Realistic or Modern SMITED [Mission: 1.5 - The Return]

[Fable]

Briefing - 0900 - Hanarei Rumble Fish Tarmagon Morzone _Line 213 s e v e n The One Eyed Bandit simj26 Worthlessplebian pomme Fill Heterological

It had been months since the Pandora's Box mission, more than enough time for some rest and relaxation after a most traumatizing experience in that hellscape. Some who had returned had lost their sanity, others had been grievously injured, and many did not survive. For some who returned, the mission had been too much and they resigned from their positions within the agency. The mission was a success and was now ensuring another 1,000 years before the next group had to face the monsters and maze within. For their sacrifice they were all well compensated, though there would perhaps be nothing to soothe the nightmares that would undoubtable trouble those who came back.

Time did not halt and problems never ceased and the agents needed to return to a previously failed mission. The Syndicate had managed to temporarily halt the progress of the expanding magical forest that was swallowing up the area and responsible for countless disappearances. The first attempt was met with failure to navigate to the center due to magical interference. They had taken the minimal intel gathered from that first try and with this increased knowledge of the situation had greatly increase the odds to be in their favor.

They were sending in mostly rookies once again because of the agency's struggling numbers in the wake of Pandora's Box. Talora stood at the podium of glass enclosed conference room where the agents had been summoned. She wasn't too keen on sending a former crew of criminals, but a deal had been struck and as the saying went 'beggars can't be choosers.'

As she waited for the agents to file in she began to sketch write out a few notes on the reminder of the lore regarding this mission; folktale of a cursed princess, assume curse has gone haywire or been tampered with, those who entered don't usually find their way back out. It was information she was going to most likely have to go over once again, but these cliffnotes would suffice for now while she waited for them to all arrive and take their seats.
(Welcome back old agents and welcome new agents! Short and to the point introduction, get your characters in the room, maybe sneer interact with each other, complain about the lack of food at the briefing, whatever your character would do. Thank you for your patience and remember the posting guidelines; post rounds, GM post once per week, etc!)[/indent​

​

 

[Hanarei]

Location: SMITED HQ
Mentioned: Fable

Felicia wandered into the briefing room glancing about her lips slightly parted as if to try and throw in a greeting to be social-able only to find there was one person in the room. Not quite the group she had expected to be there though she was perhaps on the early side. The young esper stood quietly glancing about black locks having grown slightly longer over the duration now reaching down near half way to her back. Her hair was actually combined a bit nicer as well putting in a bit more effort on her own to do so. Her neck and wrist limiters looked much more polished mostly due to being recently replaced only a few days ago. It was always a rather... racketeering experience but given her recent bit of shakiness she felt she needed it to be fixed up to be safe. She didn't want any accidents occurring. So far they seemed fine though it didn't seem to quite finish her small little episodes she had often times waking up feeling a bit off center.

A little bit long perhaps for her tastes though she didn't quite find the time to get it cut. Her red eyes shifting about as she ventured over to get a seat noticing a lack of food in the room. Not the best sign of things to come. Still, she could make due without food if need be. She wasn't the type to get rowdy when hungry at least where she might be emotionally compromised without having something to eat. She tugged at her top, fixing up the uniform a bit. She felt as if her clothing somehow got a bit lighter, whether it part of her imagination or perhaps being swapped out at some point. Considering the walking she had to do on the last mission and not long after it wouldn't be too surprising if she actually gained a little muscle along the way. Instead of being some frail thing barely able to walk around she could be a mostly frail thing able to walk around for a short bit of time without getting exhausted. Marketed improvement that wouldn't see her acing Gym class anytime soon.

Thinking of the mission it left her to wonder who was still around. To say she heard... rumors would be an understatement. While she had seen a few others from her mission around there were others whom seemed completely absent. She could only assume a few might of abandoned ship after what had happened. She couldn't quite blame them. She had been spared a lot of the pain most of them fault (as far as she was aware) though she could see given what they had gone through how it might turn some away. Her attempt to be social wasn't exactly... always the best on the last mission though she had to admit what interaction she did have recently sparked some hope she might get to stick around people. Maybe she could figure out that whole friend thing? Maybe she could find a boyfriend or a girlfriend! Whatever that really meant, it just seemed the same as calling someone a friend with extra steps despite how it was always put out like it was meant to mean more then that. Perhaps she out to spend more time watching some entertainment rather then odd books to get a better idea of what the concept meant.

Felicia fiddled with her fingers her eyes focused on them in thought wondering who might come in or what to even say. Perhaps it was best to just wait for more to come in and say something? Hopefully it was someone she already knew to make it a little easier to speak up. She was going to try to do her best given a new chance with whatever new people might be coming in to set a good impression better then she had on the mission.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Mentions: Fable and Hanarei
Location: SMITED HQ

After five, long years of sweat, blood, and tears, Scott is in SMITED. He keeps repeating it to himself, because not even he could believe it. When Scott first arrived he took in that new, unfamiliar smell of the headquarters which admittedly made him quite giddy to be here but he kept his excitement to himself, could potentially leave a bad impression on some of the veterans. Immediately the cryomancer went to memorizing the layout of the HQ. Scott's first stop was the barracks obviously, taking note of their very roomy yet still efficient design but he'd have to settle in later, since he still has exploring to do and his belongings were most likely already in his designated closet/locker. His next visit was to the Gym, an amused smile formed on his face because this is the place that he'll spend a good chunk of his time. Well, that and reading a book or two. Speaking of books, the library was his next pitstop. He wondered if there was some book or manuscript about ice mages, he'd love to give this refurbished area a detailed look from top to bottom, maybe when he has some free time on his hands.

When he crossed the armory, he noticed something quite peculiar. Statues? No, they couldn't be just simple statues. Are they magical wards against spirits? Or are they guardians of the physical variety? Perhaps both? Idle musings aside Scott continued his own little tour of the facility. A long the way, he was informed that he was needed at the administration for a mission briefing. A mission, so soon? The Ice mage thought to himself. A sense of worry grew inside Scott as he began to speed walk towards the admin building. Great, his first mission and he might be late or even the last one to arrive because he decided to dilly-dally on his first day. After a minute or two of searching, he finally found the conference room for the mission. Before Scott entered however he released a mildly disappointed sigh, partially directed at himself. He adjusted his issued uniform once or twice then confidently entered the room. Much to his surprise, he was the second agent to arrive? Alright, guess he got worried for nothing then. He took one look back to see if anyone else was approaching behind but no one was so he closed the door behind him. Another interesting thing that he picked up was the glass walls of the conference room which he actually hadn't noticed at first.

