to aim it. Right at it's former owner. "Hey, punk! Ya dropped somethin'!" With a mischeviously wicked little grin Corona pulls the trigger, using the oversized weapon like a stationary weapon placement with her bot's help to try and gun Big Boy down with his own firepower! 

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''     Elise just smiles serenely. It's a very unpleasant thing to see as ones body completely locks up, leaving you helpless before that smiling visage. "You are correct." she says, her voice eerily calm, as she unhooks her thigh holster, draws the laser pistol from it, the device unfolding and beginning it's power up sequence, the laser chamber beginning to glow a baleful red as it accumulates energy. "It /is/ on." She levels the lens at Big Boy's head, and fires a continuous beam until he stops struggling. She turns, racks the heatsink to pop the spent one out, grabs that out of the air with a sizzle in her gloved hand, and holsters the weapon again. "Hammer Team, sound off." she radios, then tchs.     Werewolf hisses through his teeth, as his leg just refuses to move, leaving him stuck behind a crate with his SMG sweeping and firing at any remaining guards that venture into his line of fire.     Killzone and Desperado sweep and clear the area, then move to assist their downed comrade. 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' While Kotone was unsettled about the mission in some aspects? She was sent after the prototype that XCOM needed and that's what she was going to get she kne3w William, and Rory. They should be able to get it Kotone stops shooting, recloaks and now is making for a door in the hanger, and she'll pop it without much toruble given the chaos and she's making for the bridge. <<William? Rory we should keep moving and get the objective before something else goes wrong!>> 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona Arclite lets go of the trigger again a moment later, before the gun actually starts firing. The things need time to spin up, and that's just long enough to give a scare before Elise moves in for teh kill. "Gotcha!" Yeah, she'll entirely play it off like it was meant to be a scare, and not actually cause a load of friendly fire. Oopsie. Got a little too eager there. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     HANGAR:     The soldiers are mopped up, in surprisingly short order. Maaka reloads her pistol as she approaches the prone Big Boy, her gun aimed at the downed cyborg's head. Sadly she doesn't get the chance to finish him, but Elise deserves that honor far more than she does.     She just watches as Elise puts the rotund cyborg out of his misery, laser shots reducing his head to a chunky mess, his body twitching in a macabre shimmy, before he finally goes limp.     "I think we're good to go, we'd better head for the labs." She says, motioning for Corona, Elise, and the troopers to form up.     They'll catch up with Kotone, Will, and Rory, at the bridge, where a squad of Izunagi troops remain posted. Needless to say, there's still work to be done, and Maaka leads the charge as she draws her PDW. The 6mm weapon fires in bursts from her off hand, while her Kama fires more accurately, armor piercing rounds punching through armored suits as the cyborg makes a slide, shooting point blank.     Hopefully she isn't alone on this one. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   In the midst of the storm of gunfire, Heinkel Wolfe bares her teeth against the deafening noise, keeping her eyes focused on her targets through a morass of drifting smoke. It's not difficult to follow them, given how closely grouped they're staying. What's more difficult is to keep an eye on Rossovich himself, just in case he decides he's going to change aggro and go after her.   "'Bitch?' Ach, you blind jackass! I'm a priest! Haf you ever heard of a voman being a priest!? I mean, really!"   Yeah, she's totally trolling them, even though they probably don't know about Catholicism in the least. Her facial structure really does look like it could go either way.   Heinkel pauses in her salvo long enough to reload, which she seems to have distilled down to an art and a science, despite handling two pistols. She's already moving forward before her ejected clips can even hit the ground.   Of note to the guards still alive, she's moving forward /directly against their gunfire/. Some of it lands wide, missing her harmlessly. Several rounds slam into her, though, and she bares her teeth in a snarl -- the sound that bubbles up from her throat is deep and reverberating; decidedly inhuman, and very much in bad temper.   One of her pistols drops, sent spinning over the smooth floor; her arm hangs at an awkward angle where the round impacts her shoulder. Another slices past her face, drawing a line of blood; a third tears past her throat without hitting it, but it tears a fair bit of skin with it, leaving behind a raw and bloody line.   The Iscariot agent snarls, but she hangs onto her instincts. Not yet.   Walking straight through the bullet storm to the nearest Rossovich bodyguard, Heinkel fires with no apparent regard to her own safety, even though she's been hit three times; with one of those enough to put a normal person down for a good long while. It doesn't seem to even be slowing her down.   If anyone can listen closely in the midst of all that noise, though, they might hear a litany of cursing in German that manages to not repeat itself once. It might not be slowing her down, but she sure as hell feels it.   Heinkel all but lunges at the man, attempting to get close enough to shove one of her pistols under his chin and fire. "Your boss ought to come up vit more clever insults," she snarls, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "You, however, are in my /VAY/," she snarls, finger tightening over the trigger.   BLAM. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Small scare aside, Corona shoves the minigun into her manipulator's storage. Tch. Little too eager there, but for someone that's use to having to grab the biggest weapon possible to deal with such a threat without being allies around... Moving on! With her prize stashed away, Corona takes off after Alexis to make the final push. She switchs back to the Forgesweeper, unchoking the plasma shotgun and using it's spread fire to cover Maaka while she's pulling off pinpoint point-blank shots. 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' Also, a vent cover on the bridge is violently expelled from its mounting just before a giant mechanical spider crawls out ... "Black Arachnia, *maximize.*" ... and transforms into a robot on her way from vent to floor. Black Arachnia lands on her robot-mode feet, and starts attacking the bridge's security forces - swipes of her claws aimed to destroy weapons or sunder forearms if her targets are close enough, leg lasers deploying to shoot at enemies too far away for melee. She's not quite the intimidating force that some of her allies would be in this situation - she has to actually *avoid* getting shot, she doesn't trust her body's casings to be proof against the local firepower even if she can withstand bullets better than most organics - but she's banking on the element of surprise to keep the bad guys off-balance long enough to get, and keep, the upper hand. As for any non-combat staff? Well, she can't exactly let them call for additional help ... but she'll settle for kicking them in the head, tossing them across the room, and other variants of blunt force trauma. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Rossovich:     The soldiers flanking Rossovich fire upon Heinkel, scoring a number of hits, but they sadly don't have the damage threshold that she does, by comparison. As they reload, covering one another as they do so, the soldiers ignore the attempts at taunting as they try to push the werewolf back. The shotgunner is the least lucky, as Heinkel brings her pistol to his jaw.     "Fuck yo-" As the pistol goes off, the soldier's head come apart, brain matter and circuitry blasting out the tip of his head, and he slumps backwards, dead.     The other two won't fare much better either, as they try to pin Genji down.     Problem is, Genji is a cyborg ninja with bullshit ki powers. THE DRAGON OF SHIMADA cleaves through them with the first couple of strikes, and then Genji goes for Rossovich himself.     SHUNK! The Russian staggers briefly, twitching, as if trying to comprehend what just happened.     Then he falls apart in two halves, dead as a doornail in classic samurai movie fashion. The circuitry meshed with tissue is apparent and while fascinating, isn't entirely pertinent. The assassins may wanna bail now, since their target's done with. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     HANGAR, NOW LABS:     The soldiers are caught off guard by Blackarachnia, as the Maximal proceeds to pop out of the vents like some sort of xenomorph. "AAAAAAAAAAA!" Their rifles and cybernetic limbs are split in twain with every swipe of her claws, as the Maximal clears the route. Maaka thankfully slips past while her buddies take care of the rest, stopping to headshot a soldier before it can get Arachnia in the back.     Corona helps with mopping these dudes up, and as soldiers left and right drop, Maaka continues the charge. "Samsara, doorway!" She points to a terminal for Kotone to hack, while she drops back into the melee. "Chaser, cover her!" 

:'''{{#var:1007|Genji Shimada (1007)}} has posed:'''     The sheathing of the Dragonblade is accompanied by one last roar from the emerald green dragon curling and spiraling around Genji; a roar that fades as the dragon does, as if it were flying off into the distance. The instant the blade clicks home in its sheath, several small circular 'pistons' raise up across the cyborg's body, venting a hiss of steam.     And with the target down, it's time to escape. So that's where Genji heads, stopping long enough to give Heinkel and Devon both a brief look over his shoulder, coupled with... is that a thumbs-up? That's a thumbs-up. The next heartbeat, he's broken into a full run, intending to head for extraction - and to eliminate any enemy troops he meets along the way, so that his allies' escape is easier. 

:'''{{#var:934|William Pauwel (934)}} has posed:'''     Fortunately, Will is already on his way over to the labs! Unfortunately, he doesn't exactly have that much storage space on this big old T-45. Most of its solid state storage is dedicated to things like 'being able to move' and 'how to regulate the coolant to the fusion core so it doesn't explode.' Also the T-45's fingers are not exactly the best things to type with. So Will sort of... Backs his armor into the door to the computer room and... fishes around inside? Wait. Wait no. He's pushing the DEPLOY BALLOONS BUTTON.                                   -FOOMF-                                   ...And the doorway into the computer labs is suddenly occupied by both a power armor AND a set of inflated air-sacs. But these, these are different from the ones before! These are... covered in strange, black matter. ...Armored balloons. Will huffs and tugs a lever inside his armor's cockpit. The thing bends forward slightly, its back blossoms open, and the Chaser emerges with what appears to be a whole STACK of flashdrives. He's going to get the data off these things the OLD FASHIONED WAY. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Another haul of bullets rakes the corridor, and Heinkel once more bares her teeth and strides through them. Going by the way she jerks and twists, she's taking more than a few of those, kept going by adrenaline and pure stubborn willpower.   Once the first guard is dead, it doesn't take Heinkel long to whirl, slamming her knee into the gut of the closest one and leaning over him as he crumples to shoot at the second. Her attention swings back to the first, and so does her pistol, roaring as the muzzle flashes.   Stumbling a half-step, she ignores the blood seeping into her own clothing, or the numbing sensation in one or two limbs. Both pistols are stowed in her coat and she turns to side-step neatly around what remains of Rossovich. Stumbling every other pace, she finally slaps a hand against the wall beside herself, pausing to cough wetly, grin amidst a mouthful of blood, and flash Genji a thumbs-up of her own.   Once he leads the way, she lopes after the ninja, keeping pace with... well, not really ease, but she's at least able to keep pace. That's probably something, in her state. Striding into a hail of gunfire is sort of a dumb thing to do, but she's tougher than the average bear. Wolf. Whatever. Also, she was apparently confident in the skills of at least a few of them to demolish the threat before she got shot at too much.   "Let's get the Hell out of here," Heinkel mutters thickly, near to Genji. "Neat trick vit the sword, by the vay," she asides, impressed. 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Time to let the hackers do their work. Corona and Hopalong stand guard at the doorway, just in case any more potential interference shows up.... Or not, as Will blocks up the entire doorway with his ARMORED BALLOONS. ".. Now there's an idea even Ah didn't think of," the vixen murmurs, scratching the back of her head. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Maaka, Corona, and Arachnia blitz through the guards. It's pretty easy to say they don't have much trouble with the non-combatants. As Maaka kicks down the door to Level 4, she fires a burst into the ceiling to get the attention of terrified researchers. "/Leave/." She snarls, and they take her advice quite promptly.     She knows where to find the prototypes for what they're looking for, grabbing a scientist and stealing his ID tags. (Gouging out eyes? Don't be vulgar.)     She uses the pinched card to unlock a sealed door, before the motherlode is revealed.     MAN PORTABLE RAILGUN RIFLES. They're super sleek assault rifle styled weapons, with power packs and magazines and everything. Maaka wastes no time hoovering the whole trove, before she secures any sort of design specs as well. Will pretty much stole everything else of note, god bless 'im.     She hits a button on her belt, before disappearing in a shower of light and reforming aboard her ship. Everyone has been given a teleporting beacon for that purpose as well, provided they lack the means of zapping away themselves (Like Devon.)     Aboard the Crimson Spectre, Maaka slumps against her car, blood trickling down her side as she grumbles out something. Kaz rushes to her aid, guiding her towards sickbay for repairs. "Jesus, Boss, you gotta stop not noticing when you get hurt. You're shot everywhere."     Maaka grumbles. "I know...mmmrrrgh, guess I got excited." 

:'''{{#var:711|Corona Arclite (711)}} has posed:''' Corona Arclite helps with the 'hoovering', knowing the manipulators only have so much room in them, but between Maaka and her they should have enough to pick the room clean. After that, it's just a matter of beaming back out. Corona's automatically goes to her own ship, but from the Steamhammer she can beam over to the Spectre easily enough. So she can drop off the part of the haul she gathered up. "Ah wanna look at the schematics for these thin's at some point." 

:'''{{#var:304|Black Arachnia (304)}} has posed:''' Mission accomplished, yay. And she didn't get too badly damaged. That's a pretty good outcome in Black Arachnia's opinion. Plus, she recovered all of the R&D data from the computers, even in the middle of kicking moderate quantities of bad-guy backsides. XCOM will probably be even happier for that than they are for the railgun prototypes themselves. Once she's finished inserting a system-wiping virus into the base computers, Black Arachnia triggers her own teleporter; she doesn't need medical attention per se, but she's just as happy of a ride back to familiar territory. 

:'''{{#var:7|Kotone Yamakawa (7)}} has posed:''' Kotone Yamakawa has to trust in Will, Alexis and Rory. She moves without thinking as the order comes down she moves for the door, and will jack in moving to crack it open. Hopefully William will be able to give her, the cover she needs to get the door open. <<I'm on it and if I die I am haunting your ass Will and poessing your GUN!>> 
}}

4883/Damocles Released

2016-12-16T00:28:47Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/15 |Location=Chicago-667 |Synopsis=Harry Dresden is double conscripted into being a double cop, is very confused about it. |Cast of Charact..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/15
|Location=Chicago-667
|Synopsis=Harry Dresden is double conscripted into being a double cop, is very confused about it.
|Cast of Characters=206, 525, 42, 363, 774, 1084, 19, 585
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     THe Ways ot Chicago and the rest of Harry's world are still jumbled and disordered, but the fact remains that people can still get there, as they wish. Anyone with half a sense though will be able to tell that the aura of the world is more jumbled. More hectic. The Reality Quakes have done a number on the place, and though the Mundanes can't quiiiiiite sense it, there's a current of... supernatural opportunity in the air. The sensation that things can come unraveled at the seams and provide great danger to the kine.     And true to Morgan's word, people will find him, right where he said he would be, in the gravel parking lot of Harry's apartment, leaning up against the Blue Beetle. The Beetle is covered, like the rest of Chicago, in a thin layer of snow, the blowing wind drifting the flakes down Harry's street.     Morgan is growling and looking more and more impatient, his broadsword already unsheathed and planted tip first against the gravel. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga is also looking for Harry. She would really prefer to have found him before Morgan did, but it seems they are both out of luck, as she finds Morgan leaning against Harry's car, sword unsheathed and looking dour. That is nor promising. Inga is worried. Not only because of Morgan's presence, but simply because she doesn't know where Harry is. She doesn't know if he is alright. Their radio's are jumbled, the old frequencies not working. She expected he would be here. If not at his apartment, maybe with the Carpenters, or down at Mac's...Inga had many places still to try, but of course she'd come to check their apartment first. With a heavy sigh, Inga limps toward Morgan, wrapped in her cloak and looking extremely out of place in modern day Chicago, not having bothered to change wardrobes. She's a viking in the city and she's nursing what is essentially a 'reality done shifted' psychic hangover. She's not a happy lady at the moment. Nor can she completely hide her worry. "Warden Morgan," she greets, bowing her head a bit in respect. "He's not here. What is going on?" she asks, hoping he'll level with her. Hoping she find out /why/ he is looking for Harry. For if she suspects he wants to hurt Harry...well, there's going to be a problem. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Staren has walked along with Inga, also concerned about Harry. "Woah, what do you have that thing out for? You said parole officer, does that also mean executioner on this world? What'd he even /do/?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There is a motorcycle roaring down the road. It doesn't sound like an American engine, mostly because it isn't one. It's an antique German military motorcycle, with boxy design and what looks like reinforced plating over the fuselage. Tied with bungee-cords to the back are two crutches. Also, a large case that looks like it might be either a musical instrument or a rifle.   Driving the vehicle is a tall, lanky figure in a cassock-like black coat, with a starched white collar plainly visible. Ragged-cut brownish-blonde hair whips in the wind, and opaque sunglasses completely conceal the figure's eyes. Whipping behind the figure, suspended by a stout leather cord, is an iron cross. A thick wool scarf is wound around her neck, which looks clumsily hand-knit; her hands are concealed by heavy gloves.   Huh. Some kind of priest. But Heinkel Wolfe is no ordinary priest.   It's cold. It's aggravatingly cold. But Heinkel doesn't bother complaining, because her last few days have been so miserable she's mostly inured to more misery.   Oh, and she's got a passenger behind her, too. 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     See... it was things like this that Dorian didn't like. Some growling voice shows up on a radio channel and demands to know where someone is like he owns the Multiverse. Entitled and pompous, like his anger -- or indeed simply his current situation -- is any more deserving of attention than the billion other things going on. Particularly now, right after a massive reshuffling of every world in the Multiverse.     This in particular was a bit of a situation, since... well, Dorian had only met Harry Dresden once, some time ago, when he'd been arrested when Inga had sacrificed a goat in the park. So why did he feel the need to help? Could it have been because of the very Tevinter-esque tone that 'Morgan' fellow took? Well, whatever the reason, Dorian made his way to where he thought Dresden's Chicago was. He'd passed it during the reshuffle, he thought, in the getting back into radio range.     Indeed, Dorian can feel that strange current in the air. It's not too very dissimilar from the way his world felt shortly after the Breach opened. But when he arrives, it's instantly clear that he's not just another mundane man in this world. No, he's in his light leather armor and white cloak thrown over the lot, with his triple dragon-headed staff at his side. That he's not mundane is the statement he's instantly trying to make. And it might be made more by the fact that he quite literally REEKS of magic. And of course, FABULOUS, with the well-groomed hair and moustache.     Unfortunately, Dorian doesn't look like he's in much of a good mood when he arrives at the site either. Though it has nothing to do with the situation. Though the cold is probably exacerbating it. From the sounds of what he's muttering under his breath, it has to do with his choice to not pick his more modern attire. "...''Venhedis kaffan vas'', if '''one more idiot''' asks me where the my LARP group is, I swear..."     He quiets when he sees Inga, though, and straightens up. He offers a bow. "Greetings." He's not about to venture information in front of Morgan, as he doesn't know who he is. Then again, he doesn't really have any useful information for him about Harry's whereabouts anyway.     Staren also receives a nod of greeting, though he doesn't know him very well. By now, though, he's used to the Multiverse enough that a cat-man, talking cat, or robot cat, whichever Staren appears as here, doesn't surprise him much. The motorcycle's loud roar gets a wince, and he turns in that direction to see exactly what's making the noise. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Soooooooo many people showing up to defend Dresden. Morgan at least looks... sympathetic at Inga's presence, but as more and more people show up, there's something that rankles in his face. It's not... anger. It's not hatred. It's something more like... disgust? Yes. Disgust. At something.     Morgan looks to Inga and the others, and then looks down at a very fancy, very very old pocketwatch, judging the time and such. "How.... nice that you have all shown up here. But Dresden still only has... three minutes to show up, or I am leaving, and I'll be going through his apartment to do it. And the basement lab." A look, and he straightens up, looking damn ready to fight this out if he has to. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras Victoria's that passenger, riding right behind Heinkel... and forced to hold on for dear life. ...unlife. Given the weather and time of day, one wouldn't expect to see a vampire out and about. And if it was sunny, Seras would've definitely donned some sunglasses. As it is, she's bundled up in a fuzzy-lined and somewhat girly pink coat over her uniform... and she probably doesn't realize it is wholly unnecessary.     Over that she has her own case of a similar size strapped to her back.     But EVERY BUMP in the road in this weather leaves her jumpy and making gulpy sounds. She REALLY doesn't like motorcycles.     Far too many awful tales among the police force of people getting into the worst crashes on these things. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' So to Chicago in the winter and Harry is in trouble it seems. Maya was ready to go and was able to look well enough like a local she shouldn't drw too much troubl, right? Well at least until they found it. Or so Maya helped at least sher would be one of the later people arriving, given she had a bit further to go and she could only hope shge'd be able to find Morgan which? Maya has no issue to but she does see that Morgan is is not in a good mood and spoiling for a fight from the looks of it. Seriously what the heck happened with Harry? "Warden Morgan, my name is Maya and and I am with the Paladins. If you have any further details about the situation withHaryr it would be very much useful." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' It was with Staren's help that she found her way to Chicago again, and if Harry is in trouble Staren is a good man to have around. Inga turns as Dorian approaches, surprise evident on her features, a small smile appearing quickly. "Dorian, I am glad to see you look well," she says. It is good. He's a friend, and she is still worried about all the others out there in the multiverse who's well being she does not know. But first things first. Inga looks back to Morgan. They could easily have a stare down. Inga is respectful, but she doesn't want him for a moment to thinks he's afraid of him. "Why don't you tell me what this is about? Harry could be hurt somewhere. The whole multiverse has shifted, many people are lost. There is no need to break into the apartment, I can assure you that he is not there," she informs him, resting her hands atop her staff. Inga raises a brow at the sound of /something/ loud approaching. An engine? Inga isn't good with these things. Then, to Maya, she nods. Paladins...that was one of the new groups Staren had mentioned. Was Maya here on official business then? 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Behind the scarf, Heinkel has her teeth bared, as much for the pain of every bump and dip as from the discomfort of having a Draculina slowly crushing the life from her rib cage.   ...Alright, so maybe it's not that dramatic, but it's still uncomfortable. She, thankfully, has an excellent driving record. One of the better ones in Iscariot, in fact, although that may not necessarily be saying much.   The bike comes to a halt not far from where Inga's found her way to, although how she's managed to find Inga is hard to say.   Heinkel gives a jerk of the handlebars. The bike slews to one side, spitting gravel from its rear tire as she leans over to wave at Inga. Dorian gets a wave, too. "Ve're here." Oh. Morgan's here, too. The priest's flat lenses turn toward Morgan, raking him over with a glance. Her distasteful frown suggests she doesn't think much of what she sees. "You are... the man on the radio, ja?"   Her voice is utterly androgynous, and so is her appearance; the only real defining feature of it is its strong German accent, specific enough to suggest Austrian descent.   Heinkel frowns.. "Ja. Ve'd like some answers before ve go traipsing all over Chicago or the multiverse. Vhat do you vant him for?" She leans over the handlebars, glaring, though the sunglasses lessen the effect a little. "Answers, please. Und I'd really appreciate straight vons. I'm not in the mood for the runaround." 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Dorian nods to Inga's words. "As I'm glad to see you seem well," he agrees. But yes, Morgan's words do get a bit of a frown. He may be basically an outsider to the situation, but he knows whatit looks like to him. "You have people here asking you to work with them, and all they're hearing is 'I am a bullheaded idiot who is always right and you are merely bumps in the road, now begone'," he states matter-of-factly. "If they're his friends, they're not likely to tell you anything with an attitude like that -- they don't know what you want with him. I'd probably do the same in their place."     He indicates Maya. "There you are. You see? I'm sure they can be reasonable. But a reasonable approach only works if both sides meet halfway in being reasonable." It's not a patronizing tone, Dorian knows better. What it is, is a straight, no-BS tone. Yes, Dorian is levelling here. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras hops off the bike with the greatest of ease, despite the fact that the strapped case swinging behind her should probably weigh her to the ground. Which means she's clear to look around the lot... the police girl's gaze drifts over everyone who's arrived.     And her attention's of course drawn to Morgan's threat of breaking and entering.     And the SWORD. DRAWN AND READY.     A crazy-huge broadsword. Who goes around with one of THOSE these days?! Her expression screws up in shock and confusion. But then her eyes narrow...     "No burglary on our watch. Please explain this? You don't... exactly look like a parole officer." 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Staren glances at the people arriving. He's never seen Wolfe, but he recognizes Seras. He sighs when Maya says she's with the Paladins.     As Dorian points out to Morgan how he's acting, Staren points a thumb at himself, "Hey! /I'm/ the one who's always right, although I wouldn't say /everyone/ in my way is bumps in the road. Sometimes they can be friends or allies you don't know yet." He smiles, though. That was a joke. An attempt to lighten the mood so swords don't get swung around!     Staren may not be good at jokes. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The tall priest cringes a little, before remembering that she left her crutches behind on the bike. Hobbling back to it, she busies herself with unstrapping them and then crutch-hobbles back over, scowling. Don't say a word, Police Girl...   A half-nod is issued to Staren, more formality than genuine recognition. Muttering under her breath, she leans against her crutches, narrowing her eyes at Morgan. The priest jerks her chin toward the broadsword. "Ja. Put that avay, if you'd be so kind. You von't need that steak knife." 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' Speaking of things that absolutely reek of magic (although perhaps not in such a fabulous manner), there IS another player on the field, though he isn't so obvious as to show his hand immediately. Too many mixed metaphors for his taste. Nonetheless the Warden's wizard senses would be tingling with a primal warning that Something is lurking nearby. Something Big, and Something Bad. Like the atmospheric pressure drop that warns of an oncoming storm. Which isn't a bad comparison really, considering Bigby's mixed parentage. For now, though, the Wolf remains garbed in his human raiment, just another slouch in a trenchcoat across the street, leaning against the wall of a nearby apartment building, a thin line of cigarette smoke trailing upward into the winter air from his lips and the smoldering cancer stick in his hand. He and Dresden have done each other a good turn in the past, which is enough to have piqued his interest when some asshole started shouting for him on the radio; but it looks like Harry already has plenty of cavalry come to do the shouting for him. For now. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Morgan looks to Inga and grumbles. "As much as you are Harry's... partner." He declines to use the other word. "He is still obligated to submit to the judgement of the White Council, and that is what I am here for. There's been a decision made in his... 'parole'." The Greycloak looks to Dorian and Staren, regarding the other mage and the Catboy with a stern look. The disgust is still there, though. Though Dorian and Inga will at least get the sense that that emotion is not directed at them... specifically. Maya too, though the mention of the Paladins puts some measure of.... respect into those cold, angry eyes.     Respect that's quickly dashed as the motorcycle makes its way all the way here. Heinkel and Seras... get a much bigger reaction. The Warden can spot Bumps-in-the-night, and he very much rankles at the presense of the vampire and the... whatever Heinkel is. Hands grip at the broadsword, and he shifts his feet to a slightly more ready stance. That's doubled as Bigby shows up, but Morgan can't spot the Sheriff just yet. The danger sense is prickling. "Hells dammit, just how many people are..." One minute, and Morgan grumbles, looking at his watch. Is he actually going to call the bluff? 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Joke didn't work, but didn't make things worse, either. Staren looks stern. "Who the fffffff who the heck are the White Council?" Staren looks to Inga. "Does Harry actually have any obligation to these people?" Then he realizes something Morgan said, and looks back to him. "Wait, what's the decision?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest seems about to say something else to Morgan, but before hse has a chance to, her instincts start gibbering at her. It's not often the Wolf tucks its tail and shows uncertainty or fear, but right now those primal instincts are screaming at her that something bigger and badder than her is around, and she'd better roll over and show her belly.   Heinkel ignores those instincts, with a little effort. It's distracting, though, and she's already lost whatever it was she was going to ask the Warden of the White Council. Champing her jaw impatiently, she risks a quick glance back, only to spot the slouch against the wall across the street, smoking a cigarette.   The priest's nostrils flare. He certainly looks normal enough, but...   Smells like wolf. Smells like very big, very bad wolf. Dangerous wolf. If she were in that form, she'd be backing her ears right now and showing her teeth. Not in challenge, but in fear.   Morgan is talking again, though, and so she makes an effort to clamp down on the gibbering Wolf, willing her human instincts to ride it out.   There's no ready stance needed for her. Heinkel's on crutches, and she doesn't look like she's in any shape to tussle with anybody. She frowns as Morgan shifts his weight, though, recognising when somebody's easing into their centre of gravity for a fight.   Heinkel grins. Her canines are just a hair sharper than they should be. "You going to enlighten us, Varden, or are you going to vaste our time? Ve're not here for a fight. Ve just vant to know vhat you vant vit Dresden before ve help you look for him. Now stop stalling and gife me a fucking straight answer already so ve can get done und get out of this frozen-over Hell," she says, androgynous tone saccharine-sweet. "Ja?" 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Dorian looks at Staren with a raised eyebrow. "And I imagine that goes very well for you," he points out, with the slightest bit of snark -- actually no, the comment is DRIPPING with snark. He is, however, trying to make a point, not so much trying to insult Staren. So he's not frowning at Staren or anything of that nature. It's just kind of a smug smirk.     And the appearance of Bigby gets and definite look... well, not strictly. He isn't quite sure where the weird sensation that's pinging his magic senses is coming from. But he's alert for it now. There's a frown, but he doesn't act on it yet.     Oh Dorian's used to being viewed with disgust. He's a 'Vint', he's a mage, he's a runaway, he's... that other thing, too. There's SO MANY reasons for people to view him with disgust. And he just returns it with a proud smirk, one with an edge as sharp as a knife. Yeah, he knows it's not directed at him in specific. More likely it's 'offworld mages' in general. It is, however, close enough to what he's used to that it gets the same response.     Now, for the time being, he stays quiet and listens, since he doesn't exactly know what's going on here. He leans on the staff he carries a little, seeming much more relaxed than he actually is. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' The wisewoman reaches up to hold the edge of her hood as a wind picks up, holding it so that it continues to cover her head. Turning, she nods to Heinkel, the voice familiar from the radio. She only wastes about a second trying to tell Heinkel's gender. It doesn't really matter just now, but it is a curiosity to tuck away for later. Morgan isn't likely to be pleased with being talked to that way. Inga hides a wince. She knows who and what Morgan is, and what it means for Harry. Would he even appreciate it if they fought him? Inga doubts it. He doesn't want to be a fugitive. But if Morgan has intentions of using that sword? That's a different story. Dorian, snarky as usually, might not be helping. She hopes Morgan doesn't lose his already thin patience. Keep an even keel. At least for now. Oh...but then there's another arrival. Inga knows who it is without turning to see his approach. Wolves howl in her mind, the small hairs on her arms and neck lifting in instinct. But when she glances in his direction, she smiles. She's starting to feel a little badly for Morgan. Inga takes a deep breath as she looks back to Morgan. "I...see. Well, I do not think breaking in will help you in the least. He's not here, what is to be gained by going through our things?" she asks, putting an emphasis on /our/. Yes, Inga lives there too. He'll not only be breaking in to go through Harry's things, but hers as well. Maybe that will give him pause? Inga notes that Heinkel is injured. If it comes to a fight, which gods, she hope that it does not, her first action will be a healing spell. Damn it Harry, where /are/ you!? 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya was here to help and honestly didn't think it was a /bad/ idea to not reveal who she was with this wasn't an undercover operation after all and she's trying to be mindful of the standards she has to live by now given her new affiliation. Inga does get a look and Maya seems glad to see that she's all right after the multiverse barfed for lack of a better term. She also notes Dorian has surived the mess as well and that's good for her. Maya also screams of Maguic there's no way the bluye haired woman can /hide/ it for anyone who can sense such thing. She will try to not take things personal but ther eis a look of concern on her face for Harry, what has he got himself into and she sees the respect that dashed very quickly she the arrival of Seras and Heinkel. She doesn't know the Sheriff just yet herself she's focused on Morgan for the moment. "The biggest question is where is Harry, I haven't heard a thing from him since before the multiverse exploded." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' The intensifying presence of something... something TERRIBLE about gets Seras' neck hairs standing on end. She sharply inhales herself, only to promptly cough and wrinkle her nose at all the cigarette smoke in the air. Which leaves her moving a bit upwind of Heinkel. Just a few steps.     But she too recognizes Morgan's body language, and it gets her eyes widening. "White Council?" She murmurs. "Put that thing away please... there's nothing to fight over." Worry enters her words as she steps forward and opens her coat, revealing her uniform... and the black-and-red Hellsing kite shield badge over her heart. "If Mr. Dresden's gone missing, he might be in trouble..."     Now that she's gotten her worry stated clearly, Seras attempts a firmer demeanor. "I'm Seras Victoria, Chevalier of the Paladins and agent of Her Majesty's Royal Order of Protestant Knights. Your turn. Who are we working with to find Harry?" The vampire girl smiles rather brightly and genuinely, clearly trying to calm Morgan down and get them all working together. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' It would take very sharp eyes to see it from across the street and through the swirling snowdust, but Bigby just about smiles back at Inga, too. Well, more of a dark smirk than a smile, but that's a lot coming from him. He stubs out the butt of the cigarette on the wall behind him, then drops it to the cracked pavement at his feet and grinds it under one cheap shoe. His nose twitches. Now free from its cloaking haze of reeking smoke, his senses taste the wind and there may just be the faintest glimmer of yellow behind light brown eyes. Inga's scent he knows well. The others are catalogued thusly: human, human, nervous human, human...cat?, UNDEAD ABOMINATION, and... Oh, this time the smile is definitely real. Wolf, unfamiliar, but that hardly matters. It knows well enough to submit and that's the important part. Regardless of how this shakes out he'll have that hole card to play if he needs to. Much as he'd love to slip a note to his lupine cousin though, even he isn't telepathic. For now, he keeps his hand close to his metaphorical vest and settles for keeping most of his attention on Morgan. Now that he's no longer using the cigarette as an excuse to loiter, it may be a little creepy the way he's staring. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     The raw disgust on Morgan's face is enough to curdle milk, and indeed any stray electronics in the area are going to start fizzling and going on the fritz as Warden Morgan takes a step forward at the crowd. "How dare you all..."     And as shit seems like it's about to start, two things happen. First, someone gets out of the Blue Beetle. Or at least, someone appears to be getting out of the Beetle. An older woman, maybe in her 60s. Military lady, short cut hair, wearing her own grey cloak. Another Warden. "Well, Donald, it would seem Harry has more friends than you thought he did. Funny how that happens when someone isn't as bad as you think they are." She walks around the vehicle and sighs. "Sorry for the show, but I wanted to ensure that Donald... got an example of just what why I'm about to do what I want him to do." The woman places a hand on the upraised swordarm of Morgan and looks to the rest. "I am Anastasia Luccio, Commander of the Wardens. We are here to offer an olive branch to Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden." Oh shit, his whole goddamn name. And the Warden's gaze sort of fixates on a point to Inga's left shoulder. "Harry, I know you're watching from the Nevernever, just... come out."     And the second thing, there's a sudden shift in the air to Inga's left, and Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden does indeed step sideways through reality from the other side of existance, a hand pressing to Inga's shoulder carefully. He whispers to her, presses a kiss to her cheek, and then looks stonefaced at the Wardens. "Hi, Luccio. You could have just... come yourself." A glare at Morgan.     Morgan makes a rather large noise of protest. "This is the wrong decision, Commander. He is unstable and a murderer." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The instant the Blue Beetle's door opens, Heinkel's head whips around inthat direction. She watches as Anastasia Luccio levers herself up out of the vehicle (she'd always thought those things were like clown cars) and tugs on Morgan's leash. Good doggy, she thinks, somewhat venomously. Down, boy.   Heinkel leans against her crutches, and the look on her face is not much better than 'curdling milk.' "Hunh. Imagine that. Alright, Fraulein Luccio, maybe I can get a straight answer out of you. Vhy, exactly, are ve looking for Herr Dresden?"   There's a pause.   Oh, introductions.   "Heinkel Wolfe. Vatican Section XIII. Paladin Chevalier." She even flashes her badge, though she has to fumble a bit in her coat pocket to find it. "Your ill-tempered associate vas more interested in grumping und growling than telling us vhy he /vanted/ Dresden. Care to enlighten us, maybe?"   Her head doesn't move, and her sunglasses hide it, but Heinkel manages a nervous glance in Bigby's direction. Yes, she still knows he's there, and his mere presence is still creeping her out. A lot. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga doesn't see that smile of course, he's too far away, but she knows he's here to support them. At least she's pretty sure. Bigby's helped them here, and they've helped him and Snow. A comfortable working relationship with the Big Bad Wolf isn't a bad thing to have. Naturally, those not completely oblivious have also noticed his presence. One should not underestimate Morgan, either, however. He could make at least a few of them have a very Bad Day. Inga looks rather surprised when someone exits the Blue Beetle. Someone she didn't know was there. That's not something that happens very often, if Inga is on alert, which she was. She nods respectfully to her. It's all coming together now. Some of the tension leaves her. When Harry steps out of the Nevernever, relief is plain on her face. She reaches up to cover his hand with her own, smiling to him. "There you bloody are," she grumbles quietly. Inga then introduces herself to Luccio. "Good day Commander Luccio. I am Inga Freyjasdottir," she greets. Of course she's heard of Luccio, but they've never met. So that was it...they were offering peace? Was Harry's probation finally at an end? That was /good/ news. ...There has to be a catch. Inga glances toward Morgan, merely frowning at his protestations. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Huh, there was someone in the car? Why didn't he notice...     When Harry steps out of empty space, Staren pulls what looks like a flipphone from his coat pocket and scans for spatial distortions. Just to see if he can detect 'NeverNever' portals or whatever.     Then he looks back to the Wardens, giving Harry a friendly nod on the way. "Murderer? Well, did the guy deserve it? We've all killed some bad guys in our time."     He glances at Heinkel and realizes people are introducxing themselves, so he says to Luccio, "Staren, researcher for the... League of Progress. So, what are the Wardens? ...Are /they/ the fourth faction I've heard rumors of?" 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Oh no, that's not creepy at all.     ...Actually yes, yes it is creepy the way that fellow over there is just staring. Feels like a predator's gaze. And Dorian, being descended of a prey species? Is suitably unnerved by it. So unnerved, in fact, that he shifts, scooting to the side a little, so he can keep the odd man in his peripheral vision. So that hopefully if he moves to attack one of them, Dorian will have the chance to defend. Or get the hell out of the way, one.     But what happens instead is, Morgan gets upset. Yes, Dorian's radio crackles a bit, and he winces. But he also recognizes it for what it probably is. Likely the beginnings of an attack. And so he shifts, holding the staff to utilize it. He's just about to start making with the Barriers, when... someone else appears from the snow-covered car. He pauses, but he's still figuratively 'holding onto' the magic for that Barrier spell, though he doesn't cast it yet.     He listens. And then he smiles. "Finally, someone reasonable," he remarks. Introductions are a yes, though Harry's appearance pre-empts Dorian's. And also gets a blink. "Well. That was certainly... something. I'm not sure what." His smile this time is honest. "Good to see you're little worse for wear after everything."     And then, introductions! He bows to Warden Luccio. "Dorian of House Pavus, altus mage of Tevinter," he offers by way of introduction. It won't mean much here, he doesn't expect it to. He doesn't introduce himself as part of any sort of faction. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' A step forward with clear hostile intent's enough to get Seras RILED and into a borderline panic. She's already on horrible edge what with the Big Bad Wolf lurking nearby, and a hint of what seems to be real hostility results in IMMEDIATE action on her part.     With an impressive display of speed and coordination Seras hurls her coat onto Heinkel's bike and takes a step back. The case opens with a *KER-WHUNK* and she spins the rather oversized gun into her grasp.     A heavy rifle that must weigh nearly as much as she does. What the bloody hell's that thing meant to bring down? A herd of elephants?     Her irises, already back to tight and tense the instant her manuever for peace fell sour, shrink and shift to a deep... luminescent crimson. Honed and predatory.     The whole manuever takes her all of three seconds to complete, the case crashing to the ground behind her into the snow. But before she can say anything more...     Out comes someone new? The girl blinks uncertainly a few times, glances over...     Upon spotting Anastasia Luccio and hearing her introduction Seras calms rather quickly. The red glow from her eyes fades fast and they're once again a kind blue. She flicks her weapon's safety back on and lowers it so it's pointed at the ground, threatening nobody.     And then out steps a man, seemingly from nowhere. And the way he's dressed just gets her STARING. Those sorts of clothes seem to be awfully popular these days...     "Did he just... from thin air?!" Seras takes a few steps back, both amazed and weirded the HELL out now. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' Murderer is such a strong word. Bigby, now, HE's murdered some people in his day. And eaten them. But that was a long time ago. Dresden has definitely /killed/, he's sure enough of that, but he's also sure he's a decent guy. And that goes a longer way in the Sheriff's book than a few piddling homicides. His eyes narrow when Luccio steps out - how had he missed her presence in his scent count? That car must REALLY need to be cleaned out. He's happy to see the man himself appear, from thin air as it were. Maybe now they can get down to business instead of just measuring each other's dicks all day. And with that thought, he pushes himself off the wall and begins to saunter over, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his tattered trench. His focus now, bemusingly, is on the Undead Thing that just flipped the fuck out and pulled out an honest to god cannon. "Take it easy, girl, I don't think anyone here wants a fight. Morgan's just an asshole." Glance toward Morgan, daring him to make something of it, giant silver sword or no. Glance toward Heinkel. YOU WILL OBEY ME. And then, casually, as he comes to a halt a few paces away from the group and starts to shake out another cigarette from the battered pack drawn from his pocket, "Hi, Harry. Hi, Inga." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' They were being watched and she now turns her green eyes to gaze at the man who according to Wolfe likely isn't human at all. She also sees Mogan is not very happy and he takes a step towards them saying how dare they? Wait what, what the hell is going on here? Then a woman pulls up who hasa military feel to her as she arrives, give her full name and rank? This seriously got serious and it seems Harry has been here all along? Damn he's got good, Maya didn't even pick up he was /there/. She then looks back to Morgan and Commander Luccio, then back to Harry. Maya looks to Seras for a moment. "Take it easy, this sort of thing is entirely common out here." Seras was much like Maya's Little brother in a way and the urge to tease her was strong, but not was /not/ the time for such things. Really though she was already taking a liking to the Police Girl, it was good though she was under Amalthea's care She mused. So the Wardens wanted to offer an olive branch but Morgan's comments about Murder? That does get Maya's attention. "Murder? I'd need th contex of that." She's at least known Harry in passing for a very long time and he's always been a solid ally to the old Union, so she has to woner what the hell is up here. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     For her part, Luccio actually bows her head to all the introductions, offering all of these Elites a measure of respect. She barely even reacts as the Harkonnen comes out, though she does idly, and very awaredly, move to slide herslef out of the direct line of fire.     That just seems to piss off Morgan more. "This is absurd, Commander. He has defied the Council too many times, he is still responsible for the death of Dumorne, and he has violated the Laws of Magic. He is a warlock and I will not-" Luccio sighs. "Enough, Donald. You can leave, if you like." He is not going to, though. Heinkel's got the right of it. Morgan is an attack dog. A police dog, if one wants to be precise. And he's here to protect his Master.     Harry grumbles, and slides a hand into his hair. "He did just from thin air, Seras." Another lean on Inga, and he tosses a look to Bigby. Harry grumps and rubs at his outfit... the Bears sweatshirt has blood and dirt on it, though it might not be his blood. There's bruises on his face and neck as well. Not a good condition. But he's got his staff at least, and he leans on it as Luccio starts to discuss the offer. "Harry Dresden, in exchange for lifting the Doom of Damocles, I hereby conscript you into the Wardens of the White Council. This is a one time offer. Please accept it." She slides a hand into her own cloak, and tosses a grey bundle of cloth to the snow and dirt at Harry's feet.     Harry... boggles. "You want me.... to be a cop?" 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga smiles and nods to Bigby. "Bigby, it is good to see you," she says, nodding to him. If anyone can get away with punking Morgan, its Bigby. Inga looks back to Harry and Luccio, then at the grey clothes on the ground. Unlike Harry, she doesn't look surprised. She simply mumbles "ah, so it's this thread then..." before going quiet and letting Harry react. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     "Doom of Damocles? Wardens? Cops?" Words are thrown around, Staren echoes, then looking for /someone/ to explain. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Although Heinkel leans on her crutches as though she were completely helpless and vulnerable, she's mentally plotting how quickly she can throw one crutch down and draw a pistol. She could probably get half a clip slammed into Morgan's face before he chopped off anything important, but it would be ugly.   Seras earns an annoyed look. "Put it avay, Police Girl." Showing a giant elephant gun is not going to win any friends here, and things are already tense enough. For all her talk, Heinkel herself hasn't drawn any weapons; and doesn't even seem to let on that she has any with her. (She totally does, because Heinkel Wolfe doesn't go anywhere unarmed, and anybody that has had past history with her knows this.)   Then Bigby looks at her again, ever so casually, and Heinkel swallows. It's more of a convulsive gag against a dry throat. Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir, as long as you don't start wrecking things and breaking the law.   "Just put a leash on your dog," Heinkel grumbles, to Luccio. "Or a muzzle, maybe, ja?" She glances toward Dresden. "You look like shit," she says conversationally, leaning on her crutches. Hi to you too.   Oh. There's a straight answer.   "Hunh. Imagine that." Heinkel smiles a hard little smile. "Might be you might vant to take that offer, there, Dresden." 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Dorian looks to Seras with a blink when she seems to freak out about the apparent teleportation. Or, that's what Dorian sees it as. "It's all right, calm down," he offers calmly. "That sort of thing happens in the Multiverse. Have you recently arrived?" He's not asking it like 'lol n00b', but he's noticed that the newer one is to the Multiverse, the more surprised one seems to be when something like that happens.     When Bigby finally walks out to the group proper, Dorian offers a pleasant smile and a nod of greeting. "Hello there," he greets. He doesn't know him, no, but it's always better t make sure the scary guy is positively inclined towards you, right? That's just smart.     He tilts his head at the words of Warden Luccio. That's... extraordinarily ironic. "Sounds like the Gray Wardens." He'd always heard the Gray Wardens in Thedas forced murderers and criminals to join, just as a way to be rid of them. Because they all died sooner or later. Died or went to the Deep Roads and never returned.     He is, however, not going to speak for or against Harry joining. Mainly because it's none of his business. But he's also aware that, despite the similarities, these Wardens are NOT the Gray Wardens of his world. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' Bigby, also, is unsurprised. "Wouldn't be the first time the people turned to the big scary murderer for law enforcement," he remarks, cupping a hand to shield the tiny flame of his lighter from the wind. He takes a quick drag and lets the smoke stream from his nostrils in two thick columns. "I'm sure he'd like to know /why/, though, after all this time, the White Council is suddenly so desperate for cops they'd make such an offer." He talks like he knows more than he's letting on. Maybe he does. One doesn't act as spymaster of a secret immortal community for centuries without picking up a few things. In truth... he's done his homework on this world and its supernatural politics, but he's also dying to know why they'd suddenly make this move, now, too. Did the reality quakes wake up something nasty? "Hi," he replies to Dorian, in a noncommittal tone that is, if not precisely /positive/, at least not hostile, either. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There comes from Heinkel's direction a sort of shuffling sound. That is the sound of Heinkel awkwardly crab-sidling away from Bigby as he approaches, although it means she has to manoeuvre her crutches a little awkwardly. Her head never moves, but she's eyeing him behind those opaque lenses. Nervously.   It's not quite an obvious gesture, but for the people here who actually know her, they know Heinkel Wolfe doesn't usually give ground unless there's a /really/ good reason to give ground.   She's not scared. She's just wary. Honest.   "I haf to vonder that myself," she murmurs, tilting her head to study Dresden, Luccio, and Attack Dog Morgan. "You vant him in chains or dead or something, und now you vant him to be von of your agents? Vhy such a sudden change of heart...?" She doesn't sound suspicious; just curious. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' With things calming down Seras makes a face. Being chided for that reaction is ever so wrong. What do people EXPECT a cop to do with someone getting ready to behead them? She's already lowered her weapon, so what's with these looks?     It all gets her making a rather flabbergasted face.     Because people have instantly transitioned back to business in a heartbeat.     It's enough to leave her a biiiiiiit gobsmacked and gapey, fangs now on display too... until she shuts her mouth a few moments later. "Huuuuoooooah," the police girl wordlessly exclaims, rubbing her face with her free hand now.     Now that things have calmed down she fixes Bigby Wolf with a good long glanceover and takes note of all the interactions around her. Lots of friends coming out of the woodwork here, but...     They're all weirdos. They're all either dressed bizarrely or give her the -weirdest- vibes.     What's this about Dresden breaking the Laws of Magic and comitting murder?     Overwhelmed by everything going on, she innocently and dumbly asks the obvious of the man who's just appeared. "You're a wizard, Harry?" 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Harry is busy picking up the cloak, as Luccio looks to the rest and they all ask... about the same question. "Frankly, the War with the Red Court of vampires is taking a toll on all of us. Couple that with the sudden unrest of the wworld nearly ending and all of the Barriers starting to fall, and... well. We need bodies." She plants a hand on her hip, and looks to Heinkel and especially Bigby. Bigby gets a LOOK. She knows Who You Are, Mister. It's very much a Mom Look. "And frankly, Harry is one of the scariest Wizards around, if you're a problem for humans and the Council. He also has... well. He knows the Multiverse better than any of us. And that's his task."     Harry is unfolding the cloak, as Luccio gets all formal again. "Dresden, you are hereby named as Adjunct Warden, At Large Forces for Extraplanar Activities. Do you accept." That last part... was not a question. It was an extremely stern statement.     Harry licks his lips and then looks at Luccio. "Do you have any idea what you are asking me? You people... execute kids for fucking up their first magical forays. you run roughshod over people who can't even qualify for the Council, let alone understand what's going on. I know you're fighting a war but.... Hells Bells. Really?"     Luccio looks implacable at the statement. Morgan glares.     Harry takes a breath. "I'm still protecting Chicago. And I'm still... I'm... wait." A glare. "I'm already doing this shit, and you want me to wear the Cloak while I'm doing it. Is that it?" Luccio... well, there's the barest hint of a smile. Blink and it's gone. It wasn't a smile, you can't prove anything. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Revelations abound, but a few words stick in Staren's mind. He looks at Harry. "They execute /children/?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' The vampire's reaction to Harry's words is about as immediate and horrified as Staren's. She swings around and seconds that with a loud, "WHAT?" aimed at Luccio. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga looks to the others. There's a lot of questions. "We can explain later," she says quietly, sympathetic. It is not fun to have no idea what's going on, but she doesn't expect Luccio or Morgan is going to take the time to explain, and Harry is a bit, well, busy making an extremely important decision. Inga places a hand on Harry's arm, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze. She's here to support him, whatever he decides. Inga looks to Luccio. "...and what if Harry decides to decline this offer?" she asks. At Harry's words, understandably the others are put on edge. It's more complicated than she can explain right now, but she gives Seras and Staren a look of caution. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Despite her question, Heinkel seems genuinely interested in the answer. It's a quandary near and dear to her heart. In the face of overwhelming odds or some kind of increidbly bad thing that got woken up by multiversal displacement, what would motivate an organisation to employ that which they hate?   Some dim part of her mind wonders, indeed, what impossible desperation had spurred the Hellsing family into subduing Alucard and putting him on a leash. It's not the kind of strategy that would occur to a normal person; not with a genuine monster like Alucard.   Heinkel doesn't fold her arms, because she's busy draping them over her crutches, but she does tilt her head slightly and eye Luccio.   She's ignoring the Police Girl at this point. Police Girl is just going to have to come to grips with weirdness in her life and do it quickly.   In the meantime, Heinkel returns Luccio's look coolly, unconcerned. If she's uneasy, it's for other reasons, like the big guy over there that's radiating Alpha Wolf. That's far more on her radar than Luccio, which says something, because the Wardens of the White Council carry silver, and that's usually a pretty pressing concern to her.   That probably says something about how attention-getting Bigby's mere presence is.   As the others negotiate and glare and make a fuss about ideology, Heinkel merely regards them all blandly. It seems her purpose in this stage-show has come to a close, and the extant Warden is more or less under control. She is assuming, at least, that Luccio is adept at keeping Attack Dog Morgan on a tight leash and a choke-chain.   "Pipe /down/, Police Girl," Heinkel growls, looking to Seras in annoyance. "Do you haf to be so /loud/ all the time? This ist their business to negotiate. Ve aren't needed here after all, so let them negotiate."   She is, however, paying close attention when Inga asks that rather pointed question. 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     'Not hostile' is good. Dorian will settle for that. He relaxes a bit. Though yes, he does nod to the statement made by Bigby. "That does make a kind of sense." Though as Heinkel asks her question he too listens. It makes sense, but he's interested to hear the specific reasoning.     Seras's look gets a reassuring smile from Dorian. Yes, he's one of those bizarrely-dressed weirdos, but he's offering reassurance now, even if it's non-verbal. See? He can be normal. He just didn't have time to get his white suit back from the cleaners. Also the cleaners' shop seems to have disappeared in the chaos, so... well, anyway. Stuff!     That whole 'executing children' thing doesn't sit well with Dorian either. And he frowns. "At least the Ferelden Chantry only locks you up and won't execute you unless you manage to get yourself possessed," he comments. He's not going to go getting all up-in-arms about it, at least not yet. There might be a reasonable explanation, or maybe that's an exaggeration. There's definitely another side to it, that much he knows. He will, however, file that little piece of information away for later. Maybe those people he talked to earlier this week would be interested to know this... 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya keeps calm here she knwos this is a sticky stiutation but getting angry isn't going to do anyone let alone Harry any good. Right so she simply istens as she starst to think on local soultions, she's not certain though given her lack of experiance with magic law on this world. Then she sees where it's going if Harry is trouble? The Wardens would rather keep him close than a lone wolf and operator though the look of shock on Maya's face is very apprent. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' The look and raised eyebrow Bigby gives Luccio back could not more plainly state, 'Lady, you could not possibly be half the bitch my mom was.' Because he's watching her face though, he sees the smile. And an echo of it touches his his own lips. "Nice," he murmurs, and hides it with another drag from the cigarette. He doesn't seem to have a comment for the whole killing children business. Who is he to judge on that account? Children are delicious. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Luccio doesn't flinch at the accusations from Harry, but Morgan can't help himself. "The violations of the Laws are not /just/ an act, Dresden. You know that they corrupt you. Ruin you. That cannot be allowed to happen and you know it."     Inga gets a look from Luccio, and she preemptively shushes Morgan. "Then he goes back under the Doom and he's watching over his shoulder for us for the rest of his life, every time he casts a spell, every time he tries to do his job."     Harry lets out a breath, and then grunts, straightening up. "I'll do it. I'm not going to like it but I'll do it. Is there... some sort of ceremony here? Do I have to take an oath?"     Luccio smiles. "We just had it. Welcome to the Wardens, Captain Dresden." Morgan growls, and turns, starting to stalk off. He does not want to be here, not any more, not ever again, if he has to. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     "Not the type to explain yourself, huh...?" Staren almost wonders if Luccio can even see him. "Well. Seeing as how I'm now surrounded by cops, I think I'll make myself scarce before someone decides associating with the League is a crime..." He turns and walks briskly back the way he and Inga came. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga figured as much. She nods. It isn't a great choice, but it has to be made. And Harry makes it. Inga feels a little seed of worry form in her stomach. It is the better choice for him, for now. Inga leans against Harry slightly. "Captain Dresden," she offers him a smile. They'll make the best of it. Inga looks to Staren, frowning. "I can explain a bit Staren..." she says. But he's already walking away. Inga sighs. Everything is going to be so much more complicated. Where will she fit? Inga watches Morgan's retreating form, and shakes her head. 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Well. That was one of the most pompous things he'd ever heard. But for the time being, it seems, things are more or less smoothed over. Staren gets a commiserating look. Yeah, Dorian understands that feeling well. People are horrible all over, though. But just because he's not going to protest doesn't mean he's not going to at least make it known that he's not going to be silent forever. A reminder that he IS here, and will continue to be.     And so he calls out to the stalking-away Morgan, "Do be sure to let me know when you're free! I'd love to have a drink with you sometime~!" It's almost a sing-song voice. Yes, he is a smartass. And yes, that was a little but puerile. But the mischievous smirk is unmistakable. And he also sends a playful wink Inga's way. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga gives Dorian a 'I can't believe you just did that look', then somehow resists bursting into laughter. But it's there in her eyes. Oh Dorian. She hopes he doesn't get stabbed. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' "Don't let the door hit you," Bigby mutters at Morgan's retreating back. That guy... he doesn't really get a BAD vibe off of him, just a dick one. Still, if this means he's out of Dresden's life -- at least in that particular capacity -- he supposes that's a good thing for his friend. "Captain, huh?" he snorts sardonically. "What General did you blow?" this is his version of light ribbing. "Hey, you want me to talk some sense into that guy, I'll be happy to help. I have a unique relationship with police dogs." He glances at Heinkel again, not /quite/ smiling, then back to Dresden. "I'd also be happy to help with your vampire infestation, if you're really that hard up for bodies." To Luccio, "I'll pass on one of those fancy cloaks though, thanks." 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Well, Inga's speaking up, and the cops aren't calling for his head, so Staren stops and looks back at her. "Oh?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest shifts her weight on her crutches, and her head slowly turns over to Captain Dresden, Warden of the White Council. "Congratulations," Heinkel offers dryly.   "Vhile ve're handling negotiations, I guess I haf another offer, considering you haf something of a dedication to the spirit of the law." She pointedly ignores Bigby looking at her. Just ignore the way she seems to shiver for a moment. It's cold, okay?!   "I vork for the Paladins. Multiversal law enforcement. Ve could use good people who haf an idea of upholding the letter und the spirit of the law." Heinkel tilts her head the other way, studying Dresden. "You interested, Dresden?" 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Morgan is already opening up a Way back to... whereever it is he's going that Isn't Here Right Now, so he misses the offer for tea. Or Bigby's... remark.     Luccio... smiles. No really, smiles at the second offer from Heinkel. Was this something else she planned? How could she? Honestly? She does offer a smile and a bow, and murmurs. "Now then, I have to get back to prosecuting a war on the vampires, do have a good day, Harry." And then she's following after Morgan.     Harry, looks a bit lost at all of this to be honest. Hands are still holding on to the Warden's cloak, as he looks at it, then his old friend Heinkel, and... "...sure?" He's missing Inga's unease at the moment, too, you'll have to forgive him, this is all a bit... overwhelming. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga says, "Obviously, I extend my help as well," she says, then bids Luccio goodbye. She and Harry are partners, after all. Will this change that? She can't be a Warden, obviously, but she's been known to be helpful fighting off supernatural nasties or keeping those who do from falling to pieces. Then Heinkel makes another offer. Dresden is a popular man today. She looks a bit surprised when he accepts without taking the time to think on it. But she does not want to be seen to be against this. And she's not exactly against it, she's simply cautious by nature. She wants to know more. And she can't help but notice the offer was not also extended to her. Inga looks to Staren, nodding. "There are rules--laws here, for magic. Harry and I could tell you more about what she meant if you care to give us a bit...it's been...a day," she sighs, reaching up to rub a temple. Yup, head still hurts." 

:'''{{#var:774|Dorian Pavus (774)}} has posed:'''     Oh well. More fish in the sea, Dorian thinks. Besides that, Morgan's likely to be absolutely vile company when he gets a few drinks in him. Because while Dorian starts with tea, he usually migrates to less innocuous stuff pretty quickly. Nonetheless, Dorian dips his head in farewell to the lady Warden. "Do take care," he offers politely.     And now? Yes, the war! And indeed, there's another offer, "Indeed. Consider me available as well, if you need help with supernatural threats." Inga's mention to Staren of the rules gets a nod. "Learning those might do me some good too." Pause, smirk. "Wouldn't do to have that one appear in the middle of a battle and try to arrest me for farting in the wrong key while casting a spell." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Auf wiedersehen." Heinkel lifts her hand in lazy salute to Luccio. Whatever one may think of the White Council, they do happen to be the local law enforcement, and so that puts Luccio and Heinkel on the same side of the board. She's not one to get unduly riled about local politics. God has a way of being the great equalizer, in her experience, even if the multiverse tilts things on their ear a little.   Those flat lenses turn back to Dresden, making it clear Heinkel's returning her attention to him. "Ja? Good. You'll have appropriate literature sent your vay soon telling you eferything you need to know."   "Might be a little delayed, vhat vit the fifty-two card pickup the multiverse ist playing, lately, but you get the idea." Heinkel looksdown, jerking her coat open to fumble in an interior pocket. Ah, there it is. She pulls out a cigarette and lighter, lights it with one efficient motion, and drops it back into a pocket. Those lenses linger on him, studying, but she doesn't elabourate what gives her pause.   The priest sighs and shrugs around her crutches. "If that's all, I haf business to go take care of, myself." Like getting back to the hospital. The last thing she really wants to do is irritate any of her bosses, new or old. "Unless any of you need anything else?"   Half a glance is shot at Bigby, which is thankfully mostly hidden by her opaque sunglasses. Ughhh, who is that guy. She doesn't like the sensation of raised hackles. It's not a sensation she experiences very often. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya is going to have to see wht Harry does and the new badge bas become a bit heavier for Maya given thr very simple nature of law where she is native to. It's all up to Harry if he tkes this offer or not and she has to wonder about Morgan is he just being an ass or is it experiance speaking ofr the man? She's never encountered him before after all. She however stares at Dorian's offer of inviting them over for Tea? Did he /really/ just do that? Yes, yes he did! Maya's about to open her mouth about something but the more experianced Heinkel beats her to the punch and she's happy to let the Priest do her thing, with the offer she's making to Harry. "It's been all right so far with them." Harry's also taken the offer and things seem to be /hopefully/ settling down. She also watches Staren leave? He's part of the League? Somehow she's not shocked but she's also disappointed with Staren at the same time. She will lso have to ask Harry and Inga later about the local law to she can better understand it. However she may need to make much like Heinkel and depart shortly. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' With everything calming down, Seras has begun to put her weapon away back into its case. No reason to go waltzing around with that thing in plain view, after all. But she's more than a little troubled at everything that just happened.     Laws of magic? And it somehow justifies executing children? What on EARTH is going on in this place? What's she stumbled upon?     The case closes with a whunk-click and she's swinging it up by its strap now.     "Prosecuting vampires?" Now THAT's a few words she didn't expect to hear.     "Go on, miss...? Erm, should we take this somewhere private?" 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga looks to Heinkel, raising an eyebrow. "Would you...like for me to heal you before you go?" she said, nodding to the crutches and obvious injuries. "I believe I can be of some assistance anyway," she offers. Inga wrinkles her nose at Dorian. It's an adorable expression that contradicts how scary she can be. "I doubt you'll be in trouble for your flatulence, but then I haven't been with you after you've eaten tacos..." "That said, it would be helpful for any of you to know the rules they go by here. Harry can explain. ...Later, perhaps," she says, looking to Harry. 

:'''{{#var:585|Bigby Wolf (585)}} has posed:''' "Yeah, we wouldn't want to draw any attention to ourselves, would we?" Bigby smirks at Seras. He's not the one who pulled out an elephant gun in the middle of the street. "Only /bad/ vampires, I'm sure." He decides to cut Heinkel a break, and when she glances at him this time he makes an actual effort to meet her eyes (or her glasses, at least), and tilts his head fractionally to indicate he'd like a word, privately. It's an offer though, not a command. 

