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Father Berislav      A newspaper clipping was all that Berislav has to go on, regarding Michael's whereabouts. Working with Watch assets in the area, he did manage to collate sightings related to that incident. Those sightings formed a disturbing near-beeline to this place--Snake Meadow Hill Road. Like many of the back roads of rural America at night, it is eerily quiet.

     The moonlight fails to penetrate the thick rows of coniferous trees, and the shadows cast by those green boughs seem decidedly uninviting. The eyes of a grazing deer lock upon the gathered elites, utterly frigid in a way that a wild animal shouldn't be capable. When it darts off into the cover of darkness, it seems easier to attribute the act to ill intent than to simple animal instinct.

    "Thank you all for coming," says Berislav quietly, to those gathered for the search. The knelt, silver form of Isaiah, the priest's weapon of war, is visibly in the pale moonlight, its hammer-shaped head bowed as if in prayer. One hand is held out, upon which the priest has spread out a paper map, torn from an atlas. Stones from the forest hold it fast to the mech's skeletal fingers, safeguarding against any potential breeze until the short briefing is concluded.

    "If one of you happens to have a mobile phone with a light, or some similar convenience, it would be appreciated," he says, gesturing to the pinned map with a gentle sweep of his hand. Continuing, once someone can offer a little illumination, "As you can see, the entity in control of Michael has made an unusually driven attempt to get to something north by northeast of Father Garcia's apartment in Bridgeport. I've spoken to a few locals here in Sterling, and the only thing in that... trajectory, so to speak, is a house abandoned one year ago." He pauses. "It was apparently the site of a grisly killing--but why that would have any significance to this entity is beyond me."

    "For those of you unfamiliar with my particular branch of the Christian faith: all exorcists are priests, but not all priests are exorcists. I was never trained as one--and evidently, this entity is powerful enough to have withstood Father Garcia's best efforts." With a frown, and a gentle sweep of his palm towards Tamamo, "Tamamo will be our expert, in that regard. I've attempted to cover a number of other bases as well, owing to the considerable... unpredictability I've seen thus far."

    "Some of what you see, or hear, may frighten you. If you are a spiritual person, then comfort yourself with the knowledge that our work here is just, good and necessary. If not--then understand that to the best of my ability, this operation will be carried out as closely to 'ordinary' as possible."

    'Martin House' is circled on the map, and very near it, marked with an X, is 'Snake Meadow Hill Road.' It's a walk of ten, or perhaps twenty minutes. Berislav folds his hands gently before him. "We'll follow Michael's trajectory, reach the Martin House, and search for any further clues--or, with luck, Michael. If that should be the case, it's imperative that you listen to Tamamo."

     He pauses, as the hoot of an owl pierces the silence. "I've been told that this forest has a mind of its own, and I'm not willing to risk that it's purely a figure of speech. Those of you with sharper senses will take the front. Our 'heavy hitters' will spread out evenly so that no one is an easy target. Tamamo, and our psychically gifted allies, will stay near the middle. Make your preparations, and let's be off, please--any questions can be addressed en route."
Charlotte Newman     "Oh right, of course--" Charlotte produces her phone, taps something, then shines a light on the Father's provided map. Matters of faith aren't something she'd given much consideration to-- though it's come up from time to time with Father Waters Berislav being a man of God.

    Father Garcia and Michael-- Charlotte taps those names into her phone's notepad app, just to get her notes started. Martin House is added in, and a few other little notes. With the light shining, she takes the liberty of snapping a photo of the map as well, appending it to the file for reference.

    The subtle hostility of the deer here make her more than a little nervous. The girl glances out into the underbrush, locking eyes with one up until it bolts away. Charlotte lets out an uneasy noise.

    A little bit of a hike awaits. When the group sets out, Charlotte doesn't stay behind. Helpfully she uses her phone's light to offer some sort of illumination, for what it's worth.

    "Mister-- Father Berislav, what kind of incident were you talking about? That happened a year ago?" Gazing out into the forest, she adds, "Was it related to these woods? Or something else?" Bringing up exorcism and highlighting Tamamo's expertise in such isn't giving her a lot of confidence.
Rowdyruff Boys Brick is here. It is a little-known fact, even in Townsville, that collaboration between Buttercup and Brick is relatively ordinary; in certain every specific regards they complement each other in a particularly dangerous way, and their sense of morality skews towards a similar center. Which is to say that when the violations of privacy that are common to young celebrities imposed itself on their lives, they were willing to engage in extralegal methods of keeping it in check where their siblings were more reluctant.

He is accompanied, curiously, by eight magpies.

When a light is asked for, Brick surrounds one hand with a field of radiating heat that produces visible light around the outside edges of his hand. It's enough to read by, more-or-less, though he's probably keeping it low-intensity for the purposes of a low profile.

Milling around beside him is Boomer, who looks incredibly uncomfortable. When Berislav explains the formation that's intended of them, he looks uncertainly towards Brick.

"Outer circle. I'll fall in the middle with the psychics," Brick says, and the pair take up their places in the formation. Once the light is no longer called for -- in this case, when Charlotte produces her phone -- it fades away from his hand.

The eight magpie that are accompanying Brick flutter above the group's heads, cleaving closer to the 'psychic' ring than the outer ring.

Boomer makes a long-suffering noise in his throat as they get underway.
Aidan Proudpick The forest. Something that Aidan does not fear. But then, his forests don't really have animals. They just have other people. That doesn't remove the natural fear of the predator. An ancestral fear bred into every creature save the predators themselves. Aidan's ears twist and cock to the sounds of deer. His nose twitches and wiggles, all of his senses trying to locate the wrongness in the forest he knows is there. The fact that it is impossible to pin down does not make it any easier.

Dressed for the cold, Aidan still has his leather armor on, but wears a light coat over it, a knitted scarf in repeated shades of green around his neck. From a canvas saddle back, he pulls a cumbersome flashlight, much larger than any modern flashlight, clear plastic revealing the copper coil and metal brick within. He lifts it, about to charge it, then hesitates. Such things are loud. And being loud in this very moment, in this place, seems quite unwise, even for the squirrel knight. He stows it back away quickly, hoping no one notices.

"I've read some stories before I came," Aidan offers, trying to quickly establish that he can do this. That he can be helpful beyond just a shield, beyond hurling himself against giant monsters. Oral tales, stories, myths, not just of heroes, but of everything, fascinate him. Trickster gods and benevolent spirits. Cunning heroes and wit-addled monsters. His usual unwavering excitement is muted. Watching the Exorcist was terrifying. That something like this could happen to a child. Something that perverts everything it touches, kills, brings hate. And they were the only hope.

While not supernaturally perceptive, Aidan will take the lead, buckler ready on his arm. "Just tell us what to do. You are the expert here."
Tamamo     It being the dead of Winter, the new year being brought in, and a place north of New York, it'd be more surprising if it wasn't freezing. Since it is, and Tamamo-no-mae is known to be aligned with the opposing position of Summer, it follows that she has brought some means by which to combat this environmental issue. Specifically, she's wearing an enormous fur-lined coat, the front covered in buttons and pockets, and her face obscured even with the hood down, as the fuzzy muffler visible within covers a bit past her chin. Her voice, thankfully, is not hard to make out.

    "As the father said. The matter has been explained to me, and I shall be focused upon the matter of dealing with hostile spirits. Should the forest, as well, be so affected... is that a recent tale, or an old one, of it having its own mind, I wonder? If it is an old one, perhaps I should first examine this. If it is a recent one, perhaps it is related to the travel of the one we seek."
Hibiki Tachibana     Exorcisms and matters of the spirit, at least in this vein, not Hibiki's 'thing' in the least. She has a very small selection of skills she considers herself any good at, and this is far from one of them.

    But that won't especially stop her this time, and the reasons aren't that complicated - after getting the basic outline of the situation explained by Berislav, leaving Michael unfound and Father Garcia ostracized for trying to do what he thought was right just wasn't an outcome she could learn about and then not do anything about it. That'd be...

    ...Besides. She'd like to be able to give Berislav a hand, too. Taking some time out for that is more than fine.

    "You're helping out with this, huh, Tamamo...?" Trusting that the problem of light will be taken care of by one of the several others, Hibiki is off to the side; contrasting her usual outfit, she's wearing a thick beige knit-sweater with a winter scarf and earmuffs, along with thick pants to stave off the cold. Which, of course, have pockets for her to shove her gloved hands into. And she sounds a little surprised - although of the pleasant kind.

    If body language is anything to go off of, her presence makes Hibiki seem a little more at ease about this entire thing. Or maybe just seeing her in that massive coat takes some of the edge of existing in this unnerving forest off. "...Right. House before anything else. Let's get a move on."

    For her part in the 'spreading out' aspect of things, Hibiki will be one of the ones taking up the group's rear. She can keep a better eye on everyone else from a position like that, and assuming something tries to sneak up on them, she'd naturally rather herself be more at risk than any of the others. Once they're moving, boots crunching on the frigid forest floor below, she gets to at least one of the questions going through her head.

    "I don't really know the first thing about possessions. And I know it's too early to say, but... ...what are the odds that whatever this 'entity' is has some kinda connection to what happened in that house? ...The Martin House."
Powerpuff Girls Buttercup's general alignment towards Brick was shocking and interesting, taken together, but only in the particular tawdry by now context of 'A Powerpuff and a Rowdyruff working together'. This hadn't been unusual for at least ten Christmas Specials.

Likewise, her communication with Brick was narrow and to the point .
>> Hey. :brick:. Get your birds and come to Connecticut. There's some junk going down and I'm not running the Greek and Latin through Google translate. My phone might get some kind of crab virus.

It wasn't until he showed up (with Boomer) that Buttercup actually explained anything. On some level she didn't know.

On another level the emerald Puff had reflexively called the only occult experts she could trust.

In a grey hoodie jacket and black suspender shorts with distressed leggings and hiking boots, Buttercup glances over the map lit in the palm of the robot's hand under camera light, crosses her arms, and lifts big incredulous greens to Berislav.