Scott calmly walked to a chair near the first agent, a pale looking girl with scarlet eyes. He sat a chair apart from the girl since he didn't whether she was reserving a spot for someone or whether she had reservations about new people sitting next to her. He did however turn to her and introduced himself."Hi, I'm Scott." He coolly said. There was obviously no need to introduce himself to the woman at the podium since she most likely has his file on hand.

 

[Rumble Fish]

Hermione Puckette? In SMITED? How in the Underworld did that happen? Even the Satyress was perplexed on how it worked. It had been a couple of months and she was still here, when any sane person would have kicked her out. So why keep her about? Was this massive organisation honestly that desperate for agents that they serious about picking up the hygienically challenged goat-woman who had stumbled into their compound in a drunken stupor and bash a hole through the wall which probably cost a pretty penny to fix and/or replace? Surely they were not that desperate.

Well, apparently so as she was currently walking into the briefing room. Well, walking if the definition of it was stumbling uneasily and bumping into the walls; while managing to avoid her horns clattering against the wall. She had learned that the hard way. Entering the briefing room, the Satyress shook out her shaggy head before looking around. Her already pink eyes blinked as she noticed only two other people here. One she had never seen before, a handsome looking man that instantly got the flirtatious satyress' attention, but given what happened the last time she was flirty with, well anything, Hermy figured a meeting hall was not the best place. There was also Felicia who Hermy had met indirectly when she first showed up. The Satyr blinked a few times as she looked at the pair. She wasn't stupid so chose to sit across from them rather than next to any of them. Not to mention she was not quite excited about being surrounded by people.

Once sat down, Hermy said nothing as she brought out her wine-skin (freshly filled) and took a short swig out of it, mostly looking for some kind of liquid courage. This was the first time since she had left the orphanage that she knew she was going to be around a whole bunch of people she did not know well. Even growing up in that damned place she didn't know any of them well. Not to mention that they made it clear that her presence was not appreciated. Surely these people were going to feel the same way. At this thought, the Satyress took another one, a longer one this time. That was a bit of a mistake. As after a couple of seconds, she felt a balloon of gas rush up her throat and she lurched forward, releasing a long and unfortunately loud belch.

Once it was out, her face grew stoic as she rubbed the back of her grubby neck. "Welp, I've destroyed the mood." She sniggered, not even all that embarrassed about that display. She looked to Scott as he had already said his name so figured she might as well entertain the hunk, "If we're doing Round Robin, name's Hermione, though I prefer Hermy so Hermione works. Don't think I've seen you around, handsome." She resisted the urge to wink. Normally the Satyress would go all in with flirtatious remarks... but more alcohol would be required. While Hermy was currently not drunk, she was not quite sober either. She shimmied a little in her seats, trying to get comfortable with her legs as her hocks kept hitting the bottom of the chair. Instead, she brought her hooves up onto the table. Maybe she should just watch and see where this goes. That seemed to be how it went in her life. "So what's this about, we gotta fish a cat out a tree or some shit?" she added, scratching at her furry leg.

Mentions: Fable Hanarei and Worthlessplebian
Location: SMITED HQ

 

[Tarmagon]

The days since he had woken up after the debacle in Pandora's box had blurred together. Oh, there had been moments of, interest, during the interim. The encounter with the inebriated satyr had been different, but Jasper had fallen into a routine that occupied his days as they drifted along. Physical training to strengthen him after his long convalescence, time on the range to maintain his nominal certification, and time spent crafting his new jo staff and Trinkets. Add in copious amounts of research, and sparring once he was physically ready, time to take care of his bodily needs, and his days merged into a cycle that was only broken by mandatory doctor visits, both physical and psychological. He had finally managed to master the art of loading his spells into the Trinkets, regained his prowess with his staff, and actually found his endurance increasing. What he had not done, was form any serious connections with his fellow agents. The events in the box, Xaira's disappearance, both had conspired to keep Jasper at a distance from his fellow agents. The summons for a mission briefing had come as a bit of a surprise, but it was time to get back to work. Donning his uniform, he considered for a moment, then added his combat harness, slipping his staff into its holder across his back. His bag went over his shoulder, and he set off, heading for the briefing room.

As he approached the briefing room, he saw Talora standing behind the podium, jotting notes at she waited for the team to answer the summons. Three chairs were already occupied, and Jasper did a double take as one of the figures registered. It was the drunken satyr he had encountered briefly in the barracks. What in the nether hells? Felicia was unmistakable, but Jasper didn't know the man sitting near her. His attention was drawn to the satyr as she took a swig from a wineskin?!, then took another. She was speaking to the other occupants, but despite the walls being glass, the soundproofing was excellent, so he couldn't hear what was being said. He saw her put her feet up on the table, and hurried to open the door, entering and taking a seat at the end of the table, as far away from the satyr as he could.

"Tiegs, present," he said, as he removed his staff, leaning it against his chair. Then, he waited for the explosion he was certain would be forthcoming. Talora was not what he would call, forgiving or patient in the best of times. This should be interesting.

 

[_Line 213]

Snortt
Briefing Room
Interacting with: Everyone (but especially Rumble Fish and Fable )​

"Hey you kids ever think about that great time we spent together in Milan? Gotta tell ya, most scenic sewers I've ever seen--"

The ramblings of one of SMITED's only Sobekans, which until then had echoed through the white, brightly-lit hallway alongside the fall of footsteps and the mild slap of his own light feet, was suddenly, finally, ungraciously interrupted by a guardswoman in front of him, leading several figures that accompanied the oddly-animated lizard-man. "Can it, Snortt."

"Can it? You can it! I've been doing nothing but canning it!" Snortt replied, indignation overflowing as he jutted his head outward at the guardsman in question, "namely, because you people have me in the can! Seriously, we had an agreement! It's written down right there in good ol' black ink, three words! No! Jail! Time!"

"Ye aren't in jail ye daft bastard," spat a stocky dwarf immediately to Snortt's right, "ye got yer own damn room wi' some guards out front, 's more than most people in this shite outfit get."

Snortt snaked his head toward the new guard, lidding his split eyes in a mixture of anger and suspicion. "Yeah, and you know who else gets their own room with its own pretty little guards? People in SUPERMAX!"

The guardswoman growled. "Listen you stupid lizard, you got a decent bed. You got a throw-rug. You got a TV. You got an effin' game console--"

"I didn't ask for a game console pal, I asked for something that doesn't feel like a nineteen-eighties college dorm cinder-block BASEMENT!"