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''     Staren nods a little. "Yeah... no rush, I guess. I guess I don't really know much about Harry's world."     He sighs. "It certainly has been some days. I... ugh. I feel... kind of alone. All my friends are joining these Paladins... I joined the League to try and make them a force for good. And do you know, yesterday, I get an angle on possibly redeeming Blakely, and when I call my friends to tell them the good news I hear they're fighting the League over some goddamn religious artifact. One step forward, one step back." 
}}

4876/Chevaliers

2016-12-16T00:06:38Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/14 |Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1> |Synopsis=A meeting of Paladins in Hellsing-1 Earth. |Cast of Characters=363, 992, 151, 19, 533, 1084,..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/14
|Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1>
|Synopsis=A meeting of Paladins in Hellsing-1 Earth.
|Cast of Characters=363, 992, 151, 19, 533, 1084, 946
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Welcome to Earth. It is not a pretty place. Since the multiversal game of fifty-two card pickup, it has been plopped down on the borderlands of the Corrupted Flatlands, and the corruption has been steadily seeping into the boundaries of Earth's geography. Along with corruption has come a seemingly relentless tide of hte unliving.   While most first-world countries with standing militaries are reasonably able to look after their own affairs, the same cannot be said of some second-world or third-world countries. If the movement of refugees over the last forty-eight hours could be plotted on a map, it would probably look like a spirograph. Or maybe a pile of spaghetti.   Yeah, probably spaghetti.   Speaking of spaghetti, Paladin Heinkel Wolfe can be found at St. Peter's Basilica, leaning against one of the columns of Bernini's Colonnade. The faint glow suggests the priest has a cigarette lit; the flare of red light every so often suggests the priest is actively smoking it. Bad manners? Maybe, but Heinkel doesn't seem to care too much. No thunderbolts are forthcoming from the heavens above.   A starched white collar suggests the priest is indeed a priest; the cassock-like coat is long enough to reach the ankles. Heinkel waits with hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill -- temperatures have dropped somewhat since the multiversal reshuffling, and though there's some slush on the plaza grounds, tonight it's cold but clear.   For now, the androgynous paladin has elected to wait. Leaning up against her leg is a hardwood cane; the faintest bit of bandaging peeks from beneath the collar.   Next to Heinkel is what looks suspiciously like a portable heater, which may or may not have been dug up on short notice for Ainsley's benefit. 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' Sigrun has been to Rome, though the Rome she knows is a different entity entirely. She marvels at the architecture as she slowly approaches the meeting place, occassionally snapping her fingers towards statues and buildings, finger-snapping which is accompanied by a brief flash of magical red light. Even aside from that, she looks obviously out of place. Her clothes do not match any fashion from earth, though they're no less practical for it, and and the wooden mask is... Well, it's a featureless wooden mask. At night, in a touristy place. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:''' Ainsley has only been on this job for a couple of days and already she is making a trip to a world that is burning down around the ears of its inhabitants. She arrives by car, a rental sedan that she acquired just so she can get from point A to point B without collapsing due to her cold-blooded nature. The vehicle is parked as close as she can get to where she needs to go in order to meet with Heinkel.     Then she makes the trek over to where the Paladin(squared) is standing to wait for them. She gravitates immediately to the heater, despite how thickly she's layered herself. She even has a hood on her head. To take some of the edge of the cold, she's wearing some magic trinket on the end of her tail. It won't work if it gets to blizzard conditions, but she can at least walk around without worrying about dying on some street because she got too cold to move.     "Where do you need us first?" she asks, having become very proactive. She holds up her badge to identify herself. 'Chevalier Ainsley - Judge of Cursebreaker Division - Investigator in MACB' appears in the air in clearly legible English for a moment, and vanishes when she puts her badge away. Much fancier than the typical government ID badge. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Hellsing coming out into the open? That was one of the bigest warnings of how bad things were to an long time Elite such s Maya. She had not been lying when asked for help she simply said tell me when. So here she is as When has come a hell of a lot sooner. Maya's dressed like she fell out a post nuclear movie from the various Earths on this world or maybe better to some of the actual post nuclear worlds out there in the Multiverse. They were not yet to hunt but she was ready for it just in the event it should become needed, her rifle was slung across her back, however while not a Christan she understood this was holy ground to a large amount of this world and she wouldn't make use of her hardware unless something was threatening it. Her blue hair might stand out and she doesn't seem bothered as she ends up making for the meeting though her Paladin's badge is pretty clear to see carved nto the metal chest guard she wore. "Chevalier Maya Artistan, Jurists of the CB division." She had other titles and was loathed to use any others save Junker, or Blue Witch. "Sometimes known as the Blue Witch." 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Zombies. Sir Gawain has very little experience with zombies. However, he has read stories, and sometimes they're weak to sunlight or fire! Also, as a newfound Paladin officer, he should be there to help all those in need that he can during this time of crisis, and he's free right now, having finished what he can currently do at Dun Realtai and Chicago. As the Knight of the Sun arrives at the square, he's dressed in a black suit with a gold tie, with black gloves, having spent the last of his Union paycheck on it not long ago. The blonde knight smiles at Heinkel as he approaches, recognizing her from the description she gave. He glances at Sigrun as she shows up, but has absolutely no idea who she is. He doesn't go on guard or anything, though, some people just like masks! Instead, as he approaches, he pulls out his badge, which, like Ainsley's, flashes words clearly into the air. 'Warden Gawain' with no fancy other ranks attached, because Gawain isn't as busy as the lizard. "We're here to help, Chevalier Wolfe!" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras Victoria arrives via helicopter. Hellsing has provided transportation most of the way, but she makes the last legs of the journey on foot - and she seems hesitant to dash much faster than an olympian athlete could manage... even though she could -probably- manage to reach car-like speeds if she put some effort into it.     But the imposing and majestic architecture of the famous basilica isn't the reason she's so slowed. Not that it doesn't have her attention on approach. She can't help but show a little awe for the architecture.     Not that London doesn't have its fair share of places of interest.     The young woman, who can't be older than her early twenties at the most (in truth, 19) is clad in an oddly bright yellow uniform that can't possibly be standard issue for the Hellsing organization. One can only imagine that whoever designed it had very odd tastes. Because it forgoes pants in favor of shorts and knee-high socks.     It marks her as an agent of Hellsing... but the left arm's red cuff now sports an additional Paladin patch.     "Chevalier Seras Victoria. Squire of the Proving Grounds, and soldier of Hellsing. /PLEASE/ don't call me Police Girl."     This last bit's aimed straight at Heinkel with a bit of an indignant - albeit childish - glower.     She's here for business, so that's probably all she's going to say on that matter. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The light from the colonnade slowly dims, and finally fades out entirely. After a few seconds, a flicker of light springs up in the shadow -- a cigarette lighter, which illuminates Heinkel for the brief instant before the lighter is dropped back into a pocket.   The priest looks up at about the same time, only to notice Sigrun on the approach, admiring the architecture. It is a point of pride, even if Heinkel wasn't raised by the church; the architecture is beautiful, and there's a certain tranquility to this place at night. No matter the hell on earth that mars the outside world, one can be close to God, here, and one can find at least a little piece of tranquility, if that is what they seek.   Pushing off from the column, the priest stoops to pick up the heater, straightening and using the cane to hobble over towards the impromptu meeting place.   There's a helicopter. The helipad is on the far side of the Vatican, but even Heinkel knows the sound of rotors. Those flat lenses turn and stare at Seras for a few seconds, and it might even get uncomfortable after a few seconds.   It's tempting to say 'if it's good enough for Integra it's good enough for me,' but Heinkel knows well the value of diplomacy.   "Vhatefer you say, Paladin Girl."   Seras /DIDN'T/ say she couldn't be called that.   Heinkel's attention turns back to the assembled Paladins, utterly ignoring the Draculina now. "So. Ve're going to lay out vhat things are looking like, but ve're going to go... say, eine little problem at a time, ja?" The paladin squinches thumb and forefinger demonstratively. "So, I'll haf the big von out of the vay, before letting Victoria take ofer."   "Velcome to the piazza San Pietro," Heinkel says, showing teeth in a grin. The voice is utterly androgynous; it's almost impossible to tell whether the paladin is a man or a woman, and the natural roughness from heavy smoke and hard drink don't help. "St. Peter's Square. The church behind you is St. Peter's Basilica, one of the most important churches in Catholicism."   The heater is held up and offered to Ainsley without a word. You're welcome, the paladin's amused expression seems to say. It's even battery operated. A little old, but built like a tank and perfectly serviceable.   "But ve're not here for a tour, und I'm no tour guide. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Chevalier Heinkel Wolfe. Or Paladin Heinkel Wolfe, no pun intended, I guess. Vhichever is easier for you to associate vit me." Those blank lenses sweep the assembled party. "Call me Heinkel, or Wolfe, or vhatever you vant. It doesn't much matter to me."   Ainsley asks where they're going first, and the paladin shrugs. "Right here." A forefinger is jabbed straight down at the ground. "Tonight, ve're not going after anything. To the best of my knowledge, und it should be good knowledge considering this is our seat of operations, Rome is safe, and has tightened its borders accordingly. Refugees are allowed in for the moment, but there ist a standing military presence and talk of building a vall to shut out the peninsula."   That cassock-like coat rustles as the paladin shrugs. "As you can see, I'm not in any shape to go hunting." A gesture is given towards the cane. "And tonight, Victoria und I vill be explaining vhat the situation is looking like. At least, as much as ve can glean from the news und vhat our superiors are able to tell us."   Those opaque lenses turn sidelong a little, at the arrival of Maya. A nod is given.   Gawain, however, gets a longer look. Heinkel's mouth compresses into a thin line around the cigarette. "Ja. Ve're going to need all the help ve can get, I'm sad to say. Things aren't looking so good." Those lenses look to Seras, as though waiting for the Draculina to chip in whatever she feels might be useful. 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley's eyes widen when she's handed the heater. She grabs it and holds it in her hands a little awkwardly, but since it's portable and simple enough, he can hold it in one arm without any problem. She smiles gratefully at Heinkel after that and murmurs a humble, "Thank you."     As Heinkel clarifies what they're here for, Ainsley nods lightly at that. She places her off hand on the hilt of her longsword, a weapon almost perpetually held at her hip. Here where the holymen crawl through every nook and cranny, though, she has the weapon bound. She wasn't expecting a fight unless they got transported somewhere that was having a real problem.     "I'm listening," she says, her face going from gentle gratitude to the cool serious stare that emphasized her reptilian features. Seras is given an expectant look from Ainsley, too. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya is a respectful Heathen at least and simply listens and wits to hear what Heinkel's got to say at this point. She also recalls something "Also it's one of the largest and oldest historial archives on the planet is it not? Might there be anything in it's Archives?" She hears about how they will have to shut the walls eventually, it's not evil, they can only take so many and protect so many from the tide. They are taking who they can but they can not take everyone. "So I have come to offer my help against the tide here. We have had cronic undead issues on my world for centuries. So where do you need us and how do you wish to deploy us?" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "The situation is like this, Paladins. As Sir Integra Hellsing explained it to me." Seras Victoria takes a firm tone when she turns to address the others. She did twitch once when addressed as 'Paladin Girl' but only a little. And she does pause to take in a heck of a breath - because as she turns her head to look over everyone who's come she has to fight the urge to whimper and take cover behind one of the columns.     The people here are kind of SCARY. Not because they want to be... but because to one of her inexperience, they all seem so solid and confident.     Only monsters can be so confident. Monsters... of a sort.     "Whatever happened after the Multiverse... exploded and came back together... set off some kind of undead PLAGUE across this entire world. The wilds outside our borders aren't safe. There's no pattern it. One night zombies just sprout up somewhere. Sometimes the bodies come from graveyards... but others seem to just spring up from the Earth in unlikely places. It's not just zombies either. We've had reports of other monsters. Some of it matches Vampire activity - Hellsing's specialty - and some of it weirder things that haven't cropped up in decades. We THINK these are monsters coming out of hiding to take advantage of this chaos-" Seras shows a rather fierce display of clenched teeth, her own vampire fangs clearly visible for a moment there... if anyone has doubts about how SHE feels on this matter, that sets it straight.     She hates these abominations.     "-... and in other cases, nothing matches up. How much of it's from our world? How much of it from elsewhere? We don't know, and that makes every operation all the more dangerous. Enough... enough lives have been lost to this disaster already..." 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "Well, I may be a Paladin, but I was a monster exterminator before I was a paladin. Best earn my paycheck, right?" Sigrun mentions, she's mostly listening, and with her face obscured like that it's hard to say what she thinks of all that's going on. "I assume everyone else here at least has a basic clue of what that kind of job involves, right, Hellsing Girl?" 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Gawain just smiles at Heinkel's stare. He is absolutely too cheerful about this situation. He shortly after pockets his badge, as he listens to her explanation. "Understood, Chevalier Wolfe! We're happy to be assisting you. What is the situation in the rest of the continent like?" Gawain then turns, and listens to Seras' explanation right after he asks. He takes a moment to think, noticing Seras' teeth as she clenches them, but doesn't seem to care much, as he responds. "Is anything known about their capabilities? How do they fare against fire? Sunlight? Do they have resistances? We're going to need a lot of information if there's an entire swarm out there!" The knight shuffles around, before nodding to Sigrun. "Of course, Masked Paladin! Our duty is to get as many people to safety as possible, destroy or divert as many of the monsters as possible, and see if there's a way to find a longterm solution, in that order!" He does turn to Heinkel and Seras, though. "Unless you have a different basic plan in mind, as you are the local experts." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya Says "So it does sound pretty bad I'm ready to get ot work ondoing what I can to dela with this abominations. There has to be a source, things like this don't just happen without reason even in a place as chaotic as the multiverse,." Maya gets quiet and starts to thin about this, it's like hunting na old enemy of her's and it has her lost in thought. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, don't vorry about it." Heinkel grins, showing teeth, though the expression doesn't seem to be meant to be intimidating. "I know you don't like cold that much, so I figured I vould make things a little more comfortable for you. Ve haf a lot to explain, so ve might be here a vhile."   Besides, doing something nice for other people is a rarity. Most paladins spend their lives doing the grittier side of the Lord's work, carrying out the necessary evils, and sacrificing their own shot at salvation to ensure someone else gets their ticket to the Kingdom of Heaven. Any paladin can be content with that much. At least the hereafter will be toasty warm?   "Ja," Heinkel offers, to Maya, but it comes with a shrug. "It has a long and historied archive, but that's not vhy ve're here tonight. Ve're here because it's my base of operations, as an agent of Iscariot." The paladin's head lowers, lenses flashing in the plaza's lamps. "More importantly efen than that, it's safe territory. Ve haf no recorded incidents in the whole of Italy, and ve can easily call in the might of Iscariot if ve do. That may change, but for now, it's safe."   Falling silent through Seras' speech, the paladin rolls the cigarette back and forth between slightly pointed teeth; although they're not nearly as pointy as Seras'. Still too pointy for a normal person, and the fact that those sunglasses don't hinder vision in the least suggests Heinkel Wolfe is perhaps something slightly more than human... although it's not easy to say what. Or, maybe the paladin is blind. Yeah, probably just blind, right? Makes more sense, doesn't it? "Ja. Victoria has the right of it. Ve'fe had a spike in international incidents. Ve can't assign paladins fast enough to put out all the fires. Iscariot has a few thousand paladins, gife or take at any given time, but ve're all running around vit more vork than ve know vhat to do vit."   There comes a slight frown. "Ja, there are also other things out there. Iscariot vas handling it, but there's so much that ve can't sort vhere they're all coming from. As Victoria says, ve haf things taking advantage of all this, too. Gets fairly difficult to sort out vhat's vhat."   "Honestly, aside from stopping these unliving, relief efforts vould go a long vay. I know there are plenty of third-vorld countries that hafen't been heard from at all. Plenty of second-vorld und first-vorld countries, too, in trouble. I hear Austria vas hit pretty hard. I also know Russia is dealing vit problems of their own." Heinkel thumbs toward the sky. "They haf the most corruption by landmass, from vhat satellites can tell us." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest hobbles a little closer to the group, leaning on that hardwood cane. It does not appear to be a nifty sword-cane; just a plain hardwood cane with a rubber stop. Since when does Iscariot employ such beat-up agents, anyway? "Ghouls. That's the most of vhat ve're dealing vit. Think of them as shambling creatures that used to be people, but aren't any more. The lights aren't on und nobody's home, that's for damned sure. The only vay you can put them down und make them stay down is to obliterate the heart or the head. High-caliber firearms vork. So does fire. Blades, too. Blessed blades, like the vons Father Anderson uses, efen better."   Right, Seras?   "As for long-term solution... ve'fe tried combatting the corruption but it seems resistant to vhat's been tried so far. Ve had bishops in Russia doing vhat they could. Not just from our denomination, either." Heinkel pulls the cigarette away, gesticulating with the lit end before popping it back into clenched teeth. "Nothing's vorking. Vhich I guess ist something of a comfort; if the sanctity of the Lord von't vork, neither does anything else."   Different plan? The priest shrugs, leaning hard against the cane. What of the priest's face is visible seems to fall, just a little. "Nein. I'm only a paladin, not a bishop. But my guess vould be to set up some kind of relief for the refugees. Ve haf a lot of them, and that's just vhat I'fe seen in Rome."   "Vhat do you think you can do about that?" Those flat lenses sweep the assembled Paladins, head cocked just slightly. 

:'''{{#var:992|Sigrun Stem (992)}} has posed:''' "My holy water supplies are short, but I've got some spare incendiary arrowheads to use. Would prefer the holy water arrowheads in an urban environment, don't want to kill the living dead only to set the city on fire." Sigrun leans against the wall and moves her head around in an excaggarated motion. "If you need any explanation why, well in the second half of the nineteenth century the O'Leary family in Chicago had a Chupacabra problem. The Exterminator treated the problem like a nail to his fiery hammer." 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Gawain waits patiently as the questions he posed are answered. "I see. I should be doubly effective, then! Excalibur Galatine is both holy and capable of being ignited! That's my sword, that is!" But, the main plan here seems to be relief, not mass-slaughtering, so he changes the subject to another question. "What regions are at their safest? It's hard to say, with the recent everything, if there's yet something we can do out there, but if we can set up relief camps in the least heavily-hit regions, it'd be a good start. About the most immediate problem, the Roman refugees, we can see about getting basic aid supplies, food and water, as well as medicine, but I'll have to check our resources! Protection is also pretty easily loaned!" Gawain then turns to the others. "Any thoughts on what else we can do? Speak up now, it's important!" 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     "The Chicago Fire," Ainsley helpfully clarifies, instantly knowing the parallel from her own historical knowledge, "It would appear that recklessness burned down a huge swath of Chicago in her world." She adjusts her grasp on the heater in her arm. It did enough to keep her torso warm, and that was the important part of her body. The rest of her would survive just fine as long as she stayed wrapped up in her winter clothing.     "I can begin establishing communication lines immediately, to try and find survivors in stricken areas. I have a few methods to augment existing systems, and in a pinch I can act like a living radio tower. That way we can find what areas need the most help and spread out resources out accordingly." Then she turns to regard Maya and points to her, "You should focus on healing. Among us, you are probably the most valuable, so it would be a good idea for you to be on the ground assisting in the worst of it. There will be a lot of people in those places that need your help." She considers after that, flexing her gloved hand as it goes back down to her side. She glances over at Sigrun, suggesting, "You could be integral to getting to people trapped by the swarms of undead and monsters. If you can get to them and secure an area, people can get to them and transport them to safe areas. You can move better than most of us."     "White Berserker, my Servant, can assist in clearing areas so that survivors can be transported through more efficient means and in larger numbers to the safe areas Gawain suggests establishing. She is very strong, and nothing short of a very powerful vampire can give her pause, if that." Her own personal Monster, how about that. Might echo of Hellsing a bit...     She looks to Seras, and adds, "Perhaps you can team up with Sigrun. You seem like an agile type and what you mentioned before over the radio could work well with her abilities. You'd be able to cover each other like no other two might be able to." She spares a glance to Gawain after that.     Then she awkwardly adjusts the heater under her arm again, and adds, "Just suggestions. Since you asked." She keeps a good poker face, but she realizes she might be too excited about this. 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Weeeeeeell. BLESSED BLADE DISCUSSION sends a SHIVER right down Seras' whole body. She bites down the urge to SHRIEK and very quickly acts entirely on instinct...     And skitters behind one of the bulkiest, toughest-looking dudes in the gathering.     That being Sir Gawain.     The irony.     Then he goes and talks about its nature.     The traumatic memories hit a fever pitch. The Draculina's now VISIBLY JITTERING and holding her breath - not that she'll run out of it...     She doesn't need to breathe, after all...     A few side-steps later brings her over near one of the columns instead.     Not that she's going to say a WORD about being spooked.     Still... she takes a few moments to steel herself up and regain composure quickly.     "In... intelligence is desperately needed, alongside shoring up safe places for refugees. ... Another thing that's desperately needed is a... useful way to counter Ghoul bites that doesn't just help the unbitten..." Her expression turns rather downcast there.     "Someone in the Paladins might have a way." 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya Says "I understand we're at a stable point that is well defender, better than air dropping us into the thick of things from the start.: She listens on following after their host. Maya doesn't quesiont what any of her allies are openly if she suspects something there's no reason to bring it up. It's their business adfter all. "So all the things in the shadows are making plays in the middle of this chaos. The russians too? I see" 

:'''{{#var:946|White Berserker (946)}} has posed:'''     There's some sparking behind Ainsley when something materializes behind her, at first, it's the metal shimmer and sparks off the Bridal Chest before the Bridal Berserker herself, White Berserker makes herself known. She's been following Ainsley all this time from the saftey and comfort of intangibility.. "Nnngh." is the first word... sound... thing out of the Servant's mouth as she keeps a look at the area. With all the talking going on and discussion that she was able to follow... White Berserker really only had one thing to add...     "Berserker... smash...?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Vit a few minor exceptions, any Iscariot priest can consecrate things." Heinkel leans back and forth a little on the cane, considering. That androgynous voice drops a pitch or two even further; a fleeting impression impression of masculinity, as the priest thinks the logistics through. "Let's see, ve haf about a hundred here in the Vatican at any given time, usually slightly less, und most of the time they haf enough time to consecrate crates of vials... if ve haf at least half of those doing that efery time they pass through Vatican City, that gifes us..."   Heinkel gives a shake of the head. "I'm too tired to do the math, but the bottom line ist that supplies aren't a problem. It's more that ve don't haf enough hands to distribute them." Or shoot them, depending on what kind of supply it is. "Iscariot ist stretched thin. Efen if ve took volunteers, vhich ve don't, it takes time to train a paladin. Years. I only got a pass in that regard because I vasn't unfamiliar vit the veaponry or the tools of the trade."   Fingers tap against the opposite forearm, the fabric of Heinkel's gloves making a dull sound against the coat's fabric. "Vait, Chicago?" The priest's head tilts very slightly at Sigrun. "Second half of the nineteenth century? That sounds familiar. The Great Chicago Fire, vasn't that? Although if your vorld is like Earth but turned on its ear, I guess you haf a different name for it." There's a short pause, and one hand rises to ruffle through ragged-cut dark blonde hair. "Also, I'm pretty sure the von ve had vasn't caused by chupacabras."   "Ja, your sword should vork," Heinkel adds, to Gawain. There's a slight tilt of the head at the name of the blade, but the priest doesn't question too much. This is, after all, a knight of the Round Table that's being addressed. After enough years, one learns not to squint too hard at the multiverse. "If not von, than the other, but both together ist efen better. Sort of like having Father Anderson's blessed bayonets, und then maybe setting them on fire, I guess."   Actually, that's not really a bad idea... maybe that should be suggested to him next time they meet... some kind of chemical incendiary, maybe, and a new treated alloy that can withstand the heat...   A shake of the head brings Heinkel back to the present. Gawain is looked at again, and that cigarette rolls from one side to the other as Heinkel considers. "Italy ist safe. I'm pretty sure most of the British Isles are, too, but that von's up to Paladin Girl; she knows more about the situation in England." The cigarette is rolled to the other side, tip lighting briefly as Heinkel takes a thoughtful draw from it. "Another good place ist France. I hafen't heard of any major incidents there. Just by news reports, I'd guess Russia is the vorst off of any of the countries. I can ask Chief for a formal report. Probably he overlooked issuing von to me vit eferything going on, ja?"   The others are eyed, judging by where those flat lenses turn. "Ja, you can talk to the personnel here in Vatican City. Ve haf our own radio station und broadcast tower, but maybe you can help them boost signal or something." Heinkel gestures somewhat nebulously. "Communications aren't my strong suit, so you'll haf to talk to them on the specifics." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "My talents mostly stop at shooting things in the face," Heinkel adds to Ainsley, "so you'll haf to excuse my lack of planning." Heinkel grins, which is a mostly-friendly sort of show of teeth. "But I agree vit that. The front lines, as it vere, are the hardest-hit places on the planet. Region. Thing." Multiversal geography induces headaches. For sure.   Heinkel looks to Ainsley while the lizard person suggests a few plans of action, and apparently they're sound enough to meet with Iscariot approval. The priest nods slowly. "Ja. Paladin Girl ist better as mobile response, from vhat I'fe heard of how Hellsing makes use of her. So ist a lot of Iscariot, but ve're only human--" Uh huh, "--und our ability to reach an area is not so fast as hers. I can get most places fast, though, as long as I know vhere I'm going ahead of time."   "Nein, nein. Don't vorry about it." Heinkel reaches down and rests a hand on Ainsley's head briefly. It's like a headpat, except Ainsley has no hair to ruffle. The glove is thick, that much is clear; the warmth from Heinkel's hand is muted. The hand is also broad, and strong. Heinkel must have a hell of an impressive handshake. Thankfully the hand withdraws quickly. It would be a much more normal clap on the shoulder but Ainsley's too short and Heinkel's too tall. "Actually, I appreciate it. Ve haf so little manpower at this point that any help ve can get is a gift from God, ja?"   Even if it comes in the form of the adorablest feathered serpent mini-me. One does not look a gift lizard in the mouth, because there are no teeth to judge--   Heinkel's head whips around. Where the hell is the Draculina running off to? "Get back out here, you coward," the priest calls, a sliver of annoyance leaking into what is otherwise a thoroughly genderless voice.   The priest shrugs, on the heels of Seras' admission. "Ja, maybe. That's vhat I hope--"   Suddenly, Berserker. Heinkel stares somewhat blankly, cigarette drooping down at a sharp angle. Somehow, despite those lenses being so opaque, one might get the impression of flat disbelief from the priest. Or maybe eldritch creatures appearing out of thin air that aren't Alucard requires a little bit of brain rebooting.   Heinkel coughs awkwardly, rolling the cigarette back into place to tilt out the right side of the mouth. "Ja, smash, maybe. But not yet. Ve haf to get those people out of danger, first, und then ve can smash them all ve vant. Vhich, I'm going to be honest vit you here, I vant to smash them a fucking /lot/ right now, ja?" Scowling, Heinkel exhales a puff of smoke in a harsh almost-sigh. "Fucking ghouls. I'fe had about enough of them ofer the past forty-eight hours. I hope Chief drags Yumie out of vhatefer shit-hole leads she's investigating in South America right now, because I could /really/ use her here..."   A few seconds of silence pass.   Heinkel Wolfe manages a delicate and slightly awkward clearing of the throat. "Pardon my French."   To Maya, the priest only shrugs. "The Russians haf their hands full dealing vit the gangrene that just sprang up in the middle of their country. They're just trying to survive, right now, in vhatefer vay they can." The priest sighs a cloud of smoke. "I can only imagine vhat kind of Hell that must be right now." 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' "England is making do." Seras answers-- though her attention SWERVES towards White Berserker... about two seconds /BEFORE/ the Servant Manifests. What's up with THAT?     Seras herself might not know, really.     Her eyes do go VERY WIDE VERY QUICKLY THOUGH and she reaches for what's probably a concealed weapon... but doesn't go so far as drawing it. "What... WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?! She appeared... from thin air!!"     Well that's enough to get Seras completely overlooking being called a coward. The column now makes for very effective cover.     Since White Berserker's not exactly leaping around slaughtering everyone... she comes back out in a few moments and explains.     "England is making do. Hellsing's stretched thin. We don't have near the sheer quantity of elite troops as Iscariot, but the few we do have are keeping the worst of it at bay. What we're having the most trouble with are some weird vampires who keep cropping up out of nowhere and making everything worse..." 

:'''{{#var:151|Ainsley (151)}} has posed:'''     Ainsley let's out a gentle squeak when her head is patted. Somehow, it feels like she appreciates the gesture of friendliness... As if the essence of a gentle 'yay~' dispersed into the air, complete with the brief shut of her eyes and her mouth pulling into a smile. She spares a look over at Seras, her very ... animated behavior drawing attention from her as well. She looks back to Heinkel in time to realize her Servant startled Heinkel. She smiles in apology to that, the brief tension giving away an awkward air. "Soon, Berserker," she says, over to the unusual Servant. She redirects her attention to Heinkel     "I'll need to talk to your Vatican friends to get some communications augmented," she says. "Let's get this ball rolling, <yes>?" She just said 'yes' in Spanish, which is weird because she doesn't really have a discernable accent.     She looks around at the others, ready to wait until everyone's had their questions answered, if needed. Seems she's prepared to start doing what she can as soon as possible.     To Seras, though, finally... "You are a jumpy one... She is my Servant, and my friend. A magical familiar, of sorts. She remains intangible in order to limit the drain on my own mana reserves. I apologize if she startled you. She really is no danger to anyone here."     Then, wordlessly, or seemingly so, Ainsley reaches to rest a hand on Berserker's arm for a moment and she gives a supportive smile. 

:'''{{#var:19|Maya (19)}} has posed:''' Maya thinks for a moment longer yes they need to find the source or they are just going to be cutting branches off and not getting to the root of this cancer. She nods about Russia, she knows the nation tends to be tough, enduring but this would tax anyone. The sooner they stop the source or sources the better and more lives they will end up saving. "Man if you jump like this Seras? Your going to be leaping and clining to the cealing like a cat at some things out here." 

:'''{{#var:533|Sir Gawain (533)}} has posed:''' Sir Gawain smiles in relief that they do, in fact, have supplies. He then nods brightly at Ainsley. There's a reassuring nod from him as she speaks; he approves of her plan and of her stating it. "I'm not the most tactical myself, I'll admit! I just want to help people any way I can! Judge Ainsley's plan is an effective way of approaching my suggestion, and we can bring in Paladin aid to supplement the hands you are missing." Gawain also nods towards Seras, but first responds to her panicking. "Don't worry, none of us are going to hurt you! We're all here to help. I suggest we can also set some people to help in Great Britain, if your Hellsing organization would be willing to let us assist. I'll have to go over logistics with someone who knows how to do logistics, but we should be able to provide help to both Iscariot and Hellsing!" And then, Gawain turns to be facing both Heinkel and Seras. He moves if needed. "So, is there anything else we need to know?" 

:'''{{#var:946|White Berserker (946)}} has posed:'''     White Berserker blinks and tilts her head, she's unsure of why people are being surprised... at least one seemed to have seen her before she came into view somehow. She'll have to ask her Master about that later. For now, she notices the hand upon her and she places her hand back on it, assuring her Master she is there. "Then... Berserker can help... when you need me." she calmly states, a strange looking smile upon her face.     There were a few people here she knew, giving an idle wave to Gawain at least... well, she /did/ know Gawain's voice, she wasn't sure she met that person outside the radio. "Hello... Gawain." she comments in her slow and steady voice. "I... do not... want to harm... people here. You are... allies of Master..." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel glances over in Seras' direction when the Draculina starts flailing about a Servant appearing out of thin air. Is she really freaking out about that, when her master is freaking Alucard? "Can it, Police Girl!" Heinkel snaps, this time with honest annoyance. "Ve can't haf you stopping to freak out about efery veird thing that happens in the Multiverse." That androgynous tone gentles, but only a sliver. "I know it's hard, und I know it's a lot to adjust to -- God knows -- but ve don't haf /time/ to jump at efery little thing."   There's a short pause.   "Although I guess this means your instincts are good. Can't really complain about that." The priest sighs. "Haf to find the good in something, ja?"   Heinkel's head bows, shaking slowly from side to side at Seras' mention of Iscariot. "Ve don't haf as much as you think, Hellsing. A lot of us haf fallen to the ghouls und a lot of us vere already embroiled in investigating those freaks you're talking about. Ve don't know vhere the chips are coming from, or vhy. But right now, they're at the bottom of our priority list, as a matter of necessity."   "Ja." This, to Ainsley; and those flat lenses swing toward the Quetzal. The priest, at least, is speaking in English; heavily accented in German though it may be. "I'll haf some of our experts talk to you. It might be best if I'm vit you at the time, though." One hand wobbles a bit uncertainly, and the priest affects an awkward expression. "It isn't that you'll be attacked, but most people are still getting used to the idea of the supernatural, ja? Better I'm there for your sake. My presence vill tell them it's okay. Besides, they'll appreciate the vork you're going to do for them, I'm sure."   Heinkel's head cocks slightly at the explanation of White Berserker. "Hunh." It's mostly a noncommittal sound, given alongside a puff of smoke. "I vould guess not, or she vouldn't be here. She vould also haf, eh, maybe a half-dozen paladins coming out of the voodvork to shoot her in the face, too, I'd think. Myself included. I myself vould probably die, this close, but I vould be able to do significant damage before I did." A statement normally meant to troll is given completely straight-faced, and it speaks to the gravity of the situation that Heinkel's own expression is solemn.   The priest does glance at Seras when the Draculina acknowledges that England's keeping its head above water, but doesn't comment further. A doubting glance, maybe; but that's probably not at all inappropriate, coming from the division named after Judas Iscariot. One could hardly expect Hellsing to be forthcoming about any potential vulnerabilities, especially not to their bitter rivals.   "I can't think of anything else offhand," Heinkel responds to Gawain, shrugging one shoulder to a rustle of that cassock-like coat. "Mostly it's just a question of numbers. Reports vary, but some places, the numbers are as bad as ten to von, ghouls to defenders, vhether they're Iscariot, Hellsing, a nation's military, or civilians that manage not to be idiots about it. That, und establishing refuge for the people who vere affected by all this mess."   The priest shrugs again, frowning around the cigarette. "A lot of people vere affected. I imagine Russia is the vorst off. The corruption is spreading rampantly, and nothing seems to purify it, either." The cigarette wags a little from one side to the other. "Gross." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Half a glance is shot at Seras -- are you done cowering behind the colonnade yet? -- before the priest focuses on the group at large again. "I guess that's about all ve haf to report, if Victoria hasn't got anything else to report. Do any of you haf any questions? Now ist a good time to ask, vhile things are relatively calm." The priest leans on that cane, sweeping the others with a glance.   "So. Any questions, about anything, vhile ve haf time to talk freely vitout interruptions like 'the vorld burning down around us?'" 

:'''{{#var:1084|Seras Victoria (1084)}} has posed:''' Seras GRINDS her teeth a little at being repeatedly called a coward.     "If there's a good part in being outnumbered by ghouls, it's that Ghouls almost never use any tactics and most of them aren't armed." She's trying to talk in the most distant way possible, while her personal feelings -scream- on the horror that is the reason WHY most Ghouls are unarmed, unarmored, and have no real combat strategy...     It's because most are just ordinary people with terrible luck...     "Our enemy isn't hard to fight. As long as you keep some distance they might as well be... shambling pumpkins. Numbers are the problem.... the reason they're dangerous is... they spread. Any corpse left in their wake that's intact enough becomes one..."     She gulps rather obviously, eyes settling between Gawain and White Berserker... just flicking back and forth. Because she can TELL there's something very, very odd about both. That much is rather clear.     WHAT though, that's the million dollar unspoken question.     "Right then. I'll get everyone in touch with the leadership of Hellsing, likewise!" 
}}

Thirty Pieces of Silver (Heinkel Wolfe)

2016-12-12T03:27:00Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Cutscene Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/11 |Synopsis=Heinkel awakens from a trip to the Vatican's finest ranks of sawbones to a living nightmare, but no matter how bleak thin..."

{{Cutscene Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/11
|Synopsis=Heinkel awakens from a trip to the Vatican's finest ranks of sawbones to a living nightmare, but no matter how bleak things might look, she's not yet ready or willing to cast her thirty pieces of silver...
|Cast of Characters=363
}}
— 11 December, 2004 — Late Morning, Early Afternoon —

The first inkling that something was wrong reached her when she noticed all the news stations airing the same stories.

A report filmed from helicopter showed a sprawling wheat field in Russia. Stalks stretched on for what seemed like miles until they abruptly segued into foul, gangrenous-looking soil. Corrupt earth reached out to the horizon, and the reporter spoke in hasty Russian about how it had appeared quickly and spread even quicker.

Then she started seeing other news stories. Most of them were different, but they shared common themes: Nightmare plains of corrupt earth, sometimes set aflame; people beset by shambling ghouls, and huge throngs of ghouls fought against by armies of military and paramilitary from around the world.

Different reports showed major cities aflame; set alight by rioting. A few cities appeared to be overwhelmed by ghouls.

Most of them were timestamped the previous day. Right after she went into surgery, she realised.

Heinkel Wolfe stared at the cheap wall-mounted television numbly; in a state of shock.

She pushed the button on the remote one more time.

This one was different. The scene opened onto the courtyard of St. Peter's Basilica, its colonnade painted in harsh floodlights. A podium was set up, surrounded by a knot of clergy amidst lights and half a dozen different microphones on booms. She recognised the impeccably-dressed Enrico Maxwell; behind him loomed Alexander Anderson, half in shadow.

Heinkel fumbled with the remote and turned up the volume.

"—deed, that is why Vatican Section XIII was created. Fear not, my faithful, for the Soldiers of Judas Iscariot will protect you from these abominations against God. Perhaps many of you may not agree with our methods, but this is why we exist. Effective immediately, Section XIII will have paladins supplementing the Swiss Guard in Vatican City, as well as population centres throughout the Catholic world." Maxwell spread his arms in a gesture of entreaty. "We will stand against this menace, rewarded by our faith and our—"

Her eyebrows just about disappeared into her ragged bangs, but before she could reflect on that bombshell, her door clicked open. She glanced over and shut the television off.

"Ah, Heinkel, you are awake. Good, very good." The familiar rich baritone and Italian accent of Enrico Maxwell brought her back to reality.

"...Chief...?"

Her voice emerged a croak. The bishop closed the door behind him, settling into the room's lone chair and crossing his legs almost casually. He looked... smug, she decided.

"How are you feeling?"

Heinkel stared at the ceiling and considered. "Like death varmed ofer, I think."

"I'm told you'll be making a full recovery. That is good. We will have need of every able hand in the days to come."

"Vhat the hell ist going on?" Heinkel jabbed a thumb at the television. "The news feeds are going insane."

"According to whom you ask: The Apocalypse, some manner of multiversal disturbance, or a collective nightmare." Maxwell spread his hands in a gesture of fatalism. "The real answer? It would seem the Lord looked down upon His creation, and found it wanting. The geography of our world is now thoroughly mingled with a sprawling realm of corruption so foul the Devil himself would compliment it." He sighed. "I think another flood would have been preferable, really."

"I saw the news." She shook her head, wincing a little. "I still don't understand."

"Geography has rewritten itself. God has taken His hand, and smashed together worlds like so many clay models. A world like ours may find itself dropped down next to several immediate neighbours on all sides, not all of whom may be friendly. Or, in our case, the corruption spreads rampantly throughout our known world." Maxwell sighed, almost morosely. "It's really quite disappointing, you know. Just imagine the abominations and the heretics killed by this calamity! Yet we too have lost a great deal of our number, which makes it impossible to savour such a victory. We will be forced to fight a defensive battle."

Heinkel found herself vaguely encouraged that Maxwell had lost none of his insanity. There were some universal constants.

"Now you know as much as I do." Maxwell leaned over to pour a glass of water, offering it to her. "It became immediately obvious that we will need public support if we are to survive this trial. We also have desperate need of allies. To that end, I have allied Section XIII with the Hellsing Organisation, by order of the Pope himself."

He gestured vaguely with one hand as he continued. "The Paladins... he considers it a clever move to formally assign you there, in fact. It shows we are not above the laws of men any more than we are above the laws of God." Something twitched near Maxwell's left eye. "Except when it involves heretics. Appealing as it may be to crush the Protestant mongrels while they're weak, we are not in a position to do so now."

"Paladins?" She felt her brow furrowing. "I haf no idea vhat you're talking about."

"You'll have a parcel delivered to your apartment in Vatican City. It should explain everything you need to know about your new orders, and the entity you are now assigned to."

"Vell, if you say so. But I can't really read it from here—"

"You're not supposed to," Maxwell pointed out, a little witheringly. "You're supposed to be resting and recovering, Heinkel, not rushing off to have another half a dozen bullets put into you."

"Ja, sorry," she offered, in a tone utterly bereft of remorse. Taking a drink of water, she mulled the issue over. It felt a little surreal to know she was now allied with the closest thing to an arch-rival that Iscariot could claim, even though she herself was generally fatalistic more than fanatical. "That's it?"

"One last thing. "I do not know if you have heard, but we are no longer beholden to the Union." Maxwell steepled his fingers, regarding her with an air of neutrality. "I'll give you the quick version; I believe you were in your third or fourth surgery when this happened. When reality rearranged itself, the Union and the Confederacy both collapsed. Other groups have leapt forth to fill the void. We felt it necessary to look into alternatives, and the Paladins is the most logical choice among those."

Heinkel arched a brow.

"Ja. Didn't you authorise that mercenary's contract, too?"

"That I did. I suppose that contract is still valid, if the mercenary is alive. But the Union as it was exists no longer."

"Chief... ist vhat happened really that bad?"

"If you think the news feeds are bad, ''signora'', you should see what it looks like beyond the bounds of our own worlds. Reports are reaching us slowly, but none of them are good. They do not paint a flattering picture. I have reports that London is unscathed, and there are no problems within Italy. France remains strong as well. But, we will be facing a crisis with refugees of the faithful flocking to safe harbour."

"That's...." She whistled, low; not impressed so much as horrified. "Chief, vhat could haf done this?"

"An act of God." Maxwell smiled, an unsettling expression, and she was reminded that this man was generally not given much authority within the church for a reason. "This is an expression of His wrath. What other explanation can there be?"

"The Day of Wrath. ''Dies irae''." She laughed, weakly, eyes drooping behind her lenses. "Poetic justice, I guess. Alright. Vhat are my orders, Chief?"

"I'm not assigning you to active field duty until you've fully recovered." Maxwell reached out and patted her hand. "Rest and recover, Sister Wolfe. You will need all of your strength for the days of ruin before us. You should be released some time tomorrow." He smiled crookedly. "A record for a victim of multiple gunshot wounds, to be certain, but the physicians here in Vatican City ask no questions of their brothers and sisters in arms."

Heinkel made an exasperated sound in the back of her throat. "I can't just sit here vhen there's so much to do. Ve haf to shore up the Italian borders, and ve should be offering aid to the stricken—" Cold fear crawled down her spine. "I haf to get ahold of Yumie—"

"Don't worry yourself about that. I have matters well in hand. I've taken the liberty of sending a message to your partner and informing her that you're alright. Yumie survived the... ''incident''. She's stationed in South America for the moment, looking into a few leads on this freak chip business."

"''Danke''. I appreciate that." She grunted. "This vasn't too high on my list of things I vas expecting vhen I voke up today."

"Iscariot will do what it must, as it has always done. Our daggers and poison will be needed more now than ever." Pushing himself to his feet, Maxwell headed for the doorway, pausing to half-turn towards her. "I have business to attend to. You understand. I will be in contact."

"Chief, vait. A favour," she called after him. He paused over the threshold, door held open just a crack. "Tell Yumiko I vant to talk to her. Or Yumie. Whichever of them is avake. Father Anderson, too."

"Certainly. ''Ciao'', Heinkel."

The door closed with a click, leaving Heinkel alone with her thoughts.

''So much to do'', she thought to herself, unable to help but turn the television back on again. Stories of ruin and loss faced her. ''I have to get in touch with the people I know. I've got to get ahold of Yumie. Alex is alright; he was on the news with Maxwell. But the others... Psyber and the Agency; probably anybody else I have reason to work with...''

She tried her multiversal radio, but it yielded only static. Heinkel closed her eyes.

''I'm not ready to cast my thirty pieces of silver. Not yet.''

Sighing unhappily, she sagged back onto her shapeless pillow.

The next few days, she decided, were going to be very, ''very'' long.

4850/The Ancient Grudge: Trench Warfare Edition

2016-12-07T04:10:25Z

Hrimfaxi:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/06
|Location=Rozenbach Estate <RE>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe visits Castle Rozenbach, introductions are made, tempers flare but the departure is peaceful.
|Cast of Characters=1041, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' Not so far from the trenches as to not see regular shipments of fresh troops pass by, but not so close as to be truly on the front lines, would be a reasonable description of the location of the little town of Rozenbach, especially when combined with its location in a strategic pass in the area known as Elsass-Lothringen, an area that has been subject to territorial disputes, and likely will be again in the future. Castle Rozenbach itself is a fair distance from the town, an imposing fortress that overlooks the pass and in earlier times likely would have greatly contributed to the ability of whomever controlls it to hinder any enemies trying to pass. With modern technology, however, the walls are outdated, the real defense now is a modern set of fortifications built further along the pass, concrete and steel instead of imposing walls. That doesn't mean the castle is in disuse or disrepair, far from. Its walls are well-maintained, and grotesque beings rest in absolute stillness on the castle walls. It's hard to tell whether they are merely statues or something more, whichever they are, their creator has a particilarly twisted mind to produce such grotesque creatures. The gate is closed, but within the sounds of activity are not too hard to notice, and the smell of freshly made food wafts through the air. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' There is a motorcycle taking the high roads hrough the mountains north of Rozenbach. This wouldn't normally be an issue, but the motorcycle in question is more advancaed than machinery normally seen around here. It's from the era of World War II, which will not happen here for decades yet, if it's fated to happen at all. A rifle scope from the top of a nearby mountain pass provides an excellent vantage point, revealing Castle Rozenbach for the well-maintained antique that it is. More modern barricades further down the road are visible. Although seeing inside the castle would be even better, that's just a little bit too far away. Heinkel Wolfe has no intention of shooting, but it provides her a good look at the surroundings from a point of relative safety. She gives one last squint over the top of the scope before lowering her rifle back into its case, latching it and lashing it to the back of the motorcycle. Muttering under her breath, she checks her coat pockets. Blessed rounds forged from the consecrated silver of a smelted cross. Vials of holy water stoppered with corks, and a few glass 'grenades' of holy water meant to shatter on impact when thrown. Iscariot-issue large caliber pistols, barrels and slides sheathed in consecrated silver plating. A combat knife stuck through her belt. The cross around her neck, although it's forged from iron rather than silver. Apparently finding her armoury satisfying, Heinkel checks the position of the sun, then kneels down with hands braced on the ground, and... sniffs? The gesture is not unlike an animal testing the wind, or a bloodhound following a scent. Straightening, she sets off where her nose leads her – straight for the castle. The gate's closed. Heinkel doesn't bother with the front gate; only an idiot would. Instead, she's loping around to the side of the stronghold, looking for an entrance on the sides, or at the back, where there are (probably) going to be fewer guards posted and less attention in general (she hopes). 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' There's certainly fewer of those grotesque things on the side, but that does not mean there are no eyes there. The trees may not be alive, bot not all that looks like a tree is a tree. One is most clearly something covered in tree bark with eyes on various places and a mouth on one side. Fortunately, its eyes are closed and it's snoring, a distinctly human sound from that sentinel. Unfortunately, that's not the only guardian patrolling that side, a four-faced owl sits in a tree near the walls, looking in all directions, and once per minute it hoots, rotating around its beaks for this act, it's loud enough that without doubt someone in the castle would notice if it stopped, but it's also in a great vantage point to observe that entire side of the castle. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' The closer she gets to the castle, the slower Heinkel goes, falling into a crouched stance and placing her heavy boots carefully. They may leave tracks, but they won't make a lot of noise. One hand rises to adjust her sunglasses to lay more securely over her eyes— —and comes up short, nearly backpedalling from the snoring tree. She eyes it for a long moment, able to somehow imply a blank stare even with her eyes hidden by opaque lenses. Well, this is going to be an interesting time. Normally the hoot of an owl isn't much of a deterrent to Heinkel, but the regularity with which it happens, and the bizarre acoustics of it that she can pick up on, are enough to give her pause. She looks left, observing nothing, and then looks right. Tree. There's another tree, and she frowns as she picks out the form of the owl. She could shoot it, which would interrupt its calls, or she can go around it, which isn't without risk either. Heinkel freezes for a moment in her indecision, trying to decide what would be the least immediately dangerous option. Discretion is the better part of valour, although she's probably the only Iscariot paladin who heeds ''that'' particular advice. Heinkel veers to one side, keeping behind the cover of the trees and slinking to the next wall. Part of her wishes she'd taken the Dragunov, but it would only be a liability in close combat, and she doesn't expect to avoid a skirmish or two. The owl is given one last deeply unnerved look before Heinkel turns toward the next wall, the better to see what other delightful horrors Fraulein Rozenbach has managed to put together. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The next wall is built into the mountainside, this means it's the lowest of them all relatively to the surroundings, but it also makes the ground uneven and rough to climb, and there's one particular creature sitting on the wall trying to keep an eye on things. This being is human enough in a sense, it's got the overall shape right. However, it's impossibly slender, as though it's little more than skeleton and skin, with excessively large eyes, and ts fingers turn into sharp talons. Sharp talons it's using to play a gentle folk tune on its guitar, which matches the overall outfit it wears. Those clothes are suggesting an origin as a wandering musician. They're simple enough leathers and cotton to ease travel, but with enough colour to stand out in a crowd. He wears a fraying old tophat half-leaning from his head that may have once been used to collect coin. He's singing ''Ich hab die Nacht geträumet''. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' How something with such sharp claws can fret a guitar is a mystery, but it's not one that Heinkel feels compelled to solve today. In fact, she's trying not to get too close to the bare ground right next to the wall. My, what large eyes that thing has, and it probably knows how to use them. Heinkel crouches low to the ground, although she's brought up short by the sound of that thing... singing? Even from so far away, she can understand the lyrics perfectly; aside from the translation effect, she knows the cadences of her native tongue. It's a song she's heard a few times, though not something she's ever gone out of her way to learn or recite. She could probably sing the entirety of Dies Irae in perfect key, but folk songs were never really her preference. So Heinkel starts half-humming, half-singing Dies Irae under her breath as she watches the creature. She reaches back to adjust the tail of her coat, settling into a crouch while she considers how to deal with this grotesquerie. It's singing, and it seems to be a fairly consistent sound. If she silences it, there's a chance that the mistress of the castle might know. The interruption might merit investigation, just like the owl, although less regular. It looks like she's going to have to deal with one thing or the other, or she can try her luck on the last castle wall. Pushing herself to her feet with the help of a tree trunk, she casts a last look at the skeletal minstrel before slinking on to the last wall. Maybe whatever's there can contribute to her final decision. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The last wall is also guarded, though in yet a different fashion. A pair of grotesque creatures, nigh identical except for their colours: one is white like bone, the other is black like chitin. Both of them are slender figures, with sturdy plate-like exoskeletons. Thick legs that end in hooves, short arms and heads that have been twisted. Rhe eyes remain very human, but their yaws have been pulled forward and roughly reshaped, while their ears have been pulled back. All in all, they seem reminiscent of knights from a chess set, and perhaps it's for this reason that they are engaged in a game of chess. Or perhaps they have been twisted into these grotesque chess pieces because of their love of chess. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Well those things sure aren't human. The best Heinkel can make of them is that they're some kind of horse-headed demons, and wouldn't be too out of place on the squares of a chess board. Still incredibly creepy and unnerving. Shaking her head, Heinkel heads back to the first wall, where the strange owl thing is. It may be an obvious trap, but at least she can work with that. She knows it's a trap. Knowing is half the battle. Drawing one of her pistols as she lopes along behind the trees, she gauges the distance and sidles up behind a tree. Rough bark presses into her back through her coat. Leaning around the side, she seems to think better of it, holstering her pistol again and instead reaching for a holy water 'grenade.' Bottled in a thin glass globe, it's designed to shatter on impact. Let's see if this owl thing is cursed. Stepping back, Heinkel cocks her arm and flings the globe in her best baseball pitch fastball. All hell's probably going to break loose, but she can at least scout the defenses and then high-tail it out of here when it gets too dangerous... 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' A clean hit, and flash of light as the holy water's power makes it catch on fire, though it flies up and shakes off that sacred flame quickly enough, Then, all four faces start hooting in different pitches and at different rates, causing an unholy racket. The poor creature might not fight well, but it sure knows how to raise an alarm. Immediately, the tree-like being stops snoring and makes a startled noise, then starts looking around for whatever may be going on, it yells. "Who's here?" In its native German, and one branch reaches down to the ground to pick up a gatling gun, "Show yourself!" From the castle itself, multiple figures, each more grotesque than the next, head up to the walls, but they don't seem to be ready to vault past and look around. No, they stick to the walls until one fairly mundane looking figure gets to the walls. A good looking androgyne, dressed in a formal suit walks up to the wall nearest to the owl, "Dear visitor, my mistress wishes to let you know that if you wanted to come into the castle you should just have asked, she's always eager to entertain guests." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' That sure is an unholy racket. Heinkel shrinks back against the tree, ducking behind it and clapping her hands over her ears. Why on God's green earth would somebody want something that makes that kind of noise? That would be obnoxious if she had regular hearing. It's enough to drive her to distraction with supernatural hearing. Oh, that's cute, the tree has a gun. Keeping her back pressed against the trunk, Heinkel slowly withdraws one pistol, and then eases the other out of her coat. Both safeties are thumbed off, slow enough not to make any noise, and she slides her index fingers against the triggers. Half a glance is cast over her shoulder; just enough to look with her eye and not move her head. There's probably some kind of surveillance beyond these things, and if they aren't human, she has to expect that they can see just as well as she can in the gloom of the canopy's shadows. No, she thinks to herself, I am not going to show myself, you idiot. Heinkel wraps her hands more securely around her pistols' grips, considering. She can hear them as they depart from the castle, and she tilts both guns to hold them up, arms bent at the elbows. Frozen in place behind the trunk, she considers. A meeting up close might mean an easier chance to pull off an assassination. On the other hand, it could mean a trap, especially since Heinkel herself is unfamiliar with this territory. She can almost hear Maxwell screeching at her to go carry out the Lord's work. There comes from behind Heinkel's hiding-tree a loud snort. "''Nein, nein''." She speaks German with perfection, but her voice is gruff and androgynous; enough so to make it hard to say whether it's a man or a woman speaking. When it switches to English, there is still a considerable accent. "I think I'll stay out here. It's a nice afternoon. Vhy don't you call for your mistress to come out here?" Heinkel narrows her eyes, already easing away from the trunk and making her way to another tree. It pays to be thorough. If she were commanding the forces on the wall, she'd already have had them combing the woods, and she's not going to give them the opportunity to flush her out unprepared. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "My mistress regrets to admit she's feeling a tad unwell after recent events, and so prefers to stay inside until she finds the weather more agreeable." The servant on the wall responds. She's speaking with a pleasant enough tone of voice, "And she insists that your minor indiscretion will be forgiven, so long as no further attacks on her or her loyal servants and familiars are made." Then a gruff voice speaks up from somewhere clorer to Heinkel, "And if not, we've all been looking forward to the next feast. What will it be, pleasantries or death?" Then the source of that voice becomes clear, big claws digging themselves out of the ground, not quite at Heinkel's spot but fairly close. Other movements in the woods make it quite clear that it's not the only thing looking for this unexpected visitor. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Heinkel pushes herself up against the new tree she's hiding behind, hard enough to feel the craggy bark biting into her back and shoulders. It's probably a foregone conclusion that they have something hunting after her at this point. She kicks herself for not having taken her rifle anyway. She could have climbed up into a tree and picked off targets to her heart's content, but that hadn't sat well with her; it would have left her too vulnerable without a spotter to help out. Heinkel gnaws at her lower lip for a moment, frowning. "Of course she's not feeling vell," Heinkel mumbles savagely to herself. Why should it be easy? Things are never easy for Iscariot. It's part of the unspoken job requirements. "Bitch." Both pistols snap up to a ready position when she hears the new voice is even closer. Her eyes narrow behind her sunglasses; it's not very encouraging. For a fleeting instant the idea of climbing the tree is a pretty good one, but primal fear is something she's usually pretty good at shutting up. Her hands might be cold on her pistols, but she won't let fear control her. So. Options. That big ugly bugbear has very big claws, and now it appears to be burrowing out of the loam like some kind of nightmare mole creature. Oh, ''hell'', no. Ain't nobody got time for that. Stepping delicately backwards, Heinkel keeps both her pistols trained on the nearest whatever-it-is as she threads her way around tree trunks. "Ja? That's too bad. Nice afternoon for most of us, high clouds, some sun, a little breeze..." Her eyes narrow behind her glasses. On the other hand, if she can get these monstrosities to make nice, it would be an unbelievable opportunity for scouting Adele's turf. Heinkel smiles a nasty smile to herself and slowly, oh so slowly, starts sidling for another tree. "''Ach'', vhat kind of idiot do you think I am? Safe passage? Vhat proof do I haf that you aren't just going to sic your minions on me vonce you haf me someplace I can't run? Eh?" Another tree. It's clear that she's putting tremendous concentration into stepping softly, easing each heavy-treaded combat boot down with care. Heinkel curls her lip in distaste. "Gife me some kind of proof, and maybe I'll consider it." She's already moving to another tree, in the meantime, just in case that gives her a slightly better vantage point. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "None, beyond the word of my mistress. Take it or leave it." That's the answer that's provided to Heinkel's doubts. It becomes increasingly clear that Adele is prolific when it comes to collecting monsters, as more and more pop out of the shadows. Considering they call her mistress, it's likely that she has some kind of hold over them, or is just very very good at inspiring loyalty in these assorted monstrosities. The tree Heinkel moves to is home to one of them, a very thin, very short humanoid with bark-like skin and leaves for hair, a series of wooden claws reach out for Heinkel's shoulder, a gentle movement, "''Fraulein'', I must insist, our mistress is lonely and simply wants someone to talk to." Then a little more harshly, it opens its jaws and reveals a pair of tongues ending in stingers, waving them about threateningly, before retracting them "And you do owe her an either an apology, or your death." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Vell, that's not very much of a reassurance, considering vhat vas going on last night." Heinkel squints up at the tree. This one looks a little funny, although that's not saying much. Trees of the Black Forest and other parts of eastern Europe always look a little funny. There's a reason so many fairy tales have sprung up around weird-looking trees from that part of the world. Holding her pistols close, Heinkel scans the loam around her, looking for the tell-tale sign of more claws bursting up from below. The idle thought reaches her that she'd ''really'' like a cigarette right now, but she doesn't have the time. This may get ugly, very quickly, and— "''YEEEE—!''" There comes a yelp, and a thump, and a crunch of leaves, as Heinkel positively ''leaps'' away from the touch at her shoulder, one pistol firing wildly into the air out of reflex. It's not aimed even remotely close to anything, though; but it does bring her to throw herself back against another tree, further away, although not before checking to make sure it doesn't have eyes and isn't talking. Both pistols are levelled at the thin, bark-skinned humanoid. Dendroid? She isn't sure. "Ja, vell, vhen you put it like that..." She's outnumbered; that much is becoming obvious. Fraulein Rozenbach seems to have an inexhaustible supply of pet monsters to keep sending out at her. Frowning deeply, Heinkel eyes the creature suspiciously. No, she still has no guarantee that they're not just going to eat her the instant she crosses the threshold. She'll make it miserable for them if they try, though, cursed as she may be; she's still carrying a whole lot of blessed weaponry and tools. Heinkel stalls for a few more seconds before doing a little dance of frustration, finally shoving both pistols into their shoulder rigs under her coat. "''Ach''. Fine. You haf me. Alright, then, lead the vay. But if you do turn on me," she adds, with an upraised forefinger and a toothsome grin, "know that I'm going to kill as many of you as I possibly can before I die." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The creatures appear to be good for their mistress's word, as soon as Heinkel agrees to the terms, they do little more than get into flanking positions and try to lead her to the front gate of the castle. Without doubt, they trust her as little as she trusts them. Through the gate, through the courtyard, into the big hall, ever fewer escorts as they return to their own positions. Can't discard the possibility that Heinkel is a distraction, after all. By the time they pass through a side door from the big hall that leads to a chair downwards, it's down to only two. The servant that seemed to do most of the talking and the plant-like creature that rests on the servant's shoulder. They knock on a door, "Mistress, your guest is here." "The door is unlocked." Adele answers from behind the door, and these minions move back, standing at the top of the stairs, leaving Heinkel to enter alone. It's true, the door is unlocked. If Heinkel opens it, she'll see a woman of her late teens in a simple nurse's dress hovering over a man who is barely breathing, his legs seem to have been replaced with a fish's tail, except there is a scorpion stinger sticking out from the end. Adele's hands are gliding over one shoulder, kneading and molding it into a bony protrusion, she looks up at the door opening. "I'm sorry, I did not expect visitors tonight, or I would not have been working. Unfortunately, it leaves them in unnecessary pain if I take a break from my work." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' It's bad enough that all these things are watching, but it's even worse to have them flanking her where they're just out of her line of sight. The Wolf bristles, primal instincts recognising a threat when it sees one. Even she finds herself hackling a little, the skin at the back of her neck prickling in the most unpleasant way. She doesn't reach for her weapons, though white-gloved fingers twitch a little as though still wishing she had them at hand. Heinkel glances first over one shoulder and then the other as she's left alone before the door. That's probably not good. She grips the doorknob and opens it, and once she pushes the door open all she can do is just... sort of... stare, blankly, at the grisly scene in front of her. In fact, it's so unexpected that she's caught staring that way for a good five seconds straight. "Uh," she finally manages to croak, still staring. Her eyes are invisible behind those sunglasses, but the way her head hasn't moved suggests her visual focus is fixed completely on Adele. Heinkel blinks owlishly behind her glasses, before finally remembering to shut the door; if only because it'll take the minions that extra second or two to open it if they descend upon her. Also, she's absolutely sure she can throw herself out the window and survive it if she has to. Probably. Maybe. The paladin swallows. It's more of a gag, because the sight before her is nauseating. She's seen terrible things, but this is up there on that list just for the cold, analytical deliberation with which Adele is apparently acting. Or 'working,' as she says. "I vas all set to leafe you to your vork, but according to your..." Minions. Pets. Monsters. "...servants, you vanted a vord." She startles as though remembering something, and then looks down, digging into a pocket. "Here. Blood money, I guess you could say. Take it or leafe it... you von't get much more than that out of me." Heinkel shows her teeth in what is probably meant to be a grin. It's not very friendly-looking. The desire to run screaming from the manor is an attractive one, but Heinkel stands fast and clamps down on the urge to dissolve into the dry heaves. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "Yes, I know. I'm always curious to see what makes people foolish enough to visit my home unannounced." Unlike Heinkel, Adele is entirely undisturbed, keeping up the grisly process of turning this old man into some kind of sea monster. Whatever foul powers she's using, they clearly allow her to transform this flesh into whatever she desires. As she moves down the man's arm, more plates of bone armour get physically pulled out of the flesh, and then she squishes the hand together. Then she's pulling at the flesh to create a claw like that of a scorpion or crab. Large and clearly quite strong. "I don't want your money, I just want to get to know you. Talk to me a while and then you're free to leave." She starts to work on the other side, though it's a careful process, she's obviously quite well-practiced. "Let's start by names, I assume you know, or at least suspect, that I am Princess Adele von und zu Rozenbach. Who do I have the pleasure of dealing with?" There's not really any sign of response to Heinkel clearly being disturbed. "You don't have to answer any questions if you don't want to." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Heinkel makes a point of turning her head away from the mess. Even so, she keeps Adele and her new pet project in the periphery of her vision. If either of them move, she'll notice, without having to focus on the grisly details. Sure, her work is all about horrible things like this, but that doesn't mean she has to willingly subject herself to it if she has other options. One eye squints almost closed as Adele starts patiently fashioning a lobster claw out of a hand. That's just sick and wrong. Flesh and bone aren't meant to move that way. Heinkel redoubles her attention on the far wall. Frowning, she stuffs the Euros back into her pocket; the frown only deepends when Adele goes straight to the formalities. She's not sure when she did it, but Heinkel must have taken a step backwards, towards the door. She can feel the doorframe digging into a shoulder, much as she'd flattened herself against the tree outside. If she were in her other form, her tail would be tucked between her legs, and her teeth would be bared. All of them. Instead, she reaches into a pocket... ...but it's not a weapon she pulls out. It's a toothpick. She settles it with absurd delicacy between her teeth, and proceeds to chew on it a little as Adele makes a point of introducing herself. Heinkel frowns, the toothpick pointing downward at an angle from under her lip. "Paladin Heinkel Wolfe. Vatican Section XIII, 'Iscariot.' I suppose the cross, the holy vater, und my being here veren't enough of a clue as to vhat it is that I do." She reaches for her coat, lifting up the leather thong of her iron cross and dangling it before letting it drop. Once it does, she folds her arms, scooting over so she's leaning back against the wall. Though she might seem nonchalant, she keeps glancing at the room's possible exits, and her upraised hand keeps fiddling with the toothpick. The other stays in her pocket, but there's no tell-tale outline of a gun there. Not yet, anyway. One leg even rises to plant the sole of her boot against the wall, as though she were carelessly leaning against a lamppost instead of these ancient walls. She frowns. "Vhat else?" 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' Adele finishes up the other half, not even blinking upon seeing the cross. It's not the cross that's dangerous, it's the faith behind it, but she does smile at her guest upon seeing it. "Well, miss Wolfe. It's nice to meet you, I'm afraid if you're here to save my soul you're a bit too late." That phrase is put entirely deadpan, like she has dealt with people who genuinely think they can save her. She gets to work on her subject's head, casually opening up a gap in the forehead and fiddling around with the tissue until there's another eye. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, I fear you've probably got it into your head that you want to kill me, am I right?" She repeats this a couple times, until he has six where before there were two. "I do so wish I got visitors who didn't have nasty ulterior motives like that. It gets lonely, you know?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Maybe Heinkel's faith is a little less absolute than some of her more enthusiastic associates, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. Just being in this household is enough to make her skin crawl. It reeks of— She raises an eyebrow. "Save your soul? ''Nein, nein''." She even manages a smile, although it's terribly cold. "I'm a paladin before I'm a priest, and that's not the job of a paladin. I mean, if you vant to confess, I certainly haf the authority to perform absolution..." Heinkel shrugs, heavy coat rustling. "But if ve're being honest, here, I don't vant to." No? Aren't priests supposed to be really interested in saving all the souls around them that they can, that those souls might be granted absolution and ascend into the Kingdom of Heaven? Heinkel makes a point of not looking as Adele starts fiddling with the poor unfortunate soul's head. "Vell, they said you veren't stupid. I guess it vouldn't take a genius to figure that out, either. Actually, take it as you vill, but I didn't come here to kill you. Not today. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm an opportunist. If I'd had the opportunity for a clear shot, I vould haf taken it." "Hunh. Lonely. You sure haf a funny sense of things. Maybe if you didn't take people und twist them into horrible monstrosities, you might haf more friends, ja?" Heinkel flicks a hand at the man-turned-sea-creature. "Or if you stopped feeding on sentients. People haf a vay of not liking that. I can't imagine vhy." "''Nein, nein''. I did not come here to kill you. Not today. You already haf me here, so I'm not losing anything by saying that I came here to scout." She rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth. "I mean, it's probably obvious anyvay that if I'm not actively trying to kill you, I'm here to gather information. Ja? Nothing personal, you understand." The toothpick points downward again, to the tune of a frown from Heinkel. "I haf a job to do. That's all." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "If confession could save me, we wouldn't be talking today." Adele answers mildly, moving on to further alter her subject's head. "And don't mistake my indifferent tone for a lack of care. You hurt one my familiars. I care about every last one of them, and if I wasn't sure Owan would be alright, I wouldn't have bothered giving you a chance." There's a mild undertone of anger, but it's fairly well hidden. "You call them horrible monstrosities, I call them works of art. They come to me because they're dying, and they know they can finish any unresolved business if they agree to become my ghouls." She points at the underwater creature she's woring on, "Look at Heinrich here, for example. His son died in an industrial accident twenty-five years ago. His grandson died in the trenches. When he learned of that, he wanted to ensure his great-granddaughter would be in good hands, but the growths in his lung were killing him." "But as much as I am grateful for them being here, and as much as I love them with all my heart..." Adele sighs, and looks away from Heinrich and towards Heinkel, "I can only save them by making them my loyal servants, and you simply cannot properly socialize with servants. The townsfolk are terrified of me, and the few visitors I get either want to see me dead or are making demands on behalf of the Kaiser." Then she adds, "But yes, I understand, nothing personal." In a tone of 'they all say that.' 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Ja, that's right, because it vouldn't be me coming here, if that vere the case." Heinkel rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth and chews on the end a little absently. The desire for a cigarette is almost overwhelming, but now is not the time. "I may be ordained, but I don't fulfill those duties very often." It's true, she's a terrible priest. She shrugs, coat rustling. Something in one of those pockets jingles to the tune of spare shells, but they're not in the pocket her other hand is in. "My duties as a paladin are usually priority. There are more priests than paladins." Reaching up and fiddling with the toothpick, Heinkel squints at the mistress as she tends to her work. She carefully avoids looking at the thing that was formerly Heinrich; she has no illusions that he is probably not really what she would consider 'people' any more. It's a lump of meat that happens to be growing a lovely selection of fins, spines, stingers, and however many eyes it has now. Heinkel swallows, hard, and hopes that her face isn't turning a bit green. She sure feels like it should be by now. Even paladins of Iscariot have their limits. "''Nein''. I don't agree vit that." Heinkel curls her lip around her toothpick, caught between disgust and real anger. "You said it yourself. They don't even haf the presence of mind to carry on a conversation. Who they vere ist gone vonce you're finished vit them." Plucking her toothpick from her mouth, she gestures somewhat angrily at Heinrich. "Ist there a 'Heinrich' left, there? Man vas created in the image of the Holy Father. Vhat you're doing is ''blasphemy''. Not only are you twisting them into these monstrosities, you're denying them entry into the Kingdom of Heaven. How can they go back to God if you trap them here? They're no better than ghouls. Und you're no better than those cheap knockoff vampires." "I think I'm done, here. Ja, my coming here vas nothing personal. But after seeing vhat it is you're doing in here, I haf half a mind to make it personal." Heinkel jams the toothpick back into her mouth with enough force to prick her gum; for once, she's so incensed over this that she's able to ignore the taste of blood in her mouth. She's almost trembling. "I almost vish I'd brought the C4." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "Perhaps if God didn't want me to indulge in Blasphemy, He should not have made me an embodiment of Hell on Earth." Adele answers only that bit, apparently getting frustrated with this conversation herself. "I do think it's for the best that you leave now, and tell God that if he wants to give me a second chance, I'm listening." There seems to be no faith whatsoever that there will be such a second chance. She snaps her fingers briefly, and the servant opens the door. "Take miss Wolfe to the outer gate please, and do ensure that she departs. I prefer you don't use force, but don't allow her to dawdle." It seems Adele is done talking to Heinkel, getting back to work, though the back of her head starts bleeding for a moment, until an eye forms with which she can watch Heinkel, "Do close the door behind you?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' If the paladin notices the frustration creeping into Adele's tone, she doesn't comment on it. She remains silent throughout the response, still idly chewing on the end of the toothpick. It isn't until Adele sprouts an eye at the back of her head that there comes a tiny wooden ''snap'', and the toothpick hangs at a crazy enough angle to suggest it's been bitten clean in half. Come to think of it, Heinkel looks a little pale, although whether that's from discomfort, fear, or rage, it's hard to say. Probably a good helping of the first two, and a whole lot of the last one. Heinkel doesn't even say anything as she turns, coat flaring behind her with a rustle. She's through the doorway in the half-second it takes her to push off from the wall; the door slams shut with enough violence that it seems like it's going to vibrate right off its hinges. (It doesn't.) In that time she's already through the courtyard and walking, stiff-legged and angry, down the road for the woods. Adele's minions will be able to report that Heinkel takes her leave without wasting any time, and the sudden revving of a motorcycle engine in the distance suggests the paladin found her vehicle and proceeded to hit the road. Fast. 
}}