"Really? As closely to ordinary as possible?" She scoffs, rough toned and low in her chest with her words. "Whose ordinary? Brick's?"
Meika Kirenai     Connecticut still doesn't have polar bears, so the cold weather hardly is worth it. Meika hasn't found herself wandering back here on invitation, though. Nor, particularly, in any fond hope of seeing the priest she'd last spoken to- but instead, out of retributive spite. If he'll talk behind my back while pretending he wasn't just at that unit to clean out a crime scene, I'll just have to catch enough to screw him over in return. It's only fair. He shouldn't have done that.

    Without knowledge of demons, of location, of mission plan, of exorcisms of the kind meant here, Meika wrapped herself up in warm-ish clothes (her usual letterman, a baseball tee, a thermal layer beneath that, old, ripped jeans, and leather boots that make slush splash in asphalt-tinted messes), and slunk back off to Bridgeport, hellbent on gathering up that dirt. Nobody pays much mind to a scowling teen, not as she nurses a cigarette, and not as she tucks herself up on a bus stop bench, keeping a sketchbook in her lap to seem busy. Nobody has any reason to guess at all the secrets she'll be overhearing, in passerbies and their conversations, their mumblings to themselves, their thoughts.

    'Michael' is too common a term to pick much up on, but sightings of Somethings, mentions of priests, especially one specific scary one, and any minute whisper of the Watch is enough to catch her interest- and while fingers start to numb under coat-cuffs, the pencil she's not really even drawing with long forgotten, piecing together the 'where' and 'when' of arrangements takes hours- but only hours. Bus stop routes memorized enough by proximity make plotting out her way to this 'Snake Meadow Hill Road' close to painless, even if the transit time isn't. But maybe I'll be able to feel my fingers again by the end of it, at least. Aha.

    With winter's early sunsets, Meika winds up walking down the same path the other Elites had congregated on, her footsteps silent as she trudges along. She carries no light, save the faintest ember of a stubby cigarette, and poses quite the jumpscare falling in with the gathering crowd without even as much as the sound of her heartbeat.

    "What're you planning on doing to this house, Father? Something you'll have to handle police over, again?" Her silence broken, with a piercing, inhumanly red glare the priest's way. "I hope you don't mind too much that I invited myself." With hands in her pockets, she makes a shrugging gesture, opening her coat lightly, in the way that makes someone almost look winged. Seeing Tamamo involved is comforting- but does zap away some of the self-satisfaction of chancing upon '(percieved) enemy machinations', that a fellow Paladin is not just here to oversee, but as a specialist for aid.

    "What's all this about an entity, though?" For all the bluster, she's really not *quite* sure what's going on. She gives Hibiki a quiet glance, without betraying much emotion to it, and steps back a bit from the crowd.

    As the Elites all futz about with marching order and set off, Meika declines to keep a fixed position in the group- circling around the perimeter, from front to back and front again, both out of curiosity, and how in the silent darkness, with muffled footfalls and no need for light, staying in an undetermined spot makes it harder for anyone to glare her way. And sticking only near the front seems kind of spooky. I can hear just fine from anywhere.
Tamamo     The curious magpies do capture Tamamo's curious attention for several moments, though she decides not to comment on them. Her thoughts immediately go toward shikigami. Or, perhaps, they were like Lilian's crows. It's enough for her to guess that Brick is another expert, if in different fields.

    Aidan's voice gives her a moment's pause, after which she says, "Oh, please pardon me. You are rather taller than I expected."

    Between him, Brick, and Boomer, and not remembering that she actually has seen Aidan once before, she takes a moment to ask, "Ah, should I introduce myself, or has the good priest already done so? In either case, I am known as Tamamo-no-mae. As you can see, I am vulnerable to snow, but--" taking in Hibiki's sense of surprise at seeing her here, "--the story related to me was most concerning, and I have some skill in binding. More than most matters, such 'interference' as this possession is an issue I consider within my dominion." That may be an odd way to put it.

    Tamamo's marching position has already been assigned, and she's fine being in the middle, regardless. Her senses for magical disturbances are acute, and aren't substantially diminished by someone else standing in the way. Her hearing is also excellent, but that's not enough to catch footsteps that are truly silent, especially while her attention is focused forward. When Meika appears -- uninvited, Tamamo silently notes -- Tamamo's eyes do not immediately shift between her and Hibiki. No, there's nothing so obvious to betray her thoughts.

    "Chevalier Vermillion," she says, her voice moderately warm despite both the season's cold and her knowledge of the tea. Looking toward Berislav, "There is no issue with another Paladin assisting, I trust?" The implication that she'll take responsibility for it is clear.
Rowdyruff Boys "Just what do you think I consider ordinary?" Brick asks Buttercup, a little sourly. His 'normal' is at least a little performative; though he isn't so unlike Blossom in that regard that using him as a measuring stick for a 'normal' scenario is totally unreasonable. Even so, it's apparently enough of a point of contention to draw his interest.

Towards Tamamo, he says, "I'm Brick. Boy blue is my brother, Boomer. I'm the occultist between us. It's been necessary, since our second father is the devil."

"Heyyy, don't call me--" Boomer begins, but he too is one of the people with ludicrous super-senses, and observes Meika's approach since he's already on edge. His attention turns towards her, and it's probably only Tamamo's early interjection that stops him from raising the alarm.

"She's a liability," Brick opines, but a glance in Berislav's direction suggests that he's deferring to the operation lead on a final call.
Father Berislav What're you planning on doing to this house, Father? Something you'll have to handle police over, again?

    "Had I 'handled' the Bridgeport police department in the way they deserve, most, if not all, would be on their way to meet Christ at the end of days." Whether she agrees with that or not, Meika would have heard plenty from the police if she listened even a little--enough to reveal the fairly contemptuous and bigoted attitude towards the people they're meant to protect. "However--that helps neither Michael nor Father Garcia, to say nothing of fighting symptoms over causes."

There is no issue with another Paladin assisting, I trust?
She's a liability.

    "None whatsoever," says Berislav, lightly shaking his head at Brick. "This might be different from Meika's usual work--but more hands make for easier, and faster, work." He means it--even if he's plainly surprised to see Meika here, considering the breach of trust.

What's all this about an entity, though?
    "In the best possible case, the entity is a spirit. Even then, it's responsible for a grisly murder. In the worst..." He pauses. "It's a demon; a prosecutor sent..." Or, perhaps, invited. "...to make a case against this world in the eyes of the Almighty. If you're prepared to lives, to aid the Holy Spirit in its counter-argument, then you're more than welcome here."

    With that, the priest signals for everyone to start in.
Father Berislav BGM> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrSIw2EPpC4

    The sea of pines and firs is no easier to see in when one enters than it was standing at the 'shore,' so to speak. Though it is late September, there is an unseasonal chill in the air; it seems to linger even when the gentle breeze pauses.

Mister-- Father Berislav, what kind of incident were you talking about? That happened a year ago?

    Berislav grimaces slightly. "A girl named Amy Martin," he says. "Killed her parents and a third party. She's a ward of the state now. I don't know much more than that." Buttercup can tell that he's being truthful--most of the people he asked probably weren't comfortable bringing it up.

Just tell us what to do. You are the expert here.

    "The senior Watchman and Christian theologian, perhaps--enough, at least, to recognize a folk protection when I see one." He smiles, briefly, at Brick. His head turned back to Aidan, he softly continues. "Tamamo is the 'expert,' where Michael is concerned--show that same readiness to help, should she ask you."

    After a few minutes of walking, through shadowed, uneven ground strewn with wild grasses, interwoven roots, pine needles and the occasional stone, there comes a clearing. A deer appears to graze--but its eyes, reflected in moonlight, are locked on you. It runs, like the last, into the cloak of night. An old well sits in the center of the clearing. Near the patch of grass the deer was grazing is something decidedly human, in much the same way as the well.

    It looks like a postcard, or perhaps a photo, small and square. The deer's teeth marks break the sun-bleached plane of the article--which, picked up and brushed clean of substantial dirt by Berislav, is revealed to be an old birthday invitation. Slipping on his reading glasses, he reads aloud:

    "Come celebrate Nate and Jason's 6th birthday." Skipping the date and time for the sheer state of the invitation, he continues. "Turn right at 1338 Snake Meadow Hill Road and go straight past the well." A hand-drawn clown, streaked with dirt and warped by weather, wears a wide, distorted grin. Berislav does not. "That would be the Martin house. But none of the people I spoke with mentioned any children other than Amy..."

Is that a recent tale, or an old one, of it having its own mind, I wonder?

    Berislav removes his glasses and hangs them by the frame upon his clerical collar. "I'm fairly sure it's recent," he says. Most of the people he spoke with seem to think so. "Not so recent as Michael, but recent nonetheless."

...what are the odds that whatever this 'entity' is has some kinda connection to what happened in that house? ...The Martin House.

    "Greater than 'none,'" says the priest, turning over the stained invitation. "With luck, the odds will be on our favor. But even if they aren't, Christ is with us."

Whose ordinary? Brick's?

    Berislav does manage a chuckle, despite the tension in the cold air. "Asked the superhero of the crazed gunman. Yes, 'closely' is doing a lot of heavy lifting, I know."

    'Straight past the well' is easily done, but not easy on the nerves. Something lurks, on the edges of the circle implied by the magpies. Those with acute hearing might first mistake it for a deer. But the gait is too ungainly, pine needles and twigs snapping in an uneven, frenzied cadence. The sound circles hurriedly around, like an insect in search of a crevice. With it, there is breathing--shallow. Giddy. Something further off catches its attention.

    Meika, in particular, can hear an unspoken thought, dancing at the edge of the tongue, as the frenzied, inhuman shambling picks up with renewed purpose. It's the same anxious, eager excitement that ought to be reserved for a surprise party, but stained through thoroughly with evil intent.

                                   WORSHIP ME                                  
Meika Kirenai 'Chevalier Vermillion,'

    Even spoken warmly, Meika braces for a moment, expecting an incoming lecture. When that doesn't come, and her wince relaxes, guilty shame fills the gaps in, that she'd wind up ever so slightly getting vouched for. Can't I be responsible for myself? I chose to get involved. I don't need to be looked after.