The door to the conference room swung open, and as the leading guard stepped aside, Snortt was unceremoniously shoved into the conference room. "We'll be back when you're all done in here," the guardswoman said, before falling back into line with those heading down the hall, the door slowly shutting behind her.

"Yeah and I'll be back for your ass, you hear me?!" Snortt taunted to no reaction, waving a clenched, scaly fist in the air, "yeah, you better keep walkin'! My left brain alone is worth more than ten of you people! Next time I'll get serious and show up with my goddamn lawyer!" With a raspy, hissing growl, he turned, looking about the room for a few brief moments before settling his swiveling eyes upon the woman by the podium. "You," he said, extending a reptilian digit at the woman, "I've got a bone to pick with you people! I'll follow up on this later! Don't think I won't!" He kept his finger trained on her as he circled around to one of the open chairs, another odd mixture of a croak and a growl emanating from somewhere in his throat as he slinked into a sitting position in a single, disturbingly-smooth motion. His eyes swiveled down from the woman to the flask held in the nearby satyress's hand, before flicking back up to the group's boss, then back down again. His claw shifted, now tapping downward at the vessel as he spoke.

"Hey, hey fuzzface, you wanna gimmie some'a that? The suits're gonna drive me crazy, and between you and me, when I go crazy, I start biting people, it's the crocodile in me."

Snortt probably did not have any crocodile in him.

 

[s e v e n]

Location: SMITED HQ
Mentioned: everyone

The alarm by her bedside rung once, and then not even twice as a hand had emerged deep beneath the sheets, slapping it off. A tousle of ashen grey locks squirmed over; the pale furrowed face of a Nephilim framed within. As unexpected it was for such angelic of a being, it was much shameful that punctuality had never been much of her strength, nor was waking up too early in the morning. Sliding her legs past the bed, Ariael allowed her wings to dangle lifelessly by her side, and for a while the woman stared blankly upon the smooth tiled floor of her room.

As her bare feet touched the floor, a shiver ran up her spine. Unexpected chill of the cold, glass-like surface. The room was much too cramped for her to hover comfortably, and as for one so rarely favouring the flightless ways, it almost felt as though thousands of miniature needles had penetrated against her bare skin. Wincing, she took another moment to adjust, a sharp intake of breath snapping her back to reality. A douse in warm shower is all she needed, then perhaps combing her wings. She then would still have the time to prepare herself a nice cup of tea, one or two reheated pastries perhaps.

Trickles of water slid down her back, she had welcomed the warmth with large embrace. Flashes of imageries past her, one that reminded her of herself, some for others she had not known, yet as always, she felt nothing but hollowness rise within her. An empty hole that perhaps bore no key, a search that will end in vain. A helpless gazelle that kept on calling, to only be left for the dead to devour. Innocence tainted, black over white. Alas, she should have known that by now.

Another moment to dry herself, dress-up and prep. An hour had passed since she roused, and then she entered the hallways that had grown much familiar to her. There was a time that the ever-caving walls had intimidated her slightly, yet by now she had gotten used to it. Long white gown trailed behind her, the clicks of her heels bouncing off the walls. No man nor woman could ever rival the elegance of such holy a creature, and she believes that. All things set aside, this was about to be her first official mission after all, one she would do by herself and away from her own society. Briefly, there was a mild clutch in her heart, though it ended as abruptly as it had started.

Entering the room, she was immediately greeted by a rather…rumbustious scene. Children of all races, none appeared as the other. Her eyes scanned what was presented, and her eyes had met that of a red-haired woman. She was especially hard to miss, after all, with hair that resembles brightly lit ambers of winter nights. Beautiful, for sure, deadly, without a doubt. The Nephilim shot her a quick smile. Then among others were men, who appeared human enough all the same, though Ariael doubted that was the case. Powerful energy surely stirred within them, one that no ordinary man could possess. She too, flashed them a warm smile.

Then there was a goat. Do not judge one by their appearances, but their hearts. Surely the goat was here for something- right? Ariael had given up when she saw the lizard. The individual hellos and good tidings can always come later. Quickly she shifted her attention towards the person in charge, bowing her head she took a seat next to the fiery-headed girl, brushing her wings to the side. “Greetings,” she had spoken, and when she does her voice came out soft, like the rustle of midnight wind or the ripples of waves as it hits the coral reefs. As her eyes shot up, golden threads glowed ever so briefly. “I am called Ariael. May peace guide all of us on this fine day.”

 

[Heterological]

Once he had been informed of the meeting, Whyt had taken his time, gathering everything necessary for a mission. He liked to get ready before a mission started, so he could strategize immediately once he was briefed. He holstered both of his guns, slipped on his boots, pocketed his earbuds, and put in all the other necessities in a bag, which he slung around his shoulder. Whyt tightened his belt one notch, made sure his shirt wasn't too dirty, and headed out the door.

He walked at a leisurely pace towards the huge administration building, taking in his surroundings. A year later since he had first walked through SMITED grounds, and it was still awe-inspiring. Taking out his ID, Whyt reached the administration building and pushed his way through the doors, holding out his ID for inspection and then continuing past.

Whyt reached the right conference room a few minutes later, noting that there were quite a few shadows projected against the translucent glass. He took one last moment to make sure his appearance was okay and walked through the entrance of the door. He took in all the people there- one woman's red hair was very vibrant, and Whyt saw her first. Next, he saw the lizard-man, and then the satyress, putting her hooves on the table. A few of them, he had occasionally passed by in corridors, but he did not know any of their names.

Whyt smiled slightly to be polite, and he took a seat next to a magician who looked the same age as he was. He nodded at the man in greeting and then turned his attention to the others, studying them more carefully. The satyress held a flask in her hand, probably filled with an alcoholic drink. The lizardman held his attention the most; he had never met anyone like that.

He leaned back in his seat, and, gazing at the assortment of individuals gathered for the briefing, offered his name. "I'm Whyt, but you can call me White."

 

[Fill]

• Reginald "Reggie" Sykes

• Meeting Room

  

  
  Mentioned: Every single one of you fine folks.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!
  
  Slam!
  
  Plastic splinters were bouncing and falling off as broken circuits lied in a heap of crumbled and cracked plastic. A solid fist laid atop the ruins of the former alarm clock.
  
  That was his third one this month.
  