4850/The Ancient Grudge: Trench Warfare Edition

2016-12-07T04:07:46Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/12/06 |Location=Rozenbach Estate <RE> |Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe visits Castle Rozenbach, introductions are made, tempers flare but the departure..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/12/06
|Location=Rozenbach Estate <RE>
|Synopsis=Heinkel Wolfe visits Castle Rozenbach, introductions are made, tempers flare but the departure is peaceful.
|Cast of Characters=1041, 363
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' Not so far from the trenches as to not see regular shipments of fresh troops pass by, but not so close as to be truly on the front lines, would be a reasonable description of the location of the little town of Rozenbach, especially when combined with its location in a strategic pass in the area known as Elsass-Lothringen, an area that has been subject to territorial disputes, and likely will be again in the future. Castle Rozenbach itself is a fair distance from the town, an imposing fortress that overlooks the pass and in earlier times likely would have greatly contributed to the ability of whomever controlls it to hinder any enemies trying to pass. With modern technology, however, the walls are outdated, the real defense now is a modern set of fortifications built further along the pass, concrete and steel instead of imposing walls. That doesn't mean the castle is in disuse or disrepair, far from. Its walls are well-maintained, and grotesque beings rest in absolute stillness on the castle walls. It's hard to tell whether they are merely statues or something more, whichever they are, their creator has a particilarly twisted mind to produce such grotesque creatures. The gate is closed, but within the sounds of activity are not too hard to notice, and the smell of freshly made food wafts through the air. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' There is a motorcycle taking the high roads hrough the mountains north of Rozenbach. This wouldn't normally be an issue, but the motorcycle in question is more advancaed than machinery normally seen around here. It's from the era of World War II, which will not happen here for decades yet, if it's fated to happen at all. A rifle scope from the top of a nearby mountain pass provides an excellent vantage point, revealing Castle Rozenbach for the well-maintained antique that it is. More modern barricades further down the road are visible. Although seeing inside the castle would be even better, that's just a little bit too far away. Heinkel Wolfe has no intention of shooting, but it provides her a good look at the surroundings from a point of relative safety. She gives one last squint over the top of the scope before lowering her rifle back into its case, latching it and lashing it to the back of the motorcycle. Muttering under her breath, she checks her coat pockets. Blessed rounds forged from the consecrated silver of a smelted cross. Vials of holy water stoppered with corks, and a few glass 'grenades' of holy water meant to shatter on impact when thrown. Iscariot-issue large caliber pistols, barrels and slides sheathed in consecrated silver plating. A combat knife stuck through her belt. The cross around her neck, although it's forged from iron rather than silver. Apparently finding her armoury satisfying, Heinkel checks the position of the sun, then kneels down with hands braced on the ground, and... sniffs? The gesture is not unlike an animal testing the wind, or a bloodhound following a scent. Straightening, she sets off where her nose leads her -- straight for the castle. The gate's closed. Heinkel doesn't bother with the front gate; only an idiot would. Instead, she's loping around to the side of the stronghold, looking for an entrance on the sides, or at the back, where there are (probably) going to be fewer guards posted and less attention in general (she hopes). 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' There's certainly fewer of those grotesque things on the side, but that does not mean there are no eyes there. The trees may not be alive, bot not all that looks like a tree is a tree. One is most clearly something covered in tree bark with eyes on various places and a mouth on one side. Fortunately, its eyes are closed and it's snoring, a distinctly human sound from that sentinel. Unfortunately, that's not the only guardian patrolling that side, a four-faced owl sits in a tree near the walls, looking in all directions, and once per minute it hoots, rotating around its beaks for this act, it's loud enough that without doubt someone in the castle would notice if it stopped, but it's also in a great vantage point to observe that entire side of the castle. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' The closer she gets to the castle, the slower Heinkel goes, falling into a crouched stance and placing her heavy boots carefully. They may leave tracks, but they won't make a lot of noise. One hand rises to adjust her sunglasses to lay more securely over her eyes-- --and comes up short, nearly backpedalling from the snoring tree. She eyes it for a long moment, able to somehow imply a blank stare even with her eyes hidden by opaque lenses. Well, this is going to be an interesting time. Normally the hoot of an owl isn't much of a deterrent to Heinkel, but the regularity with which it happens, and the bizarre acoustics of it that she can pick up on, are enough to give her pause. She looks left, observing nothing, and then looks right. Tree. There's another tree, and she frowns as she picks out the form of the owl. She could shoot it, which would interrupt its calls, or she can go around it, which isn't without risk either. Heinkel freezes for a moment in her indecision, trying to decide what would be the least immediately dangerous option. Discretion is the better part of valour, although she's probably the only Iscariot paladin who heeds ''that'' particular advice. Heinkel veers to one side, keeping behind the cover of the trees and slinking to the next wall. Part of her wishes she'd taken the Dragunov, but it would only be a liability in close combat, and she doesn't expect to avoid a skirmish or two. The owl is given one last deeply unnerved look before Heinkel turns toward the next wall, the better to see what other delightful horrors Fraulein Rozenbach has managed to put together. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The next wall is built into the mountainside, this means it's the lowest of them all relatively to the surroundings, but it also makes the ground uneven and rough to climb, and there's one particular creature sitting on the wall trying to keep an eye on things. This being is human enough in a sense, it's got the overall shape right. However, it's impossibly slender, as though it's little more than skeleton and skin, with excessively large eyes, and ts fingers turn into sharp talons. Sharp talons it's using to play a gentle folk tune on its guitar, which matches the overall outfit it wears. Those clothes are suggesting an origin as a wandering musician. They're simple enough leathers and cotton to ease travel, but with enough colour to stand out in a crowd. He wears a fraying old tophat half-leaning from his head that may have once been used to collect coin. He's singing ''Ich hab die Nacht geträumet''. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' How something with such sharp claws can fret a guitar is a mystery, but it's not one that Heinkel feels compelled to solve today. In fact, she's trying not to get too close to the bare ground right next to the wall. My, what large eyes that thing has, and it probably knows how to use them. Heinkel crouches low to the ground, although she's brought up short by the sound of that thing... singing? Even from so far away, she can understand the lyrics perfectly; aside from the translation effect, she knows the cadences of her native tongue. It's a song she's heard a few times, though not something she's ever gone out of her way to learn or recite. She could probably sing the entirety of Dies Irae in perfect key, but folk songs were never really her preference. So Heinkel starts half-humming, half-singing Dies Irae under her breath as she watches the creature. She reaches back to adjust the tail of her coat, settling into a crouch while she considers how to deal with this grotesquerie. It's singing, and it seems to be a fairly consistent sound. If she silences it, there's a chance that the mistress of the castle might know. The interruption might merit investigation, just like the owl, although less regular. It looks like she's going to have to deal with one thing or the other, or she can try her luck on the last castle wall. Pushing herself to her feet with the help of a tree trunk, she casts a last look at the skeletal minstrel before slinking on to the last wall. Maybe whatever's there can contribute to her final decision. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The last wall is also guarded, though in yet a different fashion. A pair of grotesque creatures, nigh identical except for their colours: one is white like bone, the other is black like chitin. Both of them are slender figures, with sturdy plate-like exoskeletons. Thick legs that end in hooves, short arms and heads that have been twisted. Rhe eyes remain very human, but their yaws have been pulled forward and roughly reshaped, while their ears have been pulled back. All in all, they seem reminiscent of knights from a chess set, and perhaps it's for this reason that they are engaged in a game of chess. Or perhaps they have been twisted into these grotesque chess pieces because of their love of chess. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Well those things sure aren't human. The best Heinkel can make of them is that they're some kind of horse-headed demons, and wouldn't be too out of place on the squares of a chess board. Still incredibly creepy and unnerving. Shaking her head, Heinkel heads back to the first wall, where the strange owl thing is. It may be an obvious trap, but at least she can work with that. She knows it's a trap. Knowing is half the battle. Drawing one of her pistols as she lopes along behind the trees, she gauges the distance and sidles up behind a tree. Rough bark presses into her back through her coat. Leaning around the side, she seems to think better of it, holstering her pistol again and instead reaching for a holy water 'grenade.' Bottled in a thin glass globe, it's designed to shatter on impact. Let's see if this owl thing is cursed. Stepping back, Heinkel cocks her arm and flings the globe in her best baseball pitch fastball. All hell's probably going to break loose, but she can at least scout the defenses and then high-tail it out of here when it gets too dangerous... 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' A clean hit, and flash of light as the holy water's power makes it catch on fire, though it flies up and shakes off that sacred flame quickly enough, Then, all four faces start hooting in different pitches and at different rates, causing an unholy racket. The poor creature might not fight well, but it sure knows how to raise an alarm. Immediately, the tree-like being stops snoring and makes a startled noise, then starts looking around for whatever may be going on, it yells. "Who's here?" In its native German, and one branch reaches down to the ground to pick up a gatling gun, "Show yourself!" From the castle itself, multiple figures, each more grotesque than the next, head up to the walls, but they don't seem to be ready to vault past and look around. No, they stick to the walls until one fairly mundane looking figure gets to the walls. A good looking androgyne, dressed in a formal suit walks up to the wall nearest to the owl, "Dear visitor, my mistress wishes to let you know that if you wanted to come into the castle you should just have asked, she's always eager to entertain guests." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' That sure is an unholy racket. Heinkel shrinks back against the tree, ducking behind it and clapping her hands over her ears. Why on God's green earth would somebody want something that makes that kind of noise? That would be obnoxious if she had regular hearing. It's enough to drive her to distraction with supernatural hearing. Oh, that's cute, the tree has a gun. Keeping her back pressed against the trunk, Heinkel slowly withdraws one pistol, and then eases the other out of her coat. Both safeties are thumbed off, slow enough not to make any noise, and she slides her index fingers against the triggers. Half a glance is cast over her shoulder; just enough to look with her eye and not move her head. There's probably some kind of surveillance beyond these things, and if they aren't human, she has to expect that they can see just as well as she can in the gloom of the canopy's shadows. No, she thinks to herself, I am not going to show myself, you idiot. Heinkel wraps her hands more securely around her pistols' grips, considering. She can hear them as they depart from the castle, and she tilts both guns to hold them up, arms bent at the elbows. Frozen in place behind the trunk, she considers. A meeting up close might mean an easier chance to pull off an assassination. On the other hand, it could mean a trap, especially since Heinkel herself is unfamiliar with this territory. She can almost hear Maxwell screeching at her to go carry out the Lord's work. There comes from behind Heinkel's hiding-tree a loud snort. "''Nein, nein''." She speaks German with perfection, but her voice is gruff and androgynous; enough so to make it hard to say whether it's a man or a woman speaking. When it switches to English, there is still a considerable accent. "I think I'll stay out here. It's a nice afternoon. Vhy don't you call for your mistress to come out here?" Heinkel narrows her eyes, already easing away from the trunk and making her way to another tree. It pays to be thorough. If she were commanding the forces on the wall, she'd already have had them combing the woods, and she's not going to give them the opportunity to flush her out unprepared. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "My mistress regrets to admit she's feeling a tad unwell after recent events, and so prefers to stay inside until she finds the weather more agreeable." The servant on the wall responds. She's speaking with a pleasant enough tone of voice, "And she insists that your minor indiscretion will be forgiven, so long as no further attacks on her or her loyal servants and familiars are made." Then a gruff voice speaks up from somewhere clorer to Heinkel, "And if not, we've all been looking forward to the next feast. What will it be, pleasantries or death?" Then the source of that voice becomes clear, big claws digging themselves out of the ground, not quite at Heinkel's spot but fairly close. Other movements in the woods make it quite clear that it's not the only thing looking for this unexpected visitor. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Heinkel pushes herself up against the new tree she's hiding behind, hard enough to feel the craggy bark biting into her back and shoulders. It's probably a foregone conclusion that they have something hunting after her at this point. She kicks herself for not having taken her rifle anyway. She could have climbed up into a tree and picked off targets to her heart's content, but that hadn't sat well with her; it would have left her too vulnerable without a spotter to help out. Heinkel gnaws at her lower lip for a moment, frowning. "Of course she's not feeling vell," Heinkel mumbles savagely to herself. Why should it be easy? Things are never easy for Iscariot. It's part of the unspoken job requirements. "Bitch." Both pistols snap up to a ready position when she hears the new voice is even closer. Her eyes narrow behind her sunglasses; it's not very encouraging. For a fleeting instant the idea of climbing the tree is a pretty good one, but primal fear is something she's usually pretty good at shutting up. Her hands might be cold on her pistols, but she won't let fear control her. So. Options. That big ugly bugbear has very big claws, and now it appears to be burrowing out of the loam like some kind of nightmare mole creature. Oh, ''hell'', no. Ain't nobody got time for that. Stepping delicately backwards, Heinkel keeps both her pistols trained on the nearest whatever-it-is as she threads her way around tree trunks. "Ja? That's too bad. Nice afternoon for most of us, high clouds, some sun, a little breeze..." Her eyes narrow behind her glasses. On the other hand, if she can get these monstrosities to make nice, it would be an unbelievable opportunity for scouting Adele's turf. Heinkel smiles a nasty smile to herself and slowly, oh so slowly, starts sidling for another tree. "''Ach'', vhat kind of idiot do you think I am? Safe passage? Vhat proof do I haf that you aren't just going to sic your minions on me vonce you haf me someplace I can't run? Eh?" Another tree. It's clear that she's putting tremendous concentration into stepping softly, easing each heavy-treaded combat boot down with care. Heinkel curls her lip in distaste. "Gife me some kind of proof, and maybe I'll consider it." She's already moving to another tree, in the meantime, just in case that gives her a slightly better vantage point. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "None, beyond the word of my mistress. Take it or leave it." That's the answer that's provided to Heinkel's doubts. It becomes increasingly clear that Adele is prolific when it comes to collecting monsters, as more and more pop out of the shadows. Considering they call her mistress, it's likely that she has some kind of hold over them, or is just very very good at inspiring loyalty in these assorted monstrosities. The tree Heinkel moves to is home to one of them, a very thin, very short humanoid with bark-like skin and leaves for hair, a series of wooden claws reach out for Heinkel's shoulder, a gentle movement, "''Fraulein'', I must insist, our mistress is lonely and simply wants someone to talk to." Then a little more harshly, it opens its jaws and reveals a pair of tongues ending in stingers, waving them about threateningly, before retracting them "And you do owe her an either an apology, or your death." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Vell, that's not very much of a reassurance, considering vhat vas going on last night." Heinkel squints up at the tree. This one looks a little funny, although that's not saying much. Trees of the Black Forest and other parts of eastern Europe always look a little funny. There's a reason so many fairy tales have sprung up around weird-looking trees from that part of the world. Holding her pistols close, Heinkel scans the loam around her, looking for the tell-tale sign of more claws bursting up from below. The idle thought reaches her that she'd ''really'' like a cigarette right now, but she doesn't have the time. This may get ugly, very quickly, and-- "''YEEEE—!''" There comes a yelp, and a thump, and a crunch of leaves, as Heinkel positively ''leaps'' away from the touch at her shoulder, one pistol firing wildly into the air out of reflex. It's not aimed even remotely close to anything, though; but it does bring her to throw herself back against another tree, further away, although not before checking to make sure it doesn't have eyes and isn't talking. Both pistols are levelled at the thin, bark-skinned humanoid. Dendroid? She isn't sure. "Ja, vell, vhen you put it like that..." She's outnumbered; that much is becoming obvious. Fraulein Rozenbach seems to have an inexhaustible supply of pet monsters to keep sending out at her. Frowning deeply, Heinkel eyes the creature suspiciously. No, she still has no guarantee that they're not just going to eat her the instant she crosses the threshold. She'll make it miserable for them if they try, though, cursed as she may be; she's still carrying a whole lot of blessed weaponry and tools. Heinkel stalls for a few more seconds before doing a little dance of frustration, finally shoving both pistols into their shoulder rigs under her coat. "''Ach''. Fine. You haf me. Alright, then, lead the vay. But if you do turn on me," she adds, with an upraised forefinger and a toothsome grin, "know that I'm going to kill as many of you as I possibly can before I die." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' The creatures appear to be good for their mistress's word, as soon as Heinkel agrees to the terms, they do little more than get into flanking positions and try to lead her to the front gate of the castle. Without doubt, they trust her as little as she trusts them. Through the gate, through the courtyard, into the big hall, ever fewer escorts as they return to their own positions. Can't discard the possibility that Heinkel is a distraction, after all. By the time they pass through a side door from the big hall that leads to a chair downwards, it's down to only two. The servant that seemed to do most of the talking and the plant-like creature that rests on the servant's shoulder. They knock on a door, "Mistress, your guest is here." "The door is unlocked." Adele answers from behind the door, and these minions move back, standing at the top of the stairs, leaving Heinkel to enter alone. It's true, the door is unlocked. If Heinkel opens it, she'll see a woman of her late teens in a simple nurse's dress hovering over a man who is barely breathing, his legs seem to have been replaced with a fish's tail, except there is a scorpion stinger sticking out from the end. Adele's hands are gliding over one shoulder, kneading and molding it into a bony protrusion, she looks up at the door opening. "I'm sorry, I did not expect visitors tonight, or I would not have been working. Unfortunately, it leaves them in unnecessary pain if I take a break from my work." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' It's bad enough that all these things are watching, but it's even worse to have them flanking her where they're just out of her line of sight. The Wolf bristles, primal instincts recognising a threat when it sees one. Even she finds herself hackling a little, the skin at the back of her neck prickling in the most unpleasant way. She doesn't reach for her weapons, though white-gloved fingers twitch a little as though still wishing she had them at hand. Heinkel glances first over one shoulder and then the other as she's left alone before the door. That's probably not good. She grips the doorknob and opens it, and once she pushes the door open all she can do is just... sort of... stare, blankly, at the grisly scene in front of her. In fact, it's so unexpected that she's caught staring that way for a good five seconds straight. "Uh," she finally manages to croak, still staring. Her eyes are invisible behind those sunglasses, but the way her head hasn't moved suggests her visual focus is fixed completely on Adele. Heinkel blinks owlishly behind her glasses, before finally remembering to shut the door; if only because it'll take the minions that extra second or two to open it if they descend upon her. Also, she's absolutely sure she can throw herself out the window and survive it if she has to. Probably. Maybe. The paladin swallows. It's more of a gag, because the sight before her is nauseating. She's seen terrible things, but this is up there on that list just for the cold, analytical deliberation with which Adele is apparently acting. Or 'working,' as she says. "I vas all set to leafe you to your vork, but according to your..." Minions. Pets. Monsters. "...servants, you vanted a vord." She startles as though remembering something, and then looks down, digging into a pocket. "Here. Blood money, I guess you could say. Take it or leafe it... you von't get much more than that out of me." Heinkel shows her teeth in what is probably meant to be a grin. It's not very friendly-looking. The desire to run screaming from the manor is an attractive one, but Heinkel stands fast and clamps down on the urge to dissolve into the dry heaves. 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "Yes, I know. I'm always curious to see what makes people foolish enough to visit my home unannounced." Unlike Heinkel, Adele is entirely undisturbed, keeping up the grisly process of turning this old man into some kind of sea monster. Whatever foul powers she's using, they clearly allow her to transform this flesh into whatever she desires. As she moves down the man's arm, more plates of bone armour get physically pulled out of the flesh, and then she squishes the hand together. Then she's pulling at the flesh to create a claw like that of a scorpion or crab. Large and clearly quite strong. "I don't want your money, I just want to get to know you. Talk to me a while and then you're free to leave." She starts to work on the other side, though it's a careful process, she's obviously quite well-practiced. "Let's start by names, I assume you know, or at least suspect, that I am Princess Adele von und zu Rozenbach. Who do I have the pleasure of dealing with?" There's not really any sign of response to Heinkel clearly being disturbed. "You don't have to answer any questions if you don't want to." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Heinkel makes a point of turning her head away from the mess. Even so, she keeps Adele and her new pet project in the periphery of her vision. If either of them move, she'll notice, without having to focus on the grisly details. Sure, her work is all about horrible things like this, but that doesn't mean she has to willingly subject herself to it if she has other options. One eye squints almost closed as Adele starts patiently fashioning a lobster claw out of a hand. That's just sick and wrong. Flesh and bone aren't meant to move that way. Heinkel redoubles her attention on the far wall. Frowning, she stuffs the Euros back into her pocket; the frown only deepends when Adele goes straight to the formalities. She's not sure when she did it, but Heinkel must have taken a step backwards, towards the door. She can feel the doorframe digging into a shoulder, much as she'd flattened herself against the tree outside. If she were in her other form, her tail would be tucked between her legs, and her teeth would be bared. All of them. Instead, she reaches into a pocket... ...but it's not a weapon she pulls out. It's a toothpick. She settles it with absurd delicacy between her teeth, and proceeds to chew on it a little as Adele makes a point of introducing herself. Heinkel frowns, the toothpick pointing downward at an angle from under her lip. "Paladin Heinkel Wolfe. Vatican Section XIII, 'Iscariot.' I suppose the cross, the holy vater, und my being here veren't enough of a clue as to vhat it is that I do." She reaches for her coat, lifting up the leather thong of her iron cross and dangling it before letting it drop. Once it does, she folds her arms, scooting over so she's leaning back against the wall. Though she might seem nonchalant, she keeps glancing at the room's possible exits, and her upraised hand keeps fiddling with the toothpick. The other stays in her pocket, but there's no tell-tale outline of a gun there. Not yet, anyway. One leg even rises to plant the sole of her boot against the wall, as though she were carelessly leaning against a lamppost instead of these ancient walls. She frowns. "Vhat else?" 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' Adele finishes up the other half, not even blinking upon seeing the cross. It's not the cross that's dangerous, it's the faith behind it, but she does smile at her guest upon seeing it. "Well, miss Wolfe. It's nice to meet you, I'm afraid if you're here to save my soul you're a bit too late." That phrase is put entirely deadpan, like she has dealt with people who genuinely think they can save her. She gets to work on her subject's head, casually opening up a gap in the forehead and fiddling around with the tissue until there's another eye. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, I fear you've probably got it into your head that you want to kill me, am I right?" She repeats this a couple times, until he has six where before there were two. "I do so wish I got visitors who didn't have nasty ulterior motives like that. It gets lonely, you know?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Maybe Heinkel's faith is a little less absolute than some of her more enthusiastic associates, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. Just being in this household is enough to make her skin crawl. It reeks of-- She raises an eyebrow. "Save your soul? ''Nein, nein''." She even manages a smile, although it's terribly cold. "I'm a paladin before I'm a priest, and that's not the job of a paladin. I mean, if you vant to confess, I certainly haf the authority to perform absolution..." Heinkel shrugs, heavy coat rustling. "But if ve're being honest, here, I don't vant to." No? Aren't priests supposed to be really interested in saving all the souls around them that they can, that those souls might be granted absolution and ascend into the Kingdom of Heaven? Heinkel makes a point of not looking as Adele starts fiddling with the poor unfortunate soul's head. "Vell, they said you veren't stupid. I guess it vouldn't take a genius to figure that out, either. Actually, take it as you vill, but I didn't come here to kill you. Not today. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm an opportunist. If I'd had the opportunity for a clear shot, I vould haf taken it." "Hunh. Lonely. You sure haf a funny sense of things. Maybe if you didn't take people und twist them into horrible monstrosities, you might haf more friends, ja?" Heinkel flicks a hand at the man-turned-sea-creature. "Or if you stopped feeding on sentients. People haf a vay of not liking that. I can't imagine vhy." "''Nein, nein''. I did not come here to kill you. Not today. You already haf me here, so I'm not losing anything by saying that I came here to scout." She rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth. "I mean, it's probably obvious anyvay that if I'm not actively trying to kill you, I'm here to gather information. Ja? Nothing personal, you understand." The toothpick points downward again, to the tune of a frown from Heinkel. "I haf a job to do. That's all." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "If confession could save me, we wouldn't be talking today." Adele answers mildly, moving on to further alter her subject's head. "And don't mistake my indifferent tone for a lack of care. You hurt one my familiars. I care about every last one of them, and if I wasn't sure Owan would be alright, I wouldn't have bothered giving you a chance." There's a mild undertone of anger, but it's fairly well hidden. "You call them horrible monstrosities, I call them works of art. They come to me because they're dying, and they know they can finish any unresolved business if they agree to become my ghouls." She points at the underwater creature she's woring on, "Look at Heinrich here, for example. His son died in an industrial accident twenty-five years ago. His grandson died in the trenches. When he learned of that, he wanted to ensure his great-granddaughter would be in good hands, but the growths in his lung were killing him." "But as much as I am grateful for them being here, and as much as I love them with all my heart..." Adele sighs, and looks away from Heinrich and towards Heinkel, "I can only save them by making them my loyal servants, and you simply cannot properly socialize with servants. The townsfolk are terrified of me, and the few visitors I get either want to see me dead or are making demands on behalf of the Kaiser." Then she adds, "But yes, I understand, nothing personal." In a tone of 'they all say that.' 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Ja, that's right, because it vouldn't be me coming here, if that vere the case." Heinkel rolls the toothpick to the other side of her mouth and chews on the end a little absently. The desire for a cigarette is almost overwhelming, but now is not the time. "I may be ordained, but I don't fulfill those duties very often." It's true, she's a terrible priest. She shrugs, coat rustling. Something in one of those pockets jingles to the tune of spare shells, but they're not in the pocket her other hand is in. "My duties as a paladin are usually priority. There are more priests than paladins." Reaching up and fiddling with the toothpick, Heinkel squints at the mistress as she tends to her work. She carefully avoids looking at the thing that was formerly Heinrich; she has no illusions that he is probably not really what she would consider 'people' any more. It's a lump of meat that happens to be growing a lovely selection of fins, spines, stingers, and however many eyes it has now. Heinkel swallows, hard, and hopes that her face isn't turning a bit green. She sure feels like it should be by now. Even paladins of Iscariot have their limits. "''Nein''. I don't agree vit that." Heinkel curls her lip around her toothpick, caught between disgust and real anger. "You said it yourself. They don't even haf the presence of mind to carry on a conversation. Who they vere ist gone vonce you're finished vit them." Plucking her toothpick from her mouth, she gestures somewhat angrily at Heinrich. "Ist there a 'Heinrich' left, there? Man vas created in the image of the Holy Father. Vhat you're doing is ''blasphemy''. Not only are you twisting them into these monstrosities, you're denying them entry into the Kingdom of Heaven. How can they go back to God if you trap them here? They're no better than ghouls. Und you're no better than those cheap knockoff vampires." "I think I'm done, here. Ja, my coming here vas nothing personal. But after seeing vhat it is you're doing in here, I haf half a mind to make it personal." Heinkel jams the toothpick back into her mouth with enough force to prick her gum; for once, she's so incensed over this that she's able to ignore the taste of blood in her mouth. She's almost trembling. "I almost vish I'd brought the C4." 

:'''{{#var:1041|Adele Rozenbach (1041)}} has posed:''' "Perhaps if God didn't want me to indulge in Blasphemy, He should not have made me an embodiment of Hell on Earth." Adele answers only that bit, apparently getting frustrated with this conversation herself. "I do think it's for the best that you leave now, and tell God that if he wants to give me a second chance, I'm listening." There seems to be no faith whatsoever that there will be such a second chance. She snaps her fingers briefly, and the servant opens the door. "Take miss Wolfe to the outer gate please, and do ensure that she departs. I prefer you don't use force, but don't allow her to dawdle." It seems Adele is done talking to Heinkel, getting back to work, though the back of her head starts bleeding for a moment, until an eye forms with which she can watch Heinkel, "Do close the door behind you?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' If the paladin notices the frustration creeping into Adele's tone, she doesn't comment on it. She remains silent throughout the response, still idly chewing on the end of the toothpick. It isn't until Adele sprouts an eye at the back of her head that there comes a tiny wooden ''snap'', and the toothpick hangs at a crazy enough angle to suggest it's been bitten clean in half. Come to think of it, Heinkel looks a little pale, although whether that's from discomfort, fear, or rage, it's hard to say. Probably a good helping of the first two, and a whole lot of the last one. Heinkel doesn't even say anything as she turns, coat flaring behind her with a rustle. She's through the doorway in the half-second it takes her to push off from the wall; the door slams shut with enough violence that it seems like it's going to vibrate right off its hinges. (It doesn't.) In that time she's already through the courtyard and walking, stiff-legged and angry, down the road for the woods. Adele's minions will be able to report that Heinkel takes her leave without wasting any time, and the sudden revving of a motorcycle engine in the distance suggests the paladin found her vehicle and proceeded to hit the road. Fast. 
}}

Hellsing-1

2016-12-03T05:51:55Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{CastPage |Desc=The supernatural lives just past the visible world, desperate for easy human prey. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, zombies, and other horrors lurk in the dark o..."

{{CastPage
|Desc=The supernatural lives just past the visible world, desperate for easy human prey. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, zombies, and other horrors lurk in the dark of night... and they're hungry.

Certain groups are aware of these threats, tasked with the solemn duty of defending humanity. On one side is the Hellsing Organisation. Based in London, Her Majesty's Royal Order of Protestant Knights fights fire with fire, led by Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, a woman of tremendous inner strength. On the other side is the Catholic Church and their many divisions. Section XIII, "Iscariot," works in secrecy to stamp out evil, heresy, and threats to their innocent flock where needed.

These two groups clash frequently in the course of duty, settling over time into an uneasy alliance against a third group: The mysterious Millennium Order, sowing chaos and violence in pursuit of a war to end all wars, seemingly three steps ahead of Hellsing and Iscariot.

Left unchecked, they might well destroy humanity itself.
|Cat=Themes
}}

4824/Requiem for a Corporation

2016-11-29T16:36:08Z

Hrimfaxi:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/28
|Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1>
|Synopsis=In the interest of acquiring more information on elements of Alexis Maaka's home world, Heinkel Wolfe calls the mercenary to Rome to discuss an upcoming operation with her.
|Cast of Characters=363, 571
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Winter's had a light touch over the mild, sunny Mediterranean. Where most of Europe is buried in snow there's barely been a dusting over St. Peter's Basilica. Tourism throughout Vatican City is booming as usual, while the sun shines, and the place turns into a ghost town when the stars come out. There are a number of plain, unmarked buildings not found on tourists' maps. One of these unmarked buildings is an apartment, and it's the coordinates to this building that were transmitted, with hefty encryption, to Alexis Maaka. On arrival, Maaka receives a languid bid to enter from inside, right before she reaches for the doorknob, whether to knock or open. Maybe there are cameras? Once the door opens it'll reveal a studio apartment. It looks like a place that isn't much lived in, with Spartan furnishings and windows left open to the night breeze. Despite the hour there are no lights on inside. There's also a lineup of houseplants crammed together on the tiny kitchen window's sill, shockingly healthy for a tenant who's never there. The only real touch of individuality in here is what looks to be a small Catholic altar set up at the far side of the room, with a cluster of candles burning softly beneath a crucifix. Heinkel herself is sprawled on the apartment's solitary couch, hands folded behind her head, legs crossed one over the other at the knee, one boot braced on the tiny coffee table. She's eschewed her coat for a grey halter top and black fatigue pants. Her iron cross rests conspicuously over her chest, gilded in orange candlelight, tied on its customary thong of leather. Despite the hour and the darkness, she has a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, which is either a really stupid fashion statement or a significant tell that something's not really normal with this woman. The German grins, visible only by reflected light from her teeth in the gloom. "Willkommen." Her head tilts, and Heinkel's head faces Maaka more directly. "I'd say 'to my humble abode,' but it's not really humble. Also, it's not really mine. I just borrow it, if you vant to be technical." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Rome is surprisingly sunny for winter time. Maaka hasn't been to Italy before in her world, but this is definitely much of an improvement. She's kept to the quieter streets even with the city as silent as it is at night, trying to make as little noise as possible as she tracks down Wolfe's apartment. She's caught off guard slightly when she's bid to enter upon arrival, but she opens the door regardless. On her head is a Santa hat, considering the season it's to be expected, and she's brought wine! It's good wine too, if Heinkel's inclined to drink that stuff. She isn't surprised to see such modest surroundings for Heinkel, she doesn't seem the type to splurge on her home anyways. Setting the bottle on the counter, she removes her coat, revealing she's kept those twin pistols sent from Iscariot, holstered at the small of her back. Those come off as well when she hangs up her gun belt, and the gloves follow suit. "Figured I'd bring a gift, Merry Christmas and all." She says, tapping the bottle. "So, schematics were what you wanted to discuss, right?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' The assassin's head tilts up just slightly, and the way it stays there for a few seconds suggests Heinkel might be starind blandly at the cheery red Santa hat. Eventually she shakes her head and flicks a hand at the door, gesturing for her guest to close it. Although her eyes aren't visible, she does seem to look at the label of the vintage for a long few seconds. Apparently deciding that it's acceptable, she pushes herself up off the couch, reaching for a very plain-looking cupboard to dig out two wine glasses. They're not even all that dusty. Leaving those on the table, she folds her arms, leaning her hip against the cupboard and tilting her head. "I don't drink too much, und it's vasted on me, but danke. I'll enjoy it." It's hard to get motivated about it when her body outprocesses alcohol faster than it has an effect on her. Regeneration's a pain in the butt. "I'm not much of a Christmas person, but I guess you can consider the pistols a gift." "That's right. I vant to know the ins and outs of the building." She gestures, folding her arms and raising one hand to push her sunglasses higher onto the bridge of her nose. "You haf a team you're bringing, but I'll be better served if I can infiltrate separate from the others. Sniping is my specialty, although I can handle myself in a firefight, too. If you haf targets that it vould be better to neutralise, I'd be better served pursuing those targets on the side vhile your noisier compatriots get everyone else's attention, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "They'll do, they're fine shooters since I modified the grips." Alexis nods, before she opens the bottle. She takes a moment to let the vintage breathe, as she pours herself and Heinkel a glass each. "Cheers." She doesn't really get drunk either unless she switches off her processors, and she keeps them on for the sake of practicality. Alcohol plus circuits tends to be nasty anyways, just as well she stays sober. As Heinkel says what she wants, Alexis gets to business. She produces a data pad from her belt, and a holographic display is brought up. The base forms in its entirety, before it zooms onto the entry point. "We're going in through the docks, I got contacts within the Sino-Coalition, China and friends basically, that are gonna be ferrying us in through submarine. We'll be going in through transport pods launched by torpedo just outside of radar range, and those will go too fast for them to lock down borders. We'll be in by the time they're trying to find out what happened." She explains, a diagram of three torpedo-like craft zooming through underwater patrols as a submarine scurries away. "I had an idea of splitting the team up, Team 1 will go with me to get the package and kill the project lead, Team 2 will be handling the diversion. The base is on a mountainside, which means if we move fast enough we can use the high ground against the on-site personnel. I've got ideas for who'll be on what team, but Team 2 could use you providing overwatch." A user friendly interface comes up, holographic icons that Heinkel can touch that translate into German for her to read easily. The icons lead to data entries for various weapons, the soldiers using them, unmanned drones, and other security measures. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' True to her word, Heinkel opts not to pour herself a glass of wine for the moment. It would be wasted on her. Instead, she rifles through her pockets, producing a cigarette and chrome lighter. The cigarette is lit, the lighter dropped back into her pocket, and her hands follow suit as she takes a generous draw. "Hunh." She crosses one leg over the other at the ankle, craning her neck to see the holographic torpedoes. "Hope none of the people you're bringing are claustrophobic. That might be a problem." She reaches out, fingers dancing over the floating icons. Despite technology leaps and bounds beyond the limits of her own world, she navigates it with relative ease and doesn't seem to get hung up on it. She's in full business mode, frowning as she studies the display and systematically flicking through weapons, soldiers, drones, and the building's layout and security measures. "Uh huh. So you vant me vatching over the team that's going to be making a lot of shit and noise for them. Vell, I guess I can do that, but I vork better if you haf a goal for me to pursue. I prefer to vork alone; I do most of my vork either alone, or in teams of two. Three, at the most." She frowns, rolling the cigarette to the other side of her mouth and exhaling a puff of smoke. "I guess I can vork vit that, though." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis takes a sip as she listens to Heinkel, nodding. "I pick my teammates carefully when I go on missions." She says. Heinkel will find a lot of interesting tidbits about the equipment soldiers use, especially weak points where the shoulder and arm meet the torso and gaps in the neck, where armor-piercing rounds will tear through. Robots also tend to be structurally weak around the joints and a few points around the torso area, in gaps between armor plating. Shooting them in the optic sensors will mess with their tracking too. "Your objective will be to take out priority targets onsite; officers mostly. There's a contingent of combat personnel on the base that are training intensely for winter warfare, which means they count on their armor to keep them alive in subarctic temperatures." Alexis says, taking a sip of wine whether or not it does anything. "That dome in the diagram can adapt to any climate, in this case it stays winter all year. You see those heating packs on the soldiers?" She points to the bulky packs in question, LED lights indicating they're in use. "Those are heating units socketed onto the armor of all personnel operating outside. Shooting there will leave them freezing within seconds, not a good way to go for most people." She says cooly. "But I wouldn't worry about that, Izunagi combat elite tend to get their neural cores extracted if not copied straight up, and implanted into new bodies. Hell, their issued shells aren't even their natural ones." She adds. Awful callous there, Alexis. "Anyway. Teams 1 and 2 will split up once we get here," The diagram briefly pulls up an umbilical leading from the storage facility to research, that also leads outside to a ridge line wrapping around the mountain. "Team 2, including you, will be busting through the umbilical tunnel and holding the fort on this ridge. You'll get ten minutes to set up any traps and dig in before they send in armor support and combat operatives. I wager their best troops will be sent after you guys, which means some of the local officers will be going in as well. They hire special forces veterans and mercenaries of high renown, which means taking them out will fuck up morale." She eyes that cigarette for a moment, before she produces a Cuban cigar and unwraps it, a clipping snipping off the end as she takes a sniff. "By the way, mind if I borrow your lighter?" asks Alexis, as she bites down on the other end of the stogie. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' The blonde arches a brow at the mercenary's explanation. Hopefully, this means that there won't be any trigger-happy glory hounds coming along, because there's no place for that kind of nonsense in a mission like this. The clock is going to be ticking. Folding her arms, she leans closer to study the corporate armour. The heating packs are also given a close look, exhaling a wreath of smoke through the hologram. "So cripple them in the snow, and then leave them for the cold. Can do that. The thermal packs look like they'll be nice, obvious targets. Easier than aiming for a ghoul's heart." "High ground. That's good." Heinkel lowers her cigarette, tapping it into a nearby ashtray on the table. "I can fight on low ground, but it's easier to pick off targets from on high. Ten minutes is more than I need to get my equipment set up." A hand is flicked at the sniper rifle in its case. It looks like a Dragunov SVD; too recent to be a proper antique, and not quite old enough to be obsolete. She at least takes excellent care of it. "As long as nobody gets in my vay vhile I'm making my preparations, that should be fine." She looks down, reaching into her pocket and tossing the lighter to Maaka. It's surprisingly heavy, chromed and etched with the seal of Section XIII on both sides. "Here." Catch. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis is certain she'll keep a hold on any ego going about on-site, but thankfully the team she's assembled might be able to police themselves. She catches the lighter without missing a beat, and lights up the cigar with a puff of her cheeks. The cigar has a pleasant smell to it, and Maaka makes a satisfied noise as she lights up. "Thanks," She mutters, handing the lighter back. "Yeah, I got a contact named Elise Leroy who'll be coming with us. She's a damn good shot, a goddamn artist with a sniper rifle. I'd be with you two, but I gotta be with Team 1." Shrug. "Anyhow. Devon-7 and that robot ninja guy...the non-cowboy one, will be mopping up hostiles in close-quarters. I also got Reina Kinney for tanking enemies, I may have room for a few of Elise's people as well. I trust XCOM not to fuck up, even if this isn't exactly fighting aliens. Reina on the other hand..." She makes a face and shrugs. Hopefully you got a suppressor you can use for that Dragonov, by the by. If not, I..." She pauses, and mentally goes through her inventory. Literally no less, she has a list of equipment in her manipulator thanks to databanks. "I'll be issuing PDWs with suppressors to anybody who lacks a means of stealth anyways, not like the movies where you're just invisible but they're useful regardless." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Hunh." Heinkel grunts in response to the thanks, taking the lighter back and dropping it into her pocket. Most of the time she prefers matches, but this apartment isn't stocked with anything. There's not even any food here. She glances back at the Dragunov. "Ja, I haf a suppressor," she adds, pulling a face. "Vhat kind of idiot vould I be if I didn't haf suppressors for all my equipiment? They von't hear anything. And I'm not stupid enough to hang about the area vonce I fire the first shot. Ghouls are von thing, but live targets... they'll be looking for vhere that first shot came from. I don't intend to let them find out." Returning to the cupboard, she leans her hip against it, comfortably, tapping ash into a second ashtray. She might not keep any food in the apartment, but there are at least ashtrays. "Nobody's invisible. But I haf every intention of getting as close to that as I can." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "No worries," Alexis grins. She pulls out a device that's meant to clip onto a belt. "Everyone who needs it will be wearing stealth gear, they come standard with optic camo that blends with the environment. May be a bit snug but they'll keep you warm." She nods as Heinkel confirms having the other gear. "Regardless, gear's not my issue, I'd be spoiling you guys but the Sinos tend to be stingy with their gear when they share with people. They maaaay ask for the suits back afterwards." She takes another puff on her cigar, enjoying the scent of tobacco. "You got any other questions since we're here? May as well, I try to be an open book when I'm working with comrades." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "I don't know if I'll need it, but it couldn't hurt to take it anyvay. Worth it just to keep from freezing." Heinkel folds her arms, letting her cigarette dangle from her lower lip a little. "I von't need to keep it, so I don't care about giving it back. If I vant to stay varm, I vear a coat. If I don't vant to be seen, I exercise a little common sense." One hand uncrosses to tap the side of her head with a forefinger. Her head turns to face the displays again, and she frowns. "Ja, I do, actually. They're going to be up in arms by the time ve're ready to get out, and they're not going to vant to let us go after vhat ve do in there." A hand is flicked vaguely at the display. "Vhat's our exit strategy going to be?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis nods. "It's also a wetsuit, so you may need it for this op." She says, before the data pad projects specs on the suits proper. They look like a mix between Colonel Snake's old sneaking suits and modern wetsuits, with web gear for holstering equipment. "I was gonna get to that." She says, before she produces a device from her manipulator. "It's a teleport beacon, links up to my ship. We'll be going to the furthest edge of the cliff peak before we teleport to the Crimson Spectre, my starship. By the time we're there we'll be off world and they won't know where we ran off to. Crazy, but it'll work." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' The paladin looks over the specs on the suit with some disdain, although it's easy to hide it when her eyes aren't visible. It's hard not to feel naked without her coat. It's more than a coat; it was a gift from Psyber, and it has all kinds of convenient features that can't be found in others, like hammerspace pockets and subtle enchantments that bring its weave up to the level of light armour. "Crazy, ja." Heinkel rubs at her jaw with one hand, speculative. "I don't know if I like trusting in something like that, but if that's vhat ve haf, then that's vhat ve haf. If you're sure they don't haf some vay to jam something like that, than I guess it's faster than anything else ve can use. And involves less blood." She rubs her jaw some more and eyes the schematics a little longer. The question is, would it be easier to snipe these targets from a comfortable distance, or would it be easier to go in close? There are a few options she could entertain, but can she trust herself to fight up close without repercussions? Heinkel eventually shrugs, stubbing the remnants of her cigarette into the ashtray, and neatly lighting herself another without any apparent guilt. "I think that's about all I haf for now. You got any questions yourself? Now's as good a time as any for that kind of thing, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "Gonna only work once, so we may as well make it count." Alexis says, shrugging. She has a similar coat, albeit without the benefit of hammerspace pockets. Those pockets do make hiding an SMG or a sawed-off shotgun easy however, which is nice. She thinks, as she's questioned about questions, before she finally speaks, exhaling smoke. "Only one; How long have you been working for the Church? I can't imagine you to be green in any way, shape, or form that's for sure." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Never mind that the coat is stylish, and works well as a substitute for a priest's robe. In most cases, that's exactly how she wears it, with her starched collar sticking up from beneath the coat's collar. It's a lot easier to carry things around that way without having to worry about cargo space or being too conspicuous. "Hunh." Sighing, she glances at the schematic. "You know, if someone told me five years ago I'd be teleporting around like something out of that von American sci-fi television programme, I'd haf told them they're delusional. Alright, so that's our exit strategy. It vorks. At least, it had better vork." Folding her arms, Heinkel taps ash from the second cigarette before taking another unhurried drag. She seems to consider the question for a few minutes, rolling the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other as though in contemplation. "Iscariot? Hunh." She frowns, as though doing some mental math. "I actually hafen't thought about that too much... I think I vas thirty... nein, that's not enough time." Heinkel snorts smoke. "It vas eleven years ago, I think." "Ja. Eleven years ago." Curiously, she doesn't look a day over thirty. "I vas a professional mercenary before they recruited me. A lot of Iscariots vere raised by the church, but not me." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis laughs, "Yeah, this coming from the cyborg. Even my world doesn't have that kind of tech yet, we're still trying to crack the folding space...you know what, never mind." She says, taking the cigar out of her mouth briefly. She nods as Heinkel explains herself, thinking. "Yeah, I've been doing this for about fourteen years or so. I'm 27 now, so I was thirteen when they made me...well, let's just say puberty was interesting. I had a couple shells before this one, mostly upgrading if not outright replacing components of myself. I guess it's kind of the same thing, in a fucked up way." She muses, shrugging. "Where'd you work before you joined Iscariot, if I may ask? Had no idea you were the mercenary sort, figured you as a professional regardless, possibly military." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Twenty-seven?" Heinkel raises a brow, raising her cigarette for another draw. She seems to study the mercenary for a few minutes, as though she were running some kind of mental calculations, or maybe sizing her up in light of new information. "Hunh." She folds her arms once she returns the cigarette to her mouth, idly tapping forefingers against the opposite forearm. "I didn't haf a job vit the military. I vas a professional assassin, and I did most of my vork for competing criminal elements. I vas recruited by Iscariot a little later." She splays the fingers of one hand, as though ticking off some mental math on them. "I had my first contract vhen I vas sixteen, although I could've done the vork before that. That's just vhen they trusted me to do the vork." "I vas shot on a job ten years after that, here und here." She points to a spot just below her ribs on the right side, and then the opposite hip. "I vas in pretty bad shape; and I'm pretty sure I vould haf died if I hadn't managed to find sanctuary in the nearest church. It vas in Brugge, in Brussels; the sisters took me in and called in a doctor-friend to pull out the bullets und sew me back up." She leans back against the cupboard, twisting and stubbing out the remnants of the second cigarette. This time she doesn't light another. "They vere able to rehabilitate me, mostly, so I put my rifle avay and decided to take care of the grounds and garden for them. Early retirement. I vasn't interested in going out there and getting shot again, because next time whoever vanted me dead vasn't going to miss." "As for Iscariot... that vas about ten years ago, give or take. I vas still valking vit a cane vhen Chief, I mean Bishop Enrico Maxvell, approached me the first time. I turned him down, so he sent Father Alexander Anderson. I relented and accepted their offer." She frowns, as though mentally checking her numbers. "I vas... about your age, actually; a little younger. I've been vit them since. Technically, I ''do'' haf the credentials of a priest, too, but it's more appropriate to say I'm a paladin. A varrior of God." She shrugs. "It's not glamourous vork, but then again, that's not vhat I signed up for. Iscariot doesn't even exist, officially. Ve hunt down and dispatch threats to our flock of the faithful. It might be freaks von day, or ghouls the next; although I hafen't heard of anyvon killing any verevolfs lately." Heinkel scratches at her jaw. "In fact I'm not sure if there are any of those left." "Anyvay, some people might look at my past history and think I haf no ties to the church, but that's not true, either. I just don't haf the same... zeal... as Chief, or Father Anderson." She shrugs. "It vould be a mistake to say that I don't beliefe in vhat I'm doing." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis listens intently, rolling the cigar around in her mouth as she listens. "You were a busy one, that's for sure." She muses quietly, folding her arms. Her eyes make small whirring sounds, it's creepy how they bridge the gap between cybernetic optics and realistic eyes, as they autofocus. "I can't imagine you settling down to be honest. I guess you got lucky they had a place for you after all." She says, looking where Heinkel points. It's weird, Maaka can't really point to any one place she's been injured where it mattered, maybe a lost arm or getting shot with a high-velocity rifle, but she only has faint scars now. "What we do isn't supposed to be glamorous. We're the people who get the job done, no pomp and circumstance. Just the way I prefer it, myself." She muses. "When I look at you, I don't doubt for a second you believe in what you're doing, regardless of zeal or no." She offers a faint smile, before she puffs the cigar. "Anyhow. I guess, I guess I must raise a lot of questions just by existing...and I don't get a chance to talk about myself often either." Shrug. "Though honestly that might be better explained when we got everyone around for the briefing." She says. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' Heinkel shifts to lean against the wall, folding her hands behind her head. If she's unsettled by the mechanical nature of the eyes, she doesn't comment on it at all; the fact that her own eyes are completely hidden is probably not really comforting for Maaka, either. Neither does she seem to have any trouble whatsoever seeing anything – her motions aren't cautious at all, and she had no trouble reading Maaka's diagnostics. "Busy? Nein, nein. Busy would haf been taking jobs vhile I vas recovering. I probably should haf been a cripple, but those sisters had some good contacts." The scar aren't visible under her clothing, and she doesn't seem to exhibit any particular weakness when it comes to the old wounds. What's visible is a broad splash of scar tissue over the left side of her neck. It looks suspiciouly like a bite mark from jaws that must have been truly gargantuan, and the sheer area covered looks like it should have been a lethal wound. Heinkel raises a hand to rub at the paled, knotted flesh absently in unconscious gesture. "Hunh." "Settling down? I vouldn't mind so much. This kind of vork is exhausting, even if there's no von else to do it... but you're right. I'd get stir-crazy after a few years, probably." The blonde folds her other arm, elbow braced against hip, still rubbing at that broad stripe of scar. "Didn't haf much choice, back vhen I vas put out of commission. I couldn't haf fired a gun even if I vanted to. I could barely valk even vit a cane." Heinkel flashes that sharp-edged grin, thumbing at the plants on the window sill. "Got pretty handy vit plants, though. Don't need to vorry about them up and running off on you." "Really? Some people at me and they still see just a mercenary." With a half-smile, she lets her hand drop from the scar at her neck, folding her arms. "Not that I care. I do vhat I do, vit or vitout their input... and not really. Ve don't haf that kind of technology here, but I hear it's a thing that happens in the Union." She points to indicate Maaka's ocular lenses. "Cyborgs. Our technology's not quite there, but ve haf machinery meant to vork in the body. Devices for keeping a steady heartbeat, and that sort of thing. Prosthetics for those who've lost their limbs to accident or injury." She waves her cigarette to underscore her point. She shrugs. "Vhat you haf is leaps and bounds ahead of the technology of my vorld, but I could see it happening, in a few decades, maybe." Heinkel eyes the mercenary speculatively. "I vouldn't go for it, myself, but to each his own. But ve're a little touchy about vhat ve consider human and vhat ve don't." She grins that mirthless grin, eyes still blocked by the lenses. "After all, half of us are like monsters." "Some people might think ve're the monsters. Ist that true?" That grin widens into something altogether more predatory; an expression that wouldn't be too alien to a wolf that just cornered a rabbit. "Maybe." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis looks over Heinkel, especially glancing at the scar she sees brief glimpses of. She seems more curious as to how Heinkel is pulling off the 'face masked in shadow' thing, than being worried at the lack of seeing her eyes. "Well, I wouldn't be opposed to retirement either, maybe in a few years. I don't see myself settling down until I'm in my forties, honestly, but as long as I get maintenance, I'm pretty sure I'll be living a lonnnnng time." She thinks, before she quirks a brow. "How'd they fix you if you were that badly injured?" "I...let's just say what the Izunagi did to me wasn't by choice. They took away my old life, blamed terrorists, and turned me into a killing machine. I found out when I was twenty-three, and just...I dunno, I did a lot of damage to them before I bailed entirely. I went dark, before I went to Hong Kong and got work there, as a mercenary for the reigning boss Zhen-Zhen Zhang." She sits back, looking both wistful and melancholic at the same time as she thinks back. "You'll get to meet Zhang in time, everyone will. She's...she kind of helped me get on my feet, taught me to always be looking for the next job. Guess working for her gave me some perspective, otherwise I'd have gone crazy and got cornered by the Izunagi's SAINT unit." The grin Heinkel gives makes her blood chill briefly, but she doesn't seem to disagree. "I'm used to being seen as the monster myself, I know the feeling. I guess it doesn't matter long as people like us do what we can for something productive, even if we're too busy doing black ops. I like what I do, long as I got a cause behind it. The Union might've gotten to me after all, if not people like Kotone and Rory." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "I'll consider myself lucky if I live that long." Heinkel shows her teeth again, cigarette pinched between her canines. "I vas never really expecting to make it past thirty, to be honest. I might actually hit forty, and that's pretty surreal to me. Von of these days, it'll all catch up to me, I'm sure." She stubs the end of her cigarette in the ashtray but doesn't quite put it out, looking out the window again. "Surgery," she offers, shrugging. "Lots und lots of surgery. They had to get the bullets out somehow, and that doctor friend of theirs vas really good at her job, and villing to vork vitout asking too many questions. Then they had to do more surgery, because the bullets had done a lot of damage. I'd lost a lot of blood by the time I got to the church itself." "Right here." She reaches down, pulling the edge of her halter top up to show a round scar just under her ribs, faded and white. She thumbs the waistband of her fatigues down to show the matching scar at her hip, which looks like it was considerably more severe. "I could haf had it vorse. They missed my head, and they missed my heart, and there vasn't any serious nerve damage. If they'd taken out an eye or my hand or my arm, that vould haf been it for my sort of vork. 'Course, if they'd hit me in the eye, I'd probably be dead anyvay." She's not superhuman, despite the appearances of certain associates of hers. Anderson is an exception to the general rule. Her arms return to folding. "Sounds tough," she says, though not without sympathy. "At least you vere able to take control of your own life. Maybe you'll haf a chance to meet some of Iscariot's paladins. My usual partner is Yumiko Takagi, and Yumie; von's a mild-mannered nun, and the other is a berserker. Nobody else has the patience to deal vit the latter." "I guess I should mention they're the same person," she adds, with that toothy grin. "Yumie has vhat they call disassociative identity disorder. Yumiko's a pacifist and Yumie throws herself into the bloody mess right by my side. More so, in fact. She vields a katana. It gets messy." Fingers drum against the opposite forearm. "She vas raised in Vales, from vhat I can tell, but she's Japanese by descent. Yumiko vears glasses; Yumie doesn't. I can influence vhich of the two is avake. Yumie and Yumiko both respect me; I see them as two different personalities, and they appreciate not being trivialised as a 'disorder' or a 'fluke.'" She tilts her head, the directness of her stare betraying where her eyes are – she's looking directly at Maaka. "Zhang sounds like an interesting character. Chances are I'fe known some paladins like that," she muses. "SAINT? Heh." The paladin snorts. "Cute acronym, but I bet they haf no connection to anything even remotely pious. It really pisses me off vhen people use that kind of symbolism in vain. People are going to do vhat they're going to do, but... God, it's so tasteless and pretentious." Folding her arms behind her head again, she leans back against the wall, as at ease there as if she were sitting on the couch. Her head remains pointed straight at Maaka for a few long moments, as though she were considering something. "Guess I haf von more thing I should probably share..." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "Yeah, the Izunagi tends to be pretty pretentious. It's Special Augmented...fuck it, I don't even care anymore what it means." Alexis makes a face. "But yeah, they're only still kicking because their cybernetics tech is something everyone needs and wants, they're monopolizing the whole thing." She puffs on her cigar again, and grins. "You'll like Zhang. She's...she's a very special case of Triad, I'll say that much. Long as folks pay their taxes, she tends to be pretty protective of her people, and her reach is pretty far across Hong Kong. I'd know, she's had me kick doors down to deal with the pricks who thought they could horseplay with her girls and get away with it. She used to be the mistress of the last guy that ran her organization, and even then she'd borne six kids, and was already helping him run the outfit up until a car bomb maimed her, and killed him." Puff puff. "Her revenge was...'colorful' to say the least. For a gangster, she's a fan of the old fashioned wrath of God type of stuff when it comes to personal vendettas." Before she gets off-track, Alexis stops herself, and cocks an eyebrow as she stubs her cigar in a tray, assuming there is one. "What's up, Wolfe?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Our Sections are named after the apostles." Heinkel stubs her cigarette around the ashtray, head dropped as though to watch. "The vons I vork vit most are Section III, John, in charge of information distribution and suppression, and Section II, Matthew, in charge of retrieving relics of the Church. They catalogue, store, and requisition out relics as they're needed, vhich sometimes they are." Lifting her cigarette, Heinkel drawing the last of it and carefully stubbing the remainder out with slow deliberation. "You'll probably meet some of them, at some point, if they continue to haf me vorking jobs vit multiversal help." The paladin steps away from the cupboard, facing Maaka fully once the smoke fades away. "I'll be right back." With that, she trudges over to the small bathroom, and emerges a few minutes later in an appropriately fuzzy bathrobe, feet bare, still tying the sash off as she heads for the windows and flips the blinds closed on each one. "Stay vhere you're sitting. And try not to make any noise. This apartment building isn't even supposed to exist," she adds, dryly. "I von't hurt you, and I haf full control of vhat I'm about to do." With that, apartment plunged into total darkness but for the candles, she pulls off her sunglasses and sets them on the cupboard. When she turns around to face Maaka again, the eyes that peer out from her face look more suited to a cat or beast than a human's – the pupils are round, but they throw back candlelight in far more measure than a human's should. It's more accurate to say they reflect than to say that they shine; catching the candlelight and flaring blue-white, perfect crescents of irises in the gloom. Heinkel grins. And something in her seems subtly different. Something changes; then, in the blink of an eye, form blurring and hunching over. The bathrobe flutters to the floor, and standing over it— A wolf, stepping delicately over the robe, claws clicking on the floor, and settling down with all the fastidiousness of a cat, ears perked forward, head cocked slightly, those same blue-white eyes flaring in the candlelight and fixed firmly on Maaka. Heinkel somehow manages to bare her teeth, tongue lolling. ''I told you I work better alone.'' Her mouth never moves, and there's no voice to speak of, but her intent is somehow clear all the same. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis cocks an eyebrow. I guess that would make sense, now that she thinks about it. At the least this makes a good refresher for the whole religion thing. "I look forward to meeting the gang, at this rate. Should be interesting." She says, before she watches Heinkel walk off. Crimson brows raise as Heinkel returns in a bathrobe, and she tilts her head, but remains still and silent as the grave. Thankfully she doesn't scare easily, as Heinkel can tell with what comes next. Then Heinkel shapeshfits. Maaka's eyes widen, but she keeps the cigar in her mouth, and suddenly before her very eyes Wolfe becomes an actual wolf. It's nowhere near like the movies, not even the ones where the transformation is horrifying and painful looking. She doesn't' dare break eye contact, and she stays stone still regardless. "...wow." she whispers, awed and visibly surprised at the same time. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' There's no pain to the transformation, and no apparent discomfort. It happens easily and smoothly, like slipping on a pair of favourite blue jeans. The change is quick, too; too quick to see any details in the instant between the bathrobe falling and the woman dropping down to her hands and knees. Hands and knees become paws, hard paws with short claws and leathery pads. The snout is blunt, with too much of a broad muzzle and Roman nose to be mistaken for a dog. Never mind her size – even for a wolf, she's massive, with muscle beneath the hide, and fur of a colour somewhere between ruddy and sandy, a few shades darker than her hair. Only the eyes are the same, that blue hue just a few shades shy of blind white. When she stands, she's at least four feet tall, and looks solid despite a fluffy winter coat; enough to knock someone down, and do serious damage with those teeth. Heinkel grins, red tongue lolling. ''See, this is why I love the multiverse. You learn something new every day.'' She shuts her jaws, standing and padding closer to Maaka. ''My eyes are better the other way, but I have to have those lenses. I can see in daylight like this, but my eyes aren't as good. I can't see any colours right now, and it's hard to focus when things aren't moving.'' She sits down again, fastidious as a cat, tail curling loosely around a hind leg. ''I can smell and hear better than any human, though. It's been this way for seven years. Iscariot never gave up on me, even when I became one of the very things we're sworn to kill, and that's why I'll never give up on them.'' ''By the way, as far as you know, you're just hallucinating. This doesn't exist any more than Iscariot does. Even to Iscariot, what I am is a closely-guarded secret. Yumie, Father Anderson, and Bishop Maxwell are the only ones who know about it. There weren't any witnesses when I was attacked.'' Her ears flick back. ''And there weren't any witnesses when I changed except for Yumie and Father Anderson.'' ''If I can get in there alone, I can deal with your targets and neutralise them. It'll be much faster if you send me in alone, to a tertiary target if necessary. Nobody else has a nose like mine, and nobody else can hear them breathing like I can.'' 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "I feel special." Alexis says, keeping her cool to an admirable extend as she watches the wolf before her stand on hind legs. She's surprised Iscariot hadn't dealt with her, but then again, it'd be a waste of a perfectly good asset; Helps that being a wolf tends to have their own uses anyways. She imagines Heinkel's senses are very improved in this form, if they're not like that anyways. "Alright, then. I'm convinced. If you have a shot, I want you taking out any officers you see, whether with fang or bullet. They won't see a wolf coming, that's for sure." She says calmly. "There's one guy on-site who'll relish a chance to get some action; A Commander Rossovich. He's former Spetsnaz and a real piece of work, you'll know when you see him." She says, before on cue, the holographic display reveals a profile of the Russian. He's forty-something, with icy blue eyes and platinum blond hair, a real Aryan ideal if not for his Russian background. His cybernetic enhancements are evident by the glow of his blue eyes, and also footage of him swiftly and viciously clearing rooms personally along with his subordinates, assault rifle blazing as he tracks targets through walls and shreds, ripping one unfortunate insurgent through thin drywall and concrete. His armor's distinctive, with a sickle in lieu of a combat knife as well as red and white stripes. "His unit's the one that's currently posted in the facility, handling security when they're not training in the dome. They're hardcore, to say the least." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' ''Don't fool yourself.'' Heinkel opens her jaws, showing her teeth, though the slant of her eyes suggests it's more of a languid expression. A sardonic half-smile, if she still had human features. ''I'm only showing you this because the mongrel's bound to be out of the bag sooner rather than later. My ability to track targets is superior in this form. And it would be less of a risk to fall back on this for your mission than not.'' The smile vanishes, and she licks her nose in distinctly lupine gesture. ''This is what I am, now. Seven years ago, I was bitten by a lycanthrope. I won't say 'werewolf.' Even those Protestant fools in Hellsing think there aren't any of those left.'' She can't help a grin, showing teeth again. ''This still has its uses. And this is still a liability.'' ''Very well. I'll track this Rossovich.'' She licks her nose again, one ear swivelling forward and the other back as she considers. ''If they're handling security, they're bound to be bored between training drills. If they're bored between training drills, and if they're half as bloodthirsty as that footage suggests, then manipulating them should be easy.'' That blunt muzzle drops, and tiny whiskers stand out as the candlelight catches them. There's a slight frosting of grey around her nose, but it seems to be more natural colouration than any sign of age. Licking her chops, she considers what she's read of the facility, and the footage she was just shown. ''I'll see if I can isolate him. Damn shame you can't store olfactory data on that device of yours. If I were familiar with his scent, I could know ahead of time.'' ''Whatever. It's not a problem.'' Bowing and stretching, she stands again, and in the blink of an eye she's shifted again, scooping up the robe and shrugging into it with a practised motion. By the time there's any time to register what's happened, she's already tying the sash again. She opens a drawer on the cupboard, reaching for another cigarette and lighting it with another lighter stashed in the drawer. Dropping the lighter onto the cupboard surface next to her sunglasses, she glances back at Maaka, arching a brow. "Oh, and don't turn the lights on." She taps a finger at the corner of her eyes, which flash as the candlelight catches them. "It's something of a problem. I vas always light-sensitive, but vhen I was cursed, it got bad enough that I haf to haf special lenses if there's much light. I can deal vit moonlight and candlelight, and it doesn't bother me as much in that form. But like this, I guess it's a trade-off." "Vell," she says, puffing on her cigarette, "that, and controlling the beast. Father Anderson's the reason I'm not just another slavering rabid monster to be put down by Iscariot. But it's a constant tug-of-var. The part of me that turned into that thing... it isn't human. It isn't me. I can feel it in my head, sometimes; in my heart. I constantly haf to prove to it that I'm the stronger von." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Aleixs shrugs. "I'm the girl who won't say squat. NDAs are what they are, and the Iscariot sent me plenty of those when I got signed up for this little contract." She says calmly. She taps her chin, before she snaps her fingers. "He does like his vodka, if you're familiar with the scent. Might be strong enough for you to smell through his helmet if you can, though he does go without the mask. Macho bullshit, really. He likes to dare his enemies to take a shot at him, and considering the climate it's a show of how augmented he is." She tries to let Heinkel have her modesty, looking away as she shifts back and ties her robe back on, only turning back when she knows the Paladin's back in human form again. "Anderson sounds like a hard case, if what I hear about him is true. I'd hate to be in his way on a hunt." She remarks. "The fact you're still sane says it all about your will, if you ask me." Standing to her feet, she stubs out the cigar and finishes her wine. The rest can be saved for later, assuming Heinkel ever invites company. "You can keep that data pad, by the way, or I can send you a copy of the files for future study." Alexis offers. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Tracking a single man or voman because they happen to drink vodka is like telling me to track a single drop of vater through the ocean," Heinkel scoffs. "I'll do my best, but I'll probably haf better luck vonce I actually see him. If I'm that close, I can smell vhat ''he'' smells like." Heinkel taps the side of her nose. "I can't really explain it to somevon who hasn't got that frame of reference, unfortunately, but everybody has a scent. You, me... though you smell more... artificial, to me, if that makes any sense." "Doesn't vear his helmet?" Heinkel smiles. It's not a pretty expression. "That just makes my job easier. If I can pick him off, I vill; if I can't, I'll get in close." And tear his throat out, is the unspoken implication. "Either vay, he's going to be considerate enough to give me an advantage." She tilts her head slightly. Anderson? "Hard case? Maybe, if you happen to be a blood-drinking creature of the night. He von't haf any mercy, as vell he shouldn't. Those kinds of things can't be reasoned vit, partly because some of them don't haf a brain any more, and anyvay, he's... a fair bit more dedicated than most." "I don't trust anyvon more at my back, though." She reaches up to scratch at the back of her head, brows furrowed. "I'm vondering vhat kind of fires Iscariot must be dealing vit. I hafen't heard from him for a vhile, or Yumie, either. They're both assigned somevhere else. Ve'fe been trying to track down who or vhat is churning out these freak chips." Her arms fold, and she shakes her head. "Danke. But it is vhat it is. Either I keep my sanity, or Father Anderson might as vell put a bayonet through my throat. I vouldn't haf it any other vay." Wait. Bayonets? "Datapad? You can keep it." Heinkel waves a hand, dismissive. "Send me a copy. Hard copy, if you can arrange that. That's a little more in line vit vhat I'm used to." The paladin pads over to the windows, flicking open the blinds and letting the breeze and the starlight back in. Once that's done, she pads back over to the couch, plopping down on the other side and lacing her fingers behind her head and letting her eyes fall to half-mast. "Rossovich. Send me vhatever dossier you happen to haf on hand of him and his men, too." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' "Yeah, I remember the village." Alexis says. She saw the results, dead walking everywhere and an artificial vampire pulling the strings. SHe's still questioning that part. A chip that makes vampires? The hell kind of stuff is that? "In any case, the bastard's not exactly known for subtlety either. Rossovich is known as the Butcher of Bangkok, and he's proud of that fact. He and his unit have been getting cocky for the last few years, and it's gonna catch up to them. I'd be happy to give you a clear shot at him, just to see the look on his face when you rip his throat out." She says, tone ice cold as she retrieves the data pad. "I'll send what you need to know over fax machine if you can access one. My software's adaptable but I'm more used to digital files myself, sorry." She raises an eyebrow, before she shrugs a shoulder. "Well, if he hasn't put you down, you're doing something right." She goes to retrieve her gun belt and coat, before she looks behind her. "I'll be thorough in the profile, believe me on that." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Ja. Now imagine that, only orders of magnitude bigger, because that's vhat's going to happen if ve can't put a stop to this nonsense." Heinkel closes her eyes, and for a brief instant she seems somehow more vulnerable; scarred and exhausted. It's gone as soon as her eyes snap open again in determined expression. "Ve haf some leads in South America. Ve think that's vhere the goods are coming from. Right now I'm vaiting on intel from our Section III operatives, and vonce it's ready..." Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on her knees, head hung low. "Cocky. That's good. Sorry, but I don't plan on letting the Volf do it unless I haf no other choice. The more I dance that death-dance, the harder it is to stuff the bloodthirsty bastard back in a jar, if you know vhat I mean. The last thing you vant to haf to deal vit is me losing my mind in the middle of a mission." Heinkel wrinkles her nose, glaring at the candlelit altar on the other side of the room. "It von't be easy if that happens. So no. I von't rip his throat out unless I haf no other choice. I'm going to put a bullet in his eye if I haf half a chance to." "It's faster, in any case, and there's less chance of something getting blown all to hell." She pulls herself upright again with a grunt, knees crackling and hip popping. Apparently she's still a little creaky after her brush with death; but it's late at night, and maybe it can be forgiven by the hour. "Ja. I can get to a fax machine. I'll send a number to your frequency." Her head tilts, fixing Maaka with a flat look from those eerily pale, photoreflective eyes. They flash with every subtle shift of the eyes, and the light they throw out makes it even more obvious. "For now. I haf enough sense to know that could change at any time. Don't get me wrong; I don't vant to become a monster, and I don't vant to die. But I know that I'm valking a tightrope, and vill be for the rest of my life." "If it comes down to choosing between hafing to put me down and saving innocent lives, I'm going to choose the latter, every time." Resuming her place by the cupboard, she leans against it, folding her arms and tucking her hands into the robe's long sleeves. It looks like Turkish cotton, superior to any hotel standard-issue; its fine Baltic craftsmanship suggests it's one of the few things in this apartment that actually does belong to Heinkel. "But... danke." "Good." She lifts her chin, fixing Maaka with a reflective stare. "Be thorough. Anything that helps me track the quarry vill be helpful; the more thorough you can be, the faster I can put Rossovich down. The faster I can put Rossovich down, the faster ve can get done and get out of there." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:''' Alexis is already compiling a report for Heinkel to browse later; Troop strength, tactics, equipment preferences, specializations per unit, that sort of thing. She nods, before she checks her Iscariot-issued guns. "See if you can keep me informed about the Freak thing, that might be a problem in the future. I'll do what I can to help solve it. Not my speciality dealing with vampires, but it's still assassination, and ''that'' I can do." She holsters both guns, letting her coat drape over them and hide the sidearms entirely from behind, and she heads for the door, coat trailing behind her stylishly. "I'll let you know when it's time for the mission, until then keep in touch. Take care of yourself, Wolfe. I hate to cut and run early, but I do have a busy schedule. Nagato wants me for something in the next few days, so that's a thing." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:''' "Ja, I'll keep you informed." Heinkel flicks a hand almost dismissively. "Iscariot has you on retainer until ve can clear up some of this issue, so as soon as I learn something, so vill you. Right now, I hafen't learned anything. So neither haf you." She sighs, almost morosely. The waiting is the hardest part. She looks up. "Nothing special to keep in mind, aside from 'shoot it in the head or heart,' and 'don't let it bite you.' They just move faster than your average super-soldier." The fact that ghoul armies are basically self-replicating masses is pretty horrifying. Any army that fights an infestation of ghouls unprepared is only throwing fuel onto the proverbial fire. "Ja. I'll be in touch, too." The paladin reaches up and rubs at one eye, before reaching for her sunglasses and putting them back on the bridge of her nose. It looks a little silly in a cotton bathrobe, but she doesn't seem to care. "If I hear anything from Section III, I'll forvard it over to you as soon as I can." She pads over to the door as Maaka makes her way out, offering a lazy wave to the retreating mercenary. "Valk vit God," she adds, grinning from her door. "Be seeing you." 
}}