    She doesn't say anything, though, instead opting to wring her hands together, the numbness deeper than she'd like. Chipped nails don't hide the purple tint under them well, and bright-red plaster band-aids don't provide insulation. Any silenced breath of hers emits steam even when it's not exhaling smoke.

'She's a liability,'

    In the dim, nearly-nonexistent light, the easiest aspects of Meika to see are her irises as she rolls them in Brick's direction.
Powerpuff Girls 'Just what do you think I consider ordinary?'

Buttercup points up at the eight magpies orbiting the local Red's head.

Looking to Meika with a similar degree of expectation of another Watch plus one and seeing a Paladin instead doesn't yet move the emerald Puff's needle. She has a very stiff needle that sticks sometimes, admittedly.
Aidan Proudpick Aidan flashes his teeth at Tamano, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, "Blimey."

Another wiggle of the nose. How many people here use a proper shampoo. Boomer and the Father are probably the three in ones he smells... While Aidan is trying to count in his head and determine if the scent of Meika is new, she is already upon them. He turns around, startled, but then relaxes. "Oh, this is a Christian thing, right? Can you help?"

Tamano is the expert.

A quick nod from Aidan at the Father, then another nod at Tamano, this time without the toothy smile and the lame joke, to show he is going to do just that.

He has snow shoes, but they aren't exactly in good condition. Rough leather and faded wool poke out of the tops of the strange animal shaped boots as he navigates the forest, looking up towards the deer. There it is again. That movement deliberate. Not fear. His eyes follow it out into the darkness.

His attention comes back to the Father, hearing him read out the birthday card, frowning. He has heard ghost stories of children. That thought, trying to remember the campfire stories he listened to on the radio last halloween, to the sounds. Too many feet? Moving too fast? Aidan reaches to his side, retrieving his gun, other arm lifting the shield up. "A predator is coming. I don't think it's human or animal. Bug, maybe?"
Rowdyruff Boys "Magpies are involved in a lot of occult superstitions. Some of them are not so pretty. I like them anyway, though," Brick says to Bersilav, when he observes the 'folk protection'. A part of the reason he failed to notice Meika, when Boomer didn't, is that he's keeping a particular eye on the birds. One of them disappearing says something about the situation that they're in.

//But none of the people I spoke with mentioned any children other than Amy...//

"Is the year legible?" Brick asks, without looking.

"Is... is it important?" Boomer wonders.

"Maybe."

"You eight, in," Brick chirps, incomprehensible to most of the group. The eight magpies tighten their flight path to the inner circle around Brick, Tamamo, and whoever else happens to be of the 'occult interior' formation.

At the outer perimeter, Boomer directs to Meika: "Don't worry too much about Brick, he's the designated paranoid brother. It's good when you need that kinda thing in play, and frustrating the rest of the time."

Towards Buttercup, Brick replies, "My usage of animal communication is at least seventy five percent lower than your sister's. This isn't that strange."
Hibiki Tachibana     "Meika--!? What are you..." Hibiki's startled perk-up at Meika's close to literal jumpscare arrival doesn't exactly hit the level of exclaiming out loud or anything like that - they were entering this forest on guard for anything, after all - but it's not the muted surprise she had for Tamamo's appearance either. It is, patently, confusion that she's shown up at all--especially given her unpleasant experience with Berislav before.

    "...doing here?" She finishes the thought, tilting her head between her, Tamamo, and Berislav. There's some wary expectation at what the one whom called them all out here and what the only other Paladin around might think of this, but when both of them give the okay, Hibiki loses some built-up tension the same as when the bunrei's presence reassured her a bit. ...I'm glad. That it worked out.

    She won't let that stop her from keeping pace with the group though, forward and onward while maintaining her spot at the back, watching the most recent of their arrivals switch between ranges whenever she's not turning her head at noises. It's not like she'd pick up anything that the others tuned for picking up on things wouldn't, but she does so anyway until they make it to the clearing.

    Hibiki squints at the deer, and remains glancing off to where it disappeared as Berislav repeats the note. "It sounds like... they were twins? It sure /sounds/ like it's the same house..." There's a low sound from somewhere in her throat. Yeah, that's just a little creepy. Or maybe it's the atmosphere making it feel more so. As they step onward, she doesn't have the kind of senses that can pick up anything explicit - but her hairs are staying on end, and Aidan clearly knows something is wrong, so a hand comes up to rest on her collar.

    Ready to act on a moment's notice, there's no doubt about that. "Not human or animal can't mean anything good here." Her voice is suddenly a lot steadier and clearer - maybe because of the sense of immediate danger. "But I'm pretty sure there aren't going to be any predatory /bugs/ around here."
Charlotte Newman     Berislav's flinch tells Charlotte more than his words do. The way her own expression changes implies immediate regret in even asking him to relive what he was told just to share it. She exhales slowly, casting her eyes out into the shadowy woods again while her thumb's typing makes little click-clicks on the phone keyboard.

    Martin House; Amy Martin? Ward of the state

    She listens quietly, sticking her other hand into her coat pocket with a muffled noise. It's only when the priest finds something that she glances his way again. Helpfully she shines light on it-- and takes its photo while he makes out the text.

    > "But none of the people I spoke with mentioned any children other than Amy..."

    Charlotte glances towards Berislav's face, then back at her phone, using her fingertips to zoom in on the invitation's mangled lettering, "Did someone buy the house since the incident, maybe..? When was this... So washed out..."

    She's at least aware of the others and of the magpies. Meika's arrival she's assumed is connected to Tamamo; they're both Paladins. The mahou gets a somewhat stern look from Charlotte before she goes back to her detective work, "Try not to imitate your hero or anything."

    It's only now that she's become aware of something skittering in the dark. Already on edge just from the eeriness of these cold woods, Charlotte glances up and out at the trees again. When she hears that noise again, she jerks her head and her light in that direction, "What's-- what's out there?" She tries her best to get any glimpse of what it is-- just knowing might settle her nerves. It probably won't.
Tamamo     'I'm Brick. Boy blue is my brother, Boomer.'

    "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tamamo says, evoking sincerity even in the rote phrase.

    "A devil, you say? Oh, I do believe I have heard some speak of this." Hearing the 'a/the' distinction is hard for her, but this was covered on the radio at some point.

    'Not so recent as Michael, but recent nonetheless.'

    "The cause is likely distinct, and the more complex for it, then."

    '...to make a case against this world in the eyes of the Almighty.'

    "A 'prosecutor,' is it... that, too, would complicate matters. I should hope that we find one that may be bested solely with 'power,' of which we have a good deal. It is ever more troublesome when one must establish 'authority,' in its place, though this a matter not outside my own experience."

    The sound circles hurriedly around, like an insect in search of a crevice.

    "We have most assuredly been found, and are being tested." Tamamo's voice is strangely relaxed for this being the case. Her ears stand tall, head slowly turning to track the sound where it moves outside her sight.

    'A predator is coming.'

    "It is most like to either hope that one of us may chase after it and be more easily caught, or that we shall all go after it, and thereby become trapped at once." Without knowing what it is, Tamamo's guessing, but that guess covers a lot of what 'something encountered under these circumstances' could be doing. "No exorcist of my knowledge has found good success in chasing mysterious beings through the woods -- as have few hunters, for that matter. It would be best for us to find its dwelling, if this is our quarry, and complete our business, there."

    Her attention only goes to the birthday invitation afterward. Something about it visibly distracts her. "Twins, is it? Six years, yet unknown...? No, surely they were known, after six years, and with others invited to celebrate. Is this some older, unrelated family?" Checking the year would answer that.

    She should be asking if they're still on the path to the house, or divining the path or the nature of the thing following them. Those are more obviously pressing issues. Instead, Tamamo is walking toward Berislav and the well, reaching out her hands, and pulling off one of her gloves. "Might I see it?"

    She only needs to touch an item, something that contained some significant feelings of its prior bearers, or that has suffered some marked twists of fate, to perform her seer's work upon it, and peek into an important moment in its past.
Meika Kirenai '...doing here?'

    "What are you, Ta- Miss Tachibana? This isn't your world either." She shrugs, as if that answers anything- but it's not as if she's privy to Watch communiques on missions like this.

'Don't worry too much about Brick, he's the designated paranoid brother.'

    "Maybe he's right. Maybe I'll ruin everything." A short pause, and she takes a drag of her cigarette, before tossing it off into the darkness. "Yeah. Don't worry about it. I get it."

{Or, perhaps, invited.}
'...to make a case against this world in the eyes of the Almighty.'

    "I'm not in debate club." She's not in any clubs, actually. "I can do my best. But this world's not really..." She shrugs. It's hard to have much positive to say, from all the surface thoughts and overheard words she's spent her afternoon and evening skimming. Tired, busy, oft-harried citizens in a dreary season such as this rarely have anything positive on their minds- especially not those crowding around delayed bus stops, with a girl disheveled enough to not glance twice at, but still come up with all manner of assumptions about. It's really never worth it to tune in like that. I know I shouldn't. And it's not even fun.

'Killed her parents and a third party.'

    "Don't even know why? Or who the third party is..?" Her phrasing implies accusation, but Meika's tone shifts softer and plainer for a moment, as close to genuine as she's brave enough to sound, with this present company.

    Walking in the woods is oddly peaceful. She likes the quiet, she likes the crunch of everyone else's footfalls. And- while scary to be stared at with, she even likes how the deer's eyes reflect off the faint light. They're so pretty, when they stand frozen and still like that. It's like they see everything. Looking even when they don't have a reason to. Listening for anything and everything. And the antlers...

'Oh, this is a Christian thing, right? Can you help?'

    Oh. I recognize your voice. In the moment it's said, Meika just throws a look Aidan's way. But, further along the trek, she draws back upon his words. Glancing down at the birthday invitation, and listening to the mutterings about it, Meika copies the format, tone flat. "This is a toddler thing, right? Can you help?"
Meika Kirenai 'Not so recent as Michael, but recent nonetheless.'