  Groaning before raising himself up and yawning, Reggie tore the sheets from atop his body before leaving the confines of his resting place to stretch his back and limbs. A few audible pops of the joints were heard before he resigned himself to searching for any suitable clothing in his closet. He really needed to hit up the wash sooner or later. Tossing different shirts and ties, each either stained in blood, alcohol, or food, before finding a clean yet worn out button down shirt and a similar tie. Slipping the shirt onto his shoulders before grabbing the nearest pair of black pants to slip on, the chainsaw man began to button up and fix his tie, glancing at the mirror to ensure it was properly done and straight.
  
  Slipping on a pair of socks and two busted shoes held together by a few patches of ducktape, Reg gave himself the old sniff check before shrugging. It could have been his clothes or him but what should he care? He could take a shower after breakfast. Not like anyone was going to say anything to his face and, even if they did, would he care?
  
  Not at all.
  
  A twin pair of toast sprouted from the toaster, crisp and holding that golden brown color, while the eggs sizzled alongside a few pieces of bacon. Another pan was filled to the brim with hashbrowns. No breakfast was complete, however, without a good helping of black, black, black coffee. Blacker than night. Blacker than the depths of hell. Blacker than his soul.
  
  He was of course kidding on the last part as he let loose a mental chuckle.
  
  Downing the entire plate of grease and calories like a rabid animal after the kill, Reginald licked his metal lips and teeth with his tongue before grabbing his cup of joe, slipping something a little more alcoholic into it via his own personal flask. The morning never started right unless he spiked his own coffee. The good thing about a healing factor is that you could explode your liver as many times as you wanted without any serious consequences. Besides, a small dose like this would barely do a thing for him, if at all.
  
  Just a tradition at this point.
  
  A guard sat down next to him. He could tell because he wore that uniform guards always wear under the armor. This guy had balls. Normally, people would not sit as close to someone like him. And it was not because of the fact his head was the equivalent of a murder hobo's weapon of choice.
  
  More had to do with his reputation.
  
  "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?"
  
  Hey, aren't you supposed to mind your own damn business?
  
  He could have led with that. But he would save that one for another time. It was not too bad. Besides, what meeting? No one had told him anything.
  
  "What are you on about?"
  
  "I just overheard there was a meeting of the low-rankers on another floor. Buddy of mine stationed there this hour said he couldn't wait to get a glimpse of the chainsaw guy. So, I'm curious why you're here. Did you get a paper or file or something?"
  
  "I-uh."
  
  He could vaguely remember there had been a paper sent to him, but he had not bothered to read it. Something about being somewhere at some time. Maybe.
  
  "Dammit."
  
  The next few minutes were spent finding said paper and walking along the various hallways and flights of stairs with his mug in hand. Yes, he took the stairs. Unlike every other pansy, he did not need elevators, and it kept him fit.
  
  The next five minutes were spent finally approaching the room where the meeting was to be held. Reggie crumpled up the paper as he took another swig.
  
  Only two ways to go about this.
  
  The boring way or the badass way.
  
  Needless to say, he favored the latter as his foot came crashing upon the entrance, kicking the doors wide open as they slammed against the walls. The resounding noise cascaded over the room like a gunshot.
  
  The one thing when it came to team dynamics or anything in general was to have others set their expectations of you to the absolute low. The bottom of the bottom. So that they will not come to you for help and figure out their problems for themselves. So no one would expect him to follow their orders or what they have to say. To do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted. He did not need a team to back him up, and he worked best solo. Eventually, to surprise people what he was actually capable of if he wanted.
  
  And the best way to do that was to be the most hated person right off the bat. The unlikable jackass.
  
  His eyes or whatever they were surveyed the room, wondering what everyone's initial reaction would be. Jump up suddenly or reach for weapon. Maybe even get the workings of a spell started. Or maybe see through his little stunt for what it was: a stunt. All that would tell him about the team and, more importantly, if he believed them competent enough to even bother listening to at all.
  
  "Yo. I'm here to kill you all."
  
  A moment passes.
  
  "I'm kidding. Kidding. Although, I think Peppermint might have slightly soiled her loins, folks. Don't let her resting face fool you. She's a real softie at heart," Reggie spoke as his gaze shifted from the redhead at the podium towards the rest of the room. The doors remained open as he took a first step into the room.
  
  And he managed not to spill a single drop of coffee from his mug during the little stunt.
  
  "You all saw that kick? See this mug? Flawless. Not a single drop spilled, ladies and gentlemen. If you can't pull off something even remotely like that, you need to start hitting the gym and get off field work. Half of you look like your limbs could snap just from holding your weight alone. Seriously, Peppermint, aren't there physical examinations or requirements?"
  
  Would he remained unchallenged in his statement? Maybe, maybe not. But it was another little something to stir the waters, and he was not quite done just yet.
  
  Because someone just happened to be sitting at the end of the table. Some bloke with a staff. That was the perfect spot he was sitting in. If you sat at the head or at the end, you got a perfect view of everyone and everything. Which meant he could also take jabs at everyone and everything without having constantly having to swivel his head around like a moron.
  
  Well, he could improvise of course. Reginald sat opposite of the staff-carrying man on the other end of the table, holding the position at the head.
  
  "Alright. Here's the rule from here on out. That seat where Walking Stick is sitting and this one I'm sitting in are mine. I like sitting in those spots, preferably the one Walking Stick is in. Don't screw this for me, and I don't screw you all over. Capeesh? Kapeesh."
  
  Kicking his feet up onto the table as he took another sip of his mug, while absentmindedly tossing the crumpled piece of paper into the trash, Reginald smirked. His eyes caught hold of the goat woman and the snake man.
  
  "This is like the Discovery Channel but even better. Heh. We got a lizard, a goat, and-" the chainsaw man chuckled at his own offhand comment as he pointed to each person he was referring to before settling on the woman with wings, "-pidgeon."
  
  Taking another sip before finishing the mug, Reggie sat the mug down before spinning it a couple of times out of only slight boredom and having nothing better do, all while keeping a toothy grin on his face.
  
  Unashamed. Uncensored. Uncontrolled.
  
  This is going to be fun.
  