4824/Requiem for a Corporation

2016-11-29T04:23:43Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/28 |Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1> |Synopsis=In the interest of acquiring more information on elements of Alexis Maaka's home world, Hein..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/28
|Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1>
|Synopsis=In the interest of acquiring more information on elements of Alexis Maaka's home world, Heinkel Wolfe calls the mercenary to Rome to discuss an upcoming operation with her.
|Cast of Characters=363, 571
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Winter's had a light touch over the mild, sunny Mediterranean. Where most of Europe is buried in snow there's barely been a dusting over St. Peter's Basilica. Tourism throughout Vatican City is booming as usual, while the sun shines, and the place turns into a ghost town when the stars come out.   There are a number of plain, unmarked buildings not found on tourists' maps. One of these unmarked buildings is an apartment, and it's the coordinates to this building that were transmitted, with hefty encryption, to Alexis Maaka.   On arrival, Maaka receives a languid bid to enter from inside, right before she reaches for the doorknob, whether to knock or open. Maybe there are cameras?   Once the door opens it'll reveal a studio apartment. It looks like a place that isn't much lived in, with Spartan furnishings and windows left open to the night breeze. Despite the hour there are no lights on inside. There's also a lineup of houseplants crammed together on the tiny kitchen window's sill, shockingly healthy for a tenant who's never there.   The only real touch of individuality in here is what looks to be a small Catholic altar set up at the far side of the room, with a cluster of candles burning softly beneath a crucifix.   Heinkel herself is sprawled on the apartment's solitary couch, hands folded behind her head, legs crossed one over the other at the knee, one boot braced on the tiny coffee table. She's eschewed her coat for a grey halter top and black fatigue pants. Her iron cross rests conspicuously over her chest, gilded in orange candlelight, tied on its customary thong of leather.   Despite the hour and the darkness, she has a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, which is either a really stupid fashion statement or a significant tell that something's not really normal with this woman. The German grins, visible only by reflected light from her teeth in the gloom.   "Willkommen." Her head tilts, and Heinkel's head faces Maaka more directly. "I'd say 'to my humble abode,' but it's not really humble. Also, it's not really mine. I just borrow it, if you vant to be technical." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Rome is surprisingly sunny for winter time. Maaka hasn't been to Italy before in her world, but this is definitely much of an improvement. She's kept to the quieter streets even with the city as silent as it is at night, trying to make as little noise as possible as she tracks down Wolfe's apartment.     She's caught off guard slightly when she's bid to enter upon arrival, but she opens the door regardless. On her head is a Santa hat, considering the season it's to be expected, and she's brought wine! It's good wine too, if Heinkel's inclined to drink that stuff.     She isn't surprised to see such modest surroundings for Heinkel, she doesn't seem the type to splurge on her home anyways.     Setting the bottle on the counter, she removes her coat, revealing she's kept those twin pistols sent from Iscariot, holstered at the small of her back. Those come off as well when she hangs up her gun belt, and the gloves follow suit. "Figured I'd bring a gift, Merry Christmas and all." She says, tapping the bottle. "So, schematics were what you wanted to discuss, right?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The assassin's head tilts up just slightly, and the way it stays there for a few seconds suggests Heinkel might be starind blandly at the cheery red Santa hat. Eventually she shakes her head and flicks a hand at the door, gesturing for her guest to close it.   Although her eyes aren't visible, she does seem to look at the label of the vintage for a long few seconds. Apparently deciding that it's acceptable, she pushes herself up off the couch, reaching for a very plain-looking cupboard to dig out two wine glasses. They're not even all that dusty.   Leaving those on the table, she folds her arms, leaning her hip against the cupboard and tilting her head. "I don't drink too much, und it's vasted on me, but danke. I'll enjoy it." It's hard to get motivated about it when her body outprocesses alcohol faster than it has an effect on her. Regeneration's a pain in the butt. "I'm not much of a Christmas person, but I guess you can consider the pistols a gift."   "That's right. I vant to know the ins and outs of the building." She gestures, folding her arms and raising one hand to push her sunglasses higher onto the bridge of her nose. "You haf a team you're bringing, but I'll be better served if I can infiltrate separate from the others. Sniping is my specialty, although I can handle myself in a firefight, too. If you haf targets that it vould be better to neutralise, I'd be better served pursuing those targets on the side vhile your noisier compatriots get everyone else's attention, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "They'll do, they're fine shooters since I modified the grips." Alexis nods, before she opens the bottle. She takes a moment to let the vintage breathe, as she pours herself and Heinkel a glass each. "Cheers." She doesn't really get drunk either unless she switches off her processors, and she keeps them on for the sake of practicality.     Alcohol plus circuits tends to be nasty anyways, just as well she stays sober.     As Heinkel says what she wants, Alexis gets to business. She produces a data pad from her belt, and a holographic display is brought up. The base forms in its entirety, before it zooms onto the entry point. "We're going in through the docks, I got contacts within the Sino-Coalition, China and friends basically, that are gonna be ferrying us in through submarine. We'll be going in through transport pods launched by torpedo just outside of radar range, and those will go too fast for them to lock down borders. We'll be in by the time they're trying to find out what happened." She explains, a diagram of three torpedo-like craft zooming through underwater patrols as a submarine scurries away.     "I had an idea of splitting the team up, Team 1 will go with me to get the package and kill the project lead, Team 2 will be handling the diversion. The base is on a mountainside, which means if we move fast enough we can use the high ground against the on-site personnel. I've got ideas for who'll be on what team, but Team 2 could use you providing overwatch."     A user friendly interface comes up, holographic icons that Heinkel can touch that translate into German for her to read easily. The icons lead to data entries for various weapons, the soldiers using them, unmanned drones, and other security measures. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   True to her word, Heinkel opts not to pour herself a glass of wine for the moment. It would be wasted on her. Instead, she rifles through her pockets, producing a cigarette and chrome lighter. The cigarette is lit, the lighter dropped back into her pocket, and her hands follow suit as she takes a generous draw.   "Hunh." She crosses one leg over the other at the ankle, craning her neck to see the holographic torpedoes. "Hope none of the people you're bringing are claustrophobic. That might be a problem."   She reaches out, fingers dancing over the floating icons. Despite technology leaps and bounds beyond the limits of her own world, she navigates it with relative ease and doesn't seem to get hung up on it. She's in full business mode, frowning as she studies the display and systematically flicking through weapons, soldiers, drones, and the building's layout and security measures.   "Uh huh. So you vant me vatching over the team that's going to be making a lot of shit and noise for them. Vell, I guess I can do that, but I vork better if you haf a goal for me to pursue. I prefer to vork alone; I do most of my vork either alone, or in teams of two. Three, at the most." She frowns, rolling the cigarette to the other side of her mouth and exhaling a puff of smoke. "I guess I can vork vit that, though." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis takes a sip as she listens to Heinkel, nodding. "I pick my teammates carefully when I go on missions." She says.     Heinkel will find a lot of interesting tidbits about the equipment soldiers use, especially weak points where the shoulder and arm meet the torso and gaps in the neck, where armor-piercing rounds will tear through. Robots also tend to be structurally weak around the joints and a few points around the torso area, in gaps between armor plating. Shooting them in the optic sensors will mess with their tracking too.     "Your objective will be to take out priority targets onsite; officers mostly. There's a contingent of combat personnel on the base that are training intensely for winter warfare, which means they count on their armor to keep them alive in subarctic temperatures." Alexis says, taking a sip of wine whether or not it does anything. "That dome in the diagram can adapt to any climate, in this case it stays winter all year. You see those heating packs on the soldiers?" She points to the bulky packs in question, LED lights indicating they're in use. "Those are heating units socketed onto the armor of all personnel operating outside. Shooting there will leave them freezing within seconds, not a good way to go for most people." She says cooly. "But I wouldn't worry about that, Izunagi combat elite tend to get their neural cores extracted if not copied straight up, and implanted into new bodies. Hell, their issued shells aren't even their natural ones." She adds. Awful callous there, Alexis.     "Anyway. Teams 1 and 2 will split up once we get here," The diagram briefly pulls up an umbilical leading from the storage facility to research, that also leads outside to a ridge line wrapping around the mountain. "Team 2, including you, will be busting through the umbilical tunnel and holding the fort on this ridge. You'll get ten minutes to set up any traps and dig in before they send in armor support and combat operatives. I wager their best troops will be sent after you guys, which means some of the local officers will be going in as well. They hire special forces veterans and mercenaries of high renown, which means taking them out will fuck up morale."     She eyes that cigarette for a moment, before she produces a Cuban cigar and unwraps it, a clipping snipping off the end as she takes a sniff. "By the way, mind if I borrow your lighter?" asks Alexis, as she bites down on the other end of the stogie. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The blonde arches a brow at the mercenary's explanation. Hopefully, this means that there won't be any trigger-happy glory hounds coming along, because there's no place for that kind of nonsense in a mission like this. The clock is going to be ticking.   Folding her arms, she leans closer to study the corporate armour. The heating packs are also given a close look, exhaling a wreath of smoke through the hologram. "So cripple them in the snow, and then leave them for the cold. Can do that. The thermal packs look like they'll be nice, obvious targets. Easier than aiming for a ghoul's heart."   "High ground. That's good." Heinkel lowers her cigarette, tapping it into a nearby ashtray on the table. "I can fight on low ground, but it's easier to pick off targets from on high. Ten minutes is more than I need to get my equipment set up." A hand is flicked at the sniper rifle in its case. It looks like a Dragunov SVD; too recent to be a proper antique, and not quite old enough to be obsolete. She at least takes excellent care of it. "As long as nobody gets in my vay vhile I'm making my preparations, that should be fine."   She looks down, reaching into her pocket and tossing the lighter to Maaka. It's surprisingly heavy, chromed and etched with the seal of Section XIII on both sides. "Here." Catch. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis is certain she'll keep a hold on any ego going about on-site, but thankfully the team she's assembled might be able to police themselves. She catches the lighter without missing a beat, and lights up the cigar with a puff of her cheeks. The cigar has a pleasant smell to it, and Maaka makes a satisfied noise as she lights up. "Thanks," She mutters, handing the lighter back.     "Yeah, I got a contact named Elise Leroy who'll be coming with us. She's a damn good shot, a goddamn artist with a sniper rifle. I'd be with you two, but I gotta be with Team 1." Shrug. "Anyhow. Devon-7 and that robot ninja guy...the non-cowboy one, will be mopping up hostiles in close-quarters. I also got Reina Kinney for tanking enemies, I may have room for a few of Elise's people as well. I trust XCOM not to fuck up, even if this isn't exactly fighting aliens. Reina on the other hand..." She makes a face and shrugs.     Hopefully you got a suppressor you can use for that Dragonov, by the by. If not, I..." She pauses, and mentally goes through her inventory. Literally no less, she has a list of equipment in her manipulator thanks to databanks. "I'll be issuing PDWs with suppressors to anybody who lacks a means of stealth anyways, not like the movies where you're just invisible but they're useful regardless." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Hunh." Heinkel grunts in response to the thanks, taking the lighter back and dropping it into her pocket. Most of the time she prefers matches, but this apartment isn't stocked with anything. There's not even any food here.   She glances back at the Dragunov. "Ja, I haf a suppressor," she adds, pulling a face. "Vhat kind of idiot vould I be if I didn't haf suppressors for all my equipiment? They von't hear anything. And I'm not stupid enough to hang about the area vonce I fire the first shot. Ghouls are von thing, but live targets... they'll be looking for vhere that first shot came from. I don't intend to let them find out."   Returning to the cupboard, she leans her hip against it, comfortably, tapping ash into a second ashtray. She might not keep any food in the apartment, but there are at least ashtrays. "Nobody's invisible. But I haf every intention of getting as close to that as I can." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "No worries," Alexis grins. She pulls out a device that's meant to clip onto a belt. "Everyone who needs it will be wearing stealth gear, they come standard with optic camo that blends with the environment. May be a bit snug but they'll keep you warm."     She nods as Heinkel confirms having the other gear. "Regardless, gear's not my issue, I'd be spoiling you guys but the Sinos tend to be stingy with their gear when they share with people. They maaaay ask for the suits back afterwards."     She takes another puff on her cigar, enjoying the scent of tobacco. "You got any other questions since we're here? May as well, I try to be an open book when I'm working with comrades." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "I don't know if I'll need it, but it couldn't hurt to take it anyvay. Worth it just to keep from freezing." Heinkel folds her arms, letting her cigarette dangle from her lower lip a little. "I von't need to keep it, so I don't care about giving it back. If I vant to stay varm, I vear a coat. If I don't vant to be seen, I exercise a little common sense." One hand uncrosses to tap the side of her head with a forefinger.   Her head turns to face the displays again, and she frowns. "Ja, I do, actually. They're going to be up in arms by the time ve're ready to get out, and they're not going to vant to let us go after vhat ve do in there." A hand is flicked vaguely at the display. "Vhat's our exit strategy going to be?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis nods. "It's also a wetsuit, so you may need it for this op." She says, before the data pad projects specs on the suits proper. They look like a mix between Colonel Snake's old sneaking suits and modern wetsuits, with web gear for holstering equipment.     "I was gonna get to that." She says, before she produces a device from her manipulator. "It's a teleport beacon, links up to my ship. We'll be going to the furthest edge of the cliff peak before we teleport to the Crimson Spectre, my starship. By the time we're there we'll be off world and they won't know where we ran off to. Crazy, but it'll work." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The paladin looks over the specs on the suit with some disdain, although it's easy to hide it when her eyes aren't visible. It's hard not to feel naked without her coat. It's more than a coat; it was a gift from Psyber, and it has all kinds of convenient features that can't be found in others, like hammerspace pockets and subtle enchantments that bring its weave up to the level of light armour.   "Crazy, ja." Heinkel rubs at her jaw with one hand, speculative. "I don't know if I like trusting in something like that, but if that's vhat ve haf, then that's vhat ve haf. If you're sure they don't haf some vay to jam something like that, than I guess it's faster than anything else ve can use. And involves less blood."   She rubs her jaw some more and eyes the schematics a little longer. The question is, would it be easier to snipe these targets from a comfortable distance, or would it be easier to go in close? There are a few options she could entertain, but can she trust herself to fight up close without repercussions?   Heinkel eventually shrugs, stubbing the remnants of her cigarette into the ashtray, and neatly lighting herself another without any apparent guilt. "I think that's about all I haf for now. You got any questions yourself? Now's as good a time as any for that kind of thing, ja?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "Gonna only work once, so we may as well make it count." Alexis says, shrugging. She has a similar coat, albeit without the benefit of hammerspace pockets. Those pockets do make hiding an SMG or a sawed-off shotgun easy however, which is nice.     She thinks, as she's questioned about questions, before she finally speaks, exhaling smoke. "Only one; How long have you been working for the Church? I can't imagine you to be green in any way, shape, or form that's for sure." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Never mind that the coat is stylish, and works well as a substitute for a priest's robe. In most cases, that's exactly how she wears it, with her starched collar sticking up from beneath the coat's collar. It's a lot easier to carry things around that way without having to worry about cargo space or being too conspicuous.   "Hunh." Sighing, she glances at the schematic. "You know, if someone told me five years ago I'd be teleporting around like something out of that von American sci-fi television programme, I'd haf told them they're delusional. Alright, so that's our exit strategy. It vorks. At least, it had better vork."   Folding her arms, Heinkel taps ash from the second cigarette before taking another unhurried drag. She seems to consider the question for a few minutes, rolling the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other as though in contemplation. "Iscariot? Hunh."   She frowns, as though doing some mental math. "I actually hafen't thought about that too much... I think I vas thirty... nein, that's not enough time." Heinkel snorts smoke. "It vas eleven years ago, I think."   "Ja. Eleven years ago." Curiously, she doesn't look a day over thirty. "I vas a professional mercenary before they recruited me. A lot of Iscariots vere raised by the church, but not me." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis laughs, "Yeah, this coming from the cyborg. Even my world doesn't have that kind of tech yet, we're still trying to crack the folding space...you know what, never mind." She says, taking the cigar out of her mouth briefly.     She nods as Heinkel explains herself, thinking. "Yeah, I've been doing this for about fourteen years or so. I'm 27 now, so I was thirteen when they made me...well, let's just say puberty was interesting. I had a couple shells before this one, mostly upgrading if not outright replacing components of myself. I guess it's kind of the same thing, in a fucked up way." She muses, shrugging. "Where'd you work before you joined Iscariot, if I may ask? Had no idea you were the mercenary sort, figured you as a professional regardless, possibly military." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Twenty-seven?" Heinkel raises a brow, raising her cigarette for another draw. She seems to study the mercenary for a few minutes, as though she were running some kind of mental calculations, or maybe sizing her up in light of new information. "Hunh."   She folds her arms once she returns the cigarette to her mouth, idly tapping forefingers against the opposite forearm. "I didn't haf a job vit the military. I vas a professional assassin, and I did most of my vork for competing criminal elements. I vas recruited by Iscariot a little later."   She splays the fingers of one hand, as though ticking off some mental math on them. "I had my first contract vhen I vas sixteen, although I could've done the vork before that. That's just vhen they trusted me to do the vork."   "I vas shot on a job ten years after that, here und here." She points to a spot just below her ribs on the right side, and then the opposite hip. "I vas in pretty bad shape; and I'm pretty sure I vould haf died if I hadn't managed to find sanctuary in the nearest church. It vas in Brugge, in Brussels; the sisters took me in and called in a doctor-friend to pull out the bullets und sew me back up."   She leans back against the cupboard, twisting and stubbing out the remnants of the second cigarette. This time she doesn't light another. "They vere able to rehabilitate me, mostly, so I put my rifle avay and decided to take care of the grounds and garden for them. Early retirement. I vasn't interested in going out there and getting shot again, because next time whoever vanted me dead vasn't going to miss."   "As for Iscariot... that vas about ten years ago, give or take. I vas still valking vit a cane vhen Chief, I mean Bishop Enrico Maxvell, approached me the first time. I turned him down, so he sent Father Alexander Anderson. I relented and accepted their offer." She frowns, as though mentally checking her numbers. "I vas... about your age, actually; a little younger. I've been vit them since. Technically, I /do/ haf the credentials of a priest, too, but it's more appropriate to say I'm a paladin. A varrior of God."   She shrugs. "It's not glamourous vork, but then again, that's not vhat I signed up for. Iscariot doesn't even exist, officially. Ve hunt down and dispatch threats to our flock of the faithful. It might be freaks von day, or ghouls the next; although I hafen't heard of anyvon killing any verevolfs lately." Heinkel scratches at her jaw. "In fact I'm not sure if there are any of those left."   "Anyvay, some people might look at my past history and think I haf no ties to the church, but that's not true, either. I just don't haf the same... zeal... as Chief, or Father Anderson." She shrugs. "It vould be a mistake to say that I don't beliefe in vhat I'm doing." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis listens intently, rolling the cigar around in her mouth as she listens. "You were a busy one, that's for sure." She muses quietly, folding her arms. Her eyes make small whirring sounds, it's creepy how they bridge the gap between cybernetic optics and realistic eyes, as they autofocus.     "I can't imagine you settling down to be honest. I guess you got lucky they had a place for you after all." She says, looking where Heinkel points. It's weird, Maaka can't really point to any one place she's been injured where it mattered, maybe a lost arm or getting shot with a high-velocity rifle, but she only has faint scars now.     "What we do isn't supposed to be glamorous. We're the people who get the job done, no pomp and circumstance. Just the way I prefer it, myself." She muses.     "When I look at you, I don't doubt for a second you believe in what you're doing, regardless of zeal or no." She offers a faint smile, before she puffs the cigar. "Anyhow. I guess, I guess I must raise a lot of questions just by existing...and I don't get a chance to talk about myself often either."     Shrug. "Though honestly that might be better explained when we got everyone around for the briefing." She says. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Heinkel shifts to lean against the wall, folding her hands behind her head. If she's unsettled by the mechanical nature of the eyes, she doesn't comment on it at all; the fact that her own eyes are completely hidden is probably not really comforting for Maaka, either. Neither does she seem to have any trouble whatsoever seeing anything -- her motions aren't cautious at all, and she had no trouble reading Maaka's diagnostics.   "Busy? Nein, nein. Busy would haf been taking jobs vhile I vas recovering. I probably should haf been a cripple, but those sisters had some good contacts." The scar aren't visible under her clothing, and she doesn't seem to exhibit any particular weakness when it comes to the old wounds.   What's visible is a broad splash of scar tissue over the left side of her neck. It looks suspiciouly like a bite mark from jaws that must have been truly gargantuan, and the sheer area covered looks like it should have been a lethal wound. Heinkel raises a hand to rub at the paled, knotted flesh absently in unconscious gesture. "Hunh."   "Settling down? I vouldn't mind so much. This kind of vork is exhausting, even if there's no von else to do it... but you're right. I'd get stir-crazy after a few years, probably." The blonde folds her other arm, elbow braced against hip, still rubbing at that broad stripe of scar. "Didn't haf much choice, back vhen I vas put out of commission. I couldn't haf fired a gun even if I vanted to. I could barely valk even vit a cane."   Heinkel flashes that sharp-edged grin, thumbing at the plants on the window sill. "Got pretty handy vit plants, though. Don't need to vorry about them up and running off on you."   "Really? Some people at me and they still see just a mercenary." With a half-smile, she lets her hand drop from the scar at her neck, folding her arms. "Not that I care. I do vhat I do, vit or vitout their input... and not really. Ve don't haf that kind of technology here, but I hear it's a thing that happens in the Union." She points to indicate Maaka's ocular lenses. "Cyborgs. Our technology's not quite there, but ve haf machinery meant to vork in the body. Devices for keeping a steady heartbeat, and that sort of thing. Prosthetics for those who've lost their limbs to accident or injury." She waves her cigarette to underscore her point.   She shrugs. "Vhat you haf is leaps and bounds ahead of the technology of my vorld, but I could see it happening, in a few decades, maybe." Heinkel eyes the mercenary speculatively. "I vouldn't go for it, myself, but to each his own. But ve're a little touchy about vhat ve consider human and vhat ve don't." She grins that mirthless grin, eyes still blocked by the lenses. "After all, half of us are like monsters."   "Some people might think ve're the monsters. Ist that true?" That grin widens into something altogether more predatory; an expression that wouldn't be too alien to a wolf that just cornered a rabbit. "Maybe." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis looks over Heinkel, especially glancing at the scar she sees brief glimpses of. She seems more curious as to how Heinkel is pulling off the 'face masked in shadow' thing, than being worried at the lack of seeing her eyes.     "Well, I wouldn't be opposed to retirement either, maybe in a few years. I don't see myself settling down until I'm in my forties, honestly, but as long as I get maintenance, I'm pretty sure I'll be living a lonnnnng time." She thinks, before she quirks a brow. "How'd they fix you if you were that badly injured?"     "I...let's just say what the Izunagi did to me wasn't by choice. They took away my old life, blamed terrorists, and turned me into a killing machine. I found out when I was twenty-three, and just...I dunno, I did a lot of damage to them before I bailed entirely. I went dark, before I went to Hong Kong and got work there, as a mercenary for the reigning boss Zhen-Zhen Zhang." She sits back, looking both wistful and melancholic at the same time as she thinks back.     "You'll get to meet Zhang in time, everyone will. She's...she kind of helped me get on my feet, taught me to always be looking for the next job. Guess working for her gave me some perspective, otherwise I'd have gone crazy and got cornered by the Izunagi's SAINT unit."     The grin Heinkel gives makes her blood chill briefly, but she doesn't seem to disagree. "I'm used to being seen as the monster myself, I know the feeling. I guess it doesn't matter long as people like us do what we can for something productive, even if we're too busy doing black ops. I like what I do, long as I got a cause behind it. The Union might've gotten to me after all, if not people like Kotone and Rory." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "I'll consider myself lucky if I live that long." Heinkel shows her teeth again, cigarette pinched between her canines. "I vas never really expecting to make it past thirty, to be honest. I might actually hit forty, and that's pretty surreal to me. Von of these days, it'll all catch up to me, I'm sure."   She stubs the end of her cigarette in the ashtray but doesn't quite put it out, looking out the window again. "Surgery," she offers, shrugging. "Lots und lots of surgery. They had to get the bullets out somehow, and that doctor friend of theirs vas really good at her job, and villing to vork vitout asking too many questions. Then they had to do more surgery, because the bullets had done a lot of damage. I'd lost a lot of blood by the time I got to the church itself."   "Right here." She reaches down, pulling the edge of her halter top up to show a round scar just under her ribs, faded and white. She thumbs the waistband of her fatigues down to show the matching scar at her hip, which looks like it was considerably more severe. "I could haf had it vorse. They missed my head, and they missed my heart, and there vasn't any serious nerve damage. If they'd taken out an eye or my hand or my arm, that vould haf been it for my sort of vork. 'Course, if they'd hit me in the eye, I'd probably be dead anyvay."   She's not superhuman, despite the appearances of certain associates of hers. Anderson is an exception to the general rule. Her arms return to folding. "Sounds tough," she says, though not without sympathy. "At least you vere able to take control of your own life. Maybe you'll haf a chance to meet some of Iscariot's paladins. My usual partner is Yumiko Takagi, and Yumie; von's a mild-mannered nun, and the other is a berserker. Nobody else has the patience to deal vit the latter."   "I guess I should mention they're the same person," she adds, with that toothy grin. "Yumie has vhat they call disassociative identity disorder. Yumiko's a pacifist and Yumie throws herself into the bloody mess right by my side. More so, in fact. She vields a katana. It gets messy." Fingers drum against the opposite forearm. "She vas raised in Vales, from vhat I can tell, but she's Japanese by descent. Yumiko vears glasses; Yumie doesn't. I can influence vhich of the two is avake. Yumie and Yumiko both respect me; I see them as two different personalities, and they appreciate not being trivialised as a 'disorder' or a 'fluke.'"   She tilts her head, the directness of her stare betraying where her eyes are -- she's looking directly at Maaka. "Zhang sounds like an interesting character. Chances are I'fe known some paladins like that," she muses. "SAINT? Heh." The paladin snorts. "Cute acronym, but I bet they haf no connection to anything even remotely pious. It really pisses me off vhen people use that kind of symbolism in vain. People are going to do vhat they're going to do, but... God, it's so tasteless and pretentious."   Folding her arms behind her head again, she leans back against the wall, as at ease there as if she were sitting on the couch. Her head remains pointed straight at Maaka for a few long moments, as though she were considering something. "Guess I haf von more thing I should probably share..." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "Yeah, the Izunagi tends to be pretty pretentious. It's Special Augmented...fuck it, I don't even care anymore what it means." Alexis makes a face. "But yeah, they're only still kicking because their cybernetics tech is something everyone needs and wants, they're monopolizing the whole thing."     She puffs on her cigar again, and grins. "You'll like Zhang. She's...she's a very special case of Triad, I'll say that much. Long as folks pay their taxes, she tends to be pretty protective of her people, and her reach is pretty far across Hong Kong. I'd know, she's had me kick doors down to deal with the pricks who thought they could horseplay with her girls and get away with it. She used to be the mistress of the last guy that ran her organization, and even then she'd borne six kids, and was already helping him run the outfit up until a car bomb maimed her, and killed him."     Puff puff. "Her revenge was...'colorful' to say the least. For a gangster, she's a fan of the old fashioned wrath of God type of stuff when it comes to personal vendettas."     Before she gets off-track, Alexis stops herself, and cocks an eyebrow as she stubs her cigar in a tray, assuming there is one. "What's up, Wolfe?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Our Sections are named after the apostles." Heinkel stubs her cigarette around the ashtray, head dropped as though to watch. "The vons I vork vit most are Section III, John, in charge of information distribution and suppression, and Section II, Matthew, in charge of retrieving relics of the Church. They catalogue, store, and requisition out relics as they're needed, vhich sometimes they are."   Lifting her cigarette, Heinkel drawing the last of it and carefully stubbing the remainder out with slow deliberation. "You'll probably meet some of them, at some point, if they continue to haf me vorking jobs vit multiversal help."   The paladin steps away from the cupboard, facing Maaka fully once the smoke fades away. "I'll be right back."   With that, she trudges over to the small bathroom, and emerges a few minutes later in an appropriately fuzzy bathrobe, feet bare, still tying the sash off as she heads for the windows and flips the blinds closed on each one.   "Stay vhere you're sitting. And try not to make any noise. This apartment building isn't even supposed to exist," she adds, dryly. "I von't hurt you, and I haf full control of vhat I'm about to do."   With that, apartment plunged into total darkness but for the candles, she pulls off her sunglasses and sets them on the cupboard.   When she turns around to face Maaka again, the eyes that peer out from her face look more suited to a cat or beast than a human's -- the pupils are round, but they throw back candlelight in far more measure than a human's should. It's more accurate to say they reflect than to say that they shine; catching the candlelight and flaring blue-white, perfect crescents of irises in the gloom.   Heinkel grins.   And something in her seems subtly different. Something changes; then, in the blink of an eye, form blurring and hunching over. The bathrobe flutters to the floor, and standing over it--   A wolf, stepping delicately over the robe, claws clicking on the floor, and settling down with all the fastidiousness of a cat, ears perked forward, head cocked slightly, those same blue-white eyes flaring in the candlelight and fixed firmly on Maaka.   Heinkel somehow manages to bare her teeth, tongue lolling.   I told you I work better alone.   Her mouth never moves, and there's no voice to speak of, but her intent is somehow clear all the same. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis cocks an eyebrow. I guess that would make sense, now that she thinks about it. At the least this makes a good refresher for the whole religion thing.     "I look forward to meeting the gang, at this rate. Should be interesting." She says, before she watches Heinkel walk off.     Crimson brows raise as Heinkel returns in a bathrobe, and she tilts her head, but remains still and silent as the grave. Thankfully she doesn't scare easily, as Heinkel can tell with what comes next.     Then Heinkel shapeshfits. Maaka's eyes widen, but she keeps the cigar in her mouth, and suddenly before her very eyes Wolfe becomes an actual wolf.     It's nowhere near like the movies, not even the ones where the transformation is horrifying and painful looking.     She doesn't' dare break eye contact, and she stays stone still regardless. "...wow." she whispers, awed and visibly surprised at the same time. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There's no pain to the transformation, and no apparent discomfort. It happens easily and smoothly, like slipping on a pair of favourite blue jeans. The change is quick, too; too quick to see any details in the instant between the bathrobe falling and the woman dropping down to her hands and knees.   Hands and knees become paws, hard paws with short claws and leathery pads. The snout is blunt, with too much of a broad muzzle and Roman nose to be mistaken for a dog. Never mind her size -- even for a wolf, she's massive, with muscle beneath the hide, and fur of a colour somewhere between ruddy and sandy, a few shades darker than her hair. Only the eyes are the same, that blue hue just a few shades shy of blind white.   When she stands, she's at least five feet tall, and looks solid despite a fluffy winter coat; enough to knock someone down, and do serious damage with those teeth.   Heinkel grins, red tongue lolling.   See, this is why I love the multiverse. You learn something new every day. She shuts her jaws, standing and padding closer to Maaka. My eyes are better the other way, but I have to have those lenses. I can see in daylight like this, but my eyes aren't as good. I can't see any colours right now, and it's hard to focus when things aren't moving.   She sits down again, fastidious as a cat, tail curling loosely around a hind leg. I can smell and hear better than any human, though. It's been this way for seven years. Iscariot never gave up on me, even when I became one of the very things we're sworn to kill, and that's why I'll never give up on them.   By the way, as far as you know, you're just hallucinating. This doesn't exist any more than Iscariot does. Even to Iscariot, what I am is a closely-guarded secret. Yumie, Father Anderson, and Bishop Maxwell are the only ones who know about it. There weren't any witnesses when I was attacked. Her ears flick back. And there weren't any witnesses when I changed except for Yumie and Father Anderson.   If I can get in there alone, I can deal with your targets and neutralise them. It'll be much faster if you send me in alone, to a tertiary target if necessary. Nobody else has a nose like mine, and nobody else can hear them breathing like I can. 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "I feel special." Alexis says, keeping her cool to an admirable extend as she watches the wolf before her stand on hind legs. She's surprised Iscariot hadn't dealt with her, but then again, it'd be a waste of a perfectly good asset; Helps that being a wolf tends to have their own uses anyways. She imagines Heinkel's senses are very improved in this form, if they're not like that anyways.     "Alright, then. I'm convinced. If you have a shot, I want you taking out any officers you see, whether with fang or bullet. They won't see a wolf coming, that's for sure." She says calmly.     "There's one guy on-site who'll relish a chance to get some action; A Commander Rossovich. He's former Spetsnaz and a real piece of work, you'll know when you see him." She says, before on cue, the holographic display reveals a profile of the Russian.     He's forty-something, with icy blue eyes and platinum blond hair, a real Aryan ideal if not for his Russian background. His cybernetic enhancements are evident by the glow of his blue eyes, and also footage of him swiftly and viciously clearing rooms personally along with his subordinates, assault rifle blazing as he tracks targets through walls and shreds, ripping one unfortunate insurgent through thin drywall and concrete. His armor's distinctive, with a sickle in lieu of a combat knife as well as red and white stripes.     "His unit's the one that's currently posted in the facility, handling security when they're not training in the dome. They're hardcore, to say the least." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Don't fool yourself. Heinkel opens her jaws, showing her teeth, though the slant of her eyes suggests it's more of a languid expression. A sardonic half-smile, if she still had human features. I'm only showing you this because the mongrel's bound to be out of the bag sooner rather than later. My ability to track targets is superior in this form. And it would be less of a risk to fall back on this for your mission than not.   The smile vanishes, and she licks her nose in distinctly lupine gesture. This is what I am, now. Seven years ago, I was bitten by a lycanthrope. I won't say 'werewolf.' Even those Protestant fools in Hellsing think there aren't any of those left. She can't help a grin, showing teeth again. This still has its uses. And this is still a liability.   Very well. I'll track this Rossovich. She licks her nose again, one ear swivelling forward and the other back as she considers. If they're handling security, they're bound to be bored between training drills. If they're bored between training drills, and if they're half as bloodthirsty as that footage suggests, then manipulating them should be easy.   That blunt muzzle drops, and tiny whiskers stand out as the candlelight catches them. There's a slight frosting of grey around her nose, but it seems to be more natural colouration than any sign of age. Licking her chops, she considers what she's read of the facility, and the footage she was just shown. I'll see if I can isolate him. Damn shame you can't store olfactory data on that device of yours. If I were familiar with his scent, I could know ahead of time.   Whatever. It's not a problem. Bowing and stretching, she stands again, and in the blink of an eye she's shifted again, scooping up the robe and shrugging into it with a practised motion. By the time there's any time to register what's happened, she's already tying the sash again.   She opens a drawer on the cupboard, reaching for another cigarette and lighting it with another lighter stashed in the drawer. Dropping the lighter onto the cupboard surface next to her sunglasses, she glances back at Maaka, arching a brow. "Oh, and don't turn the lights on." She taps a finger at the corner of her eyes, which flash as the candlelight catches them. "It's something of a problem. I vas always light-sensitive, but vhen I was cursed, it got bad enough that I haf to haf special lenses if there's much light. I can deal vit moonlight and candlelight, and it doesn't bother me as much in that form. But like this, I guess it's a trade-off."   "Vell," she says, puffing on her cigarette, "that, and controlling the beast. Father Anderson's the reason I'm not just another slavering rabid monster to be put down by Iscariot. But it's a constant tug-of-var. The part of me that turned into that thing... it isn't human. It isn't me. I can feel it in my head, sometimes; in my heart. I constantly haf to prove to it that I'm the stronger von." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Aleixs shrugs. "I'm the girl who won't say squat. NDAs are what they are, and the Iscariot sent me plenty of those when I got signed up for this little contract." She says calmly.     She taps her chin, before she snaps her fingers. "He does like his vodka, if you're familiar with the scent. Might be strong enough for you to smell through his helmet if you can, though he does go without the mask. Macho bullshit, really. He likes to dare his enemies to take a shot at him, and considering the climate it's a show of how augmented he is."     She tries to let Heinkel have her modesty, looking away as she shifts back and ties her robe back on, only turning back when she knows the Paladin's back in human form again.     "Anderson sounds like a hard case, if what I hear about him is true. I'd hate to be in his way on a hunt." She remarks. "The fact you're still sane says it all about your will, if you ask me." Standing to her feet, she stubs out the cigar and finishes her wine. The rest can be saved for later, assuming Heinkel ever invites company. "You can keep that data pad, by the way, or I can send you a copy of the files for future study." Alexis offers. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Tracking a single man or voman because they happen to drink vodka is like telling me to track a single drop of vater through the ocean," Heinkel scoffs. "I'll do my best, but I'll probably haf better luck vonce I actually see him. If I'm that close, I can smell vhat /he/ smells like."   Heinkel taps the side of her nose. "I can't really explain it to somevon who hasn't got that frame of reference, unfortunately, but everybody has a scent. You, me... though you smell more... artificial, to me, if that makes any sense."   "Doesn't vear his helmet?" Heinkel smiles. It's not a pretty expression. "That just makes my job easier. If I can pick him off, I vill; if I can't, I'll get in close." And tear his throat out, is the unspoken implication. "Either vay, he's going to be considerate enough to give me an advantage."   She tilts her head slightly. Anderson? "Hard case? Maybe, if you happen to be a blood-drinking creature of the night. He von't haf any mercy, as vell he shouldn't. Those kinds of things can't be reasoned vit, partly because some of them don't haf a brain any more, and anyvay, he's... a fair bit more dedicated than most."   "I don't trust anyvon more at my back, though." She reaches up to scratch at the back of her head, brows furrowed. "I'm vondering vhat kind of fires Iscariot must be dealing vit. I hafen't heard from him for a vhile, or Yumie, either. They're both assigned somevhere else. Ve'fe been trying to track down who or vhat is churning out these freak chips."   Her arms fold, and she shakes her head. "Danke. But it is vhat it is. Either I keep my sanity, or Father Anderson might as vell put a bayonet through my throat. I vouldn't haf it any other vay." Wait. Bayonets?   "Datapad? You can keep it." Heinkel waves a hand, dismissive. "Send me a copy. Hard copy, if you can arrange that. That's a little more in line vit vhat I'm used to." The paladin pads over to the windows, flicking open the blinds and letting the breeze and the starlight back in. Once that's done, she pads back over to the couch, plopping down on the other side and lacing her fingers behind her head and letting her eyes fall to half-mast. "Rossovich. Send me vhatever dossier you happen to haf on hand of him and his men, too." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "Yeah, I remember the village." Alexis says. She saw the results, dead walking everywhere and an artificial vampire pulling the strings. SHe's still questioning that part. A chip that makes vampires? The hell kind of stuff is that?     "In any case, the bastard's not exactly known for subtlety either. Rossovich is known as the Butcher of Bangkok, and he's proud of that fact. He and his unit have been getting cocky for the last few years, and it's gonna catch up to them. I'd be happy to give you a clear shot at him, just to see the look on his face when you rip his throat out." She says, tone ice cold as she retrieves the data pad. "I'll send what you need to know over fax machine if you can access one. My software's adaptable but I'm more used to digital files myself, sorry."     She raises an eyebrow, before she shrugs a shoulder. "Well, if he hasn't put you down, you're doing something right."     She goes to retrieve her gun belt and coat, before she looks behind her. "I'll be thorough in the profile, believe me on that." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja. Now imagine that, only orders of magnitude bigger, because that's vhat's going to happen if ve can't put a stop to this nonsense." Heinkel closes her eyes, and for a brief instant she seems somehow more vulnerable; scarred and exhausted. It's gone as soon as her eyes snap open again in determined expression. "Ve haf some leads in South America. Ve think that's vhere the goods are coming from. Right now I'm vaiting on intel from our Section III operatives, and vonce it's ready..."   Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on her knees, head hung low. "Cocky. That's good. Sorry, but I don't plan on letting the Volf do it unless I haf no other choice. The more I dance that death-dance, the harder it is to stuff the bloodthirsty bastard back in a jar, if you know vhat I mean. The last thing you vant to haf to deal vit is me losing my mind in the middle of a mission." Heinkel wrinkles her nose, glaring at the candlelit altar on the other side of the room. "It von't be easy if that happens. So no. I von't rip his throat out unless I haf no other choice. I'm going to put a bullet in his eye if I haf half a chance to."   "It's faster, in any case, and there's less chance of something getting blown all to hell." She pulls herself upright again with a grunt, knees crackling and hip popping. Apparently she's still a little creaky after her brush with death; but it's late at night, and maybe it can be forgiven by the hour. "Ja. I can get to a fax machine. I'll send a number to your frequency."   Her head tilts, fixing Maaka with a flat look from those eerily pale, photoreflective eyes. They flash with every subtle shift of the eyes, and the light they throw out makes it even more obvious. "For now. I haf enough sense to know that could change at any time. Don't get me wrong; I don't vant to become a monster, and I don't vant to die. But I know that I'm valking a tightrope, and vill be for the rest of my life."   "If it comes down to choosing between hafing to put me down and saving innocent lives, I'm going to choose the latter, every time." Resuming her place by the cupboard, she leans against it, folding her arms and tucking her hands into the robe's long sleeves. It looks like Turkish cotton, superior to any hotel standard-issue; its fine Baltic craftsmanship suggests it's one of the few things in this apartment that actually does belong to Heinkel. "But... danke."   "Good." She lifts her chin, fixing Maaka with a reflective stare. "Be thorough. Anything that helps me track the quarry vill be helpful; the more thorough you can be, the faster I can put Rossovich down. The faster I can put Rossovich down, the faster ve can get done and get out of there." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Alexis is already compiling a report for Heinkel to browse later; Troop strength, tactics, equipment preferences, specializations per unit, that sort of thing. She nods, before she checks her Iscariot-issued guns. "See if you can keep me informed about the Freak thing, that might be a problem in the future. I'll do what I can to help solve it. Not my speciality dealing with vampires, but it's still assassination, and /that/ I can do."     She holsters both guns, letting her coat drape over them and hide the sidearms entirely from behind, and she heads for the door, coat trailing behind her stylishly.     "I'll let you know when it's time for the mission, until then keep in touch. Take care of yourself, Wolfe. I hate to cut and run early, but I do have a busy schedule. Nagato wants me for something in the next few days, so that's a thing." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ja, I'll keep you informed." Heinkel flicks a hand almost dismissively. "Iscariot has you on retainer until ve can clear up some of this issue, so as soon as I learn something, so vill you. Right now, I hafen't learned anything. So neither haf you." She sighs, almost morosely. The waiting is the hardest part.   She looks up. "Nothing special to keep in mind, aside from 'shoot it in the head or heart,' and 'don't let it bite you.' They just move faster than your average super-soldier." The fact that ghoul armies are basically self-replicating masses is pretty horrifying. Any army that fights an infestation of ghouls unprepared is only throwing fuel onto the proverbial fire.   "Ja. I'll be in touch, too." The paladin reaches up and rubs at one eye, before reaching for her sunglasses and putting them back on the bridge of her nose. It looks a little silly in a cotton bathrobe, but she doesn't seem to care. "If I hear anything from Section III, I'll forvard it over to you as soon as I can."   She pads over to the door as Maaka makes her way out, offering a lazy wave to the retreating mercenary. "Valk vit God," she adds, grinning from her door. "Be seeing you." 
}}

Into the Night (Heinkel Wolfe)

2016-11-22T03:51:20Z

Hrimfaxi:

{{Cutscene Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/21
|Location=Heaven or Hell Tower
|Synopsis=Heinkel reflects on her duties as a paladin of Iscariot, and the circumstances around her curse.
|Cast of Characters=363
}}
For the third time in the night, she jerks awake with a bleary curse.

The bandages are starting to soak through again, and she can feel the familiar twinge of a wound torn open. Picking up the scent of her own blood is effortless with her senses, and the smell wakes a roil of emotion behind it.

Above the undercurrents, she can feel the Wolf stir inside, snarling its desire for more blood, to sink its jaws into something more substantial, to bite and tear—

The silence is overpowering, broken only by the harsh sawing of her own breath.

She sits up slowly, painfully, and with deliberation she clenches a fist, tendons standing out along her arm. She holds her fist closed, and then with as much deliberation, she opens her fist, studying her fingers in the moonlight through the slats of the blinds.

"You're a ''paladin,'' not a rabid animal," she snarls in the gloom, clenching a fist again.

Nothing answers her angry chiding but the distant sound of a car horn and the whisper of rain outside.

Heinkel Wolfe drags herself out of her bed towards the bathroom. Maybe, she reasons, she might get some sleep if she replaces that dressing. Avoiding the light switch, padding barefoot across the bathroom tile, she fumbles for the first aid kit and tries to thumb the latch without looking at it.

Raising her eyes, she looks at the figure in the mirror: Tall, lanky, with an androgynous facial structure; strong jaw and bold cheekbones, and just enough curves to suggest easily-concealed femininity. Frowning, she sets the first aid kit aside, running a hand along the scars at the side of her neck.