    Back to serious, Meika clears her throat, coughing doing little to help the cold, dry air's soreness. "If you're following him, do you think this is why he's there, too? Saw the invitation..?" Her hands shift in her pockets, and, without thinking, Meika hops up to sit on the rim of the well. As if the words just fall out, she mumbles aloud, "...Can't remember the last time I went to a birthday party. Maybe he just missed them, or..."

'Christ is with us.'

    A sardonic 'Amen' snaps the magical girl out of it, and gives her an excuse to hop down and carry on, skirting back to the edges of the group, and back to being hard to pin down. She, too, can lurk around the edges of things- but she does stop dead-still, still silent, when she hears the thoughts and shambling. {"Who's there?"} She whispers, nigh-directionless words projected only towards where it sounds like the shambling is coming from. {"Who are you? You don't sound warm, like-"} She stops talking. Nobody you should worship would ask like that. And nobody you should worship would sound warm or cold. Stop it. Regroup. It's dangerous.

    Quietly, silently, Meika pulls the handgun that's been weighing down her coat pocket out, and undoes its safety without even so much as a click.
Powerpuff Girls It wasn't that the Powerpuffs had never walked through a spooky forest before, not really. There were as many Halloween Specials as there were Christmas Specials, save one - the Girls sprung from their cauldron in November, so there was always to be one less measure of darkness before the light in them.

But there had been spooky forests, ones with trees close and cold, and ground leaf-strewn and wet, and the cold slush of near-ice and dirty-cold and dark canopies gripped by winter in reality, winter in tactile expression and not the golden runway-walk of its fashion in white.

Cold and miserable and choked was the ambience, with Buttercup tromping through the forest on the outside of the group. Not the keen-minded commander, the emerald Puff took her vanguard position as serious as a hike, hopping weightfully over stumps and trapsing along heavily, only stopping...

At the picture. Buttercup scans her sight-line, listening and taking a closed-eyed breathing moment to focus on her surroundings and deeper, for life in the surrounds, for the sussuration of winter winds through cool branches, for... anything. For danger, most of all, the sharp jagged points of onrushing worry towards her, and follows the frenzied and 'spooked' motion she can follow within her perceptive range.

"It can do all the lifting it wants if it can move the weight." Buttercup grumbles, paused and waiting as Berislav reads. "Miss Tamamo, if you can test for age, could you? Or you, Padre? Nobody makes up fake birthday cards and leaves them out in the woods for no reason." The punk puff reasons dully. "Bubbles talks to critters a lot, sure, but I bet it only gets that high if you're counting 'Let's Talk To Birds!' streams, and if you are, you shouldn't." She continues, eyes lifting to the treeline. "And I'm not hearing that many talking at all, beyond the ones Brick brought with him. Is there any landmarks or clearings or paths on the way between here and there? Do you know? I guess if we're going to get jumped. . ."

Buttercup's shrug is lost in the collarfluff of her grey jacket. "They're all the same. If we haven't yet... What're we supposed to find first?"
Father Berislav Don't even know why? Or who the third party is..?

    "I couldn't find anyone who knew," says Berislav. It checks out, if she bothers to listen, in the way that only she can. It doesn't exactly reassure me to find the veil of secrecy drawn so soon after the start of an investigation like this.

Is the year legible?
Did someone buy the house since the incident, maybe..? When was this... So washed out...
No, surely they were known, after six years, and with others invited to celebrate. Is this some older, unrelated family?

    "1986," answers Berislav. "It's presently September of 1987, here." It only raises more questions. Did the twins escape, somehow? Perhaps visiting relatives? Or were they left out of all the stories the priest--and Meika--were told?

It sounds like... they were twins? It sure /sounds/ like it's the same house...

    "Undoubtedly," says the priest. "The Martins lived there for years." If they are related to this, we'll have to ask about the twins. Why didn't anyone mention them?

Might I see it?

    "Of course," says Berislav, handing it over.

    The year is 1986. Cindie Marie Martin sits in an empty house, dutifully working on an invitation. Others lie complete--as do a few childish scribbles, signed 'NATE' and 'JASON.' Children as small as Nate and Jason ought to be here, under supervision--but they aren't. Despite that, the woman, with her half-up blonde hairstyle and her modest, wide-collared blouse, looks like the picture of a proud parent, smiling brightly. The ring of a phone interrupts her work, and she gets up, setting her colored pencil down. Curiously, yet urgently, she bounds into the kitchen. "Bob!"

    "Hi, honey," she says, twirling the cord around her finger. "Yeah," she says, looking over her shoulder, at an unusually old-looking doll on the table. A calendar on the fridge verifies the date on the invitation--May 1986. "Your present came the other day." Her brow furrows slightly with worry, as she looks at it. It looks distinctly unlike anything the contemporary world would produce. "Amy... well, I think she appreciates the gesture. It might make her a little self-conscious, working at the clinic."

    She smiles, and sighs dreamily. "... Oh, same old. We're all waiting for you to get back!" Cindy's features shift, to a confused frown, her index pinching the phone cord. "Who else? Me, Amy, Nate, and Jason. ...of course I've been taking it. Every day. I feel fine. What does that have to do with the twins?" An uncomfortable pause from the other end of the phone line. "Bob, I've spent the last hour working on invitations with them." An anxious pause, on her end. "For their sixth birthday," she says. "What else?"

    "No--Bob. Bob, when you talk about 'letting go' like that, it scares me. Can we talk about something else? ...okay. Thank you." A sharp sigh of relief. The vision ends.
Father Berislav      Through a narrow bottleneck of trees that feels more tightly packed than it is, comes another clearing. Upon Meika's visit to neighboring Bridgeport, there had been a freak snowstorm. Sterling had been hit, too, and though it's since melted, evidence of its passing is found here, in the forest--the way long-gone rivulets of melted ice have left their marks in the soil. Those same marks are seen, in the resting arrangement and alignment of pine needles.

     That isn't all that the melted snow disturbed. Gleaming in the moonlight is the half-dissolved remnants of some sort of man-made marking. Like the invitation from earlier, the general state of it looks as though it's been here much longer than just a few days. White, It's too elaborate to have been left for any business or governmental concern. Overhead, the magpies cry a warning call, as if the sight of this half-dissolved circle were on obscenity, looked upon from on high.

What're we supposed to find first?

     "The well a little ways back was our 'first.' Beyond that, everyone in town corroborated the invitation. 'Straight forward.'" He frowns, looking at the markings. "There wasn't any mention of something like this."

    Tamamo, Brick and Boomer may still recognize it, despite the toll of the elements. What angles and curves still exist could very well suggest the bottom portion of an inverted pentagram. Tamamo, in particular, can glean some cold comfort--what power it once held has been stripped. Very recently, in fact.

A predator is coming. I don't think it's human or animal. Bug, maybe?

    "Maybe." Berislav nods. The heavy -click- of one of his heavy revolvers penetrates the oppressive quiet of the forest. Still, the priest holds hope. "Michael?" he calls out, his free hand cupped near his mouth.

    A silence fills the air--as if the whole forest were quiet, for an unbearably long few seconds.

                                 "FATHER ... !"                                

    A chilling perversion of a human voice, reedy and raw, echoes through motionless rows of towering trees. The frenzied, uneven rustling of pine needles grows closer once again--frightened, from whatever it sought, and emboldened, either by Berislav's call or Brick's command to the magpies. It grows rapidly closer, and closer, less covert in its approach. So, too, does the eager, queasily giddy shallow breathing.

    Faster than a human sprinting on two legs, there breaks from the treeline a hideous caricature. Bowed legs and a visible, knobby spine rapidly undulate. The moon shines on pale, papery skin covered in cuts and bruises suffered at the hands of the elements. A drooling, grinning maw is wide open, blood red eyes alight with naked glee as Michael races towards Meika. Her gun isn't reflected in those crazed, red pools, but he sees it. He has to. Nothing you should worship would tear itself apart, just to hurt you. And yet--

                              "YOU KNOW NOTHING!"                              

    Berislav wheels around, pulling the trigger. A massive bullet curves harmlessly around Aidan and Meika, impacting the cold, hard forest ground. Hard-packed earth and fragments of roots send up a warding spray of natural debris that knock Michael briefly onto his side, exposing his emaciated ribs. Unnatural strength sees him back on all fours, snarling.

    "Tamamo!" Berislav calls, holding out his silver crucifix. Either the sight of it, or the foiled ambush, sets the hideous, crawling creature running for the treeline, and inhumanly fast, at that. "Keep in sight of each other! Don't let him escape!" The report of his gun is like thunder in the forest, the fall of earthen debris back to earth like the patter of rain. He's trying to corral, with tools meant to destroy--and Michael is likewise trying his best to do what will hurt the most, erratically darting around in an effort to make his escape as injurious as possible.
Rowdyruff Boys "'A' in the pan-multiversal sense only. He is the prime manifestation of opposition in our world," Brick explains to Tamamo, evidently unbothered but interested in getting the details right for informational purposes. That's just the kind of person that he is.

//Yeah. Don't worry about it. I get it.//

"Hmm... do you?" Boomer wonders. His thoughts aren't as loaded as his words. He's a little uncertain about Meika, but compared to Brick he's sunshine and rainbows in general. It's just not like him to think as badly of somebody as Meika suggests she thinks about herself. Sometimes, even when it's warranted.

//but I bet it only gets that high if you're counting 'Let's Talk To Birds!' streams//

"If you make friends with the crows," Brick explains, "you can do a lot of trading, no questions asked. Sometimes material, sometimes informative. Regardless, they're some of the smartest beings in any city you're going to visit. You can also try rats, but they're a little less generous."

//1986. It's presently September of 1987, here.//

Brick nods. "There are probably records, if we have to dig in that fashion. Or an absence of records... though, it looks as if we'll have our answers sooner than that." He glances towards Tamamo, and then forward. The 'second' is an old magic circle.

"Ritual magic. But broken. Recently, from the look of it. I can't sense the magic of it, but I can see the patterns a lot closer than most of you can. I'm sure Buttercup can see it, too," he says, folding his arms over his chest.

Boomer jumps at the awful voice. It's worse when he actually sees it, though, his face twisting in a grimace of disgust. "What IS it? It's kind of..."

"Up! Heat vision!" Brick barks.