  
  

 

[simj26]

Anderson, JeanShe straightened up from her workbench, brandishing her new artwork. Appearance-wise, it looked just the same as another Glock 17. She turned it over in her hands, scanning her work. Correction. it looked just the same as a really rough copy of a Glock 17. Like someone slapped it onto a photocopier machine and set it to Black And White. To the untrained eye, perhaps, it might seem like an original, but she knew better. The weight distribution was strange, and there was just something...off about the whole presentation. She scowled, and wheeled herself over to her self-erected testing chamber, where she affixed the gun to the mechanical hand that aimed down a small passageway surrounded by tempered glass. She picked up her phone and started recording. “Project Fey Gun, test fifty-seven. Have reinforced barrel with plastic composition as stated in previous post-test evaluation.” Really, she wished she could get back into the idea that this was just some game to her. A way to distract herself from boredom. Fixing up a gun for...those so disinclined to interact with metals? Who would have thought to do such a thing? No one knew if the Fae would even be appreciative of their efforts even if they did. Jean Anderson, however, couldn’t care less. It was just a hobby of hers for the time-being. Well, it used to be. Now it had become almost an obsession. Like when one was playing a game, content with playing through the story, before suddenly falling into the eternal rabbit hole of trying to snatch up that 100% achievement medal.

She pushed herself back to her desk, away from the firing range, and stuffed her ears with her earplugs. “Firing,” she announced to her phone, and pressed a button on her remote control. The gunshot barely made its way through her earplugs, but a certain note in that sound was enough cause for alarm. “Experiment ceased.” She got up from her chair and made her way over to the gun, removing it from the mechanical arm, gingerly handling the weapon. She unloaded the weapon, and tried to discharge the round inside the barrel. She must have pulled on the slide a little too hard- the structural deformation from the heat jammed the gun. She sighed. “Another failure,” she announced, and brought the malfunctioning piece to her desk. She set it down, and began to dissect the weapon. A round was still present in the gun, so she had to be careful with how she worked with this. “Deformation still present upon firing. Suggest changes to structural integrity of polymer, refer to arrangement two-five-seven, and--”

“Anderson.” A voice from behind her room’s reinforced door interrupted her.

Ah. It was time for the meeting. First official mission with SMITED. She stood up from her desk, moving towards the door, and raised her hands. While she was sure that the boss was possibly giving security a tough time, she had no reason to, herself. These guys were just doing their jobs, and she understood that she was assessed as a pretty high-level threat herself. That, and they did give her a fairly comfortable room with her own tools and let her do her own...renovations. So long as she reported her actions and findings when asked, she should be in the clear. The doors opened, and a small security team filtered in. Some of them were relaxed, but a good few of them had their fingers just barely touching the trigger guards. She still had a long way to go.



She was brought to the meeting room without much ceremony. She kept her words and her thoughts to herself the entire trip. There was no place for small talk, after all. Truth be told, she was still trying to perfect the formula in her head. Perhaps a thicker barrel, compensated with a larger frame, would yield results. But that, in and of itself, was going against the initial design notes. It had to be compact enough that size-impaired folk would be able to use without it being too clumsy. This was irritating.

Her irritation only increased when she entered the meeting room, just in time to catch the speech by one of the agents in the room. Snortt was in the room too, and so were a number of others, each of them looking more different than the one next to them. What drew her attention, however, was, undoubtedly, the one trying to draw attention to himself the loudest, with his proclamations.
“Jean Anderson.” Jean sounded off with an introductory nod as she walked into the room. She turned her attention to the man at one head of the table, then to lady at the podium. “I never knew SMITED was this juvenile. ‘This seat is mine, no one can sit on it, or I’ll cry to ma’? I’d expected more professionalism.”

She could just barely smell the scent of alcohol permeating the room, with the source being the Satyr next to Snortt, and her expression soured even more. Boosting booze at this hour of the morning? Snortt, the bastard. He knew better. Rather than take a seat, she stood to one side of the room. A chair at the head of the table probably offered a good view of everyone’s heads, and a sense of misplaced accomplishment. She wasn’t comfortable with that feeling staring at the back of her head, however. Like the cold steel barrel of a gun placed onto the back of her neck, she couldn’t tell if the finger was off, or on the trigger, and that made her all the more fearful of taking a seat on a table full of strangers. “Don’t mind me,” she waved, and leaned against the wall, folding her arms over her chest. She’ll just watch from this corner.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

"Bro." Suddenly, there she was. "Like, chillax, man."

Draping her arms around Jean's shoulders as if they were a bad scarf, Charles took the floor. At her entrance, the door did not rattle and the floor did not creak. Under the cover of ruckus, she'd slithered her way into the room like a snake through marshy reeds.

"Haven't you done any reading, Jean?" Charles, for one, was pretty sure she'd read a book at least once. "In situations like these, you need to show your dominance, you know? Mm." She nodded to herself as if to affirm her own wisdom, and spoke with an airheaded confidence. "Getting grumpy just lets him know he's won. For territorial disputes you need to, uh, mm. Observe, please." Next, a positively disruptive sound creaked out from Charles' seat as she converted it into a soapbox upon which to stand.

"Sup! Dawg!" Towards Reggie, a flurry of jerky movements punctuated each of Charles' shouts. "You stink! That head of yours smells like things that I don't like, and I'm already sick of it. If you remove it, I may deign to forgive you for your transgressions against my plucky companion over there! And my nostrils." The last part, Charles spoke much more plainly than the rest. In the back of her head, she felt as if at some point, she'd gotten away from what she'd been trying to teach dear young Jean, but she felt accomplished none the less.

"That will be all." She smiled, bowed, and then dropped down to actually sit in her seat with a single meaty thud.

"Oh." She remembered. She'd actually come here for a reason other than yelling at some smelly child of deforestation and pissing on letterboxes. "Top of the morning to you all too, I think?" She frowned to herself and mulled the words over in her head. "Hey, Snot, J, is that how people greet each other here? Or am I thinking of something else?"

 

[pomme]

Location: SMITED HQ
Mentioned: Everyone, s e v e n interacted and Fill mentioned

As Elis stared herself down in the mirror, gold glinting off each inch of bare skin, she grinned. Today might not be a good day – but it would be a familiar one.

Her fingers traced down the thin plaits that lay under her horns, skeins of careful gold folded between each strand. It was the same style her mother had braided before her largest and final duel, and while she knew that she'd probably slay her if she saw her wear it again after what happened, it was still comforting in a slight way. Finally, months after everything in her life had dipped its toes in hellfire, she would be in a familiar climate. But, if anything, this day wasn't one she'd allow to be lost in wandering thoughts. The black skirt she'd donned brushed against her legs as she stepped out into the hall, flaunting the heavy burns on her leg as a pride rather than an embarrassment. Maybe not quite what her family had thought, but they didn't happen to be admitted into SMITED with her.