The eyes are what leap out at her from the image in the mirror. Milk-pale and tinged blue, they don't just catch moonlight; they reflect it, throwing it back like a cat's eyes...

Or a wolf's.

Shaking her head, she growls a bleary curse before pulling antiseptic and bandaging out of the kit, working with the sullen determination of the exhausted. That stirring of the Wolf reminds her of another incident; memories untouched for years.

—

''Eight Years Ago – The German Alps''

She'd always hated mountain villages. The roads always seemed too rough, the towns too conveniently remote, and the people too suspicious of outsiders. Even her motorcycle had trouble climbing the slopes, and she had to nurse the vehicle along, carefully avoiding every pothole and break in the road.

It was a long and painful ride to the top. The sun was down by the time they got there, fog settling over the streets. By the time Heinkel killed the motorcycle's engine even Yumie was complaining about the jostling and bruising.

They split up and swept the village, searching the remains.

Yumie walked like a vision of death itself, nun's habit swirling and blade reflecting moonlight as she vanished into the fog.

Heinkel checked her pistols, lit herself a cigarette, and set off in the opposite direction. Smoke wreathed her as she stalked among the alleys.

Not a single soul seemed to live in this village any more, and every few houses, she found evidence of the carnage they were too late to stop. Some of them had tried to defend themselves from whatever it was, but they'd only prolonged the inevitable. The corpses were torn apart.

She muttered prayers around her cigarette as she stepped delicately over a cluster of mangled corpses. There was no telling the identity of the victims, but near the smallest scraps lay a child's bloodstained wooden pull toy.

She looked down for a long moment at the toy, expression blank.

The weight hit her from behind hard enough to knock the wind from her.

Blinding pain sliced across her neck and shoulder; on pure reflex, she screamed in rage and pain, emptying the chamber of her pistol on whatever tore into her. It only clamped down harder. She emptied the other pistol into the shadow.

Her voice was drowned out by a coughing roar, and all she could see was a bristling of coarse grey fur as the weight shoved her against the ground.

Both empty pistols spun away from her grasp. All she could do was try to pry the thing away from her throat. Slavering jaws opened wide. Heinkel gagged on the wolf's fetid breath. Those gaping jaws missed her throat and clashed shut inches from her face. A sideways jerk of the creature's head tore a strip from her coat; it spat it out, baring a maw filled with yellowed daggers.

Trying to bring a knee up into the animal's gut, she spat, risking a sidelong glance—

"Yumie!" Heinkel bellowed over the beast's snarling. "My guns, Yumie!"

Something wet spattered across her. Blood, she realised a second later, and she heard Yumie screaming in inarticulate rage. The berserker had opened a wound, but it only seemed to enrage the beast.

Its snout plunged down at her again. Pain sang through her neck, bright and hot. She knew the blood seeping into her coat was her own.

"Get it off me!" Heinkel crossed her arms to try and keep those snapping jaws away from her face and neck; that only caused it to bear down further, and she could feel the wind being squeezed from her. Spots danced at the corners of her vision. "Kill it! Vhat the hell—is this thing—"

The creature coughed again. Blood spattered her face, thick and viscous, black in the moonlight. A shudder wracked its huge frame. Whining piteously, tongue lolling as it slumped over her, the wolf pinned her down with its limp weight.

She watched the light fade from its eyes.

The smell was horrific.

Heinkel gagged, struggling to roll the corpse off her, but it was too heavy to move from beneath it. Her arm wouldn't work. "Yumie."

"Heinkel, are you alright?" The berserker seized a handful of coarse grey pelt, pulling even as Heinkel shoved. It landed with a wet-sounding thud, jaws lolling open again. "You're bleeding."

Levering herself to her feet, Heinkel laid a hand on the nearest solid thing. A church pew, she realised dimly. The thing had tackled her clear into the village church.

Heinkel coughed, wetly; reached up to touch two fingers to the left side of her neck. "Ja, I noticed," she mumbled. "Vhere's my cigarette?"

"Over there. You won't want that any more. Sit down."

"I'm fine." Heinkel squinted; shook her head. The nave of the church swam in front of her. "Just need a minute."

"Sit down." Yumie pushed her down by the uninjured shoulder. "You're shaking."

"Shit," she wheezed, squinting at the blood and ruin of her shoulder. Bracing her back against the wood, she let herself slide down to the floor, legs splayed under her. "Teeth like railroad spikes. Fucker. I bet it's going to get infected. Check the bike, Yumie. First aid kit in the saddlebag. I'll vait here."

"I'll be right back," Yumie threw over her shoulder, with a last look; her sword flashed in the moonlight as she crossed the threshold.

"Ja..."

The last thing Heinkel registered was the rustle of the berserker's skirt, and Yumie's receding footsteps.

—

Pain woke her, and she squinted blearily awake. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire. The world seemed somehow crisper, more detailed. Slowly, she opened her eyes to half-mast, frowning.

"Heinkel."

Yumie's voice brought her back to reality.

"Ja... I'm avake." Even forming the words took effort. She lifted dull eyes to her partner, frowning. "How bad, Yumie?"

Yumie fiddled with a few pieces of gauze, trying to cut them into shape with cheap aluminium scissors. "Bad." Yumie looked worried. "You're losing a lot of blood. I just can't staunch the bleeding."

She grunted, leaning her head back and hissing at the stab of pain. Moving her head only tore the ragged edge further. "You alvays vere better at opening vounds than closing them. Maybe you better let Yumiko do it."

"No." Yumie's protest was immediate. "If there's anything out there still, she won't stand a chance. I put a call in to Iscariot. Someone's on the way, so just hang in there until then."

"Ja—shit, can't you put that on any gentler?"

"Sorry, Heinkel. Best I can do."

"Probably infected. Filthy fucker." Heinkel squinted at the vague shape in the gloom. "Is that it over there?"

"What's left of it." Yumie glanced up briefly. "Yeah. Looks like a werewolf, to me. Too big for a stray. I didn't think there were any wolves here, either. And I don't think they tear up people just for the fun of it. Too systematic. Too smart."

"Ja... son of a bitch, that hurts." Heinkel laughed a creaky, unsteady laugh. "Fucker tore me open. If I don't rot of infection, I'm going to sprout fur and start howling at the moon, aren't I? That's irony for you. I had to haf a stupid name like Wolfe." She cocked a tired eye at Yumie, jabbing a trembling finger at the corpse. "Do me a favour. Kill me before I turn into that. Don't let me turn into that thing. I don't... I don't vant to become a monster."

"Stop talking nonsense," Yumie mumbled around a strip of gauze in her teeth. "I'm not giving up on you."

"It's not nonsense. I can feel it. It's in my blood. My skin. Too late." Heinkel half-closed her eyes; the nave seemed too blurry around her, pews hazy and swimming in her vision. "I don't know vhat that thing did, but it's too late."

"Heinkel, you're a paladin," Yumie snapped back. "Fight like one!"

"Sorry, Yumie." Heinkel let her eyes slide closed. The pain faded to a sullen ache, almost numb. She felt hot and cold; the sounds of the building settling around her too crisp and vivid. Even the pain faded away. She felt strong, alive. The smell of blood reached her, and she champed her jaws, involuntarily.

"Nein," she rasped. "Too late. Do it, Yumie. Cut my throat. I don't know if I can stop myself, and the only person left for me to turn on is you."

"Heinkel—"

"Do it!"

—

It seemed like a long, long time until she remembered herself.

She'd had strange dreams. There were no unifying narratives in any of them. All she could call back up were impressions of senses as the village had come alive around her – the sound of a twig snapping in the woods, the smell of the blood on the floor beside her, and the scent of cloves and Yumie's steel. Shouting, and snarling, and the sensation of running. None of it made any sense.

Her familiar coat was gone, she realised numbly. In its place was a hospital gown. She recognised the starchy fabric. Someone must have dragged her to the nearest clinic.

Heinkel swore inwardly.

Several moments passed before she risked opening her eyes, and she immediately wished she hadn't. The pain that lanced into them was enough to make her screw her eyes shut, hissing.

"Heinkel?" Yumie's voice, she knew. "Are you awake? Let me turn the lights down."

The light dimmed, and after a few seconds it felt safe to try opening her eyes again. Two indistinct shapes sat in chairs beside the cot. One she recognised as Yumie, and the scent of cloves and steel reached her again, more powerful even than remembered dreams; but the steel seemed somehow different. Aftershave and steel, too... the height of the second figure could only be Anderson.

"Sorry, Heinkel." Yumie's wince was audible.

Heinkel huffed a sigh in answer.

"We're not sure what happened, but your eyes... the light hurts, doesn't it?"

"Ja. Keep the lights off." She coughed, throat parched. "I'm avake. Don't... think I vant to be." She frowned and tried opening her eyes again. With the lights down, the result was much preferable. Yumie sat in a chair by the bedside, still in her bloodstained nun's habit. "Yumie... vhy didn't you kill me?"

The berserker let out her breath and smiled in relief.

"Because yeh ha'e fightin' left to do." The gruff voice was like the meeting of mountains, and it commanded attention. She would recognise Alexander Anderson's voice anywhere, and the effect was immediate. Heinkel shut up and listened, staring at him with a sense of foreboding. "Maxwell called me an' he explained the situation."

"Then you know vhat happened."

"Aye. Ah know." Anderson leaned forward, and the cross around his neck gleamed in the moonlight. "Might be the beastie bit yeh, but Ah know it'll take more than that to kill yeh."

"I don't know. I feel a little like being dead might feel better than this." She sagged back, sighing. "I do haf an arm left still, right? And vhat happened to my cross?"

"Yeh have an arm left. An' the cross burnt yeh," Anderson said, rummaging into a pocket. "We took it off. Yeh already had enough to worry about. Ah had another one made for yeh. Might be yeh find it a wee bit more comfortable."

She reached up with a trembling hand to accept it. It had the same heft and look as her old cross, but this one was wrought of iron, not silver. She immediately tied it in place, letting its familiar weight fall against her chest.

Heinkel dropped her eyes. The raw wound where the silver had burnt her skin had already scabbed over in the shape of the cross, and she stared at it in morbid fascination.

"Danke," she mumbled. "I feel really strange vitout that on."

"O' course." Anderson smiled, but his expression sobered again. "Oh, an' I've got one more thing. Maxwell sent a message with me."

The sense of foreboding she'd felt earlier redoubled. Heinkel let her eyes close.

There it was, then.

She had become the very thing that Iscariot was created to destroy, after all. Of course Maxwell would send his best paladin to clean up the mess. Anderson was to be her judge, jury, and executioner. At least it would be a clean death, and there was no way she could overpower Anderson and Yumie together, if she went insane again. Anderson and Yumie... she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Vhat is it, Father?"

Her voice sounded smaller to her own ears than she had ever heard it before.

A weight settled on her forehead, and her eyes snapped open. Anderson could be gentle when he wanted to be, and he brushed her hair from her forehead with unspeakable care, tucking the ragged ends behind an ear.

"Nae, Heinkel. It's no' that."

He patted the top of her head reassuringly. She let out a breath of relief she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Maxwell sent me to tell yeh that yeh would still have a place in Iscariot. So lang as yeh control the beast, we'll have a place for yeh. Frankly, we can't afford to kill one o' our best. That would be a damn fool thing to do. Maxwell had his doubts, but Ah vouched for yeh personally. Ah know yeh're stronger than that beast yeh killed, an' Ah know yeh can win that fight."

"Father..."

Her eyes stung, and not just from the soft light filtering through the blinds.

"I did, too." Yumie dipped her chin in a single nod. "Actually, I told him if he made us kill you, I'd leave Iscariot. And don't think I wouldn't do it, either. You wouldn't give up on us, if the tables were turned," she added, taking one of Heinkel's hands. "So, we're not going to give up on ''you'', either."

"Yumie..."

Heinkel had always lived her life refusing to cry. Even growing up on the streets, she had never pitied herself or her situation. Tears were for softer people; weaker people.

But even she couldn't hold them back.

She let them fall in silence.

"That mangy, flea-bitten son of a bitch," she whispered, raggedly. "If it veren't dead I'd kill it myself. But... danke. Both of you. ''Mein Gott'', you two are so much better than I deserve."

"Ah don't think so." Anderson patted the top of her head one last time before leaning back. "We're whit God wants yeh to have. Isn't that right, Sister? God led all our paths together for a reason."

"Yeah." Yumie gave her hand a squeeze, withdrawing. "That's right."

"Ja..." Heinkel reached up with a trembling hand, squeezing the cross of iron around her neck. "Thank you, God. And thank Him for you two." She sagged back. "But I'm tired. I'm so tired."

Even keeping her eyes open had turned into a heroic effort. She let them slide closed. How good it felt to lie there, and do nothing, attended by the two people she trusted with her life. Even the cheap hospital sheets felt soft and welcoming.

It was her last coherent thought before she let herself sink down into sleep.

Into the Night (Heinkel Wolfe)

2016-11-22T03:44:31Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Cutscene Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/21 |Location=Heaven or Hell Tower |Synopsis=Heinkel reflects on her duties as a paladin of Iscariot, and the circumstances around her..."

{{Cutscene Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/21
|Location=Heaven or Hell Tower
|Synopsis=Heinkel reflects on her duties as a paladin of Iscariot, and the circumstances around her curse.
|Cast of Characters=363
}}
For the third time in the night, she jerks awake with a bleary curse.

The bandages are starting to soak through again, and she can feel the familiar twinge of a wound torn open. Picking up the scent of her own blood is effortless with her senses, and the smell wakes a roil of emotion behind it.

Above the undercurrents, she can feel the Wolf stir inside, snarling its desire for more blood, to sink its jaws into something more substantial, to bite and tear—

The silence is overpowering, broken only by the harsh sawing of her own breath.

She sits up slowly, painfully, and with pained deliberation she clenches a fist, tendons standing out along her arm. She holds her fist closed, and then with as much deliberation, she opens her fist, studying her fingers in the moonlight through the slats of the blinds.

"You're a ''paladin,'' not a rabid animal," she snarls in the gloom, clenching a fist again.

Nothing answers her angry chiding but the distant sound of a car horn and the whisper of rain outside.

Heinkel Wolfe drags herself out of her bed towards the bathroom. Maybe, she reasons, she might get some sleep if she replaces that dressing. Avoiding the light switch, padding barefoot across the bathroom tile, she fumbles for the first aid kit and tries to thumb the latch without looking at it.

Raising her eyes, she looks at the figure in the mirror: Tall, lanky, with an androgynous facial structure; strong jaw and bold cheekbones, and just enough curves to suggest easily-concealed femininity. Frowning, she sets the first aid kit aside, running a hand along the scars at the side of her neck.

The eyes are what leap out at her from the image in the mirror. Milk-pale and tinged blue, they don't just catch moonlight; they reflect it, throwing it back like a cat's eyes...

Or a wolf's.

Shaking her head, she growls a bleary curse before pulling antiseptic and bandaging out of the kit, working with the sullen determination of the exhausted. That stirring of the Wolf reminds her of another incident; memories untouched for years.

—

''Eight Years Ago – The German Alps''

She'd always hated mountain villages. The roads always seemed too rough, the towns too conveniently remote, and the people too suspicious of outsiders. Even her motorcycle had trouble climbing the slopes, and she had to nurse the vehicle along, carefully avoiding every pothole and break in the road.

It was a long and painful ride to the top. The sun was down by the time they got there, fog settling over the streets. By the time Heinkel killed the motorcycle's engine even Yumie was complaining about the jostling and bruising.

They split up and swept the village, searching the remains.

Yumie walked like a vision of death itself, nun's habit swirling and blade reflecting moonlight as she vanished into the fog.

Heinkel checked her pistols, lit herself a cigarette, and set off in the opposite direction. Smoke wreathed her as she stalked among the alleys.

Not a single soul seemed to live in this village any more, and every few houses, she found evidence of the carnage they were too late to stop. Some of them had tried to defend themselves from whatever it was, but they'd only prolonged the inevitable. The corpses were torn apart.

She muttered prayers around her cigarette as she stepped delicately over a cluster of mangled corpses. There was no telling the identity of the victims, but near the smallest scraps lay a child's bloodstained wooden pull toy.

She looked down for a long moment at the toy, expression blank.

The weight hit her from behind hard enough to knock the wind from her.

Blinding pain sliced across her neck and shoulder; on pure reflex, she screamed in rage and pain, emptying the chamber of her pistol on whatever tore into her. It only clamped down harder. She emptied the other pistol into the shadow.

Her voice was drowned out by a coughing roar, and all she could see was a bristling of coarse grey fur as the weight shoved her against the ground.

Both empty pistols spun away from her grasp. All she could do was try to pry the thing away from her throat. Slavering jaws opened wide. Heinkel gagged on the wolf's fetid breath. Those gaping jaws missed her throat and clashed shut inches from her face. A sideways jerk of the creature's head tore a strip from her coat; it spat it out, baring a maw filled with yellowed daggers.

Trying to bring a knee up into the animal's gut, she spat, risking a sidelong glance—

"Yumie!" Heinkel bellowed over the beast's snarling. "My guns, Yumie!"

Something wet spattered across her. Blood, she realised a second later, and she heard Yumie screaming in inarticulate rage. The berserker had opened a wound, but it only seemed to enrage the beast.

Its snout plunged down at her again. Pain sang through her neck, bright and hot. She knew the blood seeping into her coat was her own.

"Get it off me!" Heinkel crossed her arms to try and keep those snapping jaws away from her face and neck; that only caused it to bear down further, and she could feel the wind being squeezed from her. Spots danced at the corners of her vision. "Kill it! Vhat the hell—is this thing—"

The creature coughed again. Blood spattered her face, thick and viscous, black in the moonlight. A shudder wracked its huge frame. Whining piteously, tongue lolling as it slumped over her, the wolf pinned her down with its limp weight.

She watched the light fade from its eyes.

The smell was horrific.

Heinkel gagged, struggling to roll the corpse off her, but it was too heavy to move from beneath it. Her arm wouldn't work. "Yumie."

"Heinkel, are you alright?" The berserker seized a handful of coarse grey pelt, pulling even as Heinkel shoved. It landed with a wet-sounding thud, jaws lolling open again. "You're bleeding."

Levering herself to her feet, Heinkel laid a hand on the nearest solid thing. A church pew, she realised dimly. The thing had tackled her clear into the village church.

Heinkel coughed, wetly; reached up to touch two fingers to the left side of her neck. "Ja, I noticed," she mumbled. "Vhere's my cigarette?"

"Over there. You won't want that any more. Sit down."

"I'm fine." Heinkel squinted; shook her head. The nave of the church swam in front of her. "Just need a minute."

"Sit down." Yumie pushed her down by the uninjured shoulder. "You're shaking."

"Shit," she wheezed, squinting at the blood and ruin of her shoulder. Bracing her back against the wood, she let herself slide down to the floor, legs splayed under her. "Teeth like railroad spikes. Fucker. I bet it's going to get infected. Check the bike, Yumie. First aid kit in the saddlebag. I'll vait here."

"I'll be right back," Yumie threw over her shoulder, with a last look; her sword flashed in the moonlight as she crossed the threshold.

"Ja..."

The last thing Heinkel registered was the rustle of the berserker's skirt, and Yumie's receding footsteps.

—

Pain woke her, and she squinted blearily awake. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire. The world seemed somehow crisper, more detailed. Slowly, she opened her eyes to half-mast, frowning.

"Heinkel."

Yumie's voice brought her back to reality.

"Ja... I'm avake." Even forming the words took effort. She lifted dull eyes to her partner, frowning. "How bad, Yumie?"

Yumie fiddled with a few pieces of gauze, trying to cut them into shape with cheap aluminium scissors. "Bad." Yumie looked worried. "You're losing a lot of blood. I just can't staunch the bleeding."

She grunted, leaning her head back and hissing at the stab of pain. Moving her head only tore the ragged edge further. "You alvays vere better at opening vounds than closing them. Maybe you better let Yumiko do it."

"No." Yumie's protest was immediate. "If there's anything out there still, she won't stand a chance. I put a call in to Iscariot. Someone's on the way, so just hang in there until then."

"Ja—shit, can't you put that on any gentler?"

"Sorry, Heinkel. Best I can do."

"Probably infected. Filthy fucker." Heinkel squinted at the vague shape in the gloom. "Is that it over there?"

"What's left of it." Yumie glanced up briefly. "Yeah. Looks like a werewolf, to me. Too big for a stray. I didn't think there were any wolves here, either. And I don't think they tear up people just for the fun of it. Too systematic. Too smart."

"Ja... son of a bitch, that hurts." Heinkel laughed a creaky, unsteady laugh. "Fucker tore me open. If I don't rot of infection, I'm going to sprout fur and start howling at the moon, aren't I? That's irony for you. I had to haf a stupid name like Wolfe." She cocked a tired eye at Yumie, jabbing a trembling finger at the corpse. "Do me a favour. Kill me before I turn into that. Don't let me turn into that thing. I don't... I don't vant to become a monster."

"Stop talking nonsense," Yumie mumbled around a strip of gauze in her teeth. "I'm not giving up on you."

"It's not nonsense. I can feel it. It's in my blood. My skin. Too late." Heinkel half-closed her eyes; the nave seemed too blurry around her, pews hazy and swimming in her vision. "I don't know vhat that thing did, but it's too late."

"Heinkel, you're a paladin," Yumie snapped back. "Fight like one!"

"Sorry, Yumie." Heinkel let her eyes slide closed. The pain faded to a sullen ache, almost numb. She felt hot and cold; the sounds of the building settling around her too crisp and vivid. Even the pain faded away. She felt strong, alive. The smell of blood reached her, and she champed her jaws, involuntarily.

"Nein," she rasped. "Too late. Do it, Yumie. Cut my throat. I don't know if I can stop myself, and the only person left for me to turn on is you."

"Heinkel—"

"Do it!"

—

It seemed like a long, long time until she remembered herself.

She'd had strange dreams. There were no unifying narratives in any of them. All she could call back up were impressions of senses as the village had come alive around her – the sound of a twig snapping in the woods, the smell of the blood on the floor beside her, and the scent of cloves and Yumie's steel. Shouting, and snarling, and the sensation of running. None of it made any sense.

Her familiar coat was gone, she realised numbly. In its place was a hospital gown. She recognised the starchy fabric. Someone must have dragged her to the nearest clinic.

Heinkel swore inwardly.

Several moments passed before she risked opening her eyes, and she immediately wished she hadn't. The pain that lanced into them was enough to make her screw her eyes shut, hissing.

"Heinkel?" Yumie's voice, she knew. "Are you awake? Let me turn the lights down."

The light dimmed, and after a few seconds it felt safe to try opening her eyes again. Two indistinct shapes sat in chairs beside the cot. One she recognised as Yumie, and the scent of cloves and steel reached her again, more powerful even than remembered dreams; but the steel seemed somehow different. Aftershave and steel, too... the height of the second figure could only be Anderson.

"Sorry, Heinkel." Yumie's wince was audible.

Heinkel huffed a sigh in answer.

"We're not sure what happened, but your eyes... the light hurts, doesn't it?"

"Ja. Keep the lights off." She coughed, throat parched. "I'm avake. Don't... think I vant to be." She frowned and tried opening her eyes again. With the lights down, the result was much preferable. Yumie sat in a chair by the bedside, still in her bloodstained nun's habit. "Yumie... vhy didn't you kill me?"

The berserker let out her breath and smiled in relief.

"Because yeh ha'e fightin' left to do." The gruff voice was like the meeting of mountains, and it commanded attention. She would recognise Alexander Anderson's voice anywhere, and the effect was immediate. Heinkel shut up and listened, staring at him with a sense of foreboding. "Maxwell called me an' he explained the situation."

"Then you know vhat happened."

"Aye. Ah know." Anderson leaned forward, and the cross around his neck gleamed in the moonlight. "Might be the beastie bit yeh, but Ah know it'll take more than that to kill yeh."

"I don't know. I feel a little like being dead might feel better than this." She sagged back, sighing. "I do haf an arm left still, right? And vhat happened to my cross?"

"Yeh have an arm left. An' the cross burnt yeh," Anderson said, rummaging into a pocket. "We took it off. Yeh already had enough to worry about. Ah had another one made for yeh. Might be yeh find it a wee bit more comfortable."

She reached up with a trembling hand to accept it. It had the same heft and look as her old cross, but this one was wrought of iron, not silver. She immediately tied it in place, letting its familiar weight fall against her chest.

Heinkel dropped her eyes. The raw wound where the silver had burnt her skin had already scabbed over in the shape of the cross, and she stared at it in morbid fascination.

"Danke," she mumbled. "I feel really strange vitout that on."

"O' course." Anderson smiled, but his expression sobered again. "Oh, an' I've got one more thing. Maxwell sent a message with me."

The sense of foreboding she'd felt earlier redoubled. Heinkel let her eyes close.

There it was, then.

She had become the very thing that Iscariot was created to destroy, after all. Of course Maxwell would send his best paladin to clean up the mess. Anderson was to be her judge, jury, and executioner. At least it would be a clean death, and there was no way she could overpower Anderson and Yumie together, if she went insane again. Anderson and Yumie... she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Vhat is it, Father?"

Her voice sounded smaller to her own ears than she had ever heard it before.

A weight settled on her forehead, and her eyes snapped open. Anderson could be gentle when he wanted to be, and he brushed her hair from her forehead with unspeakable care, tucking the ragged ends behind an ear.

"Nae, Heinkel. It's no' that."

He patted the top of her head reassuringly. She let out a breath of relief she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Maxwell sent me to tell yeh that yeh would still have a place in Iscariot. So lang as yeh control the beast, we'll have a place for yeh. Frankly, we can't afford to kill one o' our best. That would be a damn fool thing to do. Maxwell had his doubts, but Ah vouched for yeh personally. Ah know yeh're stronger than that beast yeh killed, an' Ah know yeh can win that fight."

"Father..."

Her eyes stung, and not just from the soft light filtering through the blinds.

"I did, too." Yumie dipped her chin in a single nod. "Actually, I told him if he made us kill you, I'd leave Iscariot. And don't think I wouldn't do it, either. You wouldn't give up on us, if the tables were turned," she added, taking one of Heinkel's hands. "So, we're not going to give up on ''you'', either."

"Yumie..."

Heinkel had always lived her life refusing to cry. Even growing up on the streets, she had never pitied herself or her situation. Tears were for softer people; weaker people.

But even she couldn't hold them back.

She let them fall in silence.

"That mangy, flea-bitten son of a bitch," she whispered, raggedly. "If it veren't dead I'd kill it myself. But... danke. Both of you. ''Mein Gott'', you two are so much better than I deserve."

"Ah don't think so." Anderson patted the top of her head one last time before leaning back. "We're whit God wants yeh to have. Isn't that right, Sister? God led all our paths together for a reason."

"Yeah." Yumie gave her hand a squeeze, withdrawing. "That's right."

"Ja..." Heinkel reached up with a trembling hand, squeezing the cross of iron around her neck. "Thank you, God. And thank Him for you two." She sagged back. "But I'm tired. I'm so tired."

Even keeping her eyes open had turned into a heroic effort. She let them slide closed. How good it felt to lie there, and do nothing, attended by the two people she trusted with her life. Even the cheap hospital sheets felt soft and welcoming.

It was her last coherent thought before she let herself sink down into sleep.

4797/A Werewolf (Back) In Boston

2016-11-19T05:56:21Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/18 |Location=Heaven or Hell Tower <HoH> |Synopsis=The prodigal gun-toting priest comes home to the Heaven or Hell Tower in Boston. |Cast of..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/18
|Location=Heaven or Hell Tower <HoH>
|Synopsis=The prodigal gun-toting priest comes home to the Heaven or Hell Tower in Boston.
|Cast of Characters=363, 253
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   It's a cold night in the city of Boston, hovering half a dozen degrees or so above the freezing threshold. Bits of sleet are intermingled with spatters of half-hearted rain; too cold in the clouds to come down as rain, but too warm down below to stay as sleet. The sun has long since set, and the temperature is well on its way to plunging. It won't freeze, not yet, but the air is damp enough to make it feel a little miserable.   The office of Heaven or Hell is a sizable building, and it stands impervious to the elements. The big glass windows are shuttered for the night, and the lights are on, lending a warm and welcoming glow to the weary client.   Or the weary, prodigal, slightly bloodied agent.   Without any sort of fanfare at all, the door opens, and a tall and lanky figure drags itself through and kicks the door shut, to the sound of combat boots against a steel doorframe.   Silence reigns, broken only by the wet spatter of water dripping onto the elegant, polished, and formerly clean marble floor. Now it's looking just a little muddy. Or is that blood? It's hard to say, without direct sunlight.   Heinkel Wolfe scowls at the puddle her coat leaves on the floor as though it personally offends her. She's carrying a battered, unremarkable, and somewhat bloodstained briefcase in one arm, and rolling a wheeled suitcase in the other. She looks exhausted and held together by coffee, nicotene, and the band-aid over one bold cheekbone; the briefcase doesn't look like it's in much better shape.   With a sigh and a scowl, Heinkel drags her burdens further in the doorway, slumping a little as she thumbs the latches on the briefcase, revealing a slightly water-damaged manila folder. Thumbing that open, she glances up to see if said boss is here or not, and then resumes thumbing through it as though searching for something specific.   "Hey, boss!"   Her voice is low, heavy, loud, gruff, and thoroughly androgynous; it could as easily be the voice of a slightly effeminate man, or a particularly masculine woman. Only God knows the truth. The only real clear tell from it is that she smokes enough that it would be suicidal in anybody else.   The echoes die down.   "Found something interesting I could use some help vit..."   If she notices the puddle under her coat is turning a little red, or that it's starting to smell like blood, she doesn't show it. In fact, she's so engrossed in her reading, she doesn't even seem to notice if Psyber is already here -- or if he's on his way, or much of anything else, really. 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     The owner of said office is seated at the front desk as the hour moves later and the closing threshhold approaches. He's wearing a casual outfit, t-shirt and slacks with sneakers, and is propped back in his seat with some papers in his lap. Those seem to be the bulk of what he's working on at the moment. He has a clear line of sight to the door once it's kicked open and quirks his brow a bit once the woman who did so walks in.     He looks back down at his papers a few moments later, letting her finish stepping in as he scratches some marks on one of the sheets of paper and then puts all the papers into a folder, and then the folder into a drawer. He calmly sits up in his chair and rests his chin on his hands as she starts to take off her coat and get settled in.     "You're lucky my lobby is marble flooring and not carpet. If you're going to get blood everywhere, at least grab a mop once you're dry," He chides her before adjusting in his seat and watching her drag herself inside. He half-lids those red eyes of his and sighs a bit as she looks at her book. Despite the chiding, he doesn't seem to be getting up to kick her out or anything.     "Welcome back, though. It's been a while," He points out, continuing to rest his chin on his hands and watch her as she generates further puddles on the floor and reads the materials she brought with her, "So what do you need help with?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   Flip, flip. The papers make a dry sound, except where they look like they've gotten wet. A few of those pages actually look bloodstained, but maybe that's just mud. Yeah, right.   Frowning, she looks up at about the same time Psyber deposits his paperwork into a drawer; though the optics she has on hide it, she blinks somewhat owlishly behind them. "Oh." 'Whoops,' her tone seems to say.   ...Wait, blood? Heinkel looks over to note there's nothing wrong with both arms, and then down. She is in fact bleeding, and it is in fact seeped through one pant leg, over the edge of a boot, and pooling slowly by her feet.   "Shit," she says, eloquently, shuffling a bit in place. The combat boot that isn't covered in blood squeaks a little against the clean, polished marble that is rapidly becoming not-clean. "Sorry. I'll get a mop. Later. Haf something interesting here you might vant to see first."   The folio is waved in Psyber's face to a rustling of paper. There is, of course, no way for him to actually read what's in there with how quickly she's moving it; she finally tosses it to slide and come to rest in front of Psbyer.   "Take a look at that. Finally got the report back from our contacts in Section III, John, and Father Anderson delivered a copy to me personally. This is from samples of the chips ve'fe been finding on the freaks all over Europe." Heinkel stabs a finger at the folio. "Those bastards haf access to some kind of manufactory, and ve haf an idea of vhere it is, now, thanks to samples from the chips."   The priest folds her arms, scowling. "Somevon is creating cheap knockoff vampires, and they'fe got the brass balls to do it in Papal territory, on our vatch. These documents trace the manufactory and a lot of the money to South America."   "Ve haf operatives down there, right now. Yumie's out there along with a few divisions from Section XIII. But I'm vondering if that's enough. I hafen't heard shit from anyvon down there, and Chief--" That would be Bishop Maxwell, the head of Section XIII, "--isn't telling me shit, either. Something about this is starting to smell rotten."   Her arms fold. "If I can get a strike team together, vhat do you say to some good old fashioned violence? It's time to show those bastards, whoever they are, that you can't get avay vit murder, and you sure as hell can't get avay vit spitting on the Church." Her frown deepens. "I heard Hellsing's had their own problems, but the Protestants can handle their own territory; I'm not cleaning up /their/ messes unless I haf direct orders to." A much more well-behaved stance than Anderson's incessant desire to murder them all in the face. Yes. One can see why Heinkel is handling multiversal matters, and not Anderson. Or Yumie. Or Maxwell. Or just about anybody else from Iscariot ranks.   Heinkel cocks her head, and though the optics hide where exactly she's looking, there's no mistaking that she's eyeing Psyber directly. "How does Bolivia sound this time of year, boss? The veather here's shit tonight anyvay."   There's a long pause.   "Uh, aside from that, I guess if you haf some bandages, that vould be pretty great right now."   Heinkel pauses again, and then says, completely deadpan, "You should see the other guy." When she smiles, her teeth look a little pointy.   Well, at least she hasn't lost her sense of gallows humour about just about everything. 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     Psyber looks down at the portfolio as it is waved in front of his face. He blinks several times, following it with rapid flicks of his eyes. He seems patient with the werewolf in front of him, mostly because he's known her for years and she is a good friend. If he was going to object to the unique nature of Heinkel he would have done so long, long ago.     Psyber rests his chin on one hand, freeing up the other to flip through the folder that she places down in front of him, "Interesting. Manufacturing chips that generatic Necrophasic-Hemodependence." Psyber rubs the underside of his chin and considers the file in front of himself, "The capability of doing so does bode ill implications for your world. That's pretty worrying." He says in consideration of it.     Heinkel soon gets to the heart of the issue: She wants him to come along on a strike team to help out. He takes out his cell phone and looks at it for a few moments, "Hrm. I have classes to teach on Monday, so... If we were back by then, I could probably help you guys out with that."     He seems to relent to that much availability. Heinkel, who has known him this long, is well aware that him sacrificing a full weekend to any task is almost unheard of, so it's a pretty major concession on his part.     "I think I have..." He rummages around under his desk and pulls out a first aid kit, setting it down on the counter in front of him on top of her file, "Here you go. It's not much, but it'll do for a patchjob on a mutt. Otherwise, I'm sure I can get a veterinarian in here to take a look at you and give you a milkbone," He teases her. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Actually, I vas thinking more that it vould be a huge fucking pain in the ass if they managed to blunder through the varpgates. Can you imagine the papervork I'd haf to deal vit if they managed to go vipe out a town on the other side? It vould be a nightmare for all of Iscariot, actually." Heinkel sighs, gesturing vaguely. "Ve're spread too thin already. It's vhy I keep getting called back every so often."   Her head tilts, and she eyes the folder somewhat darkly, heaving a beleaguered sigh. "Fucking meddlers. Ve had enough to deal vit vitout that kind of nonsense in the mix. This is going to be a pain in the ass. I know how these things go."   "Hunh." That Psyber's willing to sacrifice an entire weekend brings Heinkel to arch her brows until they disappear into her ragged bangs. "Vell, that vas unexpected. I appreciate it. I'll haf coordinates by tomorrow; between the two of us, and whoever else you vant to bring vit you, ve should be able to smash their manufactory. That's all I really vant to do, honestly. Ve can get evidence from vhat's left. And who's left, if any." She reaches up to tug at one glove, worrying the black leather off her hand and flexing pale, cold-stiff fingers; the other follows suit, and both are stuffed into her coat pocket.   It's the same coat he gave her years ago, though it looks like it's seen better days, and it's clear where she's made hasty patch jobs to its seams in slightly different-coloured thread. "Thanks--"   "Hit the lights, if you'd be so kind. Just the main von. I only need it off for a minute or so."   Her mouth twists in a grimace, and she groans, in the manner of someone suffering an awful joke. "Ugh. Really, Psyber? Is that the best you can do, Boss? God, I'd rather haf you joking about stuffing me in a dress than /that/. Gross." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     "I agree. Wargates along with any proliferating monster can be immensely prolematic," Psyber notes, looking down at the files in front of him again as he considers the point, "Containment is an issue, so is cross-speciation. If these chips can create vampires, it's possible they can hybridize with other forms and create new strains. I do believe it needs to be shut down regardless."     He nods his head to her carefully, considering her offer, "Yeah. It shouldn't take too long for a simple slash and burn job." He takes a cigarette out of his jeans pocket and puts it in his mouth before lighting it. A few moments later he holds out a crumpled pack and a lighter towards Heinkel to let her take and light her own from it.     When she asks that the lights go off, Psyber reaches under the desk and hits the switch there. The main overhead lighting flicks off in the lobby, leaving it only illuminated by a couple corner lamps and whatever light is coming in off the streets through the glass panes of the lobby building.     "Hey now. If it's a good enough joke for Laine, it's damn sure a good enough joke for you. She's got you way beat on werewolf veterancy." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Ugh. Cross-species. I hadn't even thought of that." Heinkel grimaces, pinching the bridge of her nose in one hand. The thought of those things spreading around and making trouble for the rest of the multiverse is bad enough; the thought that they might spread to something from which they'd be an even more efficient vector... no, that's not fun to think about.   Just /imagine/ the paperwork.   She grins that toothsome grin again once he mentions a slash and burn job. "Ja, something like hat. I figure if ve go in vitout any varning, they're not going to haf a chance to pack everything up and run. They can run like hell after ve get there, but it von't do them any good."   Heinkel turn sher head far enough to suggest she's looking straight at the carton, before she plucks one and flicks the lighter, handing it back and taking a nice soothing puff. In fact, it apparently feels so good she indulges in another one, longer, before letting the cigarette dangle from her lower lip. "Danke."   The corner lamps are eyed a moment after the overhead goes out; where anyone else would probably be suffering night blindness, Heinkel simply shrugs, whisks her glasses off her face, and drops them to clatter onto the desk.   What's left is a pair of very obviously not human eyes. The colour of them is hard to see in the gloom, aside from 'very pale,' but the immediate difference is that the instant her head moves, they flare to life in the same way as a cat's eyes would, or, indeed, a wolf. Apparently she doesn't really /need/ daytime vision, or maybe it's an old problem from before she started growing fur and howling at the moon.   Not that she howls uncontrollably at the moon. That's undignified. She's learned how to make it sound quite musical, thank you very much.   "Danke." Unencumbered, she shrugs out of her coat, tosses it on the desk, rolls up one pant leg, and bends over to set to work. "Ja, maybe she's got senority, but that doesn't mean I can't haf some kind of dignity, you know." Heinkel pauses to scowl at him, illuminated milk-pale eyes and all, and it has no animosity whatsoever in it. With the way the outside light catches them, they might be blue. "I mean, I'm sure if they didn't know me so long, I'd get the same kind of thing from Father Anderson and Yumie. Instead, Father Anderson offered to be the first von to kill me if I ever lose control of it, and Yumie... vell, I'm not sure vhat Yumie thinks. Hard to know, sometimes. But she listens to me, and that's all that matters to me. If I say I'm still me, she believes it. So does Father Anderson."   Cleaning and patching up, she ties it off with some medical tape, before shutting the first aid kit with a click and setting it aside, cramming her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose. "Okay, you can hit the lights again. Sorry. I haf extreme photosensitivity. I vas alvays a little light sensitive, but it vent crazy after... vell." Heinkel gestures at herself. "You know. I haf to haf these glasses on if there's any kind of significant light."   "Say, I'm not sure." She rubs her jaw, thoughtful, ignoring the smear of blood left behind. "Haf I actually told you vhat I vas doing before Iscariot?" 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     Psyber taps some ash from his cigarette into the ashtray sitting on the front desk before watching her take off her glasses and lean back in his chair. As she starts to take off her jacket and get to work, he leans back a bit and pours some scotch into a glass for himself, sipping at it as he listens to her.     "You have plenty of dignity. If you didn't, you wouldn't be able to take a joke about it," Psyber points out to her as he considers, exhaling a small cloud of smoke as she scowls at him and goes to work on her wounds, "Having a contingency if you ever lose control is one sort of dignity. But being able to make your condition enough of your life to joke about shows that you own it, not the other way around. Don't forget that." Psyber points out.     He takes another slow drag before tapping his cigarette into the ashtray as she finishes up cleaning her wounds and puts her sunglasses back on. He didn't seem too bothered by the low light in the first place, but he does eventually bring the lights slowly back up to full brightness, "Nothing to apologize for. That's why I have the controls and stuff around this building."     Finally, to her last question, he shakes his head several times, "You never told me that. I don't really pry for information about people. The past is less important than the present and the future." He waves the cigarette at her a couple times, "By all means, though, share if you'd like." He takes a sip of his drink. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The scotch is eyed for a second or two with a little bit of longing, but Heinkel isn't desperate enough to beg for it. Besides, it won't have much of an effect on her. She does make a wistful sound, though. "You know, I vas so desperate I tried drinking paint thinner the other day. I don't recommend it. Tastes like shit."   It's hard to tell whether she's actually serious about that or not.   "I vonder sometimes if I can, but I hafen't gone howling mad just yet." Heinkel shrugs. "Vorst of it is the blood. Not mine. Others. And not drinking it. Just... the carnage, I guess. I haf to clamp down if I'm around it." She wrinkles her nose. "Ja, I guess you're right."   She shrugs. "Vasn't really hiding anything, honestly. I just don't talk about myself too much; not because it's any big secret. I figure most people aren't going to care. But coming here is like coming home, so... but, ja? Really, I didn't?" Leaning back against the desk, she reaches over to tap her cigarette into the ashtray. "Damn. It's been a vhile. I thought I had. Vell," she says with a grin, "I guess it's storytime."   "I vasn't alvays vit the Catholic church. Actually, I vas never really religious in the first place, but I guess that much probably comes across. I grew up on the streets of eastern Europe, and I learned to steal to survive. Never knew my parents. No idea who they vere, or veren't. I looked out for myself, and I did a pretty damned decent job of it, too."   She takes another long drag, exhaling a wreath of smoke. "Somehow I vound up in the criminal underbelly, sort of. I got known for getting things done. Eventually I got known for being a hit man. Or hit voman, as it vere, I guess. That antique piece of shit rifle I haf vas the tool of my trade. I made problems disappear. I vas pretty good at it, too."   "I did it for a few years." Heinkel reaches down, pulling up the side of her shirt to bare stark ribs -- she really probably ought to eat more -- and a particularly nasty scar that screams 'bullet wound' on her side. "I got lucky. The bastard that did it to me couldn't aim for shit, but I vas still dying. I managed to drag my bleeding ass to a church in Brugge. The nuns there took care of me. Helped me heal. So I stayed vit them, and locked avay my rifle. Traded it for a spade. I vas groundskeeper there."   She shrugs, letting her shirt fall back down. "I liked it. Gardening is relaxing, you know. But then Iscariot came calling, and I thought long and hard about Chief's offer. I turned him down, the first time. He sent Father Anderson aftervard, to try and convince me. I thought long and hard about it some more, and decided it vas a vay to give back, I guess. I told the nuns I vas transferring to Italy. They never knew vhere I vas going, because officially, Section XIII doesn't exist." She shows her teeth, flatly. "'Ve are Apostles, yet not Apostles. Ve do vhat has to be done, because no one else vill. Ve are heretics, yet not heretics. Vhen our vork is done, ve toss our thirty pieces of silfer, and ve hang ourselves on a rope of straw.' Maybe not literally, but that's the general gist of it."   "Still think Chief's a crazy son of a bitch," she offers, "and all of them, but they looks after their own. They took care of me. Even after that mangy flea-bit mutt took a piece out of me." She hooks a finger into her collar, tugging it down to reveal a ragged scar down the side of her neck; halves forming a clear bite wound. "They still let me stay, even knowing vhat I could do. It's vhy I refuse to let that animal take over. I owe it to them. And I owe it to you, and Heaven or Hell, too." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     As she looks at the bottle longingly, Psyber presses a hand against it and slides it across the wood tabletop towards her after a few moments. It's definitely expensive scotch, as evidenced by the fact he's sipping it instead of just drinking it down wholesale. The half-angel sets down his glass on the table and listens to her.     "I didn't think you were hiding your past, per se. I just didn't think it was any of my business to really pry. A lot of people around here avoid talking about their past. Haruno, Homura, Fortuna. Just to name a few. 'Don't ask' is generally the safest policy for someone in my field who wants to keep employees," He points out as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette and then crosses his arms a bit.     "Mm. That does sound like a rough past," Psyber admits to her as he finishes listening to the entirety of the story, eventually concluding, "So you were an assassin, and then a nun, and then a combat nun." Psyber considers it all, thinking, "And yes, Father Anderson. I've only seen bits and pieces of the intel on him, but he does seem to be rather focused and skilled at his particular path of worship."     "It's good to keep an eye on the things that keep your head in the game, I agree." Psyber says to her flatly, leaning back in his chair as he folds his hands over his chest and considers the entirety of the situation, "But more than them, or me, I think you owe it to yourself. Don't forget that the life you've led has given wisdom that could same day aid another. Depriving yourself of passing that on to someone in the future is as much a debt you owe to yourself as any other debt that keeps you human." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There's obvious longing in the way Heinkel looks at that bottle of scotch, so freely offered to her. In fact, she seems to sorely be considering it for a few very long moments. She picks it up with obvious care, turning it to study the label... and allows herself one small drink straight from the bottle, surprisingly dainty, before offering the bottle back. "Ah... danke. Ja, it's just as good as it smells to me, if you really haf to know."   It smells pretty harsh, being alcohol, but she can still pick up on the subtleties. And the subtleties smell lovely to her senses.   "Ja, I can understand vhy you vouldn't pry. I've never really cared, though, at least about my own. It's there. I mean, there aren't any dossiers anyvon can dig through," she adds, shrugging, "and I'm pretty sure even my Union records are blacked out, by request. At least, the part vhere I like to howl at the moon vonce in a vhile." Nobody's supposed to know, so it's easier not to make it 'public' record.   She leans back. "Actually, I vasn't a nun, technically. I vasn't ordained. I vas just keeping the garden for them, in exchange for treatment and food. And the occasional glass of vine, if I asked really nicely. I used to sing Gregorian chant vit the brothers." Heinkel looks to the window. "They vere nice, all of them. I miss them, sometimes, but it's easier not to go back. I'd haf to answer all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Mostly older nuns, there, and they vere so good to me. They didn't ask any questions about vhere I came from."   "Father Anderson? Heh. Heh, heh. You haf no idea. He's vhat I'd call a single-minded zealot, ja. But he's very good at vhat he does. And he does care, in his own vay. Runs an orphanage, vhen he's not being dragged off to stick freaks and ghouls full of bayonets. I really haf no idea how he carries so many of them around." She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'bayonets for days,' but it isn't very clear. "Definitely skilled at vhat he does, though. Ve follow him for a reason."   She leans her hip against the desk, folding her arms. "Ja? Maybe." She shrugs. "I never really thought much of myself. I mean, I don't hate myself or anything like that. I just don't really think about myself much. I do vhat I can for others, and that's enough for me, I guess." Heinkel folds her arms. "You're right, though. I never really thought about it that vay." One shoulder rises and falls. "I try not to think too much in general. Keeps me saner that vay, I think." 

:'''{{#var:253|Psyber (253)}} has posed:'''     Psyber nods his head and smiles as she offers him the scotch bottle back, setting it down on the table a moment later and putting the corked cap back into it, "Thanks. It's a 21 year single malt a client gave me as a Thanksgiving present," Psyber says honestly, putting it in a drawer a few moments later before crossing his arms.     "Everyone's files have a little black in them, Heinkel. You should see the redactions on mine. I keep my own full name classified for security purposes, even," He points out to her as he taps his fingers against the top of the counter in thought.     "Ah ha. So not a nun, just a regular gardener who mooched free food. Gotcha," He teases before smiling at her genuinely, "It's good that you found somewhere like that, though. It's those changes in perspective that can let you evalute your life in a way you can't when you're in the middle of living it. Always good to take in new settings to look at things."     "Magic, probably," He responds in answer to the bayonets statement, "Otherwise, hard to say with stuff like that. As long as he's good at what he does and inspires loyalty, far be it from me to question or pass judgment on another religious man. Not really my job to do that, I think." He leans back a bit and watches Heinkel as she leans against the desk.     "Stuff you don't think about is a good reason to talk to other people," Psyber points out, snuffing out his cigarette in the ash tray a moment later, "It's stuff I used to not think about myself, but all the changes over the past year have made me consider those kinds of things a bit more. Stuff like that happens to everyone sometimes, I imagine. THings make you stop and look at life." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Oh, right, Thanksgiving. I forgot that's something you Americans do. Guess I should bring something to the table this year." Heinkel rubs at her jaw, though the gesture seems tired. "Something not alcoholic. I can cook, beliefe it or not. Sometimes."   She grins again at his mention of blacked-out files. "I can only imagine vhat /yours/ must look like. Mine's just a little black." She holds up thumb and forefinger to illustrate. "Just one little detail, vhen it comes down to it. Vell. One big detail, I guess."   "Ja, something like that. Hey, in my defense, I /vas/ good at gardening. I picked it up quickly. Guess their previous groundskeeper had died, so they veren't too picky about who they took on. And I had to make myself useful somehow. Besides," she adds, still grinning. "They had good food, you know. Ach, now those nuns could /cook/. I do miss that part. A culinary expert, I am not. And probably von't ever be. My idea of cooking is to put something frozen in an oven."   "Magic? I doubt it. He's too devout for that kind of thing. Or maybe God's lending him a helping hand after all. Who's to say?" Heinkel shrugs. "I vouldn't pass judgement on him, either vay. I owe him too much. And despite his methods, he protects a lot of people, ja?"   She stubs out her own cigarette, after exhaling the last of the smoke. "Hunh. Maybe. I didn't think so much about eating meat before the lycanthropy, but these days, I prefer not to. Keeps the rage avay, you know? Besides, carrots are a great snack." The priest pushes off from the desk, slinging her coat over her arm. "Vell, I'd better turn in. My room's still here, ja? I even promise I von't sleep on the couch."   Shifting her load, she leans over the desk a little, as though eyeballing the scotch's label one more time. Then, leaning over a little further, quickly, she presses a kiss to the half-angel's cheek. "Thanks for everything, Psyber. I mean that. Coming back here is coming home, to me."   "And considering vhat ungodly hour I'm coming back, I'd better get some sleep before it's off to South America." Straightening, she yawns, gathering up her slightly bloodstained coat and her slightly less bloodstained luggage. "See you tomorrow."   "Don't stay up too late vit that scotch... even if it's the good stuff."   Her footsteps echo across the lobby, before she pauses, turning. "Good to be back home." Heinkel allows herself a small, but genuine, smile. "Gute nacht."   The footsteps continue back up, and Heinkel's voice floats back from the elevator.   "But you're still not allowed to put me in a dress." 
}}

4784/Bump in the Night

2016-11-15T18:27:56Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/15 |Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1> |Synopsis=Iscariot dispatches Heinkel Wolfe to a small town in Ireland to clean up a ghoul infestation..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/15
|Location=Hellsing-1 Europe <HE1>
|Synopsis=Iscariot dispatches Heinkel Wolfe to a small town in Ireland to clean up a ghoul infestation, and she calls in some multiversal help from Alexis Maaka.
|Cast of Characters=363, 571
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   It's late at night in the country of Ireland. Mist rises from the fields, and moss coats the rocks. The village is relatively small, with only a scattering of houses, a modest bus station, and an industrial sector; too small to even warrant a train station. The church is some distance away at the top of a hill, where the topography lends it a little more prominence. As far as village sizes go, though, it's practically microscopic. There can't be more people here than a few hundred. Seven hundred would be an enormously generous stretch.   This is Catholic territory, as proclaimed by the church's steeple. The Catholic Church handles its own -- with no interference brooked from the Hellsing Order of Protestant Knights.   And there's a stranger here, crouched in the underbrush, about a quarter mile from town. The top of a hill is about the same height as the church, and this is where coordinates were filed to Alexis Maaka, along with a terse note about a job; come quietly, she'd said, and come well-armed, because it might get messy.   Maaka will find a positively antique German motorcycle leaning on its kickstand in the weeds. Off the beaten track, beside the bike, is a single figure sprawled in the damp dirt; clad entirely in black, a long coat, which seems like it should be more cumbersome than it is. The figure is stretched up to a sniper rifle planted on a tripod, and her head is shoved up against the viewfinder, glasses tipped up to see.   The figure responds before Maaka is even in visual range; the sniper -- for a sniper is surely what they must be -- must have phenomenal hearing.   "Step softly. Don't disturb the undergrowth too much. I doubt they can hear us from out here, but I vouldn't take any chances." It's a gruff and thoroughly androgynous tone, along with a moderately thick German accent. The figure pauses, glancing back; the glasses fall back into place before the colour of the eyes can even be seen. "I count at least a dozen of the bastards in there. I'm sure the priest is one of them, too. The best ve can do for those poor bastards' souls is to put them down like the rabid animals they are now." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Been a while since Alexis has been to Ireland on a job. She normally doesn't get missions like these on short notice, certainly not monster hunting missions either. That said, she wasn't gonna turn down a chance to go out and expand her resume, as it were.     She pulls up on a more modern motorcycle, stopping aside the figure lying close to it after a long drive out the warp gate. Thankfully the tracking systems built into her head, and also on the Knight have the coordinates locked in tightly as the electronic whirr of the Knight's engine dies down, and Maaka lets it lean on a kickstand.     She pulls out a scoped G3 from the bike's leather scabbard, slinging it over her shoulder as she removes her helmet and places it on the bike. She'll lay prone besides Heinkel, her eyes switching to thermo-optic vision, and they whirr softly as she zooms in to get a good look at the village properly. Clearly she doesn't need a scope to get a good look, thanks to binocular vision, and she seems unphased by Heinkel being able to hear her coming.     To be fair she does also smell of a Cuban cigar, as she whispers quietly, "One of what? Zombies or worse?"     She tries to scan for targets, switching to night-vision if they don't register on thermals. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   There's not much to see, but occasionally there's clear movement at the top of the hill; figures moving with a decidedly inhuman lurch and lack of motor control. It's too far to make out features, or to tell what kind of shape they're in. The moonlight is a help, tonight; if it weren't nearly full, the figures wouldn't be visible at all.   "Ghouls." Heinkel shifts her gear, swinging the rifle just a smidge to the left and bending over the sight again, using a forefinger to tilt her glasses up. "Might as vell be zombies. I think a few of the bastards haf been that vay for a vhile now. I don't think the priest is the freak--" That must be something else, given the emphasis she places on the term, "--but I think he vas visited by vhichever von vas the freak."   She sighs, and it trails into something almost a growl. "Damn freaks. I vas having a nice quiet evening, catching up on some papervork vit some hot chocolate... it's cold out here, it's vet out here, and I'm going to get blood all over everything if ve haf to get in close."   "I haf the people down below locked up in their houses. Told them to bar the doors. The more ve can keep that vay, the better. Spreads by biting," Heinkel adds, pointing at another figure stumbling jerkily through the church's front lawn. "Turns them into monsters. They might look like people up close, but trust me, they're not people any more."   Heinkel swings the rifle again, this time to the right. "Start shooting if you vant to, but until I figure out vhich vay the freak's gone, it might get messy. I don't vant that bastard busting into houses to add to his little army. I recommend the vons that look like they can't hardly move any more."   As though to underscore her point, she tracks her rifle slightly to the left, and with a click of the trigger, a flash, and a dull roar, the figure she'd been tracking jerks sideways, thrown off its feet into a heap. It doesn't get back up again.   "Aim for the head," Heinkel adds, gruff. "They von't actually stay down unless you take out the head or heart." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "Drinks are on me after this." Maaka says dryly, before she notes the zombie-like gait of the Ghouls. Yep, zombies. "Please tell me these things don't require blessed bullets or something." SHe adds, her eyes adjusting back to normal magnification as she braces the G3's stock to her shoulder.     She follows where Heinkel points, looking through her scope as she mentally tags ghouls, her targeting software providing HUD markers on each of the zombies she sees.     "Headshots are nothing I can't do." She says confidently, nodding to Heinkel as she takes a breath.     Her body goes rigid as she sights down a Ghoul, tracking her rifle slowly before she spies a Ghoul slumped over something.     She sniffs, before her trigger finger gives a gentle squeeze. The rifle barks and firmly nudges her shoulder, but the recoil is nothing she isn't used to. "How do we know when we find the...freak, you said? Sounds like a term the way you phrased it." She says, as the bullet streaks across the air with a muted crack of the sound barrier. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "You don't vant to buy drinks for me," Heinkel asides; the slight pause suggests that she might be glancing back at Maaka, but her head never moves. "Tried drinking straight paint thinner once. Tasted like shit. Didn't even give me a buzz." She sounds oddly morose about that. Wait, isn't that supposed to /kill/ you?   On blessed bullets, Heinkel grunts. "Sometimes," the priest offers. At least, that's what that battered black longcoat looks like, with its crisp white collar. "I haf those, so don't vorry about it if you need them. I haf a lot of those. Right side saddlebag, on my bike; just be careful, because I haf holy vater in there, too."   Seriously?   Grumbling under her breath, she aims for the ghoul across the yard from Maaka's target, holding her breath and waiting for that instant.   Click-bang. The second ghoul drops like a stone. Thus far, it looks like they're not actually smart enough to figure out they're being shot at, let alone from where. All they can do is mill about the yard, in the absence of targets or fresh human blood.   "Freak," Heinkel confirms, even as she eyes another shot. "The Catholic Church vas able to bring in one of these fake vampires alife. He vas very cooperative in telling us all about himself... after ve took off his head." Her mouth presses into a thin line, and her finger gives a twitch, and another crack echoes from one hilltop to another.   She uses her free hand to gesture at the distant churhcyard. "They're created, those ghouls. Like a plague. Someone's going around installing microchips into hosts. Mostly villing hosts, from vhat ve can find out. It gives them superhuman abilities, and it also gives them a taste for blood. Takes avay their humanity. Ve're trying to figure out who, and vhy."   "Section III, John, has been suppressing any information on the incidents, and doing a fine job of it. Section XIII, Iscariot, of vhivh I am a part of, has the job of mopping up the messes. Ve Iscariot are still vaiting on the findings. I'll haf a report from my superior, Father Anderson, vonce ve know more." She eases up against the rifle, following another target. Another twitch of the finger; another cracking shot, and another target drops. "In the meantime, it's this kind of vork. I don't mind it, but it gets ugly vhen you haf to get up close."   Heinkel sniffs, disdainfully. "All that, and my partner's assigned somevhere else, too." She's already tracking another target even as she explains. "I don't know vhat Bishop Maxvell expects me to do. Vork miracles, I guess. And exercise damage control, too, until the operatifs from John get here."   There's a short pause.   "How good are you vit close quarters fighting, anyvay?" 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "I'll take what I can get. Buckshot would be perfect if you want to go clean the stragglers up close." Maaka says, before she takes additional shots at Ghouls left and right.     Microchips making vampires, who make ghouls as henchmen. THis is a weird world, alright. One wonders how a cyborg would react to the chips Heinkel speaks of. Maaka doesn't so much as blink at the mention of how far the Vatican goes to interrogate targets, she's done similar interrogations before with much messier circumstances.     "John, Iscariot...Disciples of Christ, right?" Maaka asks conversationally, tracking a target of her own before she fires, once to disable, again to finish the job with a messy splatter left behind.     She grins at the prospect of close quarters combat, already trying to reach in her coat where her Matter Manipulator is. "I'm trained in both, I won't pass up a chance to mop these fucks up with a shotgun." She says, producing an auto-shotgun in a shower of light and as it emerges from her 'inventory', her rifle going back to storage while she goes into a crouch, glancing to Heinkel's bike. "I may need those blessed shells, if you got anything in 12 gauge." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   That seems to clean up most of them. There are far fewer ghouls milling about the church courtyard, and they're too far away to do any real damage to the pair of snipers. That still leaves the problem of their ringleader, though, and Heinkel's wearing a thoughtful frown as she sits back. Her sunglasses are still on (who wears sunglasses at this hour?), but the direction she's facing suggests she's eyeing the hill.   "Buckshot doesn't vork. You vant something that fires directly. Large caliber pistol vorks." She reaches into her coat, rummages in a pocket, and extricates a very large-looking, square-barreled pistol. It's plated in silver, etched and inscribed down the barrel, and in general very polished and shiny. Heinkel pinches it by the handguard, as though careful not to touch it, and offers it to Maaka. "These vill do. If you're going to be doing vork for Iscariot, I can haf von or a pair requisitioned for you."   It's a very pretty piece of craftsmanship, and it's also shockingly heavy for its size. The plating is very definitely pure silver, although it's been cleaned and polished sufficiently that it isn't tarnishing.   "Ja. Disciples. Except Judas Iscariot. It's a long story, and you might be better off hafing somevon else tell you that story. The short version is that he betrayed Christ for thirty pieces of silfer. Depending on how you look at it, he vas either a bastard or a genius, because vitout his betrayal, vitout his direct involvement, Christ couldn't have been crucified and then resurrected, and... bah, you don't care about theology." Heinkel waves a dismissive hand. "The point is, ve do vhat has to be done. Officially, ve don't exist."   Heinkel's already packing up her equipment as Maaka shows her auto-shotgun, and though those sunglasses cover her eyes (and obscure them completely, even in the bright light of the Matter Manipulator), her brows arch. Hammerspace. Neat trick.   "Tvelfe? I should haf something around here." Leaning over her bike from the left, Heinkel digs over the right-side saddlebag, tossing a wooden box wrapped in linen, its swaths conspicuously fire-branded with the Catholic cross and 'XIII,' to the other sniper. "Try those."   "Melee's better. Like I said, take off their head, they von't bother you any more. Another crew vill be along to clean up. Iscariot does the cleanup, but John does the suppressing, so they'll destroy the evidence and sanitize the area. Send counselling for whoever had to see this mess, too." Heinkel snorts. "Vonce ve finish the job, that is. I still haf to find the freak. I'm sure they'll show themselves. Might still haf their mind, but they're not very smart..." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     Maaka frowns a moment, before she notes the pistol. "Alright. I'll take it." She accepts the sidearm, testing the heft and the feel of the pistol while noting the craftsmanship. It's a nice gun, she won't deny that, and she does her best to read the inscription.     "I care enough to know my Bible stories." She says quietly, before she loads a magazine into the pistol. "I got my own backups, either way." She holsters the pistol in her coat, before she inspects the box of shells. "Slugs. Good call."     Loading up the Benelli, she begins to head towards the village, making a good clip as she sprints through the field with her shotgun in hand.     She will creep up close to the nearest ghoul she finds, slow and quiet despite her heavy military boots and a shotgun over her back, and draws a knife.     Assuming Heinkel follows, Maaka will provide a nice demonstration of a quick and vicious rear-naked chokehold, before the cyborg snaps the Ghoul's neck, and draws a high-tech knife of some sort, flicking a switch for the Progressive Knife to hum softly. THe blade vibrates at high enough frequencies to enhance cutting potential ten fold. It makes cutting the ghoul's head off barely a chore, even if it's pretty nasty to say the least.     "Pays to be quiet, we can still use surprise here." She says, before advancing. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "You can use it tonight, but you're not keeping that von. That von's mine. I've had it for eight years. It's a bitch finding von that fits your hand just right." Heinkel busies herself with putting equipment back into the sniper rifle's case, which looks just about as antique as the rifle itself -- too old to be sleek or modern, and too recent to be considered a proper antique of value.   She flips the latches on the case, before placing it on a rack on the back of the motorcycle, using a few outrageously bright green bungee cords to secure everything. Once that's done, she reaches up to adjust her glasses, stows the kickstand, and leans over the side of her bike, glancing back at Maaka.   "It says," she explains, because she can see Maaka squinting at the barrel, "Iscariot, and Section XIII. Except it's inscribed in Italian, because aside from Latin, that's vhat the Vatican speaks these days. 'Sezioni tredici.'" Pretty ornamentation and a means to stamp it with an official mark, in other words.   She--   And Maaka is running through the woods.   Heinkel is left blinking after the other sniper.   "...Hell if I'm running all that vay," she grumbles to the empty grove. "They're not going anyvhere."   It's a few moments more before Heinkel arrives on foot, hands in her coat's voluminous pockets, tramping through the undergrowth without any apparent care to how loud and obvious it is. There's no real need to be stealthy, and she apparently trusts Maaka not to shoot her in the face (and she's going to be very annoyed if the other woman does, in fact, shoot her in the face).   She does however get a look at the damage Maaka was, past tense, able to dole out. Impressive, to say the least.   "Snapping its neck is pretty useless, though. I told you," Heinkel advises, from somewhere behind Maaka and about fifteen feet away (because why tempt fate), "take off the head or cut out the heart. I mean, if you vant to snap the neck, that's fine, but it's just vasted effort. Ve find it doesn't even slow them down."   She folds her arms, looking left and then looking right at the mess. "Actually, they're about as deaf as a post if they're not actively hunting," she sighs. "They're not going to go anyvhere. Freak's still around here somevhere, and I /know/ he knows ve're here. Ve picked off all his minions, and he's not going to like that at all. If you see von that looks different and isn't drooling or rotting, or bleeding, shoot him in the face. I'll finish him off," she adds, reaching into her pocket to the jingle of ammunition. "Blessed rounds. Right in the face. I don't really care if you kill the small vons," she adds, dropping fresh ammunition into her pistol with casual, practised ease, "but it's my sacred duty to kill the ringleader."   "Normally I'd give the job to my partner, but she's not here." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "Easier to cut the head off." Maaka asides, cleaning her knife off as she produces the blessed pistol again. "But if you insist, let's go find the guy who made all these fucks." She makes her way through the village, trying to seek out the Freak that made these creatures. "How hard is it to find this guy?" She mutters to herself, night-vision thankfully keeping her from bumping into something or tripping over like an idiot at this hour.     It's cold, it's wet, and man does hot cocoa sound like a good idea after all this shit. She goes past a Ghoul that Heinkel had expertly taken out with a sniper round earlier, noting the wolf's handiwork with admiration. Heinkel knows her stuff, that's for certain.     She also tries to note each body, maybe they wound up killing the Freak by accident, however unlikely that might be. It would make this wrapped up swiftly, if they had gotten lucky.     She won't shoot any remaining Ghouls, but that's mostly to avoid letting the Freak get early warning. They already have gotten plenty loud as it is, if he's smart he'll have skipped town already to go spread his plague elsewhere. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   The priest is still standing there with her hands stuffed in her pockets and a prodigous frown on her face, surveying the mess. At least she doesn't need to worry about disposing of the bodies or other unsavoury work. There are other priests who can consecrate the remains of the victims and give them proper burials, and also do the actual burying; she herself doesn't need to spend half the night doing that.   Which is pretty nice, because after a night spent killing horrible abominations that used to be human, it's pretty disheartening.   Also, incredibly messy.   "Killing him isn't going to kill them, vhich is vhy ve vere mopping up them first." Heinkel jabs a thumb at the ghouls largely behind them. "Don't vorry about the remains. There vill be other Iscariot members along to clean up that mess. It's not my job. My job is to kill all the things that might eat them, so they can do their jobs in peace." And without getting their faces ripped off. "Not that I'm not qualified." That collar isn't just for show, after all.   She pulls her other pistol from her pocket, checking the slide and looking up. The pistol is handled with practised ease, but she handles it oddly, and if Maaka watches long enough she'll notice Heinkel is making a point of not touching any of the silver plating. Maybe it's chemically treated or something, or maybe it's taboo to touch it.   Heinkel shows her teeth. It's more of a snarl than a grin. "Depends on how arrogant he's gotten. Let's go hunting. You see something that isn't me, you shoot it in the face, ja? Emergency curfew's in place, so there shouldn't be anybody out at this hour."   With that, she stalks away from Maaka, apparently intent to go searching through the deep dark woods immediately surrounding the church. Is she crazy? Or just that confident?   There's a few minutes of silence as Maaka searches the bodies. It's almost eerie, without even the rustle of leaves to breka it. There are no squeaks of bats, no sounds of night birds, and nothing to suggest there was ever life in this place.   And then, there's a cough. It's muffled enough to suggest it came from behind the church. Then come the gunshots, three of them, too precisely timed and evenly spaced to be a staccato burst of panic fire.   Heinkel's voice comes from behind the church, muffled.   "Found him. Back here." It's raised, so as to carry. "Von't be a problem any more." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   She's standing over a body slumped over double, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and ratty sneakers. All three articles of clothing are now bloodstained; half the face is gone where it was shot, and there's a messy, ragged hole where approximately half the heart used to be. He was maybe middle-aged, and what's left of his face is frozen in a final expression of shock.   Heinkel thumbs the safety of her pistol, thumbs open her coat pocket with the other hand, and neatly drops her pistol in. How she manages to do this is anybody's guess. She reaches into her other pocket to produce an old flip-style cell phone, pushing a few buttons.   "Chief. Ja. It's Heinkel." There's a moment of silence as she half-turns away from Maaka. It's reasonably certain that most priests don't wear combat boots. "It's done. I found the freak. Ja? Multiversal help, ja. Her name's Alexis Maaka. Ja, she'll be doing vork for us. Ja." The priest sighs, as though exasperated. "Again? Ja. I'll pass that on the next time I talk to her. I don't suppose she'll be leaving Brazil any time soon---ja. I'll tell her. Amen. Ja. Guten tag, Chief."   Heinkel snaps the phone shut with a flick of her wrist, dropping it back into the pocket from whence it came. "Bishop Maxvell passes on his thanks for a job vell done. He'll make sure you haf equipment sent to you." The priest shows her teeth. Is it imagination and lighting, or are the canines just a hair too long? "I think you'll like it. If it's too heavy or light, you can haf it vorked on by von of our gunsmiths. They do good vork."   Reaching into her pocket, she produces what looks and feels like a fat billfold and tosses it at Maaka. "A present from the Chief. Don't spend it all in von place." 