Boomer hovers above head-height in a flicker of motion, his eyes blazing red for a moment before a wide cone of heat spills down at an angle, focusing on Michael-- perhaps probing the parameters of his endurance.
Aidan Proudpick Aidan rolls his eyes, "This is serious. We are out here to help someone." He turns his head away from Meika back out to the circle. "Focus on the help part."

Fortunately, Meika doesn't know this is fairly hypocritical, since he did try to make Kale's face fall off while they were helping Neko. The similarity of the situations is up for minor debate.

Something moves in closer. Hearing Tamamo talk about the incident, however brief. He did lie to many people. He told them his mother was dead. She died in the way. It was all better than the truth. But he still knew the truth. He didn't humor himself.

A sudden movement. A voice. Aidan's ears and head snap around, his arm comes around, holding the semi-automatic steam punk gun out, his buckler hand coming up quickly to brace it. His finger is already squeezing the trigger, when Berislav's 'Michael' sinks in. Aidan jerks his hand at the last second, the bullet firing off into a tear with a loud CRACK of wood. Aidan lays eyes on the creature.

The movie was not far off. But seeing it in muted colors and film grain is one thing. Seeing it ahead of you is another. The way it moves impossibly. The spine bent, not like a person is capable of, but an outside force, an entity, bending a toy further than it should go. Limbs that move faster, sliding in ways that they shouldn't.

And doing so in a way that could cause harm, the most harm, ruining the body. Just out of spite? Aidan's eyes widen in shock. This is torture. Pure torture. For them. For Michael.

The gun drops from his fingers. He isn't going to need that. But attempting to draw breath, to bring out a wall, a shield, any sort of thing to push Michael down, struggles. Only brief gasps of wind burst out of him as he tries to bring his senses together and BREATHE.
Charlotte Newman     Unable to spot anything yet, the nervous girl lowers her phone again and takes a deep breath. It must just be nerves. She tries to tame them by focusing on the device in her hands.

    Charlotte dutifully enters the years into her notes as well when Berislav proves faster at translating the weather-worn ink faster than herself. Photos are properly sorted and attached. As organized as ever.

    She hadn't thought to photograph the well, though when it's brought up again, she glances back as if thinking she should go back and do so. This thought is forgotten when she stumbles into such an ominous, intentionally formed clearing. She freezes in place, only her eyes moving across it from side to side. Just being here feels--wrong.

    She briefly wonders what the Other Side must be like here. Only a heartbeat later, she discards the idea. Instead, she slowly lifts her phone and adds another photo to the album related to this case.

> "FATHER ... !"

    That horrid, inhuman sound practically inspires Charlotte to fly. She can't, so she merely nearly jumps out of her skin. She hasn't even landed from her shrieking jump before her Persona has twisted out of her silhouette. Galatea lifts her arm cannon to the ready, Charlotte staring wide-eyed now at the creature that's been bowled over, then repelled.

    "Wh-what IS it..!?"

> "Keep in sight of each other! Don't let him escape!"

    Berislav takes off, the others explode into motion. Charlotte remains where she is, mired in disbelief, "Wait, we're trying to *catch* that?!"

    She sucks in a shuddering breath, then lets it out a little more smoothly. Okay. Okay. It just-- startled me. I can do this. She kicks off to join the pursuit, Galatea floating behind her while she fumbles with the clip holding her bat to her purse strap.

    Giving up on that, Charlotte calls out, "Galatea! Bufudyne!"

    The Persona behind her reacts by aiming and firing a shot of pale blue argon-tinged light in a parabolic arc. It bursts in the air with a bright *crack*, forcing ice downward in an effort to freeze the fleeing Michael or entrap him in a circle of icy spikes.
Powerpuff Girls Buttercup doesn't like it, the wandering-in of Paladins and their plus-ones notwithstanding. A few extra faces for the big cross-organizational team-up in the spooky forest of awfulness during the delightful time period of 'anywhere Buttercup had to explain her personal sense of style to authority' wasn't that big a deal. Even if they tossed lit cigarettes out into the forest.

Buttercup was momentarily caught staring at Meika, lost in a green-eyed vision of an anthropomorphic bear trying and failing to stop illegal camping on Federal reserve land until the Lumpkins Clan could be historically relocated back to their own land, via zips of flight and swings of fuzzy fists. It was very allegorical, a lesson of the times, and went on to be the most popular wildfire prevention video the California Forestry Service ever produced.

"Hey, is that--" Buttercup asks, before briefly transforming into a bolt of emerald light that zaps past the magical girl as she razzes Aidan to catch the tossed cigarette and pinch it out mid-air.

Then, with a handful of cigarette, but very definitely out, the green Puff zaps back to her original position and drops the cigarette a second time into the dirty snow, patting down her hands and glancing up as she hears a sound --

    --frantic breathing--
        --and the lurid lope of a human moving as a creature.

"Watch out!" Buttercup shouts sharply, and disappears in a toy laser gun diffusing 'skeww!' of instant speed. Light's fast but Buttercup is faster, looping around a tree to round on 'Michael's' flailing body after Boomer's heat beam, leading with an elbow and forearm at blazing speeds only to see it's a ''person'' and pulling a little short with her tackle.

Right up until the possessedly inhuman flailings of the shouting demon wheel on the Powerpuff with a swung arm, throwing her into a tree and crunching trunk-bendingly into the dense dark wood. Head lolling as she shakes off her momentarily dazed state, a thick bank of snow plops onto her from above.

It melts off, rolling over the piled-to-steaming-soaked Puff while her eyes glow a bright emerald. "Okay." Buttercup says. "Haunt has hands. It's not even Halloween."

Diving back in, leaning off the tree into an impossible air-stop and burning a bright green shock of light across the forest to dive in again, regardless of the flailing Michael with a new plan. Tackle? Bad. Tackle and hold? Much better! Genius plans.
Tamamo     Tamamo can understand some of the vision -- brief, for everyone else involved, however much time it takes to subjectively experience the past moment. Half a conversation, and of a foreign land, but the cards, the scribbles, the names, the concern, the words that are said -- she understands enough.

<J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "1986, for certain. I see a mother making cards, but her children... no... the twins are not there. Were they there at all? A loss she could not overcome."
<J-IC-Scene> Aidan Proudpick says, "That's... I've lied to other people. Are you saying she was lying to herself?"
<J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "That she thought her twins did live, while they did not, is clear enough--" At the screaming and gunshot, "Ware!"

    While she has some unfortunate experience in being a fox who was chased, Tamamo is not well-built for chasing, compared to some here -- the Rowdyruffs and Powerpuff, for sure. Roughly expecting what's about to happen, mirrored in Berislav's call for all to stay in sight, Tamamo calls out, "Go! I am following!"

    Knee-high brown boots with high, rubber heels, matching her coat, leave clear prints as she bounds over the ice-disturbed soil. Her balance, at least, is good. It's only her top speed that's nothing terribly special.

    "Tachibana-san!" Being a well-known punchgirl, Tamamo has no doubt that she's fully capable of rushing ahead, as well, but that would break their formation and lead to just what Tamamo was warning about earlier, even if this turns out to be the only malevolent entity nearby -- of which, she's definitely convinced. "Guard our rear, if you please! I must focus on the fore."

    It's less strategizing and more an aghast sort of grumbling when she says, "It is as if it means to destroy him as slowly as possible while troubling others."

    Trying to safely hit it with anything under these circumstances, while also being wary of an ambush, is basically impossible for her. The best Tamamo can do is pull a paper talisman out of her pocket, hold it aloft, and implore any of the several others here capable of flight or superspeed, "Throw this toward it, please!"

    It's offered in haste, but was prepared beforehand with meticulous care. Knowing roughly what to expect, Tamamo's made sure to stock plenty of spiritual binding charms to lock down whatever they run into, to give time to get a better look at the specifics of what they're dealing with.
Hibiki Tachibana     What are you, Ta- Miss Tachibana? This isn't your world either.

    There's a scratch on the cheek. "It's not, but Berislav did call us out here. So I was surprised you showed up not knowing anything about it..." Hibiki is serious about that. She's not against her /being/ here, but the fact she is (and the why) are still slipping. She is Unknowing.

    Innocent worries like that don't get to last very long, though. Since it's been confirmed that they're not alone at all, she's remained on edge and ready. The deeper they delve, the worse it gets--she doesn't especially understand the worn-out symbol they come across, but she certainly processes the awful scream that's leveled in their direction.

    Oh.

    The horrible posture, the emphasized spine, and the overall terrible state of the being leaves Hibiki entirely unsure of what she's looking at for a few moments, but the ear-ringing boom of Berislav's firearm snaps her right out of it. "Is /that/ Michael!? Are you serious!?" Her wide eyes shoot to the priest for a second, then shift back to the escaping 'creature'. He's tearing himself apart even while trying to scramble away...

    Dropping all pretense of fear, Hibiki begins breaking off into a sprint, tugging down at the collar of her sweater and digging down past it to clutch at the crimson pendant hanging beneath. Her brow furrows as she yanks it free, and--

    Tachibana-san!

    "Tamamo!? But--" Hibiki pauses, skidding to a stop, looking back over her shoulder...before her request along with recalling why they were in formation in the first place jabs itself back into her skull. There's a split second of hesitation before it sinks in, before her mouth closes back up and she gives a curt nod. /Not/ joining the chase is obviously something that doesn't sit well with her...

    ...but they've got most of the others on it already, including Buttercup, who is extremely capable of fulfilling all punchgirl-related needs in her stead. So Hibiki remains back at the rear, warily maintaining her position and ensuring nothing might sneak up on Tamamo especially. She's still ready to transform on a dime, if she has to.

    She also looks heavily unsettled, even with only that small glance at 'Michael'. "Maybe that's... exactly what whatever's possessing him is trying to do..." How she feels about that possibility is evident in her voice.
Meika Kirenai     There's only a slight guilty pout from Meika as Buttercup properly disposes of the cigarette she threw. "H-hey, it wasn't going to burn, or something, the ground's..." Meika toes the dirt, soft, if not still wet. "Sorry." The murmur replaces further explanation, and Meika looks away from the other girl.