The halls seemed to echo around her as she tried to find her way to the meeting, her hand clutched around the polished idol she'd looped around her wrist. Usually her knives were her preferred comfort trinket, but in the spirits of good faith, she'd left them in their sleeves back in her clinically sterile dorm. Even as days and weeks passed, the way each step seemed to follow her in SMITED's winding halls always sent a jolt of something uncanny down Elis's spine. As she walked, the clicks of her shoes started to sound like gunshots in her ears, a sound so familiar she thought they maybe would've been more comforting than actuality. But, just as she started to fear she was lost, a crash sounded from just past her.

She waited, a light breath caught in her chest, for something – red lights and a glaring alarm would've been something she expected from a facility like this – but nothing came. Just antics, then? Guess I'll have to find out. Her footfalls grew louder as she hurried over to the source of the sound, cacophonous laughter and talking playing itself on loop as she neared. A set of doors, tossed open, stood before her, and with a heavy handful of caution, she peeked in.

It would be an absolute lie to say she wasn't surprised.

The first thing she saw was the glint of brandished metal, but not the type that she would've seen cast into a sword. It was cold in the light that it caught, and where she expected to see a hand holding it, there was only a body. Her hand jumped to her lips and she stepped back, eyes jumping over the other jumble of human and unhuman creatures alike that filled the room in front of her, all headed by a waiting woman with shock-red hair. Taking a breath and letting the childish grin wrestling inside her shine, she slipped into the room, staying against the wall so she could better observe all the new people. Somewhat to her surprise, most were men, most much more competent looking than her older brothers. It would be a lie to say the one who'd left the biggest impression was the chainsaw, who Elis could only recognize as some sort of a Bakemono, though it would be a lie so blasphemous even she wouldn't speak it to say it wasn't a good one. She hadn't missed his chosen first words, and they were ones she'd thought would've been left outside such a clean facility. But regardless, she wasn't here to spark war or kill like she knew. Elis had told herself this would be a fresh start, so she would make it one.

But there was another thing that quickly caught her eyes, widening them and sending a glimmer of bitter intrigue across her face. The glint of an angel's wings. It was something she'd never seen before, lest for the quickly dullening severed ones the upper families had collected, and it took her breath away. Beneath the beauty, though, the ethereal light that seemed to hover around them, she was really wishing she hadn't left her knives.

New start, right?

Tampering her grin down and detaching herself from the wall, she carefully slipped into a seat close to the angel girl, trying to draw her eyes away from the glowing feathers of her wings before it got too hard. "Hello, miss," she said with a bashful grin, nodding deftly at the redhead in a voice sweeter than her own. Blinking away the excitement in her eyes, she turned to the angel, who's name she had just caught as she settled into the seat. Giddy excitement bubbled inside her: sure, she would behave, but how far would that go? Elis had never harbored a particular hate for Nephilim, but she wasn't exactly aiming for good relations either. "And hello to you, Ariael," she said softly, eyeing the silky dress that pooled around her feet. It was breathtaking, no doubt, though Elis wasn't sure if she really expected to get work done in such a fine gown.

A spark of mischief flared in her eyes as she smiled softly, her next words dancing on her tongue before she even spoke them. They were surely needless, and inciting at that, but was that not Elis's nature? Regardless, she didn't expect this Ariael to propose a duel or anything of the sorts. "And may Ai'unia guide us all on this fine day."

 

[Fable]

Briefing - 0900 - Hanarei Rumble Fish Tarmagon Morzone _Line 213 s e v e n The One Eyed Bandit simj26 Worthlessplebian pomme Fill Heterological

The first few agents weren't the troublesome ones, well, if she ignored the goat they weren't. She had seen the nightmare of an agent roster for this mission and she was going to need something to deal with the stress that was about to slap her in the face.
Criminals, drunkards, and whatever that chainsaw-man was. Honestly, this seemed more like something for a televised fighting competition than a group of SMITED agents.

What was that movie called? Suicide Squad? Maybe she could convince the higher-ups certain individuals needed to be given a special position in the agency.

As she expected, the more agents that arrived the more chaos came with each new person. However, Talora did not turn away from writing her notes even as the reptilian criminal made a ruckus in the room. At least Jean seemed stable. Charles was not. And chainsaw head? There was always a comedian in agent groups, and he was terrible.

"Felicia, please help the other agents with their sitting technique," Talora said, clearly hinting at the esper to get the feet off the table. "Hermione, I do have to inform you that should your sobriety become a hinderance that the Syndicate will be more than happy to curse you where anything you drink will always be water."

Talora jotted down the last few notes and then turned to regard the agents in the room with a stoic expression. "Unfortunately, this is the team we are stuck with for this mission. If you have an issue or believe you'll be inclined to kill one of the team members, please leave and seek out the counselor for an evaluation."

"This mission did not go well the first attempt, but it gave us a bit of intel so that we could learn and improve our tactics. It was discovered that the so-called heir of the witch who cast the original curse had been replaced by a doppelganger for a unknown period of time. The doppelganger's whereabouts are currently unknown and also not this teams concern. As none of you were involved in the original mission I'll give you the quick notes version."

"This forest had a castle turned luxury hotel where guests frequently went missing. The bordering forest began to expand and as of today the hotel has been completely taken over by it. The Syndicate has managed to temporarily halt the expansion, but we want a permanent solution. Our only clue about the curse is an old folklore about a vain princess who was cursed by a witch and the forest was meant as a means to keep the princess from ever leaving."

"Drones and other more remote methods have failed due to the magical interference of the forest. Thankfully the original team managed to get out using a risky escape method, but this time we're more prepared if the team needs to be evacuated. Another agent will also be joining us shortly; Agent Gypsy, our seer-in-training. She'll be using her abilities in hopes of guiding the team to the source of the curse so it can be destroyed or dispelled."

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the criminal crew, the less-than-sober satyress, and the chainsaw hybrid, "For those of you in this team that aren't exactly model citizens, you want to get paid?
Better accommodations? You better follow the rules. No killing fellow agents, no stealing from fellow agents, no secret possession of artifacts found, no heavy drinking, listen to the commands given by the team leader and any veteran agents. Basically, behave. You don't behave, well, your contracts were written in a flexible manner. Misbehave and you might get lost in a magical forest and become unretrievable."