:'''{{#var:571|Alexis Maaka (571)}} has posed:'''     "True, guess my thinking was we could kill the Freak, and the Ghouls just slump over. THen again, they seem dumb as posts anyways." Maaka shrugs a shoulder. THe silence is eerie, but nothing she hasn't dealt with before. She marks corpse after corpse, occasionally putting a few rounds into the heart and head of whatever Ghoul she missed before, giving them a good stomp here and there for good measure.     It's very methodical the way she works, her actions would be barbaric and cruel if she wasn't so calm and detached. It's like killing bothersome crows the way she works, albeit with more considerable firepower with magnum rounds. She feels the Holy pistol lock back as she expends the magazine, and she turns to hear gunfire.     "That was fast." She says mildly, tilting her head to get a look at Heinkel's handiwork when she notices the Wolf managed to bag their target. She returns the borrowed handgun, before nodding to Heinkel. "It's a nice pistol, I'll give it that. Let Maxwell know I'll take a pair, along with ammunition and magazines. I'll send over a list of requested ordinance later." She says, and catches the billfold calmly.     The cyborg checks the amount, making a mild noise of approval as she counts the paycheck. "Walk with God, Heinkel. Should be an interesting time ahead of us." She offers a salute, stuffing the money in her pocket. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} has posed:'''   "Doesn't vork that vay," the priest grunts, rummaging around in a pocket and producing what looks and smells like a cigarette, which she pinches between her teeth. Her hands snake back into the other pocket and produces a match, which she strikes and drops back into the pocket.   Puffing smoke, she gestures to indicate the clearing and the churchyard in general. "Dumb as a box of rocks, ja. Still dangerous. You and I, ve seem to be protected from their messes, but I vouldn't take any chances. You get in close to them, you fight vit them close enough to get bitten, you go get yourself checked out by /some/body. I don't care who. Just make sure you're clean. Happens faster vit non-Elites, though."   "One ghoul bites another person, another person turns into a ghoul, it turns into a big literal bloody mess." Heinkel punctuates her narratives with gesturing mimicing one person wandering over to another, and then two more wandering off some other direction. She lets out a puff of smoke, stuffing her hands into her pockets, frowning, and letting the cigarette wag at the corner of her mouth. "Can see vhy Iscariot makes a point of cleaning these messes up fast. Ve don't act immediately, they'll get out of hand."   She points back at the church before reaching out to take her pistol, checking it over briefly before dropping it, barrel and all, into her pocket. How on earth does something like that fit in a simple stitched pocket? "Ve'll take care of the cleanup, and ve'll make sure you're outfitted properly." The priest sniffs, disdainfully. "Ve don't really like contracting outside help, but desperate times, and all that rot. I'm sure Hellsing's doing the same, anyvay." Far be it for Hellsing to catch the Catholics flat-footed, after all.   "Ja, you too." To Maaka's parting, she raises both hands to wave them dismissively as she slouches off, almost a shrug. "Ugh, I'm going to vait for the cleanup team get in here, and then I'm going to take a long, hot shower..."   What a weird priest. 
}}

User:Hrimfaxi

2016-11-15T18:15:39Z

Hrimfaxi:

== Job Description ==
Hrimfaxi is a Wizard-level member of the Appstaff team, who are in charge of processing character applications. It is her job to review character applications, either approving them or requesting revisions until an application can be approved. Most of the time, she will work directly with applicants in need of revisions, and help them revise their application to current approval standards.

;Current Tenure
: 15 Mar 2011 to Present

== Current Characters ==
Characters are listed by date. Most recent characters are at the top of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|-
| [[Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-1]] || 06 Nov 2016 || Present
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-1]] || 21 Sep 2015 || Present
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 12 Feb 2015 || Present
|-
| [[Sir Bedivere]] || [[Fate/Divergence-1]] || 06 Jul 2014 || Present

|-
| [[Sarah]] || [[Suikoden-2]] || 29 Mar 2011 || Present
|}

== Former Characters ==
Records are accurate where possible, but some character drop dates are simply missing. Most recent characters are at the top of the list; therefore, characters who have had multiple tenures are sorted by when they were ''originally'' applied for.

Note that characters with multiple tenures have their dates listed starting with the most recent date at the bottom of the list.

{| class="wikitable" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" style="vertical-align:top;" width=85%
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Character Name
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Themelist
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| App Date
! style="text-align:left;" width="25%;"| Drop Date
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
|-
| [[Maya Antares (Dropped)|Maya Antares]] || [[The Red Star-1R]] || 03 August 2015 || 28 August 2015
|-
| [[Juno Eclipse]] || [[Star Wars-1]] || 13 Mar 2014 12 Feb 2014 || 26 Sep 2014 Present
|-
| [[Gough (Dropped)|Gough]] || [[Dark Souls-2R]] || 30 May 2014 || 04 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Lucatiel of Mirrah (Dropped)|Lucatiel of Mirrah]] || [[Dark Souls-3R]] || 05 Jun 2014 || 11 Nov 2015
|-
| [[Altantbaatar (Dropped)|Altantbaatar]] || Original || 23 Apr 2014 || 29 May 2014
|-
| [[The Lady (Dropped)|The Lady]] || [[The Black Company-1R]] || 7 Dec 2013 12 Nov 2015 || 12 Apr 2014 04 Jan 2016
|-
| [[Alistair (Dropped)|Alistair]] || [[Dragon Age: Origins-1R]] || 30 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Caim (Dropped)|Caim]] || [[Drakengard-1R]] || 04 Aug 2013 || Unknown
|-
| [[Thunderhead (Dropped)|Thunderhead]] || [[MLP: Eve of Discord-1R]] || 01 Jul 2013 || 12 Jul 2013
|-
| [[Kathryn Janeway (Dropped)|Kathryn Janeway]] || [[Star Trek-1R]] || 13 May 2013 || 26 Sep 2014
|-
| [[Shunrin (Dropped)|Shunrin]] || [[The Twelve Kingdoms-1R]] || 15 Apr 2013 31 Mar 2016 || Unknown 18 May 2016
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[The First Hero (Dropped)|The First Hero]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 9 Feb 2013 31 Jul 2013 || 4 Apr 2013 Unknown
|-
| [[Lord Night (Dropped)|Lord Night]] || [[Binds of the Elements-1R]] || 12 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Quistis Trepe (Dropped)|Quistis Trepe]] || [[Final Fantasy VIII-1R]] || 15 Dec 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[The Copper (Dropped)|The Copper]] || [[Age of Fire-1R]] || 11 Sep 2012 03 Nov 2014 || 24 Nov 2012 11 Jan 2015
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Isa Reichert (Dropped)|Isa Reichert]] || [[Exalted: Modern-1]] || 6 Aug 2012 22 Feb 2013 22 Sep 2013 23 May 2015 || 26 Jan 2013 Unknown 12 Apr 2014 10 Oct 2015
|-
| [[Toph Beifong (Dropped)|Toph Beifong]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-2R]] || 20 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Mai (Dropped)|Mai]] || [[Avatar: The Last Airbender-1R]] || 2 Jul 2012 || Unknown
|-
| [[Kass'ih-Aya (Dropped)|Kass'ih-Aya]] || [[Startide Rising-1R]] || 1 Jun 2012 || 4 Jun 2012
|-
| [[Skyward Link (Dropped)|Skyward Link]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-3R]] || 31 Jan 2012 || 21 Feb 2012
|-
| [[Twilight Zelda (Dropped)|Princess Zelda]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-2R]] || 11 Dec 2011 || Unknown
|-
| [[Isa Reichert_(Dropped)#Raisa_Marskaya|Raisa Marskaya]] || [[His Dark Materials-1R]] || 18 Sep 2011 || Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Citan Uzuki (Dropped)|Citan Uzuki]] || [[Xenogears-1R]] || 1 Sep 2011 9 Mar 2012 Unknown || Unknown 29 Apr 2012 14 Apr 2013
|-
| [[Leia Silvis (Dropped)|Leia Silvis]] || [[Ogre Battle-1R]] || 25 Aug 2011 || 26 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Radiant Red Wing (Dropped)|Radiant Red Wing]] || [[Pressed Beyond the Veil-1R]] || 18 Jul 2011 9 Apr 2012 || 12 Sep 2011 29 Apr 2012
|-
| [[Nowe (Dropped)|Nowe]] || [[Drakengard 2-1R]] || 27 Jun 2011 || 12 Sep 2011
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Agrias Oaks (Dropped)|Agrias Oaks]] || [[Final Fantasy Tactics-1R]] || 18 Jun 2011 10 Oct 2011 14 Feb 2012 28 Aug 2012 6 Oct 2013 || 24 Jun 2011 Unknown 4 Aug 2012 26 Jan 2013 24 April 2014
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Tohsaka Rin (Dropped)|Tohsaka Rin]] || [[Fate/stay night-3R]] || Unknown 26 May 2012 || 21 Feb 2012 Unknown
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Heinkel Wolfe]] || [[Hellsing-2R]] || 05 Jul 2010 19 Dec 2011 16 Jun 2012 27 Jan 2013 20 Mar 2014 1 Nov 2015 06 Nov 2016 || 24 Jun 2011 21 Feb 2012 26 Jan 2013 14 Apr 2013 04 Sep 2014 04 Jan 2016 Present
|- style="vertical-align:top;"
| [[Ashen Remnant (Dropped)|Ashen Remnant]] || [[Final Fantasy 7-1R]] || 29 Aug 2010 01 May 2011 || 21 Dec 2010 24 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Lorelei (Dropped)|Lorelei Adler]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 06 Feb 2010 || 03 Jun 2011
|-
| [[Alain O'Sullivan (Dropped)|Alain O'Sullivan]] || [[Pokemon-6R]] || 25 Jan 2010 || Unknown
|-
| [[Yalai the Stave]] || [[The Legend of Zelda-5]] || 12 Jan 2010 || 12 Apr 2014
|-
| [[Wander (Dropped)|Wander]] || [[Shadow of the Colossus-1R]] || 11 Apr 2009 || Unknown
|}

4603/Apples and Cordwood

2016-11-10T01:49:06Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/09/26 |Location=Dun Realtai |Synopsis=Sir Bedivere pays a visit to Wisewoman Inga to split some logs for her. And also investigate rumours of..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/09/26
|Location=Dun Realtai
|Synopsis=Sir Bedivere pays a visit to Wisewoman Inga to split some logs for her. And also investigate rumours of apple pie.
|Cast of Characters=482, 525, 325
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Dun Realtai's autumn wavers between pleasantly brisk and downright horrible. Today it leans more towards the latter, with wan sunshine and a breeze that has less of the knives in it that it usually does. Leaves clatter along the breeze and crunch underfoot, forest boughs stretching over the path that leads to Wisewoman Inga's cottage.   Resting over Bedivere's shoulder is a woodsman's axe. He isn't wearing his armour today, instead clad in the manner of a peasant, with rough homespun cloth in shades of grey and brown. Looped about his neck is the scarf that Arturia had woven for him, and at his left ear as usual is the blood-red stud on its brass setting. Soft, supple boots complete the ensemble.   The knight is alone today, unaccompanied by the Black One. She'll hear a polite tap at the door from his left hand as he waits on the stoop.   Probably he could get started, but it would be rude not to announce himself, wouldn't it? 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' The scent of apple pie baked with plentiful cinnamon wafts from the cottage, mingling with the wood smoke that rises from the chimney. There's a pile of wood in a shed nearby to where Jodis is housed, and while it has some wood prepared its certainly not enough to get her through the month. Perhaps it was possible to come up with a spell of some kind to chop wood, or perhaps even keep a magical fire burning witout it.... but where's the fun in that? Inga is old fashioned. Inga may also enjoy making men chop wood. Today, Bedivere has volunteered to play lumberjack /and/ bring tea. Both services are quite welcome. She'll have apple pie waiting. When she hears the knock, Inga moves to open the door, smiling up at Bedi in greeting. She's garbed per usual, but more casually, her overdress a soft fern green, her hair in two braids over either shoulder. "Sir Bedivere, woodsman for the day. Welcome, and thank you for coming. No Black One?" she inquires, raising a brow. They seem attached at the hip. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Sweet apple and cinnamon are a welcome treat, and the knight pauses to inhale deeply, eyes flickering closed for an instant. It's one of his favourite scents. The scent of the sweetbrooms that grew in Dál Riata, the pungent aroma of horse, and the subtle smell of Arturia's hair are also up on his list of favourites... but apples are a secret love of his. It'd been one of the few sweet foods available to the everyman in Albion. While most varieties of fruits were rare, requiring costly import from sunnier climes, apples could be grown in the cool, temperate climate of Camelot's fields.   He'd nicked one or two from the kitchens, here and there; sometimes for himself, sometimes for Arturia's favourite steeds, and whichever horse might be his at that particular time.   Bedivere affords himself one last deep inhalation before the door opens.   "Wisewoman." He's standing there with a faint half-smile, looking more the part of the bard from the northlands than an appointed official. Lordly trappings had never appealed to him very much. "Ah, he is here."   Bedivere pauses, fumbling at his belt, and produces a small pouch that positively wafts the scent of strong, black tea. A furry little black head pokes its way out of the pouch opening; a bat's tiny head, golden eyes aglow as the Black One looks up to Inga.   <This one could not resist a trip down the hill.> The little bat wrinkles its nose at Inga, bright eyes smoky gold instead of black. <Although this one could leave, if you prefer.>   Bedivere pulls the pouch from his belt and unties the pouch from his belt in one motion, a practised flick of his wrist undoing the bindings. He turns it upside-down over an open palm, shaking the tiny bat out -- where he lands on Bedivere's hand with a bit of flailing from those inky-black wings -- and offers the bag to Inga. "Tea, as promised. I do not think he left any hair in it. Come to think of it, I am not certain whether he even sheds."   The Black One doesn't offer any enlightenment, merely sniffing disdainfully.   "I am ready to begin," Bedivere adds, indicating the axe on his shoulder, "wherever you keep your firewood." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' The lovely smell only grows stronger when she opens the door. Baking is a sort of magic, and another that she is quite proficient with. A certain smell calls up memories, emotions, pulling up the past to give it new life. Inga is also fond of apples, for similar reasons. Apples are quite important in Norse mythology as well. Inga smiles brightly to Black One, almost giggling at how small and adorable he is as a bat. "You are most welcome Black One. I do not suppose you have a form that enjoys eating apple pie?" she asks. Inga takes the bag of tea and brings it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Mmm... that is lovely," she says. "Well, if you get started I will brew this up and make us a pot," she says, pointing over to the pile of unsplit wood. "I'll have to order more. Perhaps I should have installed a furnace in this place," she says, shrugging. If it gets unbearably cold she can always go to the apartment, though it might not be much better in Chicago. Inga extends a hand. "Would you like to keep me company for a few moment Black One?" she offers. If he accepts, Inga will place the little bat on her shoulder and bring him inside. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   <Naturally.> The bat clambers from Bedivere's hand, form flowing like smoke into the shape of a shaggy wolfhound, exactly the type that would have accompanied Irish landholders and kings alike; like the kind that Setanta slew with a hurling-ball. The hound tilts its head, eyeing Inga with those smoky gold eyes, perking folded ears. 'Better?' the look seems to say, although the Black One says nothing.   Bedivere, meanwhile, inclines his head in acquiesce. Shouldering the axe, he turns to make his way toward where she keeps the wood; the sound of chopping comes not long after, along with the occasional muted grunt of effort from the knight.   <Certainly.> The click of claws follow Inga into the cottage -- much too quick for her to try and take his bat form into hand, already changed. There's a short pause. <Why?> The Fair One eyes the Wisewoman as though speculatively. <This one hardly thinks that you need assistance brewing tea, a thing this one is reasonably certain you do on a regular basis.> The Black One doesn't smirk. It's still audible in his tone. 

:'''{{#var:325|Rhapsody (325)}} has posed:''' The knight was followed! Nothing malicious was meant by it, it was just that Rhapsody had been sleeping a _LOT_ the last week. After her little song to the village earlier in the week, Rhapsody was basically waiting for some news. As no news has come, and she had roused to get something to eat, the dragon caught sight of Bedivere from a window and decided to go see what he was up to. She hadn't realized she'd end up running into Inga, and maybe more. Likely Bedi's black-fume friend would notice her arriving before she even had a chance to knock. Maybe! 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga blinks at Black One changes so fluidly, slowly smiling. She is impressed. Delighted, even. It is, frankly, just /cool/. She leads the way inside, and for a creature now a dog, it is filled with interesting scents. Not just the pie and the fire burning, but all the herbs hanging to dry, soap from the bathroom, the lingering scents of the people that live there and various guests. Inga starts to make tea, putting the kettle over the fire to boil. "I thought you might like new experiences, new places. I suppose my cottage isn't extremely exciting...but if you would rather watch Bedivere chop wood while I make tea..." she shrugs, looking into the fridge. "But, while you are in this form, I happen to have a bit of steak..." Inga looks up suddenly, blinking. "Oh, another is coming this way," she remarks, getting a brief vision of Rhapsody following Bedivere. Ah well, there's a whole pie to be eaten. Company is more than welcome. Back to Black One. "I am curious, can you change into anything you desire?" she asks. Naturally, she is curious as to the limits of his shapeshifting. Can he be humanoid? Can he be very large? Say, as large as a dragon or a whale? Witches are as curious as cats, and luckily have magic to help them out of the trouble curiosity gets them into. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The dog is definitely checking all the scents, sniffing overtime at the sudden plethora of things to smell. Perhaps he has sharp senses in all of his forms, but when it comes to the realm of the olfactory, a dog's nose just can't be beat.   <This one does not care either way.> It might be a slightly insulting statement from another human, but the Tylwyth Teg consider such things differently. For him, the fact that he doesn't care isn't meant hurtfully; it's simply a statement of fact. He's honestly apathetic whether going or staying.   The Black One licks ink-dark chops in answer to Inga's mention of steak. Meat's been a rare treat around the citadel. Bedivere is not very carnivorous by nature. Where a noble of any other place might favour a diet heavy in red meat, the knight eats more like a peasant -- more of a vegetarian leaning, and gladly so. Many noblemen had eaten so poorly they ate themselves right into sickness.   Unfortunately it means he doesn't get steak all that often.   No, no distractions, only steak now. Except Inga goes to look out the window, to which the Black One swivels ears back with an unhappy sound somewhere between canine growl and whine.   Meanwhile, out in the yard, Bedivere brings the axe down and neatly splits the length of a chunk of wood, both halves falling away from the heavy blade. Splitting logs is not particularly difficult, and such a tedious, repetitive task is actually calming in its own way. He doesn't mind such 'menial labour' at all. He's not at a good angle to see Rhapsody just yet, though.   Yeah, the Black One notices Rhapsody approaching. He doesn't care. Inga offered steak. That is at the moment priority one. 

:'''{{#var:325|Rhapsody (325)}} has posed:''' While two head inside, and Bedivere stays outside, Rhapsody is able to close the distance that Bedivere had gained as the dragon wandered through the still, somewhat unfamiliar, area. Realizing the knight has his back mostly to her, "Good day," she greets at distance, offering a wave if Sir Bedivere glanced up as a result. Well, at least the sleeper had awakened (and not leveled the entire area). "I didn't mean to follow, I just wasn't sure where everyone had gone." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga smiles almost smugly. She'd thought Black One would want some meat. She doesn't know how Bedivere manages. Vegetables are all well and good but people need protein! No wonder he's so pale... Inga puts the steak down on a plate for Black One, continuing to prepare the tea. Now, she prepares two cups. She paused by the cuppboard for a moment, then grabs a fourth. Perhaps a premonition, perhaps just a precaution. Either way, the tea and the pie are both finished. Inga pulls the pie out of the over then pours water from the big iron kettle into a more delicate teapot. As Black One is assumably chowing down, Inga limps back to the door to call out. "Bedivere, Rhapsody, the tea and pie are done. Come in," she says, waving them over, acting as if she'd expected Rhapsody all along. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The way Bedivere whirls with the axe brandished suggests that he did not hear Rhapsody at all; in fact, there's no recognition in his eyes at all. He certainly knows how to wield an axe, too, for the way he holds it suggests he knows how to do damage with it. For a fleeting instant Rhapsody is presented with a man haunted, almost frightened, before he seems to dredge her face up from the depths of his memories.   Inclining his head in a way that suggests he's covering his nerves, Bedivere puts aside the two-handed woodsman's axe, leaning slightly on the haft. "Various places. There is much to be done before winter. Including, aye, preparing cordwood." He's wearing simple homespun -- rough linen in greys and browns, and soft supple leather boots. Wound about his neck is a slightly clumsy hand-stitched scarf the same colour as the mantle of his cloak, definitely hand-made.   He reaches up, frowning thoughtfully and tugging at the stud in his left ear. "Hm. Preparations, yes." Something seems to trouble him, something clouding his expression for a fleeting instant; it's gone, then, replaced by that faint half-smile of his. "I trust you are feeling better. It is good to see you up and about."   Inside the cottage, the Black One manages a faint wag of that plumed tail, and his eyes are locked on Inga. She mentioned steak and he's going to hold her to that. Yes, indeed. He follows her up until the point that she lets go of the steak, and then he falls on the cut of meat with all the hunger of a wolfhound starved through a lean winter.   Outside, Bedivere beckons for Rhapsody. "Shall we go in?"   He leaves the axe, brushing splinters from his tunic and pushing the door open. "Ah, thank you, Wisewoman." That half-smile turns just a little shy, a little awkward. "I have always enjoyed apples." 

:'''{{#var:325|Rhapsody (325)}} has posed:''' For a long moment, the dragon isn't sure how to respond to... whatever that was. Something about the familiar lord of this area was -very- different for a moment. Then it passed and all seemed to be back to normal. "Ah, yes, certainly.." she'd finally reply before heading in, likely to enjoy some team and be fairly quiet the rest of the night. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga raises a brow very slightly at Bedivere's bashful smile. What is embarrassing about liking apples? Who doesn't like apples!? Still, she tucks that bit of knowledge away in case she even pisses him off and needs to make ammends somehow. These are good things to know. "There is nothing not to like about apples, certainly," she replies. Once everyone is seated, Inga cuts and distributes the pie and serves the tea before sitting, a hand moving to her lower back to briefly rub out a kink. She looks to Rhapsody and blinks, wondering why she looks a bit spooked. Strange. She looks to Bedivere and raises a brow in silent question. A piece has also been cut for Black One, for when he's ready for dessert. Just appeasing the local fae, per usual! 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The knight shrugs, faintly, in response to Inga's puzzlement. He had thought nothing of his momentary slip. When others get past his formidable powers of perception, he tends not to react well. He doesn't like surprises; they tended to be deadly to him, in the heyday of Camelot. It might be that he doesn't even think of his momentary slip to Rhapsody, and so he doesn't understand Inga's confusion.   "Certainly not." Bedivere allows himself a soft chuckle. "My horses over the years have agreed with that opinion."   He settles himself on one of the chairs, although he does so stiffly. It's almost certain that he'll pay for chopping firewood later, but he doesn't mind doing a favour to Inga. She's in no shape to do so herself, and Harry Dresden is not always a constant presence in Dun Realtai to do the wood-chopping for her.   The black wolfhound settles himself at Bedivere's side, nearly as tall as the man's elbows while seated on his haunches, and he licks his chops in sober anticipation. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga laughs lightly. "Jodis certainly enjoys apples as well," she says, sliding a piece of pie over to Black One. "Be sure to have a good soak in the baths after chopping wood, will help you from getting sore," she advises, not so much mind reading as reading his stiff posture. She looks to his scarf and smiles slyly. "A gift from Arturia?" she asks. She makes a mental note to offer Arturia some knitting lessons. "So, I take it our ah...young Arthur hasn't met Arturia yet? I certainly hope not for I very much wish to be there to witness it." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The faerie hound delicately takes the piece of pie by its corner, swings it over to the floor, and proceeds to noisily devour it. Don't worry, he'll clean up all the pie filling spattered about the flagstones. It's far too delicious to waste. That would be a tragedy.   "I intend to," Bedivere concedes, with a grimace. He's not planning on doing anything more like this today. Not only would he be scolded for it, but his body would probably make him regret it. He's not particularly old -- but those years are hard-lived, with too many of them spent forcibly burning the candle at both ends; and too many injuries suffered over the years, where he had to sacrifice rest and healing for appearances.   Leaning back, he looks down at the scarf, brows arching. "This? Oh. Aye. A Christmas gift from her, actually." He strokes at the fabric with a knuckle, as though just now noticing it. "I quite like it." It doesn't matter that some of the stitching is lopsided, or that the subtle pattern of its weave might not match up exactly. It was made by her, and so it's pretty much up there with 'sacred relic of God' in terms of stuff he pays reverence to.   The Black One doesn't say anything. He's too busy bolting down pie.   "The young lord? No, not as of yet. At least, I do not think so. My lady and I have been occupied with autumnal preparations. We are into the equinox, and so time grows short until the winter arrives." His expression turns somber. "I would have those preparations finished before I am ready to leave." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' The wisewoman nods, eating her own slice of pie and enjoying the tea Bedivere brought for her. "It is very nice. My needles and loom has been busy as well. Its always a struggle to keep everyone warm, and I don't need as much sleep as I used to so..." well, the evidence of Inga's craftiness are in the living room. Lots of wool both spun and unspun, finished hats and mittens and socks, a couple of blankets... "I'm going to give out hats among the villagers I think. There are a few I think will need them." "Speaking of going away...let me know if I can help in any way," she says. She'd offered to come with them, that over still stands. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Despite impeccable table manners, the knight eats quickly, like one who takes regimented military meals. He can pack away an astonishing amount of food in one sitting, and he does it with a speed that belies a man accustomed to eating and sleeping where one can, and then meeting the enemy in battle as the need arises. The Saxons didn't exactly wait until after meal times.   His eyes slide about the room, noting the various craftwork as it's pointed out to him, but he doesn't stop eating his slice of pie or drinking his tea. "I'm certain your efforts are appreciated, Wisewoman. They are by me." He inclines his head. "I shall. Your company would be welcome, so you may wish to see to your affairs here, as well."   Inga is a sensible sort of person, and she knows well how to deal with the Ever-Living ones. She would be an excellent ally to bring along, and she's knowledgeable about the old ways, too. "I suspect that Miss O'Suilebhain would also accompany me whether I like or not, so you may wish to make arrangements so your cottage is well-kept in our absence. I expect we will be away from home for the winter."   The Black One is still silent. Nom nom nom. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga looks thoughtful, looking around the cottage. "Yes. I will see to things. I think I would like to accompany you...if I will not be in the way," she adds. Hopefully, there will not be many horrible battles or...running...or...excessive stairs. "I am sure I can find someone to look after the cottage and the animals," she says, already making a list of people in her mind. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "You will not be in the way. Your skills will no doubt be useful, and necessary, as will your diplomacy with the Ever-Living Ones." Bedivere inclines his head, studying inga thoughtfully through those faded violet eyes. "We will have need of that if we are to succeed. And I do not intend to accept failure as an option."   There is a core of steel to this seemingly broken and fragile man; this gentle soul who would not have even taken up the sword if not for love. A steely smile flickers across his face. "Wisewoman. I cannot promise that it will not be dangerous. That would be a lie, and I do not tell falsehoods. But your company would be much appreciated," he adds, with a dip of his chin. "I thank you."   And with that, he will enjoy an evening of good company, tea, and apple pie.   ...So will the Black One. Nom nom nom. 
}}

4761/One Bizarre Bar Joke

2016-11-07T06:38:21Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/07 |Location=Bar and Grill at the Edge of the Multiverse |Synopsis=A space cop, a priest, and a talking sword walk into a bar... |Cast of C..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/07
|Location=Bar and Grill at the Edge of the Multiverse
|Synopsis=A space cop, a priest, and a talking sword walk into a bar...
|Cast of Characters=941, 363, 1014
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:941|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. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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. 

:'''{{#var:941|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...?" 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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." 

:'''{{#var:941|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." 

:'''{{#var:1014|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. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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/?" 

:'''{{#var:941|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. 

:'''{{#var:1014|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. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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." 

:'''{{#var:1014|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." 

:'''{{#var:941|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." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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." 

:'''{{#var:941|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. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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." 

:'''{{#var:941|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. 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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. 

:'''{{#var:941|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." 

:'''{{#var:363|Heinkel Wolfe (363)}} 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. 
}}

4738/Samhain in Dun Realtai

2016-11-02T03:34:12Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/11/01 |Location=Dun Realtai |Synopsis=The various denizens of Dun Realtai celebrate Samhain. |Cast of Characters=482, 1016, 525, 206, 639 |pre..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/11/01
|Location=Dun Realtai
|Synopsis=The various denizens of Dun Realtai celebrate Samhain.
|Cast of Characters=482, 1016, 525, 206, 639
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   The village square of Dun Realtai has been transformed into a festival ground. Ragged banners in earth tones are strewn about for the wind to snap. Tables, tents, and other fixtures have been hauled out and line the open-air commons. There's food, there's drink, there's games of a mediaeval nature... fun for all!   A lot of the food reflects autumn, with selections of choice pies, different types of tea, and other goodies. There's also wine and mead, and ale; some of the lower-grade mead was even produced in Dun Realtai, this year.   Standing off to one side is the steward himself, dressed in his armour -- it's been lined in fur for the winter, along with his mantled cloak, similarly lined; a hood has also been attached, though it's swept back from his face. He's in quiet conversation with a strange-looking woman, wearing a rich dress of dark brown fabrics, strikingly red hair shot through here and there with white, and eyes pale as a winter sky.   They're also glowing, which suggests she's probably not human at all.   Those who've lived here for a while would recognise her as Alaia, the rightful owner of this place. Whatever they're talking about, they do so in hushed and urgent voices, and Bedivere doesn't seem to notice the festivities around him at all.   That's okay. The Black One is. He's over at the food table in the familiar guise of a big war horse, eyeing the offerings with his head cocked.   There is a disappointing lack of blackberries at this table, a fact that hasn't gone unnoticed by him.   Some enterprising or bold children have woven together a garland of the season's last flowers and green things, which he wears around his neck with practised tolerance. Legend says the pooka can tell fortune and future, on the day after All Hallow's Eve. It's probably a crock but he seems to be enjoying himself... for a faerie. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It's really hard for Eithne to pick a favorite season. At first she thinks summer, because it's sunny and everything grows so easily. But then there's spring, which is the easing of winter's grasping coldness, a thaw after a long freeze, flowers blooming and trees budding. Even winter has its own comforts, though most of them are all about 'relief from it', like warm hearths and thick clothing and rich foods. Autumn is a time all its own, the time when the veil between worlds becomes very, very thin, when harvests are brought in and stored away.     She's been working hard, especially with school back in session - go to school, come home, do her homework and her work in the castle and on the weekends she helps put up preserves and canned foods. She bought a pressure canner and several books! Now they'll have all kinds of nice things to eat this winter that were grown right here.     But today she's just going to relax and goof off and have fun.     She sewed her costume herself, somehow, despite so much of her time being eaten up by chores and work. It's a two-layered dress made of rough, homespun cloth. Sleeveless, it comes down to mid-thigh, and there's a borrowed breastplate over the top of it. Her hair's been braided into submission, beads and trinkets threaded in.     She looks a little bit like a trading post exploded on her, but she's having fun and that's what's important. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Astride Jodis, Inga arrives wrapped in her grey/blue cloak, a black hangerok style dress beneath. She's decked out in all her usual jewels and talismans, her hair in two braids over her shoulder, a black velvet headscarf around her head to keep her ears warm. She smiles and greets those she passes, enjoying the sight of the villagers relaxing and playing after all their hard work. After being stopped a few times to be pulled into conversation, Inga leaves Jodis nearby Black One, moving in to great the puuka with an offering of an apple and a scritch behind the ears. Once that's been done, Inga approaches Eithne, her staff in hand as always. "Eithne, that's an interesting outfit...aren't you cold?" she inquires, raising a brow. She's noticed Bedivere of course, and will soon make her way to greet him and Alaia. They look fairly engaged at the moment. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Bedivere leaves off his conversation, at least for a few minutes, once he recognises some of the people milling about the makeshift festival ground. Bedivere turns with a rustling of his cloak, armour clattering softly as he makes his way to Eithne and lifts a hand in greeting. He even has a faint smile.   And there's Inga, too. Offering an apple to the Black One. The apple vanishes in record time, and she's left with the sound of delighted crunching at her back.   Alaia seems to just... meld back into the crowd, somehow. It's a little eerie.   "Surely you must be cold," Bedivere agrees, having caught Inga's comment to Eithne. "Welcome. Eat, drink!" the knight calls, with an expansive sweep of an arm. "We celebrate today the harvest, for after this, the snows will descend." 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     Eithne has yet to meet Alaia, though even she can tell that Bedivere's in conversation with someone who probably isn't of this world. It's not her business though, so she doesn't want to interrupt!     And it turns out to be a non-issue anyway, because the faerie queen disappears soon after Bedivere notices the two of them. "I'm not, actually," Eithne replies, though she doesn't look particularly convinced about it. But neither is she puzzled, nor shivering! Looks like she just realized it recently. "Cousin Merlin showed me a nice trick fer keepin' warm. Somethin' about magecraft?" And also healing some truly gross injuries, but this is a party and even Eithne knows you aren't supposed to mention melting limbs when there's food and drinks around.     Everyone looks so nice! "That scarf suits yeh well," she grins. "Velvet's so luxurious~" The Scion doesn't seem to care that she's the only person in costume. "I'm dressed as a shieldmaiden!" There is indeed a small, round shield hung at her back, which she shows off with a little spin.     "Sir Bedivere," she greets the knight as he approaches. "It doesn't even feel cold," she shrugs, but wanders off for a moment to help herself to a big mug of steaming cider anyway, bringing another pair of mugs back with her. She hopes Inga drinks stuff besides just mead. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga grins, looking Eithne over. "You are!" she agrees, deciding not to mention the shield maidens she knew wore far more clothing. Eithne was happy, it was adorable. "Ah, Merlin should be so kind as to teach me that trick," she says with a wry smile, bundled up as she is. Inga gratefully takes the cider, having a sip. "Mmmm, I do love cider. Don't suppose there is any rum about...I've become rather addicted to apple cider with rum," she confesses. "I have a costume as well...Riva bought it for me. I feel silly though," she says, looking away. "The skirt is /much/ too short." Back to Bedivere, she smiles and pats him on the arm in greeting. "A lovely celebration per usual...perhaps you might tell me more about this Samhain?" she asks, looking between them. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "Master Merlin knows many things," Bedivere comments, head tilting slightly to one side. The Scion may not feel cold, but he does; when the wind blows and rustles his cloak, he shivers, slightly. Dun Realtai's winter is a thing of famous savagery. "Some he chooses to share, some he does not. It is for him to choose, I suppose, but I would take it all with a grain of salt. He is perhaps the finest filidh I have known, or known of, but I do not trust such power, and neither should you."   Is that a swirl of power about the knight? Just the faintest trace of a knotwork lit up in bright cyan energy; flickering in his eyes, luminous? Surely a trick of the light. So is that half-smile of his.   No sooner is it noticed, possibly, than it's gone, and he folds his arms, tilting his head in place of a shrug. "But he is very wise, and sometimes it is worth listening to what he has to say."   Bedivere is not wearing a costume, to the surprise of nobody.   "Samhain," he offers, simply. "'Tis a time when the spirit world is closer than any other to our own. Not very Christian, mayhap, but the people here follow other traditions, and anyway, I have never been so strict as some of the others of Camelot, mayhap because I came from other lands." Also because he himself is a filidh, sort of. He shrugs, gesturing to the festival at large. "We honour all, here, so long as it does no harm to any. Samhain honours the dead, and the winter, and the bitter chill that will soon be upon us. It honours the flame that warms us--" Indeed, there's a big pile of wood arranged in the midst of the square, unlit, "--and that will warm us through the winter." 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It's a lot closer to how modern pop culture depicts such things (with a heavy dash of 'fantasy novel cover' thrown in) than the real thing; if Eithne ever finds out, she'll be a bit embarrassed. It could have been worse, though - at least she didn't decide to go with 'sexy witch' or something. She's got some sort of costume standards, strange and esoteric as they must be.     "What kind of costume is it? I bet the skirt's not really /that/ short..." Eithne doesn't know Riva well at all, but surely she wouldn't buy something /very/ out of character for Inga? They're supposed to be friends, right?? "Ah, I didn't think to bring any rum." She doesn't drink it herself, but knows where it's kept in Inga's home. It /does/ sound kind of tasty, though.     To Bedivere's talk of Merlin being untrustworthy (and a great bard-mage), she merely turns a skeptical eye. Perhaps she's been hoodwinked, and it wouldn't be the first time, but the sorcerer has treated her with nothing but respect (aside from his default everybody-gets-some level of trickery). Eithne will trust him as long as her trust isn't betrayed, which is what she gives anybody.     Also, bedivere may be teasing her himself; it's hard to tell because he's a very subtle sort. The faint glow of magecraft (or something of the like) around his eyes and aura just makes her suspicious! "This is the time of year when the dead come back over lots more," she nods, his explanation of the holiday much more agreeable talk. "So I'll be out late tonight, sendin' naughty ones back home and helping others find their way." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga finds a nearby seat. "Harry told me some about Samhain, but I thought it would be nice to learn more from those who have experienced it," she admits, smiling to Bedivere. "In my culture, it is Yule time when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. We honor the gods and the dead at Yule--it is our biggest celebration, 12 nights," she explains briefly, sipping her cider. "But I have observed what is said about Samhain to also be true. The spirit world is closer. Perhaps it is simply those darkest months...the days will grow shorter and shorter," she comments, looking toward the big pile for the bonfire. She hopes to perhaps have the honor of lighting it and leading some of the more pagan villagers in a little harvest-end rite. As to Merlin... "I will say, Merlin has...grown on me. He has been respectful and well behaved to Eithne," Inga says, raising her chin a bit. "If he were not he would be hearing from me," she assures Bedivere. Inga's keeping and eye on her like a mother/big sister would. Inga laughs and nods to Eithne. "I see. I'll keep a light on for you." 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     There's a grump and grumble from somewhere behind Inga, over by the food tables. Someone has dressed up as Merlin from the Disney Version of The Sword In The Stone, and he is currently cramming a pie in his face. "AND NOTHING HAPPENED ON HALLOWEEN! IT WAS GREAT." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "Ah, our own daughter of the Mórrígan." Bedivere's eyes are serious when he acknowledges Eithne's dedication to the spirits. If ever there were any here who could do something like that, it would be a child bearing the blood of the Goddess of Death and War. "I am certain they appreciate such consideration," the steward intones solemnly. "The most I can do is to pray for them at Mass, but I do not know that it is such consolation for these people of a strange land."   Still, good intent has to count for something, right? The intervention of Bedivere and his friend and allies must have saved many lives, even if not all of them could be saved.   He shifts his weight, a flick of his wrist pulling the cloak closer around him. How do those women stand the cold? Maybe it's the ichor in Eithne's veins; maybe it's the strings of fate (and maybe the lingering echo of bees' wings buzzing) that surround Inga.   Bedivere quickly makes a mental note to never look directly at Inga with the sight of the Otherworld. It would probably leave him with terrible nightmares, and he has enough of those to deal with.   Glancing over, Bedivere cocks his head as he regards Inga with some skepticism of his own. "Mayhap. I would still regard what he has to say with a grain of salt," he insists, in his own soft-spoken way. "That he has good intentions, I do not doubt, but his methods may not always be for the best." Look at the mess that happened in Camelot. Merlin probably could have intervened with some of that stuff, if he hadn't been off chasing Nimue's pretty, ethereal skirt. "'Ware his methods; that is all I ask."   A grump and a grumble means that a certain city wizard has come to visit, and Harry earns a faint half-smile from the understated knight. "Master Dresden. Welcome again to Dun Realtai." Sure hope he dressed warmly, too. "Pray do not eat it all." He'll have a terrible stomachache if he does. That's okay, though. The Black One will help. In fact, there is a huge war horse not too far away from Harry. It has a garland of faded flowers and sheaves of wheat woven with the clumsy care of the village children, and he seems darned proud to be wearing it. He's black as soot, but the smoky gold luminance of his eyes suggests the Otherworld.   A big velvety nose settles on Harry's shoulder. The Black One's head, in fact, is kind of heavy.   <So kind of you to come, Master Dresden. This one has heard much and more of you.> Horses can't grin, but one gets the impression the pooka might be grinning. <You smell like magic. Oh, yes.>   Folding his arms, Bedivere turns his attention back to Eithne, ignoring his Noble Steed (who is in reality just a jerk fairy that likes to mess with people). "Mm. There is mead, if you wanted rum." If she's old enough to fight for the Union she's old enough to drink, right? "It is not the same, but it has... a... certain... charm," he offers, with extreme grudging reluctance, and probably to the amusement of Inga. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     "We celebrate Yule too, back home. It's all wrapped up in Christmas though, since the Christians came. Everybody's traditions got all mixed together." Sometimes it's fun, because Eithne liked exchanging presents with her father and grandparents, and sometimes it's confusing because nobody ever wrote anything down and a lot of traditions were lost over the centuries. For someone like her that loves to learn things, it's frustrating to know that she can't just look it up in a book somewhere.     And then, Harry Dresden appears in his finest robe and wizard hat. "Oh, let him eat it," she laughs. After all, she's been led to understand that Halloween isn't something he usually gets to spend calmly. "He's celebratin' too."     Something occurs to her, even as a crow is winging its way down from the sky toward her. "An' if Merlin were to get fresh, I'd punch him." So violent! Sheela lands on Eithne's head in a flutter of wings, 'KRAAAA'ing down at his mistress. "Huh? A birthday present?" She transfers him to her wrist; the bird croaks at her before spreading his wings again and flying away. "Oh! I'll be back soon, everyone, Ma left me somethin' at the house! Sheela says it's too heavy fer him to carry over." Eithne practically /runs/ back toward the cottage, rum and mead and manners all forgotten in the excitement. 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     Harry waves vaguely into the direction of Bedi, and snorts in surprise at the touch of the Black One. "Hnnrrfff!" He swallows and coughs and punds his chest. "Oh, hi there, Mr. Pooka. I uh... Hi. Sorry I havne't been around much. Stuff's... uh... I..."     "Hi." Sorry, he's not used to pookas. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga looks over toward Harry....and facepalms. She laughs though, shaking her head, looking back to Eithne and Bedivere, giving a look that communicates; 'yup, I sleep with him for some reason' before moving on. "Mmm I have done work with spirits as well...but I shall leave it to you unless you ask for my assistance. I've much to do elsewhere as well," she sighs. She's been a busy witch lately. Inga /is/ dressed for the cold weather, gloves and all. Once the fire is going, she might shed a couple of layers. Gazing at Inga with the Sight might just give him nightmares, yes. Bright, honey-drenched nightmares. It would only be fair though, with what she's seen from his wyrd. All the things she's seen...they don't just go away. They're all stored inside, somewhere. In regard to Merlin, Inga nods. "Of course. I am merely saying he seems as though he has been....better behaved as of late," she says. Indeed, that's actually kind of suspicious! He hasn't tried to kiss or grope or flirt with her in any way. Puzzling. Inga grins as Bedi mentions mead. "Perhaps you should partake. It /is/ a special occasion," she reminds. Then Eithne runs off. "Uh oh," she comments, then looks to Harry. Woops, she might have let slip about his birthday... 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "I had never been one to celebrate much of anything, before," Bedivere observes with a faint shrug. "If I were present at any festivities, it was strictly in the role of marshal. I was there to ensure that whatever celebrations were present did not become too rowdy... and that a dagger did not find its way to my king." He took his duties seriously. For most of his life, the thought of participating in anything was completely alien to him. That still shows through. His presence seems thoroughly reserved compared to his guests.   That's probably not surprising either, though. He's a subtle man, given to quiescence and understatement.   The arrival of Sheela, cawing and squawking, prompts him to look up. Oh, right. He had almost forgotten about Eithne's pet, lifting a brow as the bird obviously passes on some kind of message. Bird-speech is not a trick that Merlin has taught him, though, and so he only inclines his head to her in acknowledgement as she takes off.   It's a little weird to think of something like the Mórrígan having half-mortal children, let alone interacting with them regularly. It requires a little bit of mental gymnastics on his part to accept.   "I suppose." He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck at Inga's gentle admonishment. "That only makes me more suspcious, however, where Master Merlin is concerned. Perhaps his intentions are good, but I fear that is all that is good about him, some days. His methodology..." The knight grimaces. How Merlin goes about things leaves much to be desired, somehow, like 'the entire story of King Arthur.' Great for Britain, terrible for Arturia herself, and everybody loyal to Camelot and Arturia. "Do inform me if he /stops/ being well-behaved. I'm certain it's only a phase." The good behaviour, that is. Because Merlin.   Bedivere may or may not privately imagine that Merlin will simply combust if he behaves himself for too long at a stretch.   At mention of mead, though, the knight only gives Inga the fish-eye, and somewhat obliquely at that. He's very good at cold, bland looks. He's also not very good at hiding his shudder. "N-no. I do not think so." No. No drink. None whatsoever. By no means. /Especially/ in public. Okay, maybe a /little/ in private, but absolutely not in public, as he has no desire to behave like a braying ass. "Thank you, though." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga can't help but laugh. She hasn't known the wizard as long as Bedivere, but they both clearly know him well enough to be suspicious when he hasn't been in trouble for a long period of time. It is like looking after children. It is when it is silent that you must really worry! Smiling, Inga sips her cider. "It is possible to indulge a little and not make a fool of oneself Bedivere. It is only practice you need. I am surprised you have such a low tolerance, surely you grew up drinking ale, even if it was watered down?" she asks. Bedivere needs to learn to relax, but that's a rather tall order. She understands. Duty and vigilance. It will take him time to learn to let go a little. "Well, have a little cider--tis only apples and I know you love those," she adds. "So, I saw you speaking with Alaia...anything I should be concerned about?" Inga asks, settling into her seat while they wait for Eithne to return. She glances to Harry again, smiling. She hopes Black One isn't freaking him out too much. Harry is not the most comfortable around fae. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Over by the food tables, the Black One seems content to leave off his harassment of Harry with one last prod of that velvet nose, wandering off to go be the centre of attention from a nearby throng of children. The adoration of horses among small children seems to be universal.   Given sufficient attention, the pooka doesn't seem to be a threat, but that doesn't dismiss Bedivere's concerns. The knight watches the pooka carefully, even as he listens to Inga.   The Black One's managed to give the children the slip, though, and circles around to Harry's other side, incongruously scented of summer and faded grass. Maybe it's just the garland, right? <You may call this one the Black One, for this one does not have a name, and it is enough a truth to satisfy. This one serves the Steward of Dun Realtai in fulfillment of a debt.> The war horse cocks his huge head, studying Harry with one smoky gold eye. <Has the King of Cats got your tongue, Wizard...?>   "So you say, but it takes only one slip of one's wits before trouble finds its way in," Bedivere points out, a little warily. He folds his arms, as much to huddle under his cloak as anything else. While it's not winter-cold just yet, the autumn wind makes it plain that the cold is not far behind. He eyes her, thoughtfully. "I would sooner not make that slip. Far more than my own well-being would be at risk."   His eyes light up a little at the mention of cider, though, and he even manages a faint half-smile that's not completely reserved. He does love apples, something Arturia had sussed out of him early on in Camelot. The cold and stoic marshal had /indeed/ had a weakness in that armour of ice.   Tilting his head, he flicks a quick sidelong glance at the folk around him enjoying themselves, before speaking quietly. "I spoke to her of the problems our pooka friend had encountered. I would know if there is a threat in this land I should be aware of, but she knew naught of it. I wonder, then, which land this creature has come from." 

:'''{{#var:206|Harry Dresden (206)}} has posed:'''     There's... a look at the horse, at the pooka at that last question, and then there's a soft, quiet smile, as Harry picks up a big old piece of venison jerky, and looks to the fae. "You ask that last question, Black One, and yet if you can see me for who I am... you know damn well who has my tongue, now don't you?"     He chews on the jerky as he hears the Birthday Word and looks slightly pale. A glance over at Inga. Did she tell them? Did they figure it out or remember from years past? How could you?     It all comes out as a very sad, forlorn look. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga grins, nodding. "Ah, words of the Wise One are similar and advise against partaking in too much drink--however, it is also said that all poetry and song comes from the mead Odin stole from Suttungr....so I think perhaps moderation is the key," she says with a wink. Inga's expression turns thoughtful. "Indeed? He seems to come from a land Merlin is familiar with, yes?" she asks. Inga's looks to Harry is both apologetic and vaguely annoyed. It's just a birthday, silly man! 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   <Perhaps this one does. Perhaps this one does not. After all,> the Black One states, in a bout of clarity, <there are many other worlds beyond this or those from which we hailed.> Ears prick forward; his face never moves, but the Black One nonetheless gives the impression of smirking. <Yes, you smell most interesting, Wizard. This one imagines you must have some fascinating stories to tell.>   He seems harmless, if a little fond of messing with people.   Over on the fringes of the gathering, Bedivere reaches up to tug at the red stud in his left ear. "Poetry and song are gifts of the Good Lord, and I hardly think that such things are to be found at the bottom of a bottle." Bedivere's counterargument is gentle, too gentle to be a proper reprimand. "Mayhap it is, mayhap it isn't. Whatever the case is, I suppose that mortal man is not meant to know."   Bedivere leans against the wall of a nearby building, ignoring the chilled stone. "He does, but I do not think it the one we are familiar with. Shades of meaning, if you will; a place where some things are so, and some things are not so, I think it is." The knight gestures faintly, the articulated plates of his gauntlets ticking quietly. "I am not familiar with such a place, myself. Even if it were the same place, he seems to have come from Eire, not Albion." 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga smiles, figuring Bedivere would say something like that. "It is a gift from the gods--even if we shall disagree on which one," she responds. "I mean to say, sometimes a bit of something is good to change the way one thinks..it helps you to open your mind because it helps you outside of yourself for just a little while...and I don't know anyone who couldn't use that every now and then," she sighs. Inga needs a cider refill. Her cup is woefully empty. "Eire?" she asks, brow rising as she wracks her memory for mention of the place. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     "He means Ireland," Eithne helpfully supplies, striding back toward the two of them. Over her dress (somehow even the breastplate), she's wearing a black leather jacket, studded at the shoulders. A rose vine climbs the left arm, the largest blossom centered squarely over her upper arm. "Look what Ma sent me!" she beams, and spins around. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "I believe it is called 'Ireland,'" Bedivere says, at about the same time Eithne clears the issue up. Oh, well. At least it's nice and clear to the Wisewoman now. "I suppose."   He glances back over as Eithne makes her reappearance, lifting a hand to her in greeting. "Very nice." He pauses, studying the jacket, and cocks his head to eye the rose vine. "Was the greenery part of the attire...?" 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga's gaze turns to Eithne as she returns, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh, that's...very nice Eithne! Gods, is it your birthday as well?" she asks. Did she really not know her birthday? That seems like quite an oversight! Inga quietly freaks out inside, wondering what she could give Eithne... 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     "Part of...?" She looks down at her arm, the rose pattern set into the leather somehow. It's not sewn or painted, so maybe dyed...? Eithne can't tell, but she already loves it fiercely. "Well it's part of the jacket, if that's what yeh mean." Bedivere doesn't always make a lot of sense to her.     There's a good reason that nobody knew Eithne's birthday. "Well, I didn't tell anyone," the girl shrugs, blinking. "But it's tomorrow, All Souls' Day. I suppose that's not a coincidence, after all..." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "Hm." Bedivere tilts his head. Eithne's birthday, is it?   He taps his fingers against the opposite forearm, metal ticking softly. "In that case, I will think of something suitable." The knight allows himself a faint half-smile. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga brightens, grinning. It's tomorrow. That's a whole evening to come up with something! Excellent. "All Souls Day?" Inga asks. "That is similar to Samhain?" she asks. Inga looks over toward the wood pile once more after the wind blows and sends a shiver through her. "Hmm what do you say we light the fire. May I do te honors?" she asks. "And tsk--not telling me it was your birthday soon...what is your favorite meal and I will make it," she asks Eithne. Inga's been doing a LOT of cooking lately... 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     wh-what's that smile for     Eithne peers suspiciously at Bedivere. This kind of thing is why she didn't tell anyone!! Also because she can never think of how to say it without also feeling like she's saying 'please give me presents'. For someone so insistent on proving she can be independent...     Even if she really would enjoy a little get-together. "I'll be visiting my Da in the afternoon, but in the evening maybe we could all have dinner together? I thought I'd like to make a cake to share with everyone." But what's her favorite food, other than that? What does Inga already make a lot of, that is easy, that Eithne also likes (because, contrarily, it IS her birthday and she would like something she really enjoys)?     "Um... stew?" she hazards, because that /is/ actually a thing that she really likes. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "By all means, Wisewoman." Bedivere inclines his head, gaze flicking to the pile of unlit tinder and firewood. It's not very Christian, but he's inclined to allow the people to have their pagan displays, especially since it might warm up the square a little. Besides, there's no shortage of firewood. "Lead the way."   He reserves comment on Eithne, though, and maintains an expression of such neutrality that he's got to be messing with her, right? Right? He allows himself a smile at Eithne's plans, though. "Certainly. I will see if I can bring something." Maybe he can cobble together a cobbler for dessert, ah hah hah. His skill in the kitchen isn't abysmal, but as he's told many others before, he learned his skills on the march and his cooking always was utilitarian, above all else. 

:'''{{#var:525|Inga (525)}} has posed:''' Inga's birthday is coming up soon as well, toward the end of the month sometime. The actual day, she is pretty unclear on. So, they'll just make something up. "Stew?" she asks, surprised. Stew is lovely, but hardly difficult to make or...special in any way. Ah well. "Stew it is then...and a get together. That would be very nice. We can do it at the cottage," she suggests. It isn't the hall at the keep, but its roomy enough and comfortable. Inga takes her staff and stands, smiling to them before she walks toward the fire. She stops in front of the piled logs and raises her arms. "We give thanks to the gods for a bountiful harvest and pray we see the light of another spring. We honor our ancestors, all those who have passed and who watch over us still to pass through the veil and feast with us tonight! Let the fire lead the way," she calls, then thrusts her hands forward, releasing flame to kindle the bonfire, bathing the area in warm, golden light. 

:'''{{#var:1016|Eithne Sullivan (1016)}} has posed:'''     It doesn't need to be special, as long as it's something she likes! And Inga's stew is particularly great in the way that only homecooked meals are.     Besides, Eithne's not sure if Inga knows how to make mac-and-cheese.     "If yeh can make it, that's all I'd ask fer," she grins, even if Bedivere /is/ messing with her. After all, if he steps on her toes too badly it's not like she can't just pick him up again.     She's respectfully quiet when Inga begins the invocation, hands clasped in front of herself. This is something that's important to Inga, and to the other citizens, and to be fair... it's important to her, as well. When the logs go up in flames, Eithne lets out a loud whoop of victory, thrusting her fist up into the air.     And because she's a teenage pagan, Eithne takes off to skip and run and jump around the bonfire, because Samhain comes once a year. 

:'''{{#var:639|Merlin (639)}} has posed:'''     And because he is the prankster that flaps in the night, a rather large bat flies high overhead - and lets go of a bright orange pumpkin halloween bucket full of candy that scatters around Inga and Enya and the others. It's quite good candy - it just also has a slightly...romantic side effect. Affection should bloom for those who sample them, although there's nothing to the effect htat's much more than the buzz of a large mug of mead. And a couple pseudo-rosaries of 'I Love You Man' of course.     Flap flap flap, goes the bat, with an idle thought to a new friend of his. Your turn, Black One! 
}}

4606/Rough Awakenings

2016-11-02T00:45:26Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/09/26 |Location=Hotel Somewhere |Synopsis=Luc and Sarah discuss matters relating to magic, travel, and other things. |Cast of Characters=237,..."