'So I was surprised you showed up not knowing anything about it...'

    "Yeah. Probably good that it's a surprise. I didn't tell anyone I would be." She didn't even know it would be happening, until a decent number of hours ago, and even then, what she knew was shaky. But Meika doesn't admit that part. She just shrugs Hibiki's way, and turns to face somewhere else.
'I couldn't find anyone who knew,'

    Meika sighs. She does press deeper, if only out of momentum, to keep her guard up, here. But it being truth is far less to sink her teeth into than there being more to it. No payoff, nothing to make it worth it. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

    Even if nobody, not even Meika, can hear it, the magical girl likes the squelch her bootfalls make in the few spots of muddy ground, the scuffling of the needles laying above it. It's the texture of being outside, away from things like city lights and rattling railways. So when magpies cry, and the forest goes silent, far from how it ought to feel, and out to sound like, the comfort falls away like curtains.

    It's horrible. The noise, the sound of the creature's voice, even more so than the appearance. Meika shivers where she stands, from more than any ambient chill. She raises her gun in front of herself, feet unmoving, as if it forms a barrier. But Berislav is quicker to the punch, and as his bullet soars past, the gunshot echoing across her surroundings and marking them out to her senses like a signal flare, thoughts of firing stance and the gun itself go out the window.

    With a faint f-f-flicker, even before Meika has pulled out her sketchbook, she's kicking off against the ground to dash away, utilizing the momentary opening- untransformed, she's no knight, no super hero- but she's still an athlete at heart, the motions come easy enough.

    As she finds herself behind a tree, still uncomfortably close to Michael, still able to tell where he is without looking, Meika realizes her shiver is a full-on tremble. This isn't the Temptations. This is something else. Trap, don't kill, right? Even if it's an actual evil spirit...

    As much as the being's appearance is monstrous, it's human enough too that pointing the gun again feels ugly, heavy, and bitter. She pulls a page out of her pocket with her free hand, and brings it to her chest in the signature flash of actually transforming--
Meika Kirenai     --and immediately, with a muffled thunderclap, Chevalier Vermillion is kicking off from the opposite side of the tree, leaving skate-gouges in it and the boughs above shaking. Bullets won't help, as she starts to close distance, to spot where the group's quarry has run off to, but one of her favorite tricks will- sparkly, shimmering, not-quite see-through shards of sound, painfully red and painfully painful, are useful to stick through limb and ligament. They won't cut, not really, but will freeze something up like entomology pins.

    Before she could even think the words to a callout, a bundle of shards get wrought into being in-hand, to toss the possessed boy's way. "What don't I know, huh?" She has no idea if those words were even to her, but as terrified anger seeps into her voice, with every toss of the shard-like magic, she presses further. "Spit it out! Now's your chance, while you even can!"

    It wouldn't be fair for her, or smart of her, to try and listen into more of the possessed/possessor's thoughts, right after that. But with her magic's onslaught, with her practiced control of her eavesdropping left by the wayside today, she's geared and ready to pry in further, and unable to hold herself back from doing so even if she really wanted to. Oops.
Father Berislav      Michael's endurance, Brick finds, is far more than a human's ought to be. The fact that he's naked, in record cold, emaciated, covered in the lashes of the forest and the elements, speaks to that, passively. The guttural groan of mixed pain and anger towards Boomer that rises from him speaks more actively to it; it sounds more like the snarl of an animal. In terms of physicality, he's akin to an 'enhanced human--' just fast, tough, and strong enough to be dangerous.

    What few tufts of hair cling to Michael's head are blown about by Aidan's panicked attempts to call upon his magic.

                      "A SHIELD IN THE HANDS OF A COWARD,"                      

    Gasps Michael--not in English, but Japanese, as if to rattle those who speak it natively--though the Understanding parses the insult towards Aidan all the same.

Wait, we're trying to *catch* that?!

    "Don't give chase if he breaks the treeline," cautions the priest over the din of battle, echoing Tamamo's earlier advice about the wisdom of giving chase.

    As Michael skitters to and fro to try and escape Boomer's heat vision, his frenzied gaze swings towards a tree, intending no doubt to clamber unnervingly into its boughs. Maybe he thinks he can leap from one to the next, or else thinks to invite risk of a fire. He doesn't get to, instead letting out a shriek when Charlotte's cage of ice hems his route of egress.

    It halts his progress for only a moment before his established standard of willful harm asserts itself. Frost clinging to his face, icy spires opening new wounds, he attempts to squeeze his way out of the icy pen. He only half-succeeds, his emaciated upper body grotesquely squirming through a too-narrow crack, before Buttercup--the Puff he'd wildly tossed--comes back for a clinch.

    Pushed and carried, howling and flailing across the briefly emerald forest floor, whatever has Michael writhes his body like a dying spider, intent on making the hold as difficult as possible. Inhuman strength meets superhuman strength, and though it's taxing, Buttercup can maintain her hold on him.

    The small blessing, for Hibiki, is that there isn't anything to guard the rear from--much. Something is moving, in the darkness. Enough for her imagination to run wild, if she lets it. Maybe those half seen glints could be the shine of eyes, or the sharp edge of something meant for bloodletting. Maybe they're eager grins. None of it dares cross the rubicon into pale moonlight, but the Elites are not alone with Michael, in this place. Whatever they are, those shapes are content to watch, for now. The way they linger at the edge of vision, darting in and out of the very same, makes it hard to assess their number.
Father Berislav It is as if it means to destroy him as slowly as possible while troubling others.
Maybe that's... exactly what whatever's possessing him is trying to do...

          "WHEN THEY SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME - THEY'LL KILL YOU!!"          

    Berislav had called the entity a prosecutor. 'They' has a tangible weight. The police, or perhaps the Church. The glee with which Michael utters that oath is undercut with a note of shrill accusation. It's all too easy to imagine it an argument against that same quality in people--to delight at permitted harm, rather than hope for restoration. To eagerly await the descent of systemic retribution, though it does nothing to mend one's wounds.

    Limb by limb, Buttercup's task, and Tamamo's are made easier, as Meika's pins of light hold him to the ground. Kill him. You'll do the world a favor. One less druggie. One less ######. No one will care. He'll get to be with him. Forever and ever. You could, too. You could know love like the world will never show you, if you're strong enough to take that gun and--

    The nose of Berislav's revolver is down, the hammer gently resting. His index rests along the frame, while his other hand holds the silver crucifix aloft, his silver eyes boring into Michael as surely as Meika's painful red shards of sound. "This is as good a chance as we may get, Tamamo!"
Rowdyruff Boys "Who better to hold a shield than one who is quick to raise it?" Brick wonders, bluntly. In spite of this, he remains near Tamamo in particular-- she's moving slower than the rest, and he doesn't want there to be a window-of-opportunity to take a run at her. The fact that he's keeping his magpies around them is, of course, its own sort of protection.

Boomer eases off the heat vision once the situation seems under control and all he can contribute by using it is collateral damage. He looks towards Brick for instructions, uncertainly.

"Grow, and cover Tamamo. We'll switch places for now," Brick says.

A moment later, Boomer is a solid twenty feet tall and Brick is commanding the magpies to do something. They all land on Boomer who, hovering above/near Tamamo, looks rather irritated at being a glorified bird perch.

Brick for his part swaps positions with Boomer to approach Michael-and-the-Entity-Within, fishing through his jacket pockets. After a moment, he produces a single pouch, which he pulls open and produces a pinch of... something, which he blows in Michael's direction-- rather more powerfully than a human should be able to, in fact. It has the quality of some sort of seasoning at-a-glance, a mixed white-and-red in color. There's an experimental sort of demeanor to his approach.

But he doesn't expect this to do any of the heavy lifting, even if it works in some way. That's what Tamamo is here for, after all.

Instead, once he's done with whatever he just tried, Brick moves to help reinforce Buttercup's physical restraint-- which itself is already combined with Meika's powers.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how messy would you call this one?" Brick asks Buttercup, as some sort of obvious in-joke or reference. They've lived a long life of this sort of thing.
Charlotte Newman     Well; Charlotte was able to slow him down, at least. And now Buttercup is on him and others are adding their own ways of pinning the writhing creature down. Charlotte glances over her shoulder towards Hibiki, then back ahead-- Galatea twists and dissolves back into her silhouette as she jogs to catch up. Due to her delayed start, she arrives a few seconds behind Tamamo and quickly skirts around the thrashing Michael's reach.

    She almost feels extraneous with Brick and Buttercup both now restraining the possessed man, but she's not about to just force them to do all the work. Once she's in a position she's content with, the girl removes her jacket and crouches by his legs. Working quickly around Meika's light spikes, she ties each sleeve around one ankle, good and tight-- and then kneels on the two sleeves, her knees butted up right against the thick sleeve-knots and using all of her weight to help pin his legs down.

    "Father--" Charlotte turns her head but refuses to take her eyes off Michael's contorted face, "Is this what it's... what possessions are *like*?" Her head turns the other way towards the Expert; Tamamo, "Miss Tamamo?"
Aidan Proudpick "I'm not a coward!" Aidan shouts back, partially at himself, partially at Michael. Death on a warzone, yes. But this... This is cruel. Disgusting. Everyone lurches forward ahead of him. Already working. Was there even a point for him to come?

Prove it to everyone.

Aidan sucks in a full breath, gulping past the pain, the fear. It feels like his lungs are on fire, his face is numb, pins and needles. Meika standing there, the current representative of the collective formless Petlillmeika hate directed at him. That breath burns, but it steadies his heart rate. The feeling of adrenaline being pulled back into line, a burning in the limbs as his body aches to rest.

A puff of the cheeks. A forward simple hand gesture, a palm thrust outward. As all the air leaves his lungs, the still air of the haunted night shifts, coalescing into a flat plane. A single surface of swirling air. Two more spring into being, forming a blockade behind the Michael-Dogpile.

"Let them come! It's worth it to save someone!"
Powerpuff Girls The flash of green resolves in the forest with Buttercup momentarily heaving Michael back, air-stopped and disobeying physics to deny the horror its bucking retreat, and then Vermilion's pins hold down them both, or at least, conveniently bind her and Michael together.