 

[Hanarei]

Location: SMITED HQ
Interacted: Fable Worthlessplebian Rumble Fish Fill
Mentioned: Everyone to some Small extent

Felicia sat quietly watching as more entered the room, seeing the first as someone new. She expected as much given what had happened and the few rumblings she did hear though she wished it might of been someone she knew. It didn't take long after she did see the more familiar satyr and then finally Jasper that put her a bit more at ease. At least there was one person who she had gone with on that past mission she could recognize there. It was quite likely more would show up as well. It had been a distraction enough to not really fully recognize the fact the first had sat next to her. When he spoke up she blinked seeming briefly disoriented before shifting back out of her thoughts looking at the man who introduced himself to her in a strangely... suave way? Naturally Felicia didn't even really pick up on it or think of it much besides just being a greeting and not taking in any extra context.

Before she could reply though a loud belch could be heard as she blinked looking at Hermy. The 'casual drinker' seemed to waste no time speaking up introducing herself before Felicia even had the chance to do so. The girl looked on feeling... a little bit left out if she were to be honest. It felt as if she had missed a chance at some casual one on one talking time with a stranger. Still, it wasn't something that bothered her all too much. It was nice to be able to speak with anyone even if it wasn't in the way she read so much about used typically to get to know others in more intimate environments. She was a bit confused as to why she specifically called him handsome. Wasn't it a bad thing to state about a person's physical attributes openly? Though perhaps it mostly just applied to the negative aspects.

"Hi, my name is Felicia. It is nice to meet you good-looking." She spoke in a much more monotone voice lacking much emotional impact in her words in some part copying what Hermione was doing not assuming it to be her attempt to flirt. She did still accompany her greeting with a wave of her hand. If there was one thing she learned... it was not to believe what books say in their entirety about social interaction, and moderation was the best approach to being personable. Perhaps her greeting needing a bit more life into it then she applied.

Her head turned as a rather talkative scaley individual came in. Their chatter seeming directed to Hermy about... wanting something? The amount of words spewed made it hard for her to focus with her mind already a bit caught up in thought. Fortunately the next came in blinking as she watched the pretty girl smile at her. Felicia's lips remained neutral not seeming to think at least in time to return such a smile as social cues dictated. She tended to need to think about actively doing social cues given how unnatural it was for her to just do them by instinct. None the less she managed to wave at her as she gave her greeting and then again another pleasant looking man to introduce himself as she simply raised her hand up in a wave repeating the gesture she did before though pointing it more in his direction.

As if trying to out compete the lizard, a... um... well as far as she could assume... well she couldn't really assume much. He seemed rather loud and noisy. It seemed as if he had read her book about social etiquette and was actively doing all the opposite. To be fair he was projecting his voice fine though perhaps the tone was wrong? She wasn't sure exactly what others would evaluate as being the best way to really judge his 'performance'. It wasn't like she could exactly claim to of done the best job either from all her attempts so far. She thought of speaking up but then again it could be what they call a monologue. His words more being rhetorical rather then expecting someone to respond directly to it. It seemed though someone thought otherwise as another entered quickly to counter his. Another seeming a Boggart (she was pretty sure of it though she would be lying if she said she was the most well read about Fae to feel comfortable admitting any sort of expertise on them) mentioning the act of trying to assert dominance. Wasn't that more of an animal thing to do?

The last one she saw enter was a demon... unfortunately not something she wished to see not so much she didn't like to see a demon but out of the hope she would of saw more familiar faces. She hadn't made perhaps.... the best impressions with the others... but she still thought it was enough to at least get a bit closer with them. Seeing so many new people made her uncertain if she would manage to get close with anyone. At leas the demon seemed more normal. She seemed particularly fascinated by the winged girl making her tilt her head curiously though not speaking up much about it. Before her mind could wander more their superior officer spoke up giving her a chance to breath and settle in a bit. The girl looking on, nearly jumping a bit in surprise as she was directly spoken too.

"Ah, understood Overseer." She spoke with a nod. The esper's hands lifting up as a light red glow formed around her. The glow suddenly spread out suddenly surrounding the legs of both Hermione and the strange Reginald fellow. Both their legs were suddenly lifted up slightly by Felicia's telekinesis as she carefully swung them around off the table and back around into place under the table placing them down so they were sitting properly in their seats. The red glow from her power dissipating from their feet as well as from Felicia as she lowered her hands back down on the table. She couldn't lie the fact she was spoke to by Talora and given some bit of responsibility made her feel a bit happy even if she didn't know how to show it. It helped to ease her a little bit more despite lacking as many familiar faces as she would of liked. As she heard the mission Felicia nodded seeming to take in the information nodding as she didn't have much else to add looking towards Jasper in particular being the Magician she knew most only assuming the curse might be Magic related.

 

[_Line 213]

Snortt
Briefing Room
Interacting with: Everyone​

Snortt's head shot toward the door as someone decided to kick it in. He hadn't had the most subtle entrance in the world, of course, but it wasn't as if that was his decision; if he were having his way, after all, there would have been no entrance to be had at all; he would have been lounging in the sun room in his old high-rise, sipping the good stuff as he reclined in front of the TV.

He narrowed his eyes, choked back the beginnings of a laugh, and looked around at some of the others throughout the room. "Who the hell is this guy?" he asked, mocking mirth dripping from his voice as his initial suppression quickly became an outward snicker. Two of the others who were streaming into the room hadn't even caught his attention, this single, particularly foolish man seeming to greatly tickle the Sobekan.

Even so, his attention was short-held; the pair of entrances that directly followed that of the "chainsaw man" immediately and completely took over.

"Jean! Charles! Fellas!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Hah-haaa! I see you guys survived the hallway walk; security'n this place, am I right? Reminds me of that one facility at the border," he said, now pointedly turning to look at the woman who would be delivering their briefing in short order. "...But incompetent."

Their supposed overseer seemingly ignored the lizard's prodding, deciding that she would much rather move straight into the briefing as soon as everyone had assembled. Snortt crossed his arms, drumming the claws of his right hand against its opposite upper limb as he squinted in what could either be impatience or contemplation; perhaps difficult to tell, given his stranger face and odd temperament. For the most part, he seemed to be paying attention; he muttered to himself from time to time, yet any words that could be discerned seemed to be those of quiet planning as opposed to stewing anger or anything that could be considered truly unrelated. If anything, the briefing itself seemed to pacify the man--until their briefer decided to take a shot back.