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|Location=Hotel Somewhere
|Synopsis=Luc and Sarah discuss matters relating to magic, travel, and other things.
|Cast of Characters=237, 316
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{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:'''     Toran Castle     Night Luc went to be early that night. He did so uneasily, and was not able to articulate the reason for his uneasiness, so he didn't bother to try. Instead he had simply chosen to act like a cat, burrow into the blankets, and be on his way. On the whole he considered a poor choice in retrospect because it felt rather like allowing the unease to slip in through the window, as if he had sensed a fox among the chickens and opened the gate to let them in. It didn't really matter though. What's done is done. He wakes presently from a deeply unpleasant nightmare, the rhythmic pulsing of the rune upon his hand alerting him to the source of his misery at once. The dream was nothing special in itself. The usual emptiness without limit. He climbs out of bed abruptly, banishing the dream from his mind with a smattering of thoughts of a variety of other subjects. Sarah. The Castle. The Tablets. Leknaat. Previous Wars. Sarah. Harmonia. His brother. Bugs. Sarah's reaction to bugs. Sarah's reaction to exceptionally filthy taxi cabs. Having his soul outside his body. Wait, no, that one is creepier than the dream. Go back. Luc padded outside of the bedroom into the surrounding floor. Toran Castle is a rough-hewn, cold-floored place, but it's comfortable enough this time of year that he doesn't bother putting on shoes. He leaves the door cracked, because likely as not Sarah's going to wake up and follow him sooner or later. No point closing it entirely, the courtesy is wasted. Assuming she's even among the blankets as he was, he didn't actually pay close attention to that. The runic activity alone would probably stir her, if she wasn't busily being harassed by her own rune. The Wind Mage paused alongside a window, folding his arms across his stomach and looking out over the lake. How to get back into sorts, he wonders? Luc invokes the Water Rune he occasionally used, summoning up wave of chilly water to splash across him and settle onto the floor. If nothing else, he's sure THAT will wake Sarah up if she's asleep, not that he intends it to exactly. "I'd threaten to cut off my hand," he remarks to the wind rune dryly, "but if I felt like killing myself I'd rather keep the hand on my way out the door." A counterproductive jest to say the least, because Luc immediately starts blowdrying himself -- and the surrounding hall -- with warm air afterwards. Swatting his rune on the nose would work a lot better if he wasn't just using it afterwards anyway. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Cutting off your nose to spite your face is rarely a sensible solution."   She hadn't made much sound, but then again, she usually doesn't. The nights are still reasonably warm over Toran Lake, and so Sarah isn't wearing much more than the grey slip she often wears to bed, and a thin robe pulled over that. Her hands are folded over her stomach much like Luc, and the slightly less tousled state of her hair suggests she's been up for a while, padding silently into the room behind him.   Sarah's face shifts into a brief flicker of a smile, and he might feel her arms settle around behind him.   Her voice is just foggy enough to suggest she did wake up recently. Maybe it was when he'd splashed himself with water; the cycling of energy through a rune wholly subservient to her own is something that flashes on her radar like a flood light through night vision goggles.   He might also feel her head resting against his shoulder from behind; a breath sighed into his ear. "The Ashen Future?" When it comes down to it, Sarah doesn't really have to ask. She knows. That was exactly the thing that woke her up, but she doesn't necessarily hold it against the rune any more. She's more often of the belief that it's trying to tell her something. Warn her, somehow, in the only way that it knows how.   It's not her fault if her human failings lack the means to understand it. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Yes, but it would be terribly cathartic up until the moment that the sensation of it reached my brain." That's not a good argument, Luc. You'd know it before your hand hit the floor. He is perfectly content with Sarah's approach, increasing the air flow along the floor so that the water is parted away from her before she steps into it. She might have done that herself he supposes, but he felt like doing it anyway. It was after all his mess, and there was no need to have her clean it up in his stead. He leans back into her embrace and shuts his eyes, swaying a little on the spot. It's not a terribly heavy burden for her to deal with, fortunately. Luc is only a little bigger than Sarah is and although he is significantly heavier, he still isn't /heavy/. Skinny as a beanpole and with about as much muscle. But he doesn't lean heavily on her too long. She seems just as drowsy as he is, and he'd rather not drag them flopping onto the floor unintentionally. Luc hums an affirmative noise in answer to Sarah's breath at his ear. What else would it be, he wonders, that could wake either of them in such a state? For Sarah, it would be that cursed mark of hers. For him, it might be the wars, and the fates that surround them, which are an issue altogether separate from the contents of the ashen future and the wars themselves. "Besides," he adds amusedly, "my rune isn't on my face. That's your problem." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "The sensation of it would reach your brain immediately," Sarah points out. She's such a killjoy, bringing logic to an argument. Settling in more closely, because he is comfortably warm and she is not, she looks out over the lake. It's still as glass and about as featureless. "Not a very sensible plan. Then again, I suppose a lot of things we do aren't very sensible."   A simple effort of will banishes the water neatly, foregoing the mess entirely. She has the power to do that; to simply will water out of existence as freely as summoning it. Neither does she seem to mind when he leans back against her, standing firm in the wake of his laziness. Sarah must be more awake than she looks. Or, maybe she's just conveniently counterbalanced.   It could have been the cursed mark, but she seems generally more accepting of her rune; it could also have been the terrible battle she had participated in. The suicide mission to Annu for the greater good had taken its toll on everyone who had gone. Such a thing would normally have been out of character for her... but the consequences if she /hadn't/ would have reached even this quiet lake, and it had prompted her to act -- and find a greater strength within herself than even she had known existed.   But perhaps those who know her know that the woman has a core of steel and titanium.   "Hmmm." It's a distracted sound, a gentle sound. "That much is true, but the Flowing Rune had never shown itself visually except under the most arduous of strain." Outside the Ceremonial Site in the Grasslands, mainly; when she had poured her last ounce of strength into summoning an army for Luc to keep his attackers busy. "It's been quiet since the True Water Rune. I suppose that's not much of a surprise."   Sarah pauses, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "Would you like anything? Tea, maybe?" That always settles her nerves, at least a little.   Besides, it wouldn't be like her not to ask. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Nonsense. I am the most rational person you'll ever meet." Luc can be rational, but finds it more fun not to be. There's nothing really to be gained by it most of the time, and far more fun to be had by messing with people constantly and drifting where his whims take him. When he is being truly rational, he's usually being so in the most frightening fashion possible and plotting apocalypse-scale events in the basement. This is ordinarily an activity to be discouraged. He loosens her arms momentarily to turn about and face her, encircling her own a moment later and dipping his head to press his lips briefly to hers. Luc doesn't linger that way for long, a contrast to his usual inclinations when she catches his attention so. He leans back, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and breathing steadily as he ponders the options that she gave him. "Tea." He agrees, "Tea and a bath, I think. Perhaps I'll feel of a mind to go back to bed after." The Wind Mage opens his eyes again, balefully gazing over towards the stairs. It's a long walk. They could use the elevator but he's not of a mind to do so just now. He'd rather walk, because at the very least that will keep his mind off of everything else that might come to it just now. He breaks away from Sarah's embrace, but draws his hand along her arm as he goes, to grasp at her hand and pull her along. If I'm walking, so are you. The wind blows and eerie melody through the windows of the staircases as they approach. Luc isn't in the mood to deal with cold floors, and he'll not subject Sarah to them just now either. "Did it wake you or did I? You don't seem as miserable as me just now, but I think you cope better regardless of the source." He asks, his head twitching to one side to observe her from the corner of his eyes. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   At Luc's assertion, Sarah only laughs softly. There's no mockery in that or her faint smile. One could make the argument that she hasn't met very rational people, then, but there's no percentage in saying it. His straight-faced delivery is amusing to her all the same.   She offers no protest when he turns about so he can face her, and she offers no protest to the kiss, returning it briefly in the instant's opportunity she has. When he leans away from her, she keeps her arms circled loosely around him, but she doesn't tug him closer or move to let him go. It's comfortable just to stand there like that for a moment.   "Mm. That does sound good," she murmurs, considering, looking up as he glares at the stairs. Walking doesn't bother her very much. It's good exercise, and she makes a point of not teleporting most of the time, so she's slowly gotten used to the exertion of climbing or descending Toran Castle's many, many stairs.   Did he wake her? She shrugs, faintly, not much more than a twitch of a narrow shoulder, slim hand turning to lace her fingers with his. "No. I had nightmares, but it wasn't the True Water Rune, this time. It was Annu." That's its own special brand of night-terrors. It's something she rarely talks about, even to Luc. "I suppose it doesn't really matter what it was. We're both awake, now."   "Perhaps." This, to his comment of not being as miserable, and her colourless eyes flick sidelong to study him. "Or perhaps I've become better at hiding it than you are." Sarah looks forward again. Shrugging, she squeezes his hand, briefly. "Tea first, or a bath first?" 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' Luc doesn't mind the stairs as much as he pretends. Oh, he does prefer his shortcuts and cheats, but there are in fact some real memories here and elsewhere that make them worthwhile in their own way. Even if the shortcuts are, all the same, frequently his personal preference. It helps that he knows he'll never get old enough to make it difficult to traverse this sort of terrain, at least unless he really gets himself go. There will therefore, he reasons, always be another opportunity to inconvenience himself with the banality of normal life. But there is always something to padding barefoot down a stone staircase. It's nostalgic, after a fashion, and he'd done it many times before in Leknaat's tower. The thought brought a smile that wasn't murderously creepy to his lips, though it vanishes just as quickly as Sarah explains what woke her in truth. "Oh." Luc's voice echoes down the staircase as he comes to a stop and looks at her properly. He considers asking about it, or saying something further. But then, as he always has, he decides against it and moves on. The first stop is the kitchen, which is higher up than the bath houses since it has to be closer to where everyone lives. It was a restaurant / inn once, but most of its space is wasted now. Luc releases Sarah to go rifle through their tea leaves. He expects she'll want to put the kettle on, and might plan to use her rune to skip some of the time they were otherwise looking at waiting. But he's unsure. "Both at the same time, I think. We'll fix the tea then take it down to the bath." Luc answers, turning his head to look at her properly. "I'm feeling like blackberry I think. Would you like anything to nibble on along with it while we're here?" The wind mage focuses on her intently for a moment. Has she just gotten better at hiding her misery? But... no, he decides. Even if that was the case her capacity to Just Deal is much higher than his. Water is much sturdier than the wind. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Most of the time, Sarah prefers to take the long way to do things. It isn't that she dislikes things she perceives as cheating, but Leknaat instilled a certain respect for accomplishing tasks the long way around. It fosters a healthy respect for just how nice shortcuts make life; especially now, after her experiences in the multiverse.   The water mage doesn't see his smile so much as sense it, briefly showing one of her own and squeezing his hand faintly. She had done the same thing, when they'd lived in Leknaat's tower. Even she had gone barefoot on the hot days of summer, savouring the cool of the stones underfoot. It's not like Luc would have cared about propriety, and Leknaat was blind. Even in Toran Castle she still does that, on the hottest days.   Into the kitchen they go, and she follows him to do her own rifling through the tea stores. None of it quite catches her interest until he mentions the blackberry, and she nods, though it's without the customary clink of earrings -- she hadn't bothered to put them in, still dressed in her grey slip and thin robe. "Blackberry is fine." While he gathers up the tea, she sets the kettle on, this time without the familiar sensation of magic.   "Very well. Something to eat? Mm. I think just the tea would be fine." Her fingers drum on the stone counter for a moment, considering. "Yes, just the tea."   Watching the kettle as she is, she doesn't seem to notice that she's being watched. A bit odd, since she normally knows when he's looking at her -- she has an uncanny ability to sense when he's paying attention to her, even if she's not watching him at the time.   She seems to notice, a few moments later than she might normally.   "Hm?" One pale brow arches, and she looks over her shoulder at him. "Something the matter?" 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' Luc cares about propriety about as much as a cat cares about clothes. His eyes flick towards her ears when he doesn't hear the clink he was expecting when she nodded. Ah. Well, it wouldn't make any sense for her to leave those in, would it? They'd catch on the pillows or sheets and that, he could only assume, would be dreadfully painful. He nods slightly in answer to her affirmative, bringing the pouches of blackberry tea over to her shortly after. "Well, I wouldn't mind a..." He fishes some crackers out of a cabinet and tastes one. The wind mage screws up his face at the awful taste of it. This is old beyond old, and long gone. He steps away to the trash bin, spitting the sour cracker out with unnecessary vigor and discarding what remained of them in his hands. It tasted like vinegar and ick, with a lingering aftertaste that hung onto his tongue relentlessly. He fetches himself some water, inadvertantly making a show of cleaning the awful out of his mouth by swishing it around before spitting into the nearby basin. If nothing else, all of this has definitely freed him of the torment of the dream by the sheer /normal/ awful of it. Only after all of that does Luc answer Sarah: "Nothing's the matter at the moment, I was just trying to determine whether or not you said the truth of it. On the whole I think not. You're just better at bearing it than I am. Water too is more firm than the wind." He smacks his lips a few times, trying to make certain that he's free of the taste, and then finally focuses on Sarah properly again. "And with you?" He asks. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Both the earrings and the hairclip are finishing details. She only wears them once she's prepared herself to face the day, and they're an important part of her appearance, at least when she plans on spending any time in Crystal Valley on Luc's behalf. Besides that, they're an elegant touch even when she isn't in Harmonia. The earrings and hairclip both hold sentimental value to her -- aside from the value of them with their sapphires, they were originally a gift from Luc, even if a thoughtless one, and she's loathe to forget the significance of that.   Right now, though, her ears are unadorned, and her hair is unbound. It's getting a bit long, in fact, although it's a look she wears well, even if slightly unkempt at the moment.   Reaching out to take the tea, she deposits one in each cup, pouring from the kettle with a single practised motion of her wrist. Even at the worst of times, she's a careful person -- she may not move with the liquid grace of a born warrior, but she moves with her own sort of liquid grace that has nothing to do with her runes and everything to do with relentless fastidiousness. The kettle is set aside neatly as she eyes the steam curling from both cups.   Half a glance is cast over her shoulder to Luc as he makes a blatant show about spitting out bits of awful cracker and rising the taste out of his mouth.   "I could have told you that those had turned, and I intended to dispose of them in the morning." Sarah can't help a little bit of amusement from creeping into her voice. "On the whole, though, I think it was more amusing that way."   Yeah, even she enjoys a little mirth at Luc's expense once in a while -- another thing she never would have done, years ago. Although she still places him on a pedestal, it's not quite as much of a vast gulf as it once was.   "I'm not in the habit of lying to you, and I'm not about to start." Sarah dismisses his assessment with a flick of a slim hand, turning back to eye the teacups, gauging by sight whether the brewing is finished or not. Letting it go too long might result in a taste as pungent and sour as those stale crackers. "I will not pretend that Annu did not leave its own scars, unrelated to the mark between my shoulders; however, talking about it will not accomplish anything. You were not there. It would have no meaning to you. Nor, I think, would it even interest you precisely because you were not there."   She considers as she neatly plucks the tea bags from the water, tossing them into the rubbish bin with a practised gesture. The movement is so fast she doesn't burn her fingers despite plucking them directly from piping hot water.   A bit of sugar and a bit of cream are stirred into hers, and into Luc's as well if he indicates he wants some, although instead of a spoon she does cheat a bit, using the True Water Rune to incite a little bit of convection in the tea cups. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." Sarah lifts one shoulder faintly and lets it fall in a sort of half-shrug. "I am accustomed to bearing pain and discomfort in silence, though I suppose that is hardly a meter-stick."   Even when she was dying, both in the Grasslands and in Annu, she did not offer up any complaint. The only indication she had given in Annu was to scream when the True Water Rune devoured her from within -- because it /had/ been unspeakably painful, agony on a level she could not even articulate at the time. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "At the end of the day, I suppose Annu is to me what the True Wind Rune is to you. It is just as much a part of me, as much an indelible part of my soul, as the True Wind Rune is to you; except I think yours can be overcome." She takes her teacup in hand, already starting for the stairs again. "I do not think the True Runes to be inherently malicious. Rather, I believe they are trying to tell us something."   "Perhaps even," she muses, "for our own preservation, for after all, to preserve their bearers is to preserve themselves." If they want to do more than be a lump on a log, anyway, and most of them do have that much ambition. "The memories of Annu, however, are not something that can be..." Sarah trails off, thinning her lips. It's rare for Sarah to trail off. She is usually composed. Seldom does she not already have what she plans on saying prepared in advance. "I do not think it can be reversed. I will bear that mark until I die, as surely as any True Rune." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' In truth the Wind Mage had chosen the accessories carefully, although he hadn't done so because they were meant to be dearly sentimental gifts. Crystal Valley is a place of modern sensibilities, as those things go in their world at all, and fashion is as important as lineage if you're not specifically military. Sarah was his personal assistant, that much was true, but she was set apart from the rest. He brought her with him, she wasn't a part of Harmonia. Therefore, she had to at least have the appearance necessary to stand tall over them. However short she may be in form. Luc reminisced on this a little as Sarah poured the tea, clasping his hands together behind his back and staring... not at her precisely, his gaze isn't focused enough for that. His expression sours again when Sarah points out that she was planning on throwing those crackers out the next day. "Well," he says, "I've saved you the trouble and thrown myself on that particular grenade so there's no use worrying about it now." But he does wonder how deliberate it was that she didn't say anything. Luc squints at Sarah a little, but however inquisitive he doesn't seem /bothered/. The amusement left his face again quite rapidly. He shakes his head and replies, "If you're of a mind to talk of it then I would listen but there's nothing I can say or do that wouldn't diminish or demean that sort of circumstance and curse." It was for that reason, rather than a general tendency of closed off behavior, that Luc has never pushed the subject. Some things weren't for him. That, he thought, was one of them. Luc offers up his cup when sugar and cream are brought out. He smiles a little at her non-committal remark and says, "Perhaps /indeed/. I know my limits and yours well enough, especially if you're not concealing anything." Luc lifts an eyebrow at Sarah's comparison between Annu and the True Wind Rune, and he wonders if she means Annu itself or the scar. The scar was a thing he could examine and identify, strung together from... well. It wasn't something he wished to think about overmuch. It was, he could tell, designed to be resolvable. But there is a great difference between the curse itself and having merely been there. Ah. There it is. "It's a death curse." He replies, tipping his head towards the door to indicate they should take their tea and move on, before carrying on towards the stairs himself, assuming that she'll follow. "And you're not wrong that it's permanent but it's more like..." Luc struggles for a moment to fine the words. Looking at it was like looking at the tablet of the stars. He's had many opportunities since it is after all on her back and it is without a doubt a highly magical thing. Most times he was looking at her and not it, but sometimes he had looked, and understood. He didn't continue until they reached the next landing down. "In fairy tales," he begins, "you'll have stories where a witch or a faerie will place an enchantment or a curse. There will be some strings attached, with a termination clause for good or for ill. You don't see things like that much anymore, unless the stars are gathered together under the same banner. Most magic is very straightforward, like..." The wind howls momentarily through the staircase, Luc's rune pulsing brilliantly as it does. "That mark has a similar structure," he explains, "but I couldn't tell you what the termination clause is." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Very good. I had planned on replacing those soon, as well. Now I will have the space to do so." Sarah's serene acknowledgement belies the amusement in her eyes. She might have failed to say something about the crackers, and even felt a little guilty about it, but that doesn't stop her from being amused at Luc's expression when he'd bitten into that cracker.   Her eyes drop to the teacup in her hands, unfocused, deep in thought.   "No, there is nothing you could do that would diminish it. But, I suppose talking about it would help." Sarah shrugs as she walks. "Perhaps. Very well, then. Next time I will try that." A death curse? She lifts a brow, and she doesn't need to say anything to convey her curiosity.   He's quick to oblige. She listens to his explanation, his attempt to understand the mark on her shoulders. Almost subconciously, she rolls one, as though something itched there or otherwise bothered her; the same as when she has to rub at the back of her right hand.   "Oh, that sort of curse. Yes, I could see that. Whatever it is, though, it's powerful. Everyone who bears this mark, I suspect, has had difficulty bearing it." The only sound besides her naturally soft, whispery voice is the rustle of fabric from her robe. "I don't know what could reverse a death-curse like that. Not even the hundred eight Stars of Destiny."   Sarah shrugs once more, squeezing her eyes shut at the sudden howling gust of wind. It seizes her hair and her robe, whipping both in its wake.   "Otherwise, no, I don't know what would be a logical termination clause." Her lips thin. "It isn't meant to be easy, whatever it is. I know that much. Not in lgiht of what I'd done." True, she helped rescue a number of children, but was she really doing them a favour? And could saving some out of the many ever lessen the atrocity of what she and the others had done?   She shoulders open the door to the bath house, setting her tea down and shrugging out of her robe. A gesture from her right hand sets the water to the basin, appearing from wherever it is she summons water. It swirls and sloshes in the basin, not quite in danger of spilling over, and as it settles steam begins to curl from its surface. A little help from Sarah stills it.   Mist hovers invitingly over the water, and she's already shrugging off the rest of her night clothing and slipping into the water, unable to help shivering a little. It might still be warm, but those stones are cool underfoot.   Settling in, she lets out a sigh and leans back in the water. "That," she points out languidly, "was a very good idea." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "There are examples of relevant escape clauses, but I've no idea what sort would occur to a lunatic like that man, especially in his last moments. But you know the sort the stories will tend to have." Luc raises a hand and ticks off fingers as he speaks, "A kiss from one's true love despite being beastly, or a knight who can lose no battles so long as he remains virtuous. For the bad ones a negative condition will be tripped if a certain banned behavior is indulged, for the good ones the positive effects will be terminated if a banned behavior is indulged." Luc pauses a moment to squint at Sarah again, over the matter of the crackers. He takes a sip of his tea and remarks, "I'm afraid that I've rubbed off on you in perhaps the wrong ways. Lady Leknaat would either be elated or incredibly pleased." He continues. He leaves his thoughts on the difficulty of bearing the mark unsaid. Luc sat his teacup down on the edge of the basin as he disrobed, leaving his nightclothes folded on a small stand designated for such things nearby. He observes quietly as she fills the basin, heats it, and climbs in herself. Then he joins her, easing in close by, but not too close for the moment. He can feel the sweat building up already. Body heat on top of it just makes him uncomfortable and gross. Luc lowers himself in until only his head above water. Briefly he dips lower than that and gazes with dim, sleepy eyes at Sarah, before blowing a few bubbles into the water and rising back up again. "When this was first built," He explains, folding his arms across himself beneath the water, "the baths were all barrels over a firepit, with a man to a barrel. I somehow suspect that it would not have agreed with you particularly well." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I doubt the concept of an escape clause even would occur to a person like that." Sarah sinks a little lower in the water as Luc lists off particular clauses, eyes hooding. The mist feels nice, but the heat is what does it. There's nothing more relaxing than a bath so hot one almost can't stand it.   She tilts her head in half-hearted acknowledgement, aware of the sorts of things a story would discuss. She did spend fifteen years imprisoned in a library, after all.   "Mm. You think? She could be horrified, too. One can't always tell with her." Sarah allows herself a chuckle. "And I suppose that would have been a little too close. It's better to make use of one broad basin, even if it's only just the two of us. Ah, something like this would have been nice in Harmonia, especially in winter." She'll have to handle accomodations the next time they're there, and make sure the place they're staying has a generously large, and private, hot tub.   She shrugs, faintly. "I do not always like close confines, though, so I suppose you're right. This is more to my tastes. This entire castle, with only ourselves in it. I prefer quiet and calm, and we get it in abundance in this old castle by the lake." The villages nearby regard it as haunted, and she's not only okay with that, but encourages that opinion. It keeps people away. Her chimerae can take care of the rest. "Home. It's still a little strange to think of someplace that way."   "Oh, that reminds me. I've found an interesting place to travel to." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "... Incredibly /dis/pleased, pardon me." Luc corrects himself, though Sarah had already pointed out the flaw in his statement. "But I doubt sincerely that she would be horrified. She may have a sense of dignity about her that I do not, but she is aware of the necessity of... living." He spread his hands in front of him over the water, and gave a shrug. "I'm uncertain that she herself indulges in such trifles anymore, but if she did I would imagine she does it with other beings who are very old. I once saw her entertaining an odd woman in black--" He frowns a little, fetching his tea to sip at it. The Wind Mage smiles a little at the notion of large baths in Harmonia. "They," he says, "prefer private baths on the whole. At times they do have overlarge ones for personal entertainment purposes but their culture is not inclined towards bathhouses. It would involve too much mixing of the high with the low, even if there were different houses for different castes. To say nothing of oddities like the Bishops, or the Howling Voice Guild." Both of which lay outside normal social status in Harmonia. Luc looked as common as it came in Crystal Valley, but because he was the progeny of Hikusaak, none could ultimately deny him status. He was almost a Prince, and Sarah... well. Strange though she was, she fit the look. A little too pale-haired perhaps, but the right eyes to match so that she wasn't too outstanding. A little more yellow in her and she'd look quite the Harmonian lady. He sat his teacup down on the edge of the basin, eyebrows lifted. They'd discussed a journey some while before, but it involved going to places he knew Sarah wished to avoid. "Falena?" He asks, with a wicked, murderous smile. That's not the answer, of course. But he couldn't help himself. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Incredibly displeased," Sarah agrees, with a crooked half-smile. The blind astrologian would give no hint of her own disappointment or displeasure. "Disappointed, perhaps, that I've taken to such half-measures and deviousness. I always did have the impression that she preferred my obedience and adherence to social mores. Tractable. Then again, I had always obeyed her because I respected her. I had never needed or wanted to challenge her for anything."   She lets herself sink a little, eyes half-closing. After a moment, a tendril of water rises from the basin, forming into a sinuous shape like a water dragon. It even sports little fins and tendrils; steam and frost alternatively give it feature and texture. It's shockingly detailed -- but perhaps not very shocking to Luc, who knows just how exacting his companion is when it comes to attention to detail.   The dragon turns this way and that as Sarah adjusts its features. Below it, a miniature version of Crystal Valley sprouts from the surface of the water, perfect down to the detail of its tiny pressurised-water buildings. Even the One Temple complex is marked at the heart of the circular city.   It's no more than idle effort, and it's not even enough for her to sound distracted. Her ability to recall locations is almost scary. "They do, but only first-class citisens generally have access to baths as luxurious as this. Even this is better than what can be found in Crystal Valley." She lifts a hand, flicking water across her hydrokinetic sea-dragon; when it spatters the construct, the water freezes, marking it in frosty ice.   With a gesture and a swirl of mist, the lot of it fades away and Sarah lets her hands settle back into the water. "No, not Falena." A precise flick of her hand sends a jet of water at Luc. It doesn't have the backing of the rune behind it, not just yet. "Definitely not Falena. Putting aside the Sun Rune, it's far too hot and dry there; hotter and drier than the Grasslands." And he saw how wilty she got there. "Hm."   "The best I can find for the name of the city is the Tiered City of Seven Jewels. I admit I'm a bit puzzled by the name. From what I recall of the maps I had studied, it isn't anywhere near a mountain, so I don't know what sort of tiers it references. And I'm to understand the jewels reference seven relics of the city, not necessarily all jewels." Sarah lifts her right hand, idly studying the back of it, where the True Water Rune glows softly. "I suppose we'll find out. I've already made arrangements for the finest lodgings in the city." She manages a brief flicker of a smile. "I'm certain they'll be impressive." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' Luc considers Sarah's words regarding Lady Leknaat's assessment of her, and shakes his head a little, smiling as he does so. "She would be neither displeased or disappointed." He says, confidently. Though they both hold her in high regard, he felt sure of himself in this and gesticulated at Sarah with his teacup, "Lady Leknaat took us both in from very dire circumstances. I would say that you adjusted better than I did, but the point of it is that we adjusted. She wasn't trying to mold us in her image, though that was the only thing she knew how to mold us into to start with. She just wanted us to be able to function as relatively normal people." "She would not," he says, "be disappointed or displeased because you took pleasure in cheating with your talents or being a little less of a 'proper' woman or whatever else you might think would cause her to become troubled by your behavior. She was not even all that hard on us when we tried to blow ourselves up." "She seems like that kind of woman, but she really is a very easygoing person." This is not, Luc realized, how almost anyone would describe Leknaat. And yet he thought it to be reasonably true, even if she did scold him for misusing his magic on more than one occasion. The wind mage makes an annoyed little noise regarding what sort of baths /do/ exist in Crystal Valley. Though he does like his privacy, he has a great deal more tolerance for a lack of it in certain departments of his life than was perhaps ideal for Sarah. In particular, he didn't mind bath houses at all. Luc had experienced this sort of thing as a community matter enough that it just didn't weird him out like it did a lot of people. Harmonia was not like that at all. They were so... /closed off/. Luc blinks very rapidly as the jet of water boops him on the nose. He glares over towards Sarah, but doesn't retaliate because his tea is much more important to him just now. "You can build a city up or down without the help of a mountain. The Elves used to--" He pauses here a moment, looking contemplative. "Where did you find for us to stay in this place? What tier? Centrally located, or--" Luc may be trying to feel it out based on that. He supposes if Sarah wasn't sure of the details though, he probably won't fare any better. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I suppose you're right." Sarah watches the mist curl over the surface of the water, eyes falling to half-mast. Their colour is pale even in the dim bath house. Although blue, if he looks close enough, a pale colour like sunlight on ice, it's such a pale colour that the hue could be missed entirely. "She wouldn't have minded that much. In my own mind, she might have. I had never wanted to disappoint her." It's why she'd dithered over the ceremonial candle holders, eventually leading Luc to take the blame for that whole incident. Unsurprisingly, Sarah had felt terrible about it -- both for disappointing Leknaat and then for Luc taking the blame.   It's been a long time since she's thought of that; the memory brings a faint half-smile to flicker across her face. "She is." Leknaat had to be easygoing, to put up with Luc in his more colourful moments, before he had grown embittered. Privately, she thinks Leknaat had definitely needed to be easygoing, to be so patient with Sarah in the early days.   In the early days, she'd been an entirely different person. Sarah had come to Leknaat's tower in Luc's company, meek and submissive and quiet. She didn't make eye contact with her rescuers, at first, and seemed to flich when spoken to.   These days, she thinks, she wouldn't recognise herself when held up against what she had been.   At Luc's glaring, though, she offers a lopsided smile. Of course she has rather good aim. The water in this basin, as well as the lake, rivers, and rain around them, and the ocean beyond, are hers. There's too much ambient moisture in the air here for her not to be able to sense things with a preternatural precision.   "Apparently it's on some place called the Sapphire Tier. Each tier is named after a jewel. From what information I could find, it's the highest tier in the city." Sarah considers for a moment. "Oh, and one more thing. It's built over what would seem to be a river, of some kind, but other information I'd found claims it's an ocean. I'm not certain which it is."   She frowns, slightly, draining her teacup and setting the empty porcelain aside. "An intriguing and slightly mysterious place. They apparently value learning and magic highly, and have impressive libraries. I'm hoping that they'll be willing to part with a few volumes." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Lady Leknaat is much more kind than many people give her credit for." Luc remarks, setting his teacup aside and sinking back into the water until it's right up beneath his chin. He stares over towards Sarah, taking in her pondering for a moment before his eyes slide out of focus and settle on nothing in particular. He snorts a little, the air of it sending tiny ripples chasing through the water beneath him. "They think she's frightening for the same reason they thought you were frightening, only she was powerful enough already that they couldn't stop her doing it. The ones who recognized what she was would seek her out for help." "But you weren't around when the Scarlet Moon Empire was actively soliciting her for horoscopes, were you?" He smiles a little at the thought. "It's how I got involved in all of this, you know. McDohl was sent to the tower with a Dragon Knight to retrieve the annual horoscope. I was to see them in, and decided at the time that I would test them rather than making it particularly easy." "So I sent a rock golem at them." Why a rock golem, he couldn't say. It was an out-of-character choice for him, that he'd eventually ascribed to the whims of fate. Luc pushes away from his solitary resting spot to drift over next to Sarah. The water's cool enough for it now, or at the very least he's used to it enough that it doesn't much bother him to deal with body heat on top of the heat of the water. He issues a heavy, satisfied sigh. This was, in fact, a good idea. "Could be both. A river or lake big enough could be called an ocean." He was unsurprised she'd choose a place like that. "But if we're on the upper levels then I suspect it'll make no difference. If you wish to obtain something of interest though, you should take something to trade with you." "Copies, not originals, would do. They get something new and foreign, you get something new and foreign." He adds, plainly. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "She took each of us in, didn't she?" Sarah arches her brows at Luc's observation. There had to be some kind of inherent kindness behind that action; there was no percentage otherwise in rescuing and virtually adopting the two stray magicians. "I think we understand better than anyone else her kindness just for that alone. There's nothing frightening about her abilities. A little strange, perhaps, and a little different from most. But not frightening."   Maybe she intimidated Sarah a little at times, but that was more a product of Sarah's timid personality than it was a product of Leknaat being formidable. True, Leknaat /could/ be formidable if she was actually trying to leave an impression on somebody, but most of the time Sarah had considered her as a gentle, thoughtful, and somewhat introspective woman.   Just the kind of person she would have wanted in a mother, really. These days, she remembers nothing of her mother beyond a vague sensation of anxiety. She had never been comfortable around her own blood relations. Leknaat had become her family.   Sarah reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes and ducking beneath the water for a moment. The water just seems to slide from her when she resurfaces, and a slight gleam from her right hand suggests it's being given a little encouragement.   "Hm. That part I had never understood. If there are any elements that truly oppose wind, it would be earth. I could understand your brother going immediately for a summoned creature such as those, but you?" Sarah eyes him, speculative. "I would have expected a winged chimera or gryphon or some kind of bird-like creature as an instinctive summoned creature. Not a rock golem."   She lets herself lean a little closer to him when he approaches; not necessarily because she saw him drifting her way, but because she can sense it through the water. It's an odd way to sense a person, but it's something she's gotten used to over the years.   Her head tilts slightly to one side, even as she moves to slip an arm loosely around him. "Hm? That much is true. The maps don't paint a very good picture of the area, I'm afraid. I suppose it will be a surprise for both of us. I'm sure it'll be interesting, though." She pauses, smiling slyly. "And I've heard they have top-notch cuisine, too. Particularly sweet pastries and delicacies. Renowned throughout their world, according to the research I'd done on the city." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "You don't think her power is frightening?" Luc smiles at this, a little grimly. He had some talent for the same things that Lady Leknaat did, though he didn't realize /why/. It was one of the things that had troubled him gravely enough to attempt to destroy his Rune, and end the cycle. It wasn't something he talked about very often, though. His focus was on the Ashen Future, not his reaction to the things that he saw in the tablets as he fought alongside McDohl and Riou. He swallows a little harshly and continues his thoughts, "I think that Leknaat is far more frightening than we ever were, though it is true that in a contest of martial magic she would fail before either of us at this point." "But knowing is its own terror. I saw... many things, following her instruction. I am sure that she saw much more than I ever did. People think that looking into the future is a desirable thing," He draws his hand up from the water, observing droplets trickling down his fingers to splash lightly before him, "but it's really not. Especially with a major confluence of powers in progress. When it's /happening/-- when you're /watching/ it-- people are like gloves being worn by the Runes, forced to act out their conflicts." "I never watched /our/ war that way," He added, lowering his hand into the water again, "and I don't think I'd like to. My point is they should be scared of her, but not for the reasons they think. Asking to know is foolishness." "But I know you don't need to be told that she's a good person," Luc flicked water towards Sarah idly, "I was just thinking aloud." The Wind Mage looks pensive for a moment in answer to Sarah's questioning of the rock golem, but all he can some up with is a comical 'lol donno' look and a deliberately exaggerated shrug. "Perhaps," he says, "the universe felt that irony was necessary in my magic at the time. Even I like something bitter now and again. I'll bet that little shit was busily summoning an air golem on the other side of the continent at the time." "Hm-- oh? That's good." He inclines his head in Sarah's direction, but didn't seem to be paying attention. It's fine, he usually doesn't have much bad to say about the places they visit. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I think her power is frightening," Sarah agrees, with a wan smile, "but it's in a much more specific context. Mistress Leknaat's abilities aren't the kind of thing most people are going to think about as frightening, but I would be more wary of such a gift than I would of any elemental power."   She shrugs faintly. "That's to say nothing of the Gate Rune. I can only imagine the sorts of things she can drag from the World of Emptiness with a rune like that." Disgustingly powerful abominations from the unreality, probably. The sorts of things Sarah can do, but orders of magnitude stronger. "I would be more concerned about her clairvoyance. At least, anybody in their right mind should be concerned about that, as it pertains to them."   "I can't speak for anyone else, Sarah murmurs, "but I certainly don't want to know what lies in store for me. Better to find out like anyone else, as I go along."   Her smile is wan; almost bitter. "People aren't meant to know what lies ahead. There's a reason why talents like hers are so vanishingly rare."   Luc's answer regarding the earth golem only earns a shrug from Sarah. In honesty, she wasn't expecting he had any reason at all, so his answer isn't very surprising. Sometimes he does things just because the whim takes him; like a leaf being blown this way and that by the wind.   The water flicked at her merely parts; it never so much as touches her.   Sarah is totally cheating.   Reaching out a hand, she cups it, catching the water Luc had flicked; the droplets form a neat sphere on her palm. She rolls the sphere about this way and that as she considers. "Hm. Admittedly, the location was one reason I wanted to go there. I'm told it's quite a feat of engineering both mundane and magical, too. I'm curious to see that. But most of all, they have an interesting library. The best in their world, if my research is correct." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "What is a true oddity," Luc continues to meander, "is that to the best of my knowledge her abilities have very little to do with her half of the gate rune. I'm not certain where such traits spring from. I've some talent with them myself, or I'd think that it was simply a lesser known property of the gate rune. I've often wondered if, perhaps, runebearers possess a sort of..." "A sort of bridge between their current, past, and future selves, which continues on towards future and past rune bearers." He pauses here, smiling faintly at Sarah. "Oddly I do not believe she is capable of summoning abominations in the manner you describe. I think that is a property of the other half of the gate rune. She can transport herself wherever she pleases and I've seen her banish whole armies without issue, but she does not summon them." "I have seen her bridge wildly separate points in space-time, with assistance of others, but that is another matter altogether." He adds thoughtfully, shrugging a little. "I suppose she could probably send people /into/ the world of emptiness if she saw fit to do so, but I do not think it is a combat-applicable task unless it is a denizen of those worlds to begin with. Otherwise she would have had a firm advantage over either of us in a contest." "And we know that she did not have that." Luc offers another tiny shrug in answer to the matter of clairvoyance being rare. "Do you think so? I think that their existence at all speaks to much the opposite, and with care fate can be changed, though it is rare for it to do so. I've often wondered if that's something she intended for me." "Or if she was just tired of taking care of the damn tablets herself." Luc blinks a little at the water Sarah caught. He wonders what kind of Shit (tm) he could cause by using his own water rune. He knew he couldn't override /her/ commands, but he could probably rile the damn things up enough to make the water do whatever it damn well pleased anyway. It seemed too small and petty a reason to deliberately antagonize her rune, though. Mischief vanishing from his face, he asks, "Wasn't the last place we went to also on the water?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "In fairness, my abilities are much the same, and hardly align with the runes that I possess," Sarah remarks, letting one hand trail absently in the water. "I've always been able to use those abilities, too, so I think it's more a mark of the person, rather than a mark of the runes. Their potential with such things, if you will. Perhaps Mistress Leknaat also possesses those qualities, and she can use techniques beyond her runes, as I do. Though, I admit that teleportation is a bit rare, and illusory arts are almost unheard of. Did you know? I've since dug through the One Temple's archives, and I could find no references to such a thing. If what you've said about those bridges is true, I wonder why that is?"   The question is an idle one, though, and she doesn't seem too interested in pursuing it seriously. She probably could seriously research such a phenomenon, with her connections and perceived Harmonian authority, but there isn't much point. It is as it is; what would hypotheses and theories change?   Meanwhile, the idea of being cast into the World of Emptiness is a chilling thought. Sarah doesn't quite shiver, but she does have to stifle the impulse. It's a place wholly inhospitable to the average person -- that Yuber was rumoured to come from it is no surprise at all to her -- and she isn't even positive a person really could live there. A normal person, anyway. Yuber very emphatically does not count... either as 'normal' or as 'a person,' as far as she's concerned.   "I think so. At least, a talent as potent as Mistress Leknaat's. Not because it's rare, but because it takes a certain temperament to be able to cope with such a talent." Sarah settles those colourless eyes on Luc, quiet and serious. "Think about it. Your exposure to that drove you to seek the True a Wind Rune's destruction. Certainly, there were other factors, but it couldn't have helped. And even Mistress Leknaat herself seemed a little melancholy, sometimes, in her own way. Imagine what she must have seen over the years." It's a sobering thought. "It's why her having taken us in means so much to me. That she could be exposed constantly to the worst visions imaginable, and still have the compassion and motivation to take us in, is impressive."   Also immediately personally relevant, because gods know where she would be by now if not for their intervention, but she doesn't need to mention that part.   She tilts her head a little, watching him as he watches her handle the sphere of water. Wordlessly, she offers it to him, it's form holding with a little subconscious effort. "The last time? I believe so." Sarah smiles a faintly impish little smile. "Since you leave the travel arrangements to me, why shouldn't I choose a place near water? It's the smart thing to do, anyway." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' The Wind Mage offers a faint shrug on the subject of illusory arts. He says, "Sorcery outside the domain of runic magic is difficult and it is my experience that those who handle it the best are those who are born under certain signs. You and I are among those, as are Crowley and Mazus, and most of their prentices. I've no reckoning of whether or not this is universally true but I imagine that you would find a similar pattern if you looked elsewhere. There are other beings who practice such magic or who can be invoked by it, but I think some of them are simply not of this world." "Yuber is an obvious example." He adds, "but it is true for instance that Dragons exist apart from our reality and the Dragon Rune merely gives them substance to exist here, rather than creating them wholesale or permitting them 'life'. And of course there are the entities within the World of Emptiness and other such sub-dimensions, who certainly do not obey all the same rules that we do." "... For instance, elementals, which require no runes to give action to whatever it is that composes their physical make-up." "My point being," Luc concludes, "that it hardly surprises me that certain areas of magic are simply unexplored, particularly when the most practical application of magery for the purposes of most of Harmonia is the implementation of safe and consistent combat magery. Even if illusions were a thing they researched -- I do not doubt that they are -- it would not do to allow access to it to most of their mages. Too many opportunities for mischief." "Masterminding a multinational false flag attack and starting a massive war for instance." Luc considers the matter of the influence looking into the future had on him, but offers a dismissive wave. "Just because my idea was radical does not make it insane. If we presume that the Runes are a contributor towards an inevitable poor ending for humanity then smiting one of them out of existence certainly has merit even if it has a locally devastating effect. The fact that it would blow me up in the process was a bonus of course and in that regard I was a little insane to be sure." "But I do not think my meanderings on the ill omens of the rune are madness." He says, sighing exasperatedly. It was a tough pitch, he knew, but the whole thing had utterly incalculable consequences whether it was executed (and a rune thereby destroyed) or not (and the runes continued as they were). It was a dire turning point for a certainty. He wonders precisely what he might have caused by falling short of it in 'reality'. Luc smiles bitterly at Sarah's observation that Leknaat must have seen many /different/ things over the years. He reaches over with his index finger to *boop* her on the tip of her nose and says, "You would think that but it's not all that different from one iteration to the next. The faces change but the stars don't. A Rune unexpectedly changes hands, and its unique pattern is pressed into motion. A Nation's state lies in the balance... and if the stars are /right/, an old nation falls and a new one rises in its place." "If the stars are /wrong/ the runes play out their drama but things don't change that much. One player enters and another player exits and things change forever in a number of spiderwebbing ways that lead to further trouble down the road, but then that's /next/ generation's problem." "The people," He rambles on," have less to do with it than they'd like to think, and then it's over." Luc does not reflect on the notion that this is a fairly maddening way to look at things, and no /less/ maddening if it also happens to be true. He just boops Sarah on the nose again, and slides his fingers across her cheek and down her jaw. "Let's try a flying city some day, but make certain nothing important is going on at the time. If it is, it'll be the day it falls out of the sky. And /yes/, it is the smart thing to do." "Sometimes you have to plan on being able to kill everyone in town." It's hard to tell if he's joking. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Yuber was in a class of his own." Sarah's statement is both disdainful and dismissive.   In the Grasslands, she had made no secret of how little she enjoyed working with him, and the two were constantly at one another's throats. In fact, he was one of the only people who could incite her to actual /anger/. Between his casual insinuations about her relationship with Luc (even if true) and dismissal of Luc's methods and plans (which was the final straw), it had been all she could do to hold a civil conversation. Even Luc in his preoccupied state had noticed how curt and stilted she'd been.   He's a great example, all right... of a total freak of nature.   Some part of her almost wants to meet Pesmerga, and shake his hand. Whoever or whatever he is, he'd be doing the world a favour to permanently remove Yuber from it.   Sarah shakes her head, slightly, and returns to the present. "Well, I suppose so. It still struck me as odd that in the four thousand years of city history and records contained in the One Temple, give or take a century or two, such a thing isn't mentioned at all. I know," she adds, eyebrows rising. "I looked. Though, I suppose Mistress Leknaat certainly had to know something of such things. She did teach me how to hone them."   There's a faint shrug given. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Whether it's studied by others or not doesn't change the fact that it exists; or her own mastery over the lost arts.   She lifts her right hand and splays her fingers, studying the True Water Rune across the back of her hand with hooded eyes. It glows, very faintly, with blue-white light. "Ah. Yes. The politicians. I suppose I hadn't thought of that, ironically." Despite the fact that they'd basically done the same thing, she hadn't really thought about it in terms of an institutionalised technique. It's not surprising. Harmonian politics are cutthroat enough without something like that running loose in it.   ]"I still hold that they're trying to warn us; that they aren't the direct result of this Ashen Future. That it's a face they're trying to escape." She considers her rune, tilting her head the other way. "Why would they contribute to a future in which they cannot express themselves? For a lot of those True Runes, I would imagine it would be as bad as, if not worse than, not existing at all."   It might bear investigation, somehow. Maybe, someday, she'll ask Leknaat about it; perhaps the blind astrologist might be able to shed some light on the subject. It's a curious one, and one she wouldn't mind having the answer to. Purely for science, of course.   Before she can react, her nose is tapped by Luc's forefinger, and she crosses her eyes to try and look at it.   Sarah doesn't quite stammer, brow furrowing a bit as he continues his explanation. "I suppose I'll have to take your words for it. I was busy spending some quality time with a book at the time the last war was waged," she adds, dryly. That is to say, it's a good chance she was at the time locked up in the One Temple's extensive library. "I can believe that, though. Even putting aside the matter of True Runes, history has a tendency to repeat itself. I imagine that it was not so interchangeable, myself; perhaps the people do not matter, but the things that they do while they wield those True Runes can still be important." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   And lasting, too. Imagine what a piqued Runebearer might do to a nation on their way out -- like what was done with Lordlake, in the Queendom of Falena. Perhaps the lake was re-established, but it was a good example of the terrifying, awesome power of a True Rune; its account survived down through history.   "That seems unduly pessimistic, all the same, even for you. We were able to avert a war, in a manner of speaking. We ultimately chose not to pursue inciting war against the Grasslands and the Zexen Federation. If you look at it from a historian's point of view, it's all the difference in the world. Perhaps as a result, the next great war that happens will not be as devastating as it could have been. Perhaps it may be more of a massacre. Who are we to say, truly, what effect we have on history?"   It's an idle comment, though, and her tone nonetheless suggests she's more or less done with the subject. It makes her head hurt to think about True Runes and their associated longevity too long.   And then she's booped on the nose again, snorting, though her eyes flutter closed as his fingers trail across the line of her cheekbone; down the line of her jaw. She leans against his hand, reaching up to take his hand in hers. "Hm. Certainly. A flying city. Actually, I take that back. A flying city with excellent vintage in its inns." She allows herself a half-smile, opening her eyes, regarding Luc through a veil of pale lashes.   Sarah smiles in answer to his last comment. It is a deceptively sweet expression; the smile of the innocent. With that much water, and the right kind of threat, any city perched over an abyssal ocean is going to be a weapon in her hands.   Shifting, she pulls herself up and out of the water, though she pulls away from him with obvious reluctance. A glimmer of the True Water Rune at her right hand, and the water clinging to her simply... dismisses itself, as she shrugs into a bathrobe. Sarah offers him a brief smile. "I'll meet you upstairs; I'll pour the wine."   Which is precisely what she does. By the time he rejoins her, whenever that happens to be, he'll find her perched on the edge of the bed, wine glass in hand. Her expression is, for the moment, thoughtful. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Living in the World of Emptiness will make an individual a class of their own." Luc points out, with a devilish grin. The idea had only moments before inspired a near-shudder from the Water Mage, he didn't doubt that she would fully comprehend the implications of somebody with a humanesque mind (if a twisted one) managing to survive and even thrive there. They would have to be something exceptional or it would be like living in a tiger's cage at a menagerie. With regards to the One Temple's records, the Wind Mage flicks water towards the other end of the basin and remarks, "Those sorts of records live or die at the whims of people like me, and people like me don't like useful secrets lying around for enemies to discover. Speaking of, if you ever find any records like those please destroy them quietly and replace them with forgeries that offer cookie recipes or something. Something they'd imagine is actually code but is just what it appears to be." As for Lady Leknaat... "She knows something of every thing, I think." Luc just looks sour on the topic of the ashen future. He doesn't really know what to believe, but he's lived with it long enough that he doesn't much care for the difference. He was bitter at the runes even without consideration towards his torturing him periodically, it didn't take much for him to take these things the wrong way. Most runes don't even need help becoming despised. The Night Rune was positively rude. With regards to the Grasslands he replies, "It doesn't matter much. The Fire Rune is still there, and that place is a tinderbox with or without a rune at hand. Harmonia's treaties that forbade it to invade will expire in a handful of years and something will happen whether we've a hand in it or no. Since the Fire Rune is there, they've every incentive to stick their hands in that particular cookie jar." "Most likely the HSDF will be commissioned to band together with the Karaya Clan -- old friends of Harmonia via Highland -- and assist Crystal Valley in marching on the Grasslands. Le Buque will be given the opportunity to earn its way towards proper Harmonian citizenship in the coming conflict. The Zexen Confederacy will only have a hand in it insofar as it is threatened by the overall situation, but they've no True Rune and they're natural enemies of the grasslanders." "Without our false flag operation being unveiled and pushing them together, they'll stay that way." Luc seems distracted by this line of thinking, and when she releases his hand to climb out of the water Sarah might easily mistake his staring into space as staring at her. He presses his hands together thoughtfully and then snaps back to reality to say, "We might need to go trick the Grasslanders and Zexen Confederation into fighting Harmonia instead of each other." He might not think she's right, but apparently he finds indulging her ideas preferable to the alternative. A moment later he realizes she's leaving and registers her actual words. It takes him a little while to catch up, and by the time he does Luc is wearing a robe of his own and looks deeply torn by his options. He glances towards the empty stretch of bed behind Sarah, then towards her. "You should put that down. You're going to spill it." He advises her, sitting down next to her and looping his arm around her waist. That is all the warning Luc sees fit to offer her before he leans over and plants a light kiss on her neck, just beneath her ear. It didn't matter much. She'd probably just abuse her powers to siphon the wine out. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Securing the curtains and the windows, and pouring two glasses of wine, seems to take enough time for Luc to catch up to her. Eventually. Getting distracted and forgetting that he was up to isn't too uncommon, so Sarah is fairly patient with the lag time between him realising she left and him arriving in the quarters.   With her hair down and her bathrobe loose, she looks different from her usual tidy appearance; a bit less severe, a little softer around the edges. She looks up when he approaches, arching her brows, about to respond to his caution. A flicker of a notion of questioning why reaches her, but she has no time to voice that complaint before he sends her train of thought skipping right off the rails.   It takes Sarah a few seconds to recover -- during which she's inordinately pleased to note she /hasn't/ dropped the wine, at least yet -- and eye him as though speculatively.   "Hmm. Now that's an intriguing idea," she says, to all appearances quite serious. "While neither entity would present a serious threat to Harmonia, it would keep them busy for quite some time. It would certainly constitute a suitable threat in concert with other angles of attack." She leans against him, though she does drain her wine glass -- a bit too quickly, perhaps -- before setting it aside. "Better still if we could convince the Zexens and the Grasslanders to not only turn against Harmonia, but ally with each other; instead of two disparate entities attacking Crystal Valley, there would be a single unit."   That's intriguing, apparently. Food for thought. She's half entertained the idea of wrecking Harmonia from within, in the past; that angle isn't something she had particularly thought of, but it's an interesting one, and one that isn't too far outside the realm of possibility.   Only belatedly does she seem to remember that he's there. They're alike in that regard. Once something's got their attention, it can be all-consuming. Fingers trail lightly through his hair; she pauses to press a kiss just below his ear, as he had done to her. "Hm. I'm interested in that. I wonder who else would have the courage to stand against Harmonia? To form an alliance, even? They would have to," she reasons, more to herself than to Luc. "The opposition would be overwhelming to any one entity alone. They've proven that well enough over the years."   An empire does not reach several thousand years just from having a pretty flag. Harmonia's armies boast a great number of trained magicians, and a great number of trained soldiers; putting these two together makes for an army that very few, if any, are foolish enough to provoke.   "In the meantime," she murmurs, settling her hand over the arm around his waist, "I'm glad no one's decided that this place is interesting. It's good to travel, but Toran Castle is a good base of operations." It's remote, and Sarah likes remote. That it lords over a very large lake is of course just another benefit of the castle's location. "I also like being able to see the stars. Even if they aren't as meaningful to me as they are to Lady Leknaat, I enjoy looking at them. They're still beautiful, in their own way."   The stars, on a bright clear night, have a way of making one feel very small in the face of the cosmos. Sarah is appreciative of that feeling -- it keeps her perspective about where it ought to be.   The overwhelming strength of a True Rune could drive someone to madness, drunk on their own power, but those starlit nights do well to remind her of her place in the universe.   An insignificant speck. 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "They're not real threats either way." Luc corrects quietly, "the armies dispatched with Sasarai and myself were nothing compared to what's garrisoned, but Harmonia doesn't make a habit of deploying full force into regions it is attempting to push into or take something from. One of the True Runes is worth an effort but they will not risk even a tenth of their overall strength on it." Which really says something about how daunting even a single Harmonian legion really is. "For that matter, they won't risk more than one True Rune to obtain another True Rune." He adds, thoughtfully. His own rune had not been a part of the calculation since it was not widely known to be in the Masked Bishop's possession. Already it was considered a 'lost asset' for most practical purposes. Only the True Earth Rune was on the table. "As a collective force the Grasslands pose a sufficient enough threat to dissuade Harmonia from expending the effort required to crush them. To offer a similar comparison," Luc pointedly steadied Sarah's glass with his own hand as he continued speaking, "They deployed Sasarai to Highland as well, but retreated at once when I unsealed the True Wind Rune and depleted his troops to nearly nothing. A similar situation was in play there. Highland was very friendly with Harmonia and had at least two wild True Runes, but they weren't willing to gamble a couple of maybes for the possibility of losing what they assuredly had." Some days he wishes he had managed to ace Sasarai in that battle, personally as well as militarily. He sighs a little and concludes, "All I meant is we should make sure the Grasslands stay the Grasslands and be certain that Harmonia doesn't claim the True Fire Rune. They haven't the context required to unite independently of our interference." Luc leans in to rest his head against Sarah's, listening to her in silence for a small while. After a while he says, "Toran Castle is well enough but I wouldn't get too used to it. Eventually, I'm sure, some fool of a boy will go looking for someplace to start building his resistance movement. As sure as the sea swallows the shore, he'll come looking here, and we'd be daft not to give it to him." "Probably be a century or two." "Do you suppose we can construct a spooky tower that moves around by then?" Luc asks with a snort, drooping a bit so that his cheek is pressed to her neck, one eye obscured and shut. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "No, I suppose not." Sarah lets her eyes hood. Harmonia is hardly cowardly, but it prefers caution in any sort of situation, consistently choosing the solution that earns them the most gain with the least risk. It's not at all sympathy for the common soldier -- at best, it's sympathy for the resources that that soldier cost the kingdom.   Of course they aren't going to commit their full force to anything. The common army is nonetheless better-trained and leagues better-equipped than any other major fighting force in their world, except maybe the Dragon Knights, and dragons always throw interesting wrenches into calculations.   Sarah seems to consider. "A little encouragement this way or that, for either side, would certainly hold them to an alliance with each other without trying to murder one another in their sleep." The leaders of the Zexen Federation and the leaders of the Grasslands could both be manipulated easily, experience has proven; a little illusion-work and she could have both of them eating from the palm of her hand.   Her arm curls loosely around Luc when he leans his head against hers, tilting her head at about the same time he rests his cheek against her neck. "Mmmn. That still gives us a century or two with it, and until someone actually has any kind of need for a tumbledown old castle by a lake, it's a good place to be."   That assessment has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it's by a lake. Probably. Maybe.   Absently running her fingers down the line of his back, she considers for a moment, before blinking somewhat owlishly at him. "What? No. And would you really trust being on something that could feasibly fall out of the sky at any time? That seems like an ill-conceived sort of base of operations, to me." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Discrete Rune theft is what the Howling Voice Guild is for. And assassinations, but they go hand-in-hand." Luc adds with a tiny shrug. "I've dealt with a few of those fellows during the last couple of wars but they've all been interested in other things. It so happens that the only real active members have been busily trying to seek revenge on one another for the murder of their master or... some such nonsense, I never really paid much mind to it because they weren't interested in anything of actual worth during those wars." "And then there's Latjke, but he's a whole different story. Weaselly little bastard." The Wind Mage still isn't quite certain what he was up to. They said after the second war that he'd taken the vampire woman for his wife, but he could have seen that merely being a ploy to steal away her True Rune for Harmonia. It wasn't a matter he was interested in questioning in depth regardless. He gives a small affirmative noise that Sarah can only really distinguish because he's so close to her. Luc has a rather nasty feeling that manipulating the situation in this way is a bad idea but he's uncertain why. True, it had ended badly the first time, when they intended only to burn the world down getting rid of the True Wind Rune, but the manipulation of fate based on prior knowledge established in a parallel reality that hadn't quite taken place... He was unsure of that. "Oh, it's not tumbledown at all." Luc waves a hand towards the surrounding windows, "This wasn't cleared out at all, and there were no bridges leading to the adjacent towers. Frankly I'm surprised everybody packed up and left. They didn't do that for North Window. Still a functioning town these days, with most of the same old faces." "I suppose being able to leave without taking a ferry is rather an advantage. And a problem that we do not have." Luc frowns a little at Sarah's reaction. "Moving doesn't mean flying." He points out. "Didn't I just say earlier to avoid flying places that had anything going on? They always drop out of the sky when something dramatic happens." "Always." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   There's no telling what it was that Latjke really wanted. His intentions had been a mystery to everyone but himself in the few times that she had had opportunity to interact with him. He had been friendly enough, but something about that friendly nature had been off-putting.   Either her instincts were trying to tell her something about him, or they were reminding her that she doesn't like overly-extroverted personalities very much. When someone deflects attention away from themselves so quickly, it means they have something to hide, in her experience.   Thankfully, her musings on uniting the various disparate nations against Harmonia seems to be an idle flight of fancy at best; she's already lost interest in it as a plausible course of action. It depended on too many variables; variables she could not guarantee.   She tilts her head, regarding the stars beyond the window. As far from towns as it is, the stars over the lake are fantastically clear and bright. The pale woman only shrugs. She prefers avoiding places that have questionable technology, and there's quite a bit of it that she considers questionable.   "Probably." She leans on him, sighing through her nose; it seems more of a contented sound than anything else. "Mm. Pity, too. I wouldn't mind seeing a city that manages to fly. I'm sure that would be a sight. I suppose good wine out of a place like that would be too much to ask for, unless they had built terraced vineyards. Hmm." Sarah makes a thoughtful, somewhat sleepy sort of sound. "I'm sure somewhere out there in the multiverse, something like that exists." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Most likely any civilization that troubles with a flying city has altogether different problems than we're used to." Luc replies, leaning back to lie against the bed and look up towards the ceiling. There aren't any stars there, but he doesn't feel very inclined to be upright for much longer regardless, wine or no wine. He mumbles something inaudible before generating a gleaming image of what must be his idea of a flying island. It's more of a diamond shape in effect, because he's not really trying very hard. A surface that tapers off to a point along the bottom. He gestures towards it, "I've heard of one that hosts a magic school and isn't very friendly to much of anybody else. You know how /they/ produce anything and everything. They just conjure it right up like--" He activates his Blue Gate Rune. The glow is muffled by his robes and his back being pressed into the sheets. A portal opens up, dispensing not monsters but a bunch of pots and pans that came from ... somewhere. They clatter semi-noisily onto the rug around the bed, which Luc had eventually insisted on when the floor was simply too cold in mornings. "Wouldn't want to go there, myself. Whole damn city full of cranky people like us? I even heard there was a sort of entry exam at the teleporter. You have to prove you're /magical/ enough to gain entry." This wasn't entirely unheard of even around here. For instance, Luc's dumb little story of testing McDohl and his companions at Leknaat's tower. "Either that or they import everything. Which can be interesting." He seems to consider banishing all the crap he summoned, but it involves sitting up enough to see it properly. So he decides to just do it later. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I would imagine so, considering they've already gone so far as to ignore gravity." Sarah withdraws her right hand, studying the True Rune on the back of her hand thoughtfully. "Whatever other concerns they have are not going to be normal from the perspective of a society that doesn't live on a flying automaton or airship or -- whatever it is a society like that would build.   One wonders what sorts of things they would fret over. Probably the integrity of their flying base of operations, she would guess.   Settling against him as he lies back and looks up, she rests her head on his chest, letting her eyes drift to half-mast. "Mmn--" Before she can comment further there's a harsh clatter of pots and pans, and she winces. "--yes. Although that object lesson wasn't quite necessary. In any case, I'm not going to stay someplace where the population is just as erudite and elitist as Harmonia. If I wanted that, I'd go to Crystal Valley." Sarah wrinkles her nose in clear distaste. "And generally, I prefer not to unless I absolutely have to."   "I have to admit that the economics of a place like that ought to be interesting, considering how much one must rely on imported food with such limited supplies on hand." Sarah considers that for a moment. "Exports ought to be interesting. Mechanical gadgets, I'd guess, or artifacts related to magic somehow." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "You teleport all the time. That's a /much/ more basic violation of the principles of physics than defying gravity with an adequate expenditure of power." Luc points out with an amused smirk. "Matter of fact I just violated those principles a great deal more than flying just now. And you're a summoner so you do it as regularly as you do anything. The amount of energy that would be required to power a gateway between here and the World of Emptiness without the use of magic would be colossal and impossible. You'd have to crack open the planet or harvest energy from a star up close." He wondered if the Sun was animate, and just as much of an imperious lunatic as the Sun Rune to whom it was conceptually related. Luc dismissed the thought with a sigh and shut his eyes, squeezing Sarah firmly with the arm that had stayed around her this whole time. "I think," he says, "they're generally better-natured than Crystal Valley. If I had to take a stab at their export it would simply be magical expertise. If you can make a city fly and set up an elaborate labyrinthe to guard the entrance against those who do not have anything to contribute to your society..." "It seems to me you would have a very valuable thing indeed to offer to whomever you did business with. Magic in exchange for... well, anything really. Look at Rune shops. They do the richest business in any town you'll come across and the magic that most people can express through a rune is a minor trick compared to what's possible." "By comparison Crystal Valley concerns itself primarily with combat mages, as we've discussed." He chuckles a bit. "Flying magical island-ettes with upkeep in exchange for regular payments of whatever the city needs. Have to be expensive, or else they'd blot out the sky." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "When I teleport, I'm only drawing on power and therefore breaking the laws of physics in short bursts," Sarah explains, absently tracing an idle pattern over his chest with a forefinger. "Something like a flying island is relying on a much more monstrous output. I can't even imagine the kind of energy that would be needed to sustain something like that. It isn't really feasible unless they have an astonishing sort of power source."   Such exercises are interesting, but not ultimately enough to hold her attention indefinitely. She's a water mage and a scholar, but not an engineer. Machinery doesn't interest her very much, and in a lot of cases she actively dislikes it.   Her expression goes a bit ashen. "Ugh. I just had a terrible thought. Harmonia, in possession of the kind of technology or magic used to power a floating island. The world as we know it would be under Harmonia's boot heel, I think, unless the rest of the world could drum up a handful of True Runes."   Shrugging, she settles against him, twisting to press an absent kiss to the side of his neck. "Well, the city I intend to take you to ought to have some interesting feats of engineering itself. I heard something about substantial water locks on an unimaginable scale. I guess we'll see just what kind of scale they mean when I see them." 