It is not often that Buttercup is tested. The sound, the blows, ripple through her but do not bother her overmuch. It is something else that does. Being a super-hero, Buttercup has seen the very worst in people, challenged them in their places of power, slugged it out with monsters literal and figurative, taken hold of it and turned it with her bare hands.

She had turned meteors aside with her hands, but the work of the Enemy was moved by acts of will and the motions of faith, and so Buttercup was tested as she applied just her hands. Aglow in the emerald aura of Chemical X that shone through her jacket and wreathed her steadying hold as she's elbowed and struck and clawed in the sides and neck and face, stepped on, bucked against.

'how messy would you call this one?'

"Messy?!" The Puff challenges, off-set and far too in things to give a witty or cerebral answer. Her body has the sonic equivalent of several simultaneous deep tissue massages and her whole focus is in a physical puzzle. It is messy, but such cavalier commentary isn't in her with Michael 'on the ropes'.

She is too delicate for too long, too afraid to apply real force to the fragile and all-too mortal frame off the inhuman prosecutor in her grip.

She has been at this for too long, jaded to the motions of things, used to being hit, and it's not like a bruise will stick to her. So the Prosecutor speaks, and through it, the Enemy tests the Powerpuff. Seizing, gripping, moving from grappling-and-wrestling in a dully painful sound binding to snapping the vibrations in a motion and shooting out Michael's inner leg, kneeling the pinned-limbed man and hugging him, tenderly and incredibly firmly, inexorably to her chest. Vicelike her grip hugs in, because she hears that sickening voice too, close as touching.

"Hey." The Powerpuff Girl speaks low, low in her throat, emotional and direct as though to a particularly soulful or needful fan. "It's gonna be okay." She murmurs, the phrasing beat for beat perfect, practiced, sung at least a million times from the heart and spoken very clearly for one set of ears in her hands.

"If you taste some soap, I'm sorry." She whispers, when she hears Tamamo over the radio.

"We're going to ####ing wash that filthy mouth out that's saying all that. Hold tight."

All they have to do is for nothing awful and horrible to happen! But with even a ''coward's'' shield brought up in time, is there a window for bleakness to overtake hope?
Tamamo     'WHEN THEY SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME -'

    "To whom do you believe you speak?" But it's not an argument she feels there's time to get into. Not before she's started on the important work.

    "Can you hold him? I must set the array." Tamamo calls, and Buttercup responds in the affirmative. Brick goes to join her, and Boomer covers her -- more literally than she'd expected, shapeshifting being an ability she comes across surprisingly rarely, but no less effectively, she's sure. Hibiki's at her side, but -- with a glance out toward the ever-scattered signs in the dark -- it might be fine for her to move as she sees fit, for the moment. It's hard to say, without time to think, just what the safest, wisest course would be in every situation.

    But now Tamamo is moving, tossing up her first talisman and catching it in her teeth, pulling out a set of others, and hurrying to get close enough to where Michael is that she can toss a set of five without assistance. These flutter, turn, stiffen into spike-like shapes, then strike the earth in the form of a pentagram. The first-and-last is sent high into the air, fluttering slowly enough for her to speak.

    "Rin, kyou, tou, sha--" Her hands form the seals with the syllables, "--is enough for you. Let wood feed fire and turn to earth, earth bear metal, which collects water, and raise the woods. Let this form the cyclic harmony of the world. By this, I establish the law of nature. Zai. By my secret names, I invoke the authority of heaven."

    Onmyodo isn't something to which she usually resorts, but it's something that deals prominently with warding against evil spirits, and the five-element array, the geomantically aligned pentagram that shines into existence where her talismans struck, serves here one of its many functions. It is, still, different in the way she uses it, if only because she doesn't need to invoke any names that aren't her own.

    "Be still, in awe." This is a command. It strikes like a command. It hammers the pre-conscious mind. It does what authority so often does -- quiet every doubt and question and declare the higher priority of obedience to itself, here empowered by the connection between the World, symbolized in the five elements, and the Heavens, embodied in the Sun, who is present.

    The first-and-last talisman finally shoots out, as if drawn by wires, to cut a circle around Buttercup's back and slap onto Michael's shoulder. This one's a curse, of sorts -- a binding spell that won't touch 'humanity,' but will find 'something that isn't' and sink into it with all the gentleness of an inward-spiked collar, for an exorcist to drag out, screaming. That it does nothing to living humans is very much purposeful, and saves some time in confirming.

    Tamamo's sharp, rising gesture, two fingers cutting through the air, parallels the intended motion. Out.

    The spread of healing talismans she pulls out a moment later have little to do with the array. She always keeps a supply of these, and so very often finds use for them. She lets those fly and slap haphazardly onto Michael's body, knowing its only his body that they'll affect. A gesture of limited use, if the behavior that caused the injuries can't be helped.

    "The governance and final judgment of humanity is something I have set aside, yet the interference by other powers falls within the domain to which I have limited myself. If you will make your accusations, then make them with knowledge of whom you address."
Meika Kirenai     The prosecutor's claim, of them all having already done something worthy of death, at the hands of this heavy, aching 'they', strikes more fear into Vermillion's heart than she'd like. Some damning guilt, of having roped herself into the unforgivable. Something to not even protest, save for a gape-mouthed exclamatory noise. Even if it's just a monster saying so.

    It passes, though. Another drop in an ever-growing bucket. Another thing to fight to balance out, if it even is. She really, really shouldn't even be listening to this entity.

    But, as she watches the shards take hold, in combined efforts, her motions start to still. Vermillion stands, quiet, her chest rising and falling from faint exertion, her stance not-so-firm on the soft dirt floor, and she does just what she shouldn't.

{You could know love like the world will never show you, if you're strong enough to take that gun and--}

    There shouldn't be the long moment's hesitation that there is, in Chevalier Vermillion. A Knight wouldn't listen to the words of an evil spirit. A Knight wouldn't raise a gun like this. A Knight wouldn't tremble the way she is, as fingers feel numb against her pistol's grip, as she looks towards Berislav.

    Vermillion doesn't say anything, and the gun stays pointed at the ground. But the quiet way she looks at him ought to be telling, with those bright, horrid eyes.

    Far more than the justifications given (that, while cutting and vitriolic, come off in the same tone as a ranting parent, or a dissapointed sermon), it's the idea of love that snags in Vermillion's brain. She wants to squint her eyes shut for a moment, to push it out, to not have heard any of that, to not think on how clear it feels that this world shouldn't love her, to not think on how horrible it sounds for that to be a way to get it.

    With eyes flickering halfway between Michael, where Buttercup holds him grappled, and Berislav, Vermillion mutters out a scant few hushed words, unable to hide the hints of desperation in them, carrying a certainty that she ought not even be speaking. "...Do you feel loved...?"

    She racks the slide of her pistol, her arms f-f-flickering with the motion. There's danger in the air, as she lets that sound echo around the night-time forestscape.
Hibiki Tachibana ...the shine of eyes...
    ...something meant for bloodletting...
        ...eager grins...

    Unfortunately for Hibiki, she has an active imagination. One of her favorite places to exist, especially when she's on her own, is the inside of her own head. It's all too easy for her to picture the countless things that the shifting shadows lurking in the darkness /could/ be, to stand on edge and be anxious for any kind of sudden movement, to let worry overcome her in the middle of this awful, frigid forest.

    It's doubly as easy when she doesn't know a single thing about how to actually help Michael. Even if she had disregarded the formation entirely and rushed in, there's nothing she would be able to do when it came to doing something about the possession that nobody else isn't already doing. She'd just be helping keep him down, struggle to keep it together looking at him up close, and--

    There's a glance over her shoulder, at the rush of everyone working to handle Michael, at Tamamo rushing on ahead after requesting her to watch her back-- and after a pursing of her lips and a brief closing of her eyes, she faces back forward again.

    "...You're not going anywhere," she murmurs to the shadows at large, regardless of how many of them there truly are, while a drawn-out exhale leads to her straightening up where she stands. "I'm not gonna let anything get in the way of them saving him. If you don't think so... just try it."

    It's partially self-reassuring bluster, to push away the foul atmosphere and tension. And it's partially a serious threat - that if anything else in this forest tries to interrupt, she'll beat it into the dirt. That, absolutely, is the one thing she's confident that she can do, if it means protecting the others while they're busy.

    WHEN THEY SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME - THEY'LL KILL YOU!!

    That awful shout from behind her brings back another feeling of uneasiness--which she deals with by clutching harder onto the pendant she's still holding onto. She's lucky it's way too durable to break that easily, white-knuckled as her voice drops too low to hear. "...And 'they' can try it, too. Get the hell out of him already."
Father Berislav      Brick's analytical approach provides data--but probably not the conclusion he was hoping for. What resides in Michael is neither fey nor spirit, responding to the mixture with a spittle-spraying snarl, absent any obvious metaphysical reaction. It is likely closer to HIM than either of the entities typically repelled by such things.

Father--Is this what it's... what possessions are *like*?

    Berislav's face is a frightening, stony mask of conviction in the face of such reckless, animalistic malevolence. "This would be my first. No formal training." Still, his crucifix is held rigid, steadfast against the night air, his faith as unwavering as it was when he spoke of the due of neighboring Bridgeport's police.

Rin, kyou, tou, sha--

    Rather than further elaborate, he steels his mind with a prayer, spoken aloud, spurred on by Tamamo's rite. "Look with pity, O heavenly Father, upon the people in this land who live with injustice, terror, disease, and death as their constant companions."

--is enough for you. Let wood feed fire and turn to earth, earth bear metal, which collects water, and raise the woods. Let this form the cyclic harmony of the world.

    Michael hurls a slur at the priest, and then at Tamamo, but Berislav raises his voice, speaking over the entity. "Have mercy upon us. Help us to eliminate our cruelty to these our neighbors."

                         "SON OF THE WHORE OF BABYLON!"                        

By this, I establish the law of nature. Zai. By my secret names, I invoke the authority of heaven.
It's gonna be okay. If you taste some soap, I'm sorry.