:'''{{#var:237|Luc (237)}} has posed:''' "Yes, but the amount of conventional energy--" Luc began to object for a moment, and then seemed to think better of it. He shrugs lightly and adds, "I think that once you've reached a point where you can make a flying city at all that you've most likely exceeded anything resembling a normal amount of energy generated. You're thinking about... hm, exclusivity and such. Think about how effective aerial attackers are in our own world." "The Dragon Knights are the great aerial power of this world, and usually no one can gainsay them there. Summoners may conjure up flying monsters to contest them but for the most part that niche is filled by the elite few. Floating a city prior to a specific point of technological development is very clever." He drums his fingers against her side while pondering the subject. "In a more modern world it would be better to land and erect a forcefield or some other terrestrial deterrant, since the technology to get overhead would be more developed and the energy spent flying could be used better to keep things out a little more conventionally." "... And I expect that Harmonia could do that if they really wished to do so, but it isn't worth the price. Sasarai and I could most likely do such a thing together if we wanted to." He gestures at the surrounding castle walls. "But I wouldn't. Like I keep saying. Things like that hang in the air until the exact moment something important happens. Then they come crashing down as violently as you can imagine." Luc shuts his eyes, quietly losing himself in the sensation of her kiss for a moment, goosebumps raising on his skin as he does. But there is one thing he's curious about before that. He cracks an eye. "The hell's a water lock?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Conventional energy or unconventional energy, it's still a question of footprint. Teleporting a single person from one linear point to another is certainly a drain, but powering the consistent lift for something with tonnage I can't even begin to guess at?" Sarah gestures, as though to pull something down. "It would come crashing down at the slightest failure. You wouldn't even need to destroy the power source; merely interrupt it. I imagine such a place would have paranoia about such facilities on the level of the grandest sort of paranoia. They'd have to."   The kind of security over a mechanism like that would probably be phenomenal, and rightly deserved. Nobody would want to live in a place that could literally plummet from the sky at any moment at the slightest act of sabotage.   Also, a place like that with weak security probably wouldn't last long enough to spread travellers' tales, anyway.   Sarah leans back a little, settling more comfortably and twitching a bit when he drums fingers against her side. Hey, that's a little ticklish. "I imagine a floating city would have defenses even against things like the Dragon Knights. Anti-aerial emplacements, perhaps, or dedicated combat mages, if we're talking about magic. If it's purely mechanical, well." The water mage shudders. No, thanks. "At least magic implies a certain level of esoterism. One needs to have a certain degree of instruction if they hope to hold any sway in practical application."   In other words, an idiot with a wrench could break a mechanical structure, but an idiot with a magic wand probably wouldn't have much effect against ensorcelled mechanisms (unless their wardings were really bad, or they had a really absurdly powerful magic wand).   That would be the ideal scenario, anyway... but things are usually not ideal when they're being dealt with on a multiversal scale. Sometimes she's convinced the cosmos have a sense of humour, and it's really twisted.   "Mmm. Maybe. I think something like that also defies the Circle Rune, and lest we forget, that's what's in charge right now. At least, I'm reasonably certain it is. There's a fairly equal fifty-fifty chance that Hikusaak has been subsumed by the Circle Rune. If that's truly the case, it's safe to assume that nobody's going to bother building anything that defies tradition, breaks new ground, or otherwise shows innovation on a grand scale. The Circle Rune likes the constancy and the comfort of established routine." If it ain't broke, don't fix it. "I wonder sometimes what Harmonia might look like if that rune were out of the picture, though."   Maybe the Circle Rune is what drives it on its relentless conquest of those powers it feels it can subdue -- to bring into order and conformity that which is not. It's an interesting thought, one that grabs her attention long enough that she doesn't realise right away that Luc's started talking again. Sarah blinks, colourless eyes a little blank for a moment-- 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Oh. Water locks." She raises a hand, gesturing delicately. A small terraced hill with a river coursing around it springs into being, drawn from glimmering motes; an illustrative illusion. "Imagine, if you will, a town that sprawls over numerous levels of elevation with access to a substantial, or even a small, river. Moving large numbers of goods is difficult if not impossible over changes in elevation like that; the river would grow too violent, and moving ships up or down would also constitute a significant engineering challenge."   She gestures, and the river changes, sprouting little canal walls. Gates like solid blocks are built into two parts of the canal, forming a chamber; the upper set, which is higher up on a different plane, remain closed. The little boat rows into the chamber, the doors close behind it, and the water stars rising; the boat floats until it's level with the top gates.   "Hence the lock. Locks are built into canals to control the level of water in a canal. It allows engineers to build a canal that doesn't need to snake all over the landscape just to account for steep hills or deep valleys." The top gates open on her little illusory explanation, and the little boat continues sailing on its merry way, now a plane of elevation above where it started, and the gates close behind it.   The illusion dissolves into glimmering motes at a gesture from Sarah. "It's actually quite ingenious. None of the places we've been here have particularly needed them, thanks to relatively level terrain; but the technology does exist. At least, it existed when I was in the One Temple. There were a number of texts detailing the basic premise, and how to construct one." 
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4577/Circles Within Circles

2016-09-27T16:36:56Z

Hrimfaxi: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2016/09/21 |Location=Crystal Valley <CV> |Synopsis=Sarah invites a friend and an acquaintance to visit the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia. |Cast of Chara..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/09/21
|Location=Crystal Valley <CV>
|Synopsis=Sarah invites a friend and an acquaintance to visit the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia.
|Cast of Characters=316, 134, 626
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Much as its name would imply, Crystal Valley is a city of sleek, polished stone architecture and impeccable design. The city is built around the concept of circles -- unsurprising, considering High Priest Hikusaak allegedly bears the Circle Rune, a thing of constancy and sameness. But nobody's seen Hikusaak in a very, very long time, according to the records.   That's okay. Ther are plenty of Harmonian Bishops to squabble amongst themselves for the biggest piece of the pie.   There is a warpgate near the city, which a brand new gate has been built to accomodate. Swirling crowds walk the neatly-paved streets in the long light of evening, paying little attention; helmeted guards bearing spears and crisp uniforms stand near the gate, silent but watchful.   Welcome to the heart of Harmonia. Sarah is already here, awaiting her guests; clad in her customary layered style of dress and carrying her ebon and silver greatstaff. The crystal at its head is lit softly, casting a blue-white light over the stone-paved square.   Aside from a few minor differences, she looks the same as she always does -- her hair is a little longer, though, drawn into a crisp French braid, the usual fringe of bangs left to fall over her forehead. She looks unchanged, otherwise.   So pale and still is she that she almost looks like a statue, except when she turns briefly to cough into a hand, waiting near the gate with the patience of stone... or still water. 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Flowers has gotten a lot better at doing things like visiting over the years. For one, she almost never talks to figments of her imagination in public anymore.     For another, she's been gifted a lot of formal clothing over the years, enough that she can almost look like a reasonable person when she makes an effort, and she will for the purposes of visiting Sarah on her home territory, a florally patterned dress that, while not close to matching Sarah's own in layers, is much closer to local fashions than anything the medic normally wears.     She'll step through the gate, showing her customary patience with things by jamming the sixth message she's sent to Kyra through about where they're meeting and what they should bring before looking around for Sarah. It had been quite a while, after all, and she should try to be as puntual as she can, especially having never been to this city before. Sarah will almost certainly spot her before she spots Sarah. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' A neophyte to Crystal Valley, Kyra seems fascinated as she usually is when she visits new and unusual places. She even takes a few pictures of the local, likely to be posted on her (nowdays less frequently used) travel blog. The place does remind her of an earlier era of her world on some level, though she can't quite put a finger on why.     The pale-skinned white mage keeps her hood up, shading her easily-burned face from the sun. Her modern hoodie and partial school unform do stick out amongst the locals of the world but the teenager seems to be used to being stared at.     She glances to Sakura every now and then, looking for some kind of cue about what to be doing. Part of her wonders, as usual, if this was some kind of sneaky test her mentor was springing on her. It wouldn't be the first, after all. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   One can hardly expect a guest to adhere to Harmonian standards. They're in a constant state of flux, but at their heart they're not unlike certain Victorian sensibilities. Certainly the mode of dress Sarah normally favours speaks of modesty taken to its extreme.   Or maybe that's just her personal preference. It's hard to say.   For now, the Runebearer waits patiently, looking up once she sees the familiar mednin stepping through the gate. There's no mistaking the pink-haired woman; just as there's no mistaking the woman with the almost-colourless complexion.   Sarah offers a rare smile. They'd begun their relationship on rocky terms, but she considers Sakura one of her greatest allies. More importantly, she considers Sakura a friend. They went through hell itself together; how could she not?   "Miss Haruno." Her tone is soft, almost whispery, but there's no mistaking the warmth there. "I am glad to see that you've arrived without incident. Welcome to Crystal Valley." Despite this magnificent cityscape around them, there's no real pride in the words.   Ah, and there's the new person, hovering about Sakura with an uncertainty that suggests she's the second guest. Sarah fixes a reserved little smile on the young woman, though the pallor of her complexion makes her seem not quite human. "You must be Kyra. Welcome to Crystal Valley. Ordinarily this isn't my first preference of a place to invite guests to, but I had business here already. Thank you for coming, both of you." 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Sakura will visibly brighten once Sarah speaks up; she doesn't spend enough time around her friends, even though she'd probably count Kyra as one. Whether or not the student would return that.     She didn't particularly go into her motivations with Kyra beforehand. Sakura usually doesn't, so a test may be coming, or she may simply be looking for a slightly relaxing time. "It's rather impressive, aah?" Sakura will reply, looking around the city. She was from somewhere not particularly more advanced than this. "I hope we won't be interfering too much with your business, but I thought it would be a good chance to get Kyra here some practice with a more friendly formal tea."     Given Sakura's level of experience at anything of the sort relative to Kyra's, it's a minor miracle Sakura doesn't burst into flames from saying that. More truthfully, she'll add. "And I thought the two of you might get along pretty well, and I owed her a meal soon anyways." 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "It's a nice city. Peaceful. You don't see too many peaceful cities." Kyra says to Sakura.     Modesty is not something that Kyra adheres to-her manner of dress demonstrates that pretty obviously. Furthermore, she doesn't seem all too embarassed about being dressed so differently either. If people stare, for example, she doesn't seem to notice it very much. No, all of Kyra's attention is on Sarah. She'd heard the runebearer speak several times over the radio over the last two years but this may very well be the first time they've actually met in person.     "Hi. Yes, that's me." Kyra grins, stuffing her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. "Haruno's student."     She pauses, "Oh...formal tea? Oh, yeah, I don't know how to do the formal tea ceremonies." Seems she has some kind of passing familarity with those. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   When Sakura points out that the city is impressive, Sarah half-smiles, but the expression never quite reaches her eyes. There's an aloofness when she refers to the city. Indeed, if the other two are perceptive, they might notice that she seems vaguely uncomfortable.   She hates this city, hates it with enough venom that it might even shock her guests, but Sarah is too polite to discuss that.   She's also too smart. There are ears everywhere.   "Not at all. I have already concluded my business here." Sarah tilts her head, jewelled sapphire earrings clinking softly, though the sound is almost lost in the crowds around them. "Since the Masked Bishop does not take an active hand in Harmonian politics, I speak and act on his behalf, and conduct his business for him as befitting a Harmonian Bishop."   Sarah doesn't like it, that much is clear from her neutral tone. It's just /too/ neutral.   "Student?" She glances over, regarding Kyra thoughtfully. "I did not know Miss Haruno was a mentor. Congratulations. You have a fine teacher, in her."   Everything about her seems restrained, reserved; as though by controlling her reactions, she were controlling /something/.   Perhaps, if Kyra is sensitive to magic, she might feel it -- something that roils just beneath the surface, power all out of proportion to this pale, frail woman. Yet even that seems somehow muted, as though she were actively dampening it. Maybe that's why she's exercising such self-control.   "Impressive? I suppose so. To be honest, I prefer not to be here unless I must. I was already here, though, and we do not always have a choice in our preferences." The pale woman spreads her arms in an almost-shrug. "Formal tea? Very well, then. Follow me. I will take you to Crystal Valley's finest tea house."   She sets off at a brisk pace, though not so much that they'd fall behind or get separated from her -- the streets are pretty crowded in the post-dinner, pre-bedtime rush.   Sarah regards Kyra thoughtfully a moment or two longer, head tilted to watch her from the corner of an eye. "Perhaps. We shall see. However, I trust your judgement of character. If you think that we will get along, I do not doubt it. Perahps next time we will go somewhere outside of Crystal Valley." 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     "There are some. Mostly, peaceful cities don't need me, though." Sakura admits. She's only really great at dealing with the aftermath of violence, or dealing out the violence. Not much place for her in keepign the peace.     She seems oblivious to the social cues of Sarah's unease. This is not really surprising in any way, though. As to her mentorship... "It's a relatively recent arrangement." Sakura admits. "But one that's worked so far, I believe." At least, it's made her work a bit less lonely.     She'll gesture vaguely, seeming uncertain of what to do with her hands. "There are plenty of places outside of here that would work, certainly. Most of my favorites are a bit too distant for formal tea, sadly." Her preference is forests and spring and places she can be away from people for a little while. "But I always think making contacts with people you could learn from is helpful, right?" 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' For someone who has only been interacted over the radio, Sarah so far seems to be setting the expectations that Kyra had imagined. Restrained, perhaps reclusive, though she didn't imagine her as someone so frail, especially someone who has been with the Union for allegedly a long time. But she seemed to approve of Sakura and, unknowing of the history between the two, that feels fine to Kyra.     She does sense that inkling of magic in her, which does remind her of the whole rune thing she'd heard about sometime throughout her time with the Union. But she never had the chance to look into what it meant any more closely.     Kyra weaves her way through the crowds with the ease of someone who clearly grew up in a big, crowded city, following after Srah easily. "Hmmm." It did make her wonder, though, why Sakura would bring her to meet Sarah specifically. "Yeah, relatively recent. It's been a few months of mentorship, right? I've been learning all sorts of new things from her, like medical practice, poisons, and forensics. It's a great internship." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "I see. I do not take students." Sarah shakes her head, glancing sidelong to cast Sakura a significant look. "I'm afraid I just don't have the makings of a teacher. I've always been a private person. There are other reasons, as well." She shrugs faintly. "Besides which, the things I know are not the sorts of things that can be taught. They are a part of who I am, now."   Those colourless eyes linger on Sakura for a fleeting instant, thoughtful. "I suppose so. Most of the time, I prefer to take my tea privately, at home. Master Luc is busy, though, and I did not wish to disturb him. He is as much a private person as I am."   She turns off to a side street. The avenue here is quieter, and maintained enough to suggest it's a much nicer, and probably richer, area of the city. Gardens and private residences are dotted here and there with exclusive-looking shops and restaurants. "Mm. I would not say that that is wrong," Sarah affords, to Sakura. She twists as she walks, studying Kyra again with a half-smile meant to put the girl at ease. "And your student seems intelligent enough."   "That's good. Not necessarily the sorts of thing that one would expect of a healer, but Miss Haruno is a woman of singularly unique talents. You've done well in finding a teacher; I respect her a great deal." A smile flickers across her face, brief but heartfelt, as she faces forward again. "We didn't get along, at first, but there are few I would trust more, these days."   Silence falls for a few seconds before she speaks up, without turning. "So. Please tell me more about yourself, Miss Hyral." Sarah's tone is inviting, and while not quite warm, it's as friendly as she'll be to someone who's effectively a stranger. "Anything you like."   That, too, is a test, however gently it might be framed. 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Flowers will visibly seem relieved to get to the less crowded areas of the city, some of the tension fading from her eyes as they go down the side street. "Well. I wasn't expecting to end up as a teacher, not for a long time now, but it helps to have a good student. If I were stuck with three with different talents, the way it's traditional where I'm from, it probably would go very badly."     This is praise, of a sort, and Sakura will grin at Kyra as she says it, before falling silent. She'd rather like to hear what Kyra decides to volunteer as well, though she hadn't gone too deeply into her own past.     She's not great at reassuring that it's safe to talk freely, though. It's more fun to find out what she might have to say just on the trust for her teacher's friend. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "You're a pretty reclusive person." Kyra points out bluntly, "I don't think I've seen you on any missions. The most I've heard of you are words on the radio. I'd be shocked if you were hiding a student of your own somewhere." Though not implausable, she realizes. They would just not have to be in the Union, right? Or radio connected.     "Knowing how to poison does a lot of good for knowing how to treat it. I've definitely learned that from Haruno." She seems to struggle with the last name a little-too used to calling her 'Flowers' or 'teacher', really. "What do you mean 'didn't get along'? I mean...well..." she definitely acknowledged that Sakura didn't get along with everyone, but she didn't think she was THAT combative.     "I'm going to be a doctor! At least when I finish all the school. I'm nearly out of regular academy classes and I'll be attending the graduate trade school for a profession once I pass finals. Uh...I intern at Heaven or Hell and live in Nojurun with my boyfriend, Dominic. Where I'm from, we do have tea ceremonies but that's mostly something done by the upper class in Ramuh. Trying to learn really had no benefit to me."     Family doesn't get brought up. She assumes everyone in the Union knows about that already. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Even Sarah seems relieved once they've taken to a less crowded street, walking less stiffly as the tension eases from her shoulders. She glances over her shoulder to regard her guests from the corner of an eye.   At the mention of being a teacher, Sarah only shakes her head as they approach an unassuming but elegant storefront, pulling open its wooden door and holding it for the others.   Kyra's blunt observation earns an arched brow as she lets the door close behind them. "Yes, I am. My position in the Union is one based largely on past actions. The missions that I had taken part in, and even volunteered for, were..."   Composed and deliberate as she is in her own soft way, it's not often that Sarah trails off. She actually looks troubled for a moment; Sakura would know why, because how does one explain Annu to someone who wasn't there? "They were taxing in a way I cannot put to words," she finally says, as diplomatically as she can. "You will have to ask your teacher, some time, when and if she is ready to tell that tale."   The water mage shakes her head, still looking just a little unsettled. "Perhaps, but I have no desire to teach. Despite her isolation, my mentor is more the type for those she considers worthy. But I am fond of my empty halls and my silence. My tolerance for crowds and noise and a great deal of activity has ebbed somewhat over the years."   She falls silent, listening to Kyra's account.   "It was complicated," Sarah explains, with a flick of her wrist. She leads them to their own area, private and sequestered, pausing along the way for a conversation in low tones with one of the tea house's staff. Probably just a polite request to leave the group alone as much as possible. "As are many things, I suppose. Few things are what they seem on the surface."   She settles herself down carefully in spite of those elabourate and heavy skirts, balancing her staff against the wall behind her, where it continues casting soft blue-white light.   "I see." The fact that the family was never mentioned brings Sarah to arch a brow; not because she isn't loosely familiar with the story -- word gets around even on a military frequency like the Union's -- but because of the omission. "What about your family?" she ventures, gently. "They must be proud."   It's not that she's deliberately trying to antagonise Kyra, strictly, but maybe to see how she reacts. She's so reclusive that it's easy enough to beg off and say she knows nothing of the situation. It wouldn't be a total lie; she only knows the most basic, broad-strokes explanation. And even that which she knows is a bit disjointed. 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     "Mm? We can go through that part another time." Sakura says, agreeably enough given the subject matter. "It's a bit too heavy to talk about while having a nice meal." Not that Sakura drinks alcohol, but that would probably help her at least start with it. She'd be willing to share alone with Kyra sometime, though.     She, of course, knows about Kyra's family. She'd tried to subtly and not so subtly help Kyra get by, with what resources she could spare. But she's also interested in testing Kyra's temperment, and so she'll sit back with a carefully neutral expression as Sarah fires off that question.     For the most part, Flowers is just an observer in the conversation, unless one of the two wants to draw her in. She won't even really get into the past hostilities she'd had with Sarah, mostly because explaning them would make her look bad in some ways. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' Kyra pauses for a moment, glancing at Sarah. Anyone else she knew a little better and she'd swear they were messing with her. But in the case of Sarah, she assumes that she genuinely doesn't know about the dark mark of family on her record. Either way, she has to take in a breath and compose herself before actually answering Sarah's comment.     "We don't talk. Me and my six other siblings...we don't talk. I was disowned about a year ago."     She picks her words pretty carefully, almost clinically, and speaks about her 'condition' with a detatched tone. Of course, her emotions ran pretty hot on this subject but Sarah was a stranger, much more of a stranger than Sakura or Psyber. There was no reason to be THAT publically honest with her feelings, especially around a semi-stranger. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Sarah doesn't say anything about somber topics, because the ninja puts her thoughts to words quite nicely. She isn't sure she could talk about that with a stranger and still be able to hold her composure. She hasn't even spoken of it to her own lover. Although she thinks of it often -- bolts awake from nightmares of it in the small hours of the morning -- she does not speak of it.   She isn't sure she's ready to, even so many years after it. That scar is still too raw, too fresh, against her very being.   Kyra's answer is given careful consideration, the woman's expression so neutral that it could be an alabaster mask. Disowned a year ago. The words chosen and the way they're delivered suggest that there is still some form of pain there still.   Sarah's respect for the girl probably shot up a few hundred percent, by the way she's considering her so seriously. Not once in the conversation has Kyra played that card for pity, and the mage doesn't expect her to.   She nods as though reaching a decision, jewelled earrings clinking softly. "I am sorry to ask that of you; it isn't fair of me. But I knew that your answer, given unsuspecting, would tell me a great deal about your character." Sarah tilts her head just slightly, studying Kyra. "It has."   "I'm sorry to deceive you. For what it may be worth, I understand what you're going through."   Hm. Come to think of it, she's never really spoken of her own family, either. 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Sakura will smile and lean back as Kyra responds, and Sarah seems to approve of the answer. She'd known it to be rather personal, and is proud on some level to see her student handle herself so well, even though it's no doing of Sakura's in this regard.     Sakura's self-restraint ability on her emotions is noted, and not in a positive way, after all.     Her approval, for instance, is radiating now and will be obvious to either of the others if they look for it. Once it's settled a bit, she'll state, softer than normal. "Well. Shall we eat as we talk? I suppose I should share something, just to be fair, mm?" She'll offer, though she's happy if they pass on that. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' A part of her distantly wonders if her family knew of her exploits now, would they be proud of her? Would they be proud of all she's accomplished outside of her own world? Seeking that answer was alluring and it would soothe the raw hole that still remained even over a year after being thrown out of her family.     But in spite of these feelings, the last thing she wants from anyone is pity. "Wait, uh, what...? So you did know?" Kyra looks surprised, then glances over at Sakura as if to say 'Is this where you picked that up from?' before looking back at the frail, deliberate woman.     "Huh." she says, if awkwardly, "That's...well...alright. Is there anything else you want to ask...?" She sounds a hint wary now. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "If we're aiming for chivalry, Miss Haruno, it would be more logical for me to answer any questions submitted to me. I was the one who deceived your student." Sarah delivers this in a tone of good humour and inclines her head slightly, looking to Kyra. "So, if you have any questions; or you, Miss Haruno, I welcome them."   Food? Certainly. There are comfortably discreet waitstaff waiting to take orders; they manage to materialise when needed, and disappear when they're not -- a skill no doubt honed over the course of years.   The water mage places a quiet order of her own before folding delicate, long-fingered hands before her. She wears no jewelery beyond her earrings; her hands bear no rings, bracelets, or bangles of any kind, and her collar is too high to see if she wears any necklaces.   With a quiet and thoughtful sound, she regards Kyra, arching her brows very slightly at Kyra's surprise. "I did, but only in the loosest sense, as I said. Harmonia has demanded much of my time, and there is another matter I have been investigating." Something she apparently can't speak of, here. She seems perfectly willing to be on the level with these two, despite her reserved nature. "Not particularly, but if I think of something, I certainly shall."   Those delicate fingers drum for a moment. "Actually, I am curious about something, if it isn't too much trouble. This 'Wild Magic' you've described. Has a phenomenon like that ever happened before in your world's historical accounts?" 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Sakura will express curiousity about the menu to the waitstaff that appears to assist her; the bits of conversation she has seem far more focused on the nutrition than the taste, however. Mostly idle wandering, as her actual order is quite small.     "I'll let my student ask what she wants to, of course. It's her turn to, after all." That is said with a slightly crooked grin, before she finds a glass of water to sip at, continuing to spy upon the interplay between the others. She might have a few followup points to Kyra later, or she may just want to stress-test Kyra for working on bedside manner later. Getting through a meal can be far worse than telling someone what illnesses they have, in Sakura's view.     This is probably why her bedside manner is actually rather terrible. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "Just curious, how long have you been with the Union...?" Kyra asks, "If I'm not mistaken, you've got actual rank, right?" Most of the time, she recalls, Sarah has chimed in on the channels conveying authority, that always stood out to her. That seems to be the extent of the questioning-she picks up on the cues that Sarah doesn't want to talk about her 'other investigation' in public.     She leans backwards in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, looking slightly surprised as the Wild Magic is brought up. "You know, I've done some research on it before and I haven't really found any precise cases. There are older accounts of....well...'Chaos-touched' people losing control of themselves. I also see parallels to the Freelancer class. They can do a little bit of everything but they always are able to do it deliberately. Even if it's some kind of magic that gets associated with The Enemy. I've actually tried to keep the whole thing under wraps on my world /because/ of the parallels to Chaos, both in concept and the older stories. And because my family is very religious. It was working up until the Lute incident." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   The waitstaff of the establishment are quiet, unassuming, and very good at offering advice unobtrusively. They'll answer Sakura's questions generally enough to satisfy the understanding of a foreigner and then fade back into the shadows from whence they had apparently come -- adept at concealing themselves and knowing when to reveal themselves.   "Oh?" Sarah arches a brow delicately at the medical ninja's assertion. "Very well, then."   Those almost colourless eyes settle on Kyra in direct study. Sarah studies with a calmness that borders on the preternatural, but whether this stems from her personality or from the need to keep her True Rune controlled, it's hard to say. There is a steadiness, a groundedness, about her suggestive of still water.   Plenty of people underestimate her, but Sakura probably knows just how deeply those waters run. She's seen it firsthand.   Sarah considers the question, tilting her head very slightly. "It was five years and a few months ago that I first joined the Union. It was the end of March, AU19. As to my rank, it was granted to me for participation in a number of extremely high-risk operations. You should have sufficient clearance to see the details; the two I refer to primarily are the Manakoshi raid, and the mission against Annu." She pauses, considering with hooded eyes. "I cannot guarantee how coherent the files pertaining to Annu may be. I believe it was Colonel Psyber who filed the report, although I do not well remember the details."   Time was a little bit murky right there, and she might have lost a few minutes or a few years.   "No other instances?" That brings Sarah to raise her brows. "I suppose it does seem unusual, on the surface. Still, that there is no record of it in Galiandan history strikes me as odd." Her eyes drop to the table, considering, gaze intent even as she focuses on nothing. "Still, such phenomena occur even here. I am proof enough of that."   The water mage is silent for a beat, before offering a hesitant smile to Kyra. "I was born with the Flowing Rune. It is extremely unusual for others to be born with a rune already inscribed upon their bodies." The smile fades; her already-soft voice drops. "I see. I understand that, too." Although, the unspoken statement hangs, she isn't free to speak of it.   Instead, she reaches for a glass of water that the waitstaff have so thoughtfully and quietly left, sipping from it before she continues. "The only comparison I can think of are the True Runes." She sets the glass aside, raising a hand and twitching her fingers, gesturing as though to indicate something. Notably, she's wearing gloves; something she almost never does. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   Twenty-seven symbols spring to life before Kyra, in glowing threads of blue-white light. One of them is the three concentric circles of the True Water Rune, which Sakura would recognise.   ""These are akin to gods in any other world. They are the generative and sustaining forces that underlay my homeworld. They are very literal representations of whatever their founding concept is. For example, this one is fire," she adds, pointing to the flame-whorls of the True Fire Rune. They glow momentarily red. "Runes seek human bearers, and once they are accepted or they force acceptance from their host, they strive to express themselves. Fire burns. Wind blows."   "They are sought after because of their overwhelming power, but they are also hated and feared as harbingers of war and destruction. Some seek them out for their own ends. Others seek them out to do good with them." The water mage snaps her fingers delicately, despite wearing gloves, and the symbols wink out. "But they are regarded as antagonistic forces of nature, at times. The True Fire Rune brought an end to a war some fifty years ago, because its bearer lost control of it." Sarah's expression is grave. "Much of the vegetation has grown back, but the crater it left is still visible today."   What's the point? She shrugs lightly. "Still. Many who bear them at times try to hide them, difficult as it is. They attract too much attention, and they cause those around them to ask too many pointed questions. War and strife are attracted to them like moths to a flame -- for one may forcibly seize a True Rune, or prompt it to seek a new bearer by killing its current one." 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Sakura will lean back in her chair, listening in. She has the same rank as Sarah, after all, and some notion of how it had been given.. even if Sakura'd been risking hers on some unauthorized sorts of missions with her student in the not too distant past. She knows bits and pieces of all of this, on both sides.     Still, the further details are always appreciated, and she'd want to stay respectful in either case as they talk. Her attention will focus on the demonstration of the runes, though not for the reasons Sarah would necessarily want. She's more admiring the imagery.     After a sip or two of tea, she'll glance over at Kyra, wanting to offer reassurances. She fails at thinking of anything very comforting to say, though, and so Kyra will be stuck with more silence from her occasional mentor. "We can go over some of those missions later, if you're really curious." She'll finally note. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "I'm only slightly familiar with Annu. I don't know what the Manakoshi raid is...there, come to think of it, really haven't been any big Union operations since I've gotten here. Fill me in on the Manakoshi thing later, Haruno, I'm curious." She rubs her chin thoughtfully, then falls silent, watching Sarah, noting how she conducts herself with every measured and deliberate word. It's clearly the kind of tempering that Kyra doesn't really look forward to undergoing herself since it usually means enduring a whole lot of bad stuff and growing cynical.     She shakes her head, "No, not really. I mean, it could have been censored or expunged by the church. Most of my research has been limited to what I can find in Ramuh, which is where the Church of Cosma's power is most set. It...uh..." Kyra squints at Sarah a little harder, subtly casting a Scan spell on the mage. "W..well...it is similar. But what I have I...don't think it was god-gifted. Nor do I think it can be taken."     That thought had never occured to her-but what if something could? Anne Blakely could do some pretty impressive things with souls and golems. "...I wonder if a defective pattern can be taken and transplanted into someone else..." she murmurs, watching as Sarah summons symbols into the air.     She lowers her head, "So you know what it'd be like to be hated for your condition. A condition you'd rather hide sometime." Kyra's shoulders tense. "Your Runes sound a lot more serious though. I mean, a /lot/. Especially the part where people can kill you to take your rune. Has anyone made attempts on your life for it recently?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "Indeed, the files are available for those missions," Sarah adds, in agreement to Sakura's note. "I will not hold you up with their details unless you wish to know now."   She falls silent, letting Kyra speak. Many have mistaken the water mage's quietness for meek and passive, but Annu proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the woman has a core of utter steel. It's well-disguised, sometimes even from herself but it's there.   Scanning her yields up the fact that she is about as physically fragile as she looks, although it isn't the result of any particular malady. She just has a poor constitution. Magically, though... magically, it's like staring at the sun. This woman is host to phenomenal cosmic powers, resonating with the primal element of water. She is all the water of the world, every ocean and lake, every tempest and blizzard.   This is not a mere Flowing Rune. Surely that must be the kind of spectacular power she'd spoken of in regards to the True Runes. Yet she is not without weakness. Fire and lightning are her enemies; no doubt she would not get along with the people who bear those respective True Runes, prickly at best and openly hostile at worst.   Otherwise, she's healthy as can be expected! Nothing surprising there. Except for the whole 'staring at the sun except the sun is made of water' magic part.   Sarah can feel the subtle prickle of that spell, and while she can't identify what it is, she can guess. The woman smiles a knowing, tiny little smile; the sort of expression a cat might make if it could.   "I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Hyral." Sarah's expression doesn't so much as waver. "I bear a Flowing Rune, as I have told you. I would not invite the disaster of a True Rune on myself willingly." She's a good actress, a very good one. "Not in terms of having to constantly control such a thing, or in terms of inviting personal disaster on my personal life."   Still, her faint half-smile suggests that Sarah knows exactly what Kyra implies, and she agrees -- but she can't say that out loud. It would be suicide, in the middle of Crystal Valley. 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     Sakura will nod in response. "Well. Those were reactions to threats. Hopefully nothing of that sort will come up, but it probably will sooner or later." They always do. Sakura will scratch at her cheek, where her Scar sits. "You'd be surprised what sorts of transplants can be done, though. It's probably not a good idea to try, even if you were interested in getting rid of the power." She'll add, as though she hadn't been part of numerous experimental and dangerous medical procedures over the years, including some magic transplants.     Being unable to sense magic herself, she'll remain as blaise around Sarah as ever, though. "...Shall we get more tea, then?" She'll ask, before ordering regardless of whether the other two wish for more as they have a bit of scanning interplay over her head. She also will politely not take the opportunity to tease Sarah about her personal life, and the current level of disaster it may or may not have. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' Kyra is unable to help herself and makes a startled noise as she finds the results of the Scan blasting her in the face with an amazing MP resevoir. The effect, in fact, is a little like what others experience when they look at her via scan or other magical aura-sensing techniques. Scarlette knows this well. In that moment, she knows that she's staring at a True Rune, curiously, with its own elemental weaknesses.     This woman, she realizes, would be hunted down if anyone new.     "That's a good thing you don't have a True Rune. That sounds like nothing but trouble." Kyra agrees, threading her fingers together.     "Me, I've got enough trouble, if I wanted more power, I'd be looking elsewhere. Somewhere that doesn't involve some kind of magical death game to survive." Which is to say nothing of her bond with Nero. 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "There are a number of True Runes unaccounted for, and some of them have faded from mankind's histories. At present, we do not know what all of the True Runes represent." Sarah signals to the waitstaff, who quietly and unobtrusively brings more tea for the table. Sarah pours herself a cup, slowly and deliberately, and cradles the cup in her hands. Her fingers don't look much more resilient than the china. "Even among the ones we know, their locations are not all accounted for."   "True Runes may lie dormant for generations in a remote place. Others may relocate themselves of their own accord, as the Beast Rune once did, whisking itself out of Harmonian custody." That was a particularly fun episode. The only saving grace out of that nightmare was the fact that the rune didn't attach itself to the lunatic it got chummy with.   She tilts her head slightly, regarding Kyra with renewed interest. There is an avid interest in her colourless eyes, an intensity that seems at odds with her fragility. "I have studied True Runes for most of my life; I spent my childhood and adolescent years a prisoner in the One Temple's library complexes." Wait, what? "I could ask for no greater research materials, for Harmonia had collected accounts from halfway across the world. So, even without choosing to seek one out--" Technically not a lie, she really /wasn't/ looking for it, "--I know the effects of bonding with one," she says, seriously. "They will shatter the men who are not strong enough to bear them, and they will turn their lives into a living hell. Yet a strong-willed person who is capable of finding their centre, of remaining calm in the face of the True Rune's demands -- that is the kind of person who will prosper even under its influence."   There's a reason nobody's ever witnessed her being emotionally out of control. She can't. Bad things happen when a Runebearer loses control. The fifty year old crater in the middle of the Grasslands can attest to that. Hundreds, if not thousands, were killed that day when the Flame Champion lost control of his rune.   Considering how much this woman would be hunted if anyone knew about her True Rune, she must have nerves of steel and icewater to live and conduct business in Harmonia.   She considers Kyra, drumming her fingers lightly on the table. "May I ask another question?" 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:'''     That'll get a snort from Sakura. "There are simpler ways to get more powerful, certainly. Magical death games seem to be a very popular route anyway, though." She'll add, tapping her fingers on the edge of her cup as she considers her tea. "Easier not to have that kind of pressure in your life, though."     Sakura had mostly avoided death games, unless the chuunin exams way back in her misspent youth count. "But if nothing else, at the minimum you can at least get more powerful through learning and practice. Or it's the only way I ever actually got more powerful, at least." Well, and climbing a mountain to face down some of her personal issues, but that would ruin the hard work narrative. "But it's best to have a reason to want to have all that power, first, and a good one..." 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "They can move on their own? Like they're...alive or something?" There's a vague look of horror on Kyra's face. She makes a mental note to avoid coming to this particular world unless really needed since it doesn't strike her as a very /great/ place to intervene in at all. Listening further, she squints a little as she describes her childhoo as a 'prisoner' in a temple's library. She's curious about that, but doesn't interrupt.     "So only a very stable person would be able to handle that kind of power." Kyra concludes, which really does explain the even keel she's heard from Sarah whenever she's spoken on the radio. She takes her tea and sips this, considering this and, partially, wondering why Sarah would share this information with her. "Huh? Of course you can, go ahead, Sarah."     She turns a little red at Sakura's words. "Well yeah. And I have been, Haruno. With you, of course." 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "There would appear to be a disconcerting popularity of magical death games within the multiverse," Sarah observes softly, regarding her teacup with some distraction. It's good tea, as high quality as anything that has come from conquered Harmonian territories. Only the finest for the seat of the kingdom. "I suppose a True Rune is about the same level of risk, but for slightly different reasons."   "It is written that some True Runes show to their bearers the memories of every past bearer it has ever had. Generations upon uncounted generations. Those who are not assassinated for the power they bear may be driven mad, and lose their sense of self entirely."   Sarah shakes her head and sets the teacup down. "It is better to take the hard road than the easy one. Some things cannot be substituted, and experience is one of those things."   She understands perfectly what Sakura means about that. She had to start over when she came to bear the True Water Rune, and she wouldn't have had it any other way... but she can't tell Sakura that, at least not here.   Tilting her head the other way to a quiet clinking of her earrings, Sarah studies Kyra evident interest. There's no judgement in her colourless eyes; merely subdued curiosity. Everything about her is subdued -- controlled, and tightly, calm born of necessity. "The True Runes are possessed of their own will, even if they are not thinking entities as you or I would understand. They strive to express themselves. In the case of the Five Elements, like the True Fire Rune, that means manifesting their element."   So basically, the True Fire Rune wants to set everything on fire forever.   Yep, sounds legit.   Sarah takes her teacup in hand again when Kyra grants her permission to ask another question. "Would you be comfortable with a lesser rune?" Those colourless eyes settle on the healer, curious and somber at the same time. "They are nothing like their progenitors, the True Runes; they are inert, and grant only the ability to use certain magics, in this world. I have the requisite knowledge to inscribe such runes, on those willing, and it would be trivial for me to acquire a lesser rune of your choice in Harmonia's markets." 

:'''{{#var:134|Sakura Haruno (134)}} has posed:''' "The lesser runes aren't too bad at all. I had one on a weapon for a little while." That weapon had been lost, but Sakura didn't blame that on the rune at all. There had been extinuating circumstances. This isn't Sakura pushing Kyra either way, though. She knows herself how much of a struggle trying to work with too many different power sources can be; Kyra will know whether she wants another or not better than Sakura will. "Though personally, I'm happier being able to lose my temper now and then." Sakura's sanity, such as it is, might survive five minutes with a True Rune. It wouldn't make it the full ten, probably. 

:'''{{#var:626|Kyra Hyral (626)}} has posed:''' "I don't puport to be an expert on magical death games but...it does veer into that territory, especially with the aspect of 'killing and taking it from others.' bit being thrown in there." Kyra says between savoring sips of tea, silent as the further dangers of True Runes are explained.     Kyra looks a little strained, however, "Experience doesn't necessarily bring strength though." she murmurs, "It would be nice to be able to fight myself free instead of having to weasle my way out with talking, for example."     But she listens more, nodding, "So a human mind can't really handle the pure desire of a force of nature, is what it basically is? An element would have a very alien mind to a human so it's no wonder most would go crazy."     She looks up suddenly, surprised, "What do lesser runes do?" she asks, still sounding somewhat cautious, "And you say they only function in this world?" 

:'''{{#var:316|Sarah (316)}} has posed:'''   "One could look at it that way. Killing a Runebearer and seizing the True Runes is a perfectly viable method of acquisition." Sarah sips at her tea, shockingly calm in spite of the subject matter, especially in light of the fact that it applies to her just as much. She's gotten used to that over the years. "According to the records--" And the memories she bears, "--many have changed hands over the generations in that manner."   She smiles, a little wistfully. "No, experience does not always bring strength. Many fools have held True Runes to disastrous effect, both for them and the world around them. I told you of the Flame Champion who lost controlof his rune some fifty years ago, ending a war and wreaking devastation on the Grasslands, but in truth he was not a man of weak character. I do not think there could have been a more suitable bearer for that rune at the time."   "In history, the True Runes inevitably sort themselves out in time. It may be that war follows them like a moth to flame, but when such power is available to human hands, it would hardly surprise me. Some debate whether the True Runes cause war, or wars are fought over the True Runes. I myself lean towards the latter. They are not inherently malicious, or drawn to conflict. How can they be? Those True Runes simply are, and they know no more than to manifest what their concept is. Fire burns," she repeats, flicking a slender hand in dismissive gesture, "and wind blows."   Sarah pushes herself to her feet with a rustle of fabric, offering a smile to both. "Lesser runes are conduits for the power a person carries inherently. No more, and no less. They are simply a means to an end, and that is to manifest whatever their chosen element is, on a much less grand scale than their progenitors. A water rune does no more than manifest its element. Ice, steam, water; these are all possible for someone using it."   "Think about it," she offers, not unkindly. "If nothing else, it may be a useful distraction for you. A puzzle to work at. I will see to it that you are provided with my private contact frequency. Let me know, if you reach a decision, and I will forward you more information and see that you are provided with whatever rune, or runes, you prefer."   "In the meantime, I am sorry to leave so soon, but I must return to the Masked Bishop." Sarah bows her head, faintly. "I had promised to deliver a report to him on his Harmonian business--" Which Luc will probably ignore, but at least she can say she did it, "--and travelling to Crystal Valley is wearying. I enjoyed meeting with you, though; please do ask me again some time, and I will do the same. With more time, I can find an establishment better than this one." That is to say, anywhere but Harmonia. "Please excuse me, Miss Haruno. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hyral. Please keep in touch, both of you."   With a dainty little half-bow, she gathers up her greatstaff, murmurs something that sounds utterly alien and bizarre -- Sindar, most likely, though they might not know that -- and vanishes, in a flare of blue-white light and a lingering sensation of cool mist. 
}}

4584/Though She May Be Old and Worn

2016-09-23T04:26:17Z

Hrimfaxi: Hrimfaxi moved page 4584/Though She May Be Old and Worn+scene/desc 4584=Bedivere asks for Amalthea's help in an endeavour he's planning. to 4584/Though She May Be Old and Worn without leaving a redirect: Mis-named log.

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2016/09/22
|Location=Dun Realtai
|Synopsis=Bedivere asks for Amalthea's help in an endeavour he's planning.
|Cast of Characters=482, 395
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Autumn is in the air of Dun Realtai. It brings with it a crisp bite and a swirling of clattering leaves wherever it goes. The fields and crops are fallow for the season now, bare earth lending a desolate feel to the outermost farmsteads.   Out further beyond that lie the beginnings of the woods. Made up of trees familiar to Europe, they're elm, oak, yew, and rowan; a thick tangle of whispering leaves, deer trails, and the occasional beaten earth road.   It's down one of these that hoofbeats thunder past.   Sir Bedivere of Dun Realtai crouches low over the neck of his glossy black steed; ash-blonde hair whipping, white cloak snapping behind him like a bright banner. Where he's going, it's hard to say. The roads aren't very clear this far out from the dun and the land seems untravelled. Deer scatter before him, and smaller creatures flee through the underbrush from the relentless thunder of the Black One's hooves.   It's not until deep into the woods that the knight slows, straightening, reaching out to pat the horse-like creature's neck. <Was that sufficient?>   "Fast enough to serve," Bedivere assures the faerie-horse. "Faster than any steed I have ever ridden."   <Very well. If you plan to go through with your plan, this one will assist you. If swift running is what you need, you shall have it.> The horse cants its head, eyeing Bedivere with one smoky gold eye. <You do plan on going through with it, yes?>   Bedivere thins his mouth into a hard line. "Aye."   The horse sighs and shakes its head in an exasperated, disconcertingly human-like gesture. <Mortals.>   "Lady Amalthea should be here soon. I sent her coordinates some time ago."   <Unicorn. Feh.> The faerie pronounces it 'yoo-nee-corn,' and curls his lip in scorn. <Self-righteous milksops, the lot of them, so aflutter over whether someone is virtuous or not virtuous that they can't-->   "Hush," Bedivere warns. "Keep your opinions to yourselves. And might I remind you that she does not like the Fair Ones?"   The Black One swivels his ears back, curling his lip again. <What is there not to like...?>   "Keep your opinions to yourselves," the knight repeats, lower. "Something good to eat if you cooperate with me."      "Done and done. Now quiet. I should like to hear when she arrives."   The Black One sighs in mock melodramatic exasperation; the gesture looks just as strange on his equine form as a shake of the head. 

:'''{{#var:395|Amalthea (395)}} has posed:'''     Deep in the woods there are bound to be things. Fey spirits and sidhe, old, beautiful, and terrible things that Bedivere would know not to cross or how to best evade, as per the stories and tales of his time. There are probably few who would dare make such journies alone. Few mortals anyway. But an immortal, timeless and ancient, even if not of the local stock, would be most brazen to tread through territories not their own.     Amalthea is that damned brazen.     There is a curse from deeper in the woods, vile, foul, vicious and most biting. A crass snarl of something unkind and malevolent wishing the utmost ill will to the victim of its fury. And then all is still. It is moments later when the unicorn does arrive, not in her armored knightly form, but in that of her quadrupedal mode, armor worn as silvery barding and cloak worn around long neck like an elegant scarf. She leaves no hoofprints as she treads without a sound, for hearing a unicorn in the woods is akin to listening for silence in the black of night. She paces leisurely, head held high, looking as though such monstrous obscenities could never have come from such a regal silvery beast.     "God damned oakmen." She hisses venemously to herself anyway.     Lady Amalthea is here now, though. A fact she makes blatant with a dip of her head. "I am here."     And then. Then she looks to Bedivere's steed. Long, hard, and silent, she turns her head to an almost bird-like angle to peer at the Black One in stone silence from her good eye, before she snorts. "You would have to listen quite intently, Sir Bedivere. To hear a unicorn's arrival." Added almost playfully. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Horse and rider look up at the sound of a distant curse, and both of them blink owlishly. It's shockingly crude. Since there's no sign of any other creature at all but the unicorn that comes trotting with head high into the clearing, logic suggests the unicorn is the source of all that foul language.   Bedivere is actually impressed, in a distant sort of way. He'd led soldiers on campaign, and he knows how foul a mouth can get. Taking up such malevolent crudeness was a way for his men to let off steam; it was easier to let them, since enforcing their good behaviour only would have made them resentful.   Still, he hasn't heard language like that in a very long time. Before he can comment on it, both almost-horses stare each other down. Where Amalthea stares the Black One down, the Black One slowly swivels his ears back.   Bedivere ignores the potential animosity.   "Thank you. As to whether or not I would hear a unicorn, I would not know. I have never seen such beasts in my own world." Of course, it wasn't for lack of wanting to see one. Christianity had decided to adopt the creatures as a symbol for the Son, and so no doubt a devout Christian like Bedivere would consider seeing a creature like that a blessing and good omen indeed.   He shrugs. "They were rare, as rare as dragons. Besides, they would never reveal themselves to me. I am no virtuous maid, though I at least strive to be virtuous, and to uphold the Eight Virtues in turn." And he is, as far as a unicorn would be concerned with the definition.   A slight twist from the Black One's broad back turns the horse to the path, beckoning to the silvery unicorn. "Walk with me, please? I asked you here for a reason; if this were an ordinary social call, I would have offered you Dun Realtai's full hospitality."   "There is a favour I would ask of you."   When Bedivere says it, it has meaning. He and Amalthea are both aware of what such a thing means, among worlds where there are anything like the Fair Folk. The word itself has weight; it almost seems to have an audible capital letter.   And it is not something he would ask lightly. 

:'''{{#var:395|Amalthea (395)}} has posed:'''     The 'horse' swivels its ears. Amalthea knows the gesture when she sees it. She knows NORMAL horses do not take kindly to unicorns, either, but in a different, and far more jealous way; usually even shying back. She stares. She stares right into the Black One's eyes without flinching. Until the knight speaks.     Her gaze is drawn from fey thing to Man, now, expression as placid and serene as though that moment just then had not happened at all. "I have told you. You know now." She points out. "But you need not be virtuous nor maidenly, it seems. I have come to you, have I not?"     This is ignoring the fact that she is not of Bedivere's world, she continues in a lazy drawl, "There were times when I was young and new, when I came to any maiden that called my name. Though they would recoil from the sight of me when I drew near. I never quite found a maiden of my own until these recent years. So I always cared little for such things. You are virtuous enough, and friend to me, and that is all that matters."     Indeed all that matters as Bedivere makes for the path, she trots into place at his side, still soundless and furthermore acting like she hadn't cussed up enough to remind the old knight of his men. "I will walk. And I will listen. But I for you my favor is given freely, I will not hold you to arcane contract and guiling twisted words of promise." Yes. She knows the weight indeed. 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   Bedivere ignores the animosity between his noble steed and his noble friend, because there's no way he hasn't noticed the way those two are staring at each other. Maybe if he doesn't give it any of his attention, it won't become a problem.   "I did not even know of anyone who had seen a unicorn, in Albion or Dál Riata. As I said, they were vanishingly rare... perhaps they hid themselves well, or perhaps they were truly extinct, or close to it." Reaching up, the knight tugs at the stud in his left ear, almost uneasily. "Many of the aristocracy sought to hunt them, but turned up nothing. I do not know."   He sighs, faintly, sliding from the Black One's broad back in mid-stride, clapping the leather-padded palm of his gauntlet on the pooka's shoulder. "Be off with you. Go see if Miss O'Suilebhain needs anything," he adds, before the pooka can pout about being left out.   The horse turns, loping off for the citadel with his ears swivelled back. Yep. The Black One is totally sulking.   Once the creature is gone, Bedivere turns, hesitantly reaching out before laying his gauntleted hand on the base of Amalthea's neck -- so light it could be missed, ready to snatch his hand away if she protests.   "Thank you for that, my friend." His voice is weary. "I would ask your advice in something, and your assistance in an endeavour of great import to me."   What could he possibly consider so important?   "How much do you know about my king?"   Well, that's sort of out of left field. 

:'''{{#var:395|Amalthea (395)}} has posed:'''     "It is a joyless world. One without unicorns." Amalthea notes, in passing of mention of their supposed extreme rarity. "Though. If there are fey here there is magic yet enough in the world for there to be unicorns, I think." Mulled lazily. IF there is animosity from Amalthea's side, she does not display it, there are more important matters at hand than her personal feelings for the fair folk and their ilk, and she has at the very least that much respect for Bedivere to not make issue of the moment.     "Bells and banners." She says then. "The only way to hunt a unicorn is to make the chase so wondrous they grow curious and come to their hunters." An idle tidbit she would not tell one she did not trust.     Still. The Black One is sent away, then. And it earns almost a snort of amusement from the unicorn; shifting slightly. She allows the contact, little more than a soft hissing vent of steam escaping from a seam in her plating at the shoulder when Bedivere touches her. There are few beyond members of her direct family she would allow this.     "I knew that one." She finally speaks. "I knew that one almost as soon as I stepped out of the forest coming to meet you. Since then there has been no movement that has not betrayed it. A pace. A glance. A turn of the head. The flash of the throat as they breathed." She whispers.     "They were all my spies."     She chuffs.     "You would do well to be wary climbing upon that steed. Though your judgement is keen and sound, far too many pooka have been known to fling their riders to their death on simple flight of fancy."     That aside her ears flick up, her head turns to better peer at the knight, one whom she considers peer despite his mortal trappings. "Your king? I know she is one you cherish above all else, who listens to your wise council, and upholds her virtues with strength and honor." But she knows this perhaps may not be the real topic, as that deep blue eye twinkles with mirth. "Or perhaps do you mean the new, young king who is among us, barely yet even a man and thrust into the nightmare of rulerhsip of a land that refuses to recognize his right?"     This is where she pauses, a slight shift almost 'shrugging'.     "Stories and tales mostly. Differing, varied, and not one the same, many of them contradictory. Why I recall one version of the tales that misnamed a certain knight of ill repute after you rather incorrectly." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "I will not deny that it was a cold world, but I could not have seen the joy in it then." Bedivere shakes his head, some of his hair falling over his face. An idle gesture clears it away. "I believe they are still there, somewhere. If there are dragons and pooka and kelpies, I believe there are unicorns, too."   And he does. He seems undisturbed by such 'folklore,' considering his Christianity. Then again, he's shockingly tolerant for a man of theearly Middle Ages. Maybe being the outsider in Camelot's court gave him a broader perspective for such things.   "Hm. I saw many hunts that raised an ungodly racket, to be certain, but they were banging copper pots and sheep's-bells." Bedivere sighs, tone bland. "Going about it backwards, unsurprisingly. Small wonder they caught no more than colds and hangovers once they had descended upon the wine casks..."   Shaking his head, he continues on in silence. After a moment he lets his hand fall away; he is skittish and slow to trust, and he dislikes physical contact -- he has drawn steel on even friends before for startling him from behind, and while stoic in the face of a great many things, he has always shied from touch like a whipped hound. Once he lets go of her, he folds his hands behind him, sword claterring quietly at his hip.   "I saved that one's life," Bedivere affords, glancing back to Amalthea. "That one owes me a great favour indeed. And he is too desirous of Master Merlin's respect to directly harm one in Master Merlin's auspices." He smiles thinly. "Thank you, my friend. I know what manner of flame I handle."   "And at the risk of sounding boastful, there were no better horsemen in Camelot than the king's chosen marshal."   He looks after the direction the Black One had left in, expression grim. "I take your meaning, but I think he is genuine. He came to this place a broken beast when I led him from the horse trader. There are a race somewhere here beyond Dun Realtai's bounds which twist and enslave the Ever-Living Ones, from what he has explained to me. He hid himself as a mortal creature to spare himself from a life of servitude, but he forgot himself. Master Merlin sundered his enchantment and returned him to his wits. He has made it clear that he is in debt to both myself and Master Merlin, and the Ever-Living Ones do not make light of debts... particularly debts unpaid."   A shrug of his shoulder resettles his cloak about himself. Scarlet touches his face, and he keeps his eyes rigidly forward. "I speak of the first of them. She whom I cherish above all others. I..." Bedivere licks dry lips and tries again. He seems genuinely anxious; a strange thing to see in someone otherwise so calm and stoic. "You know that she is a being called a Servant, yes?"   "In most cases, Servants are summoned to participate in these Wars of the Holy Grail, but only after their deaths. Their spirits are transferred to the Throne of Heroes, remembered in legend, shaped by humanity's perception of them. Yet my king is... not... she is still alive."   There's a slightly haunted look to his eyes, even though he doesn't look directly at Amalthea. "I failed to save anyone, at Camlann. But worst of all, most unforgiveable of all, I could not save her. Yet now I am given a chance to save her. To complete the duty and the vow that I failed in." He swallows, throat dry as well. "If I can find where she rests, where Avalon watches over her... if I can find a means to mend the grievous wound she has suffered..."   "I think it would work. And she wishes to return to being a mortal, instead of a being with the better part of both feet in the Otherworld." His brow furrows. "I've an idea of how to begin..." 

:'''{{#var:395|Amalthea (395)}} has posed:'''     Amalthea listens. She said she would, even as she scuffs the ground with a silvery hoof. "Then they exist. Because you believe in them." Simple as that, she leaves the topic of unicorns with that cryptic statement, chuckling lowly at tales of the failed hunts, and the ensuing battle with mighty headaches the next day.     She dips her head. "Then that would do it. A life debt and a little bit of luck in knowing the old trickster, a crafty one you are, Sir Bedivere. The best rider having a mount like none other at the round table. Bravo. But you did him as much cruelty as a kindness, in putting him in your debt. Fae deals and oaths are a two way path, loath as the ever living may be to admit it. Still..."     She narrows her eye, head shifting to that bird-like angle again to better peer. It's like she stares not at the man but into him for a long moment. "Aye, I know she is. And I know of the Grail War. Believe me, I count myself among the lucky to not yet be pulled into that quagmire of blood and misery and--"     And a bomb gets dropped.     Apparently, Saber is still alive.     Amalthea's response is kneejerk, ill-thought out, and spur of the moment. As anything occurs in the presence of an immortal being: it just happens. There is no way of predicting it, and no way of stopping it once it begins. She opens her mouth...     "Horseshit, you're pulling my fucking horn."     There is a pause after that. The unicorn clears her throat.     "You are speaking in jest right?"     No. No he clearly is not, and that much becomes apparent as the reactionary outburst is silenced and Bedivere tells the somber tale of Camlann and his failure, weather true or perceived. She scuffs the ground and closes her eye.     "If you find her, you believe that..." Yes, she already knows what the knight believes. No, she does not think she can dissuade him from it, even if she had good reason to give.     "Take me with you."     It is no request.     "For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you. This sounds much like a quest for you and only yourself, Bedivere. But take me with you." 

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''   "A great many things exist, if we only took the time to look at them. Just because we cannot ordinarily see them does not mean that they are not there." Bedivere makes his observation in a soft and almost wistful tone. He had always wanted to see a unicorn of his world, unworthy as he may consider himself... but the Rocket Knight is the next best thing.   Even if she's a little crude sometimes.   "Speak of it to no one," Bedivere implores her, violet eyes earnest. "I am still not yet prepared to undertake this endeavour, but I have every intention of doing so. I have spoken with her of it, and she will accompany me as well. We will have need of dealing with the Ever-Living Ones, and so I will also need the assistance of the Black One. He approves of our plans, and has already agreed to help us, with no strings attached."   He's silent through Amalthea's outburst, and while he doesn't chuckle, there's a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It would be a chuckle in anybody else. It never ceases to amaze him that such a virtuous and valourous beast is so... /crude/.   But no, there's not a trace of jest in his tone.   "I do. And Master Merlin does, as well. I have spoken with him of it, and there is no greater authority of our world on matters of magic and the Otherworld. He believes it can be done, too, provided there is a sufficient catalyst to mend the mortal wound she suffered at Camlann. She is being held in stasis at Avalon, the Blessed Isle, and watched over by the Faerie Queens; suspended mere seconds before what should be her..." He swallows, throat dry. "Before what should be her death."   "The relics she once held in life would save her. Avalon, the scabbard of Excalibur, is a powerful healing relic. And Caliburn, the Golden Sword of Victory, the blade that was broken and lost when the king struck out in wrath and vengeance... if we might find the shards, and if we might convince the smiths who forged it to mend it anew..." His expression is solemn, but longing. "They would save her. They would restore her to what she is, and should be... she would live again as a mortal. She would see Dun Realtai as she is meant to see it; would feel the wind in her hair for true, and she would no longer be dependent on my inadequate reserves of magic, as /filidh/ and Master."   He smiles, faintly.   "My friend, I would be honoured to have you at my side. I did not ask you here to convince you to stay behind. I asked you here that I might convince you to accompany me." Bedivere's smile is awkward. "Please accompany us. We would be honoured to have you and your sword at our sides."   Once more, he reaches up to lay a hand over her neck, the touch as hesitant and feather-light as it had been before.   "Thank you. But I must be off. It will not be until the winter months that we depart. I must arrange matters with Lady Alaia, and I must prepare Dun Realtai for the winter, in the meantime." The hand at her neck gives a faint pat before he withdraws it. "Thank you, my friend. I do not deserve an ally such as you, but I am grateful for your loyalty nonetheless."   His hand slips away, and he turns, shucking off a gauntlet and sticking forefinger and thumb into his mouth, issuing a piercing whistle before putting the gauntlet back on.   Distant hoofbeats thunder; and no sooner has the Black One's coal-coloured hide flashed past than Bedivere neatly swings himself up onto the pooka's back -- a frighteningly adept trick, in light of his plate armour. He must be an accomplished horseman indeed. "Farewell!" he calls over his shoulder, white cloak and ash-blonde hair flying behind him, the Black One's tail a banner of glossy black. "I will contact you again when the time comes!" 

:'''{{#var:395|Amalthea (395)}} has posed:'''     Crude is one way to put it, yes. But Amalthea's upbringing was not the norm for her kind. It was rough, a life of pain and embittering loss and violence that lasted for centuries before her lot had fallen in with the ilk of knights, kings, and heroes. Only now is she seeming to ease into an even newer role than she did when taking to knee and accepting knighthood. It may just be why she's been endeavoring to be more... Proper, of late. But one can never take old tricks away once they have been taught to an ancient dog like her.     She'll always have her crass moments.     "I give my word I will tell no soul." She promises first and foremost, before she dips her head in a nod. "If Merlin believes it, it must be so." She saus at first before that endlessly deep eye upon him again. "The Pooka?" She does sound mildly surprised there, but then lets it drop. "Then he will have no quarrel from me." She says after a time, giving a mildly hesitant pause.     "But you better make sure he doesn't give me any lip."     It's. Well. It's a start. And she doesn't even go into the topic of the fey queens. Good enough for now.     "It sounds as though you have a plan already set ahead. You won't be needing me for that, then." She murmurs. Then it's time to go. Bedivere saying his farewells. Though she allows the touch again, she does not hold him for longer than necessary. "I am here. It means I feel you are deserving, and that's all that really matters. Make your preparations. Yes, call upon me when time comes."     She does not move after that, granting the knight one last vision of something old and legendary standing by a forest. And then she's gone. And all that's left is a forest; like any other. 
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