    Michael's guttural yowl feels like a reach into the distant memory of humanity; a sound that tickles the hairs at the back of the neck. It is pure, wordless anger, voiced with application of diaphragm and vocal chord that predates such impermanent things as human words.
Father Berislav     "-Strengthen- those who spend their lives establishing equal safety and care for all," Berislav near-shouts.

Be still, in awe.

    Tamamo's will sees Michael's body pressed to the ground as if Buttercup and Brick had conspired to flatten him--or else, as if Boomer had simply stepped on him.

    "And grant that every one of us may enjoy a fair portion of the riches of this land--"

If you will make your accusations, then make them with knowledge of who you address.

    Michael's body quakes in place, overtaxed, unnaturally puppeteered muscles tensing and releasing as the seeking thread sinks into him. For those with the gift of magical perception, something ugly and grey, like a filth-ridden funeral shroud, rises up out of Michael. Its face--if it can be said to have one--mouths something soundlessly, as it dissipates.

    "...and the love of our neighbors, through Jesus Christ our Lord." Berislav brings his crucifix to his forehead, closing his eyes briefly and sighing with relief. "Amen." He doesn't see Meika, struggling with what she heard, his eyes having been locked on Michael.

    Michael's wounds heal dramatically faster, with the demon gone and the healing charms applied. The bones in his legs--warped from what appeared to be the rickets--straighten out. His misshapen head grows steadily less haunting, the bags disappearing from his now-clearly-human eyes. His fingernails, sharpened and caked with dried blood and dirt, soften, and his teeth appear human, too. His curly mop of hair is the last to return.

    Loved? Who is she asking? But Berislav both hears -and- understands the rack of Meika's pistol. "It's alright," he says, gently placing himself between Michael and Meika. He doesn't--can't--know what she's considering. Only what she's done, or seems prepared to do. His revolver hangs in one hand, with the nose pointing straight down. He's not expecting he'll have to use it at present. Certainly not against her.

    Numerous figures depart further into the darkness of the forest. Finding them, hunting them down, would be a wild goose chase at best and a trap at worst, as Tamamo had noted. For the time being, Hibiki is right--a victory has been won. But those with the ability will hear their prayer-like chant, carried on the wind. 'The Second Death. The Second Death.'

    "It's over," says Berislav to Meika, one hand held out in a gesture of calm. Perhaps this fight is. "Michael is safe, in no small part thanks to you. If the grace of complete strangers doesn't make someone feel loved... I don't know what would."

    It isn't over. Not even a little bit. For although Michael is safe, and free, there is a sound, a few minutes away. Muffled speech, for those with the power to hear it. Two voices. One human... and one closer to Michael's.

My God... what happened to you?
DO YOU THINK MY FACE IS PRETTY?
I have to finish what I started.
SHE IS MINE, PRIEST.
Father Berislav      Another sound, then--one that even those without gifts of perception can hear. The shattering of a window, carried on the wind from the Martin house. Berislav must have heard that, too, but his eyes remain on Meika. Despite his breach of her trust, there is no suspicion or hostility in them--but a calm sense of urgency, certainly. "As for myself--there are people that love me, and God's love is in me, but I'm not loved by the world. 'Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.'"

     The choice of scripture is, as always, intentional--sourced from a parable about the price of following Jesus. He has accepted that most civilized places who know what he does will rebuke him. Moreover: "It's possible that my actions on Earth have denied me my place in Heaven, even if God's love is in me."

     "But if I have made this sinful world a measure safer and kinder for the people it hurts the most, then I will face the second death on my feet, and walk as bidden into eternal fire." There is the sense that if Meika were to pull the trigger now, if she managed to land the shot that killed him... however shocked he'd be, his final moments would be spent reflecting on the cold peace of that sentiment. It is likely then that Meika realizes why he didn't seem to react, when she'd made the sound of her pistol audible, in Father Garcia's apartment.

     Waters Berislav greets every morning with the knowledge that it might be his last. Not because he has a death wish, but because he would rather spend the time he has in pursuit of something bigger than himself. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

     Michael's answer, whatever it may have been, will have to wait.
Charlotte Newman     Charlotte lacks any special supernatural perception and, as a result, only has a show of the utter frothing horror of Michael's violent reaction to the prayers of Father Waters Berislav and the ritual of Tamamo-no-Mae, bunrei of Amaterasu-no-Omikami. She wants to squeeze her eyes shut; to close her ears; but she's convinced herself that this is something she must witness through to the end.

    When at last he stops thrashing, screaming, and resisting, Charlotte remains still and staring. It's almost a full minute before she realizes it has, at last, come to an end. And only then does she realize that at some point she'd started holding her breath. Finally she releases it in a slow, shakey sigh followed by a slower, deep inhale of chilly air.

    She glances towards Berislav, then Tamamo, as if seeking confirmation that it's alright now. Spying the Father growing more relaxed with Meika, Charlotte glances down, untying Michael's legs and retrieving her jacket. Rising to her feet, she shakes it out a few times with a frown, then puts it back on to ward off the chill.

    "So... What happens now?"
Tamamo     It is close enough to over for Tamamo to let down her arms, well-padded coat sleeves falling onto even more well-padded coat. She lets out a foggy breath. Strange that it is, for how long she's been out here. One would think she'd be cold through.

    Perhaps if she were far weaker, or far younger, the curses would have gotten to her. It's not as if she isn't seeking love. It's only that she's found it, and wouldn't trust a demon to know where it is. She has very particular ideas on the topic.

    "Thank you," to those who'd been holding Michael down. "That should be enough, I think."

    She can hear it. Words on the wind. One ear twitches. "Oh."

    And then the sound of breaking glass. Something escaping, or perhaps, something entering. Too far to tell the direction of the break. "Oh, dear."

    Tamamo leans forward, hands resting approximately where her knees should be, and stretches her back, forward and back. "We have not quite earned a rest... is it? And yet, we must certainly see young Michael away to somewhere safer than here. What shall we do?"

    With all those other things happening, she's a little slow to catch onto what Meika is doing, only belatedly asking, at the appearance of two people facing off with guns, "Is anything the matter, Chevalier Vermillion?"

    Her reaction to Berislav comes last, then, as she takes a moment to think on what he'd said. Finally, "There are judges, father Berislav, who judge without love, for they judge the law, and love is not within the law. Even if love is within those who made the law, they have not placed that love within all they create. It may be true, then, that you will be judged guilty, even though you acted in love, and for the sake of love, for such is the law. I know not what judgment will be made of you, but, if you are judged with love, will not a place remain for you? The 'love' that I know is something stronger than guilt and innocence."
Rowdyruff Boys "Messy," Brick affirms to Buttercup. His idea of messy might be different from hers. He glances towards his brother above, and says in an instructive tone, "Qoph posture."

Boomer tenses, but it's hard to tell the direction that he's tensing in, or what he's tensing for. The fact that all three of the Rowdyruff Boys can move three-dimensionally fairly seamlessly complicates what their body language can tell somebody. Whatever it was, it warranted Brick going out of his way to put Boomer on the ready for it.

When Tamamo releases the grapplers from their current activities, Brick roughly releases Michael and steps back, chirping into the air. The magpies gather, and he feeds each of them what appears to be sliced-up sweet potato before sending them on their way. Their presence is called for, but evidently he doesn't feel inclined to keep them at hand any further.

"Buttercup, Boomer, or I could take him elsewhere. The question is whether there is presently somewhere safer than our immediate presence," he says to Tamamo, shrugging.

His attention turns briefly, to Berislav. "For what it's worth, I've been dead, and it's a lot more ambiguous than 'Heaven' or 'Hell'. Might've just been the circumstances, though."

//There are judges, father Berislav, who judge without love, for they judge the law, and love is not within the law.//

To this, Brick makes an irritable noise. "If eternity is governed by what is ultimately the imaginations of humans, so that 'divine law' is truly a ruling consideration, there's practically no difference between mortals overcoming the state of mortality and dying. That's so bleak, I won't entertain it as a reality."

"Not that I have a problem with what you're doing here," he adds.

Boomer, who no longer has eight birds just chilling out all over his body, is still huge and looks kind of horrified all-around, even though he's also tensed for whatever Brick told him to be tensed for.
Meika Kirenai 'It's over,'

    Watching it all, there's only a small hint of calm that comes over the magical girl at his words. Not when he's standing like that, in front of Michael, facing her. Like he's scared she'll do something, and he's chosen what to protect. She listens, passively, eerily still to the distant chanting, and exhales, long and slow. "Right. Sure. Answer for him, while he can't." The cutting edge to her tone flows out, even if only half-intended.

    At the distant convrsation, though, she tenses again- and the alarm is right back in her at the window-breaking crash. Berislav can see the twitch in her arm, the f-f-flicker, as if the motion isn't matching up with something correctly. It's the hesitant instant before aiming the gun at something or someone, nipped in the bud, but still telltale. A flash of anger comes across the young girl's face when the priest doesn't shift to look towards the noise. Like whatever made it isn't scarier than what he's staring at.

'...even if God's love is in me.'

    "You keep saying that." Like you're certain. "You could just say 'yes'." Vermillion's tone shifts hollow, like she's tired of listening. But maybe that's better than upset, than a scary quiet, than whatever else is wandering through the priest's head. The words taste of bile.

    It must be nice to be as satisfied as you are. His ease almost feels insulting, for just a moment. Nevertheless, the magical girl's expression falters, with a surge of complicated emotions that flow over in the limited expressions that her face muscles can make stick. She turns on her skate blades, their faint hum ringing in the air, and her shoulders relax.

    A short moment later, and the slide's click echoes once more, as it is slowly disengaged. "Just forget it. I shouldn't have bothered." The twist in her words might not pull them out of Berislav's mind, but she'd rather try than leave everything hanging like that. Quietly, she dusts off the skirt of her transformation's outfit, the few pieces of bark dust that'd settled and stuck to it. It's not like cleaning is necessary. It's just something to do with her hands.

'Is anything the matter, Chevalier Vermillion?'

    "N-nah. Don't worry about it, Chevalier Tamamo-no-mae. Everything's fine. No trouble." She wishes that wasn't a lie.