"Listen lady, I dunno if you got the memo, but at least SOME of us are career professionals here, alright?" he said, jabbing a claw into his own chest before pointing toward his two fellows. "What, we knock a few places over and suddenly you think we're out for blood? What, you think the kind'a jobs we pulled off were lucky shots?" He pointed at the provided visuals, very nearly sneering as he did so. "Now I'm not interested in talkin' up the rest'a these jokers, but me and the gang? Give us the tools, give us the time, and we could get in and outta your little halfway-house there while sleepwalking, mark my words, pal. You'll get your curse dispelled or your witch whacked or whatever dealt with, alright? Just relax." He crossed his arms, glaring away at the far wall as he once again drummed his fingers against his arm--albeit far faster this time. "Nnnnh, no respect around here, not even a smidgen," he muttered, a bit of a hiss coming out in his voice.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Mentions: Bring me everyone. Everyone? EVERYONE!
Location: Briefing Room

On second thought, perhaps Scott came off as a bit too suave for his tastes. Oh well, he'll have to just tighten up his behaviour when they deploy. Although initially, there was a present worry that he gave the wrong impression but judging from her reaction that didn't seem to be the case. In fact she seemed... BUrrrppp A large belch interrupted his train of thought as the individual that Scott noticed but didn't immediately address was the reason behind that 'thunderous roar'. He turned around to get a good look at the belching wunderkind. To his surprise, it was a satyress with an impressively crafted wineskin, at least impressively crafted to Scott. Now, it should be mentioned that Scott has no reservations about people drinking alcohol at any time of day, but what he does have a reservation about is the gluttonous consumption of it before the mission, a bad first impression, but by no means the worst one that he has the pleasure of having.

She complimented him on his looks which he admits would be mildly ego-stroking if not for the fact that her inhibitions might be lowered due to the alcohol. Also, the fact that flattering would not get anyone, anywhere with him."Nice to meet you, Hermy." He indulged the satyress' preference for her nickname rather than her full for now, but if she screws up, her full name will have just a hint of disappointment. The goat kicked her legs up onto a chair, then commented about rescuing a cat stuck in a tree which did have a humorous side to it, one that Scott chose to ignore, swapping for stoicism as he heard the telltale sound of a door being opened.

This time a man had entered. Obviously, he is the next operative to join them on their mission but also obviously that he isn't just a normal man. Quite possibly another mage, Scott thought. The staff seemed to indicate as much or perhaps he is a monk operative? Wouldn't be out of the question. When he sat down, the ice mage got the impression that he was anticipating something which Scott had no choice but to agree with as he turned back to face the woman at the podium. Although his ears did pick up his last name.

The ice mage had crossed his pale, sensory deadened arms then patiently waited for the next, potentially, extravagant operative to enter the room. He admits a little surprise as the boasting, oversized lizard entered the room. Well to be fair, a crocodylomorph would be the more apt term but he doubts anyone cares. When the crocodile said 'it's the crocodile in him', yours truly began to wonder whether he'll enter torpor if he cools him down enough but questions and hypotheses later.

The angelic Nephilim had actually managed to catch Scott off guard though he wouldn't show it, for this was the first time seeing one. Some of the myths and stories, he heard painted them as something more than fantastical. He can see where those types of stories were coming from, honestly. Her voice had that 'divine' resonance, a curious attribute.

Another potential mage had entered, a Whyte fellow. Wonder what's his expertise in magic, if it's ice then he'd hope that he can swap notes from the field.

Oh, the next individual might have actually caught Scott's scorn. A chainsaw hybrid who boasts more than the croc yet while the croc had an aura of professionalism, this jokester had falsely threatened them. His answer to the jokester's threat is to raise an eyebrow so high that it threatened to tunnel through the Admin building roof. Then he goes on about his choice in seating, really? Seating? Now, Scott is for sure that this comedic, chainsaw character is concocting a crafty, personal plan. Hopefully he can stow that attitude during a mission, lone wolfing things is a sure fire way to get someone killed.

The next person is an interesting one, her red eyes remind him of a reptile yet the presence of horns, hair are more mammal inspired. From her demeanor alone, this woman was a breath of fresh air in comparison to the prideful chainsaw hybrid.

Before Scott can make some more notes on the next few individuals, the woman who was their briefer began to speak. She ordered Felicia to correct their colleagues behaviours, at first Scott didn't know what this meant but quickly caught on to the fact once he saw her glow then the legs of Hermione and Chainsaw lift up into the air in an unnatural way. Telekinesis, an interesting ability. As with all things related to the mission, Scott's focus intensified towards the woman. He began to mentally note the details. First attempt was a failure but returned information, the mission is about a curse placed by a witch, the forest won't stop spreading until it's been lifted by whatever means, the doppelganger is not this team's concern, electronics have failed due to magical interference. This is quite the peculiar first mission, almost seems suicidal but the thought didn't deter him."How will we deploy to the mission area?" Volker spoke curiously yet tempered by stoicism.

 

[simj26]

Anderson, Jean"Whatever you say, Charles." Jean grunted, trying to seem as if she didn't leap out of her skin when the faerie sneaked up on her. She could never get a hold of Charles. That was unsettling enough for her. She had a bad habit of sneaking around, unheard, unseen, and if Jean were any jumpier, Charles probably wouldn't be around. A tempered trigger finger was best when dealing with Charles. She watched as Charles mounted her seat and started giving the Seatman what-for in her own unique blend of words. Jean had to admit, she found it hysterical enough to offer a polite chuckle. That behaviour probably won't sit well with the others present, and wouldn't have for Jean herself if she wasn't already so used to it. Her eyes swept across the room, now fully taking in the faces of the others gathered here.

"You're doing just fine, Charles," she called out in response to the faerie's question, flashing her a thumbs up. "Keep it up."

Some were human, some less so. She watched as a couple more new faces filed into the room- a demon and a human, and said nothing. There was still the smell of unprofessionalism in the room, mixed in with the pungent odor of moonshine, and Jean could only make a disappointed expression as she gave another sweeping gaze across the room. There was probably a reason why SMITED had them on the payroll outside of their personalities. Just as she was a specialist in making things break, they were probably specialists in their own sectors, whatever they may be. Still, it was deeply unsettling. Were they walking into death with a patch job team like this? Snortt wouldn't do that to them, right? She shook her head, and settled in for the lecture and briefing that the lady boss began to lay on them.


To the point, no nonsense.All business in the business room. If she were to risk thinking out of turn, this was the kind of person she wanted back in her life. The Overseer was just like him, and she liked it. She cleared her throat, and shifted her focus back on the details of the mission, rather than on the giver of the details.

Folklore and fairytales. Not the worst thing to exist, but probably just as bad. There were no certainties when it came to these sorts of things. Magicks operated on rules, and if she knew those rules, Jean could feasibly make something to counteract against it, or something explosive enough to make it go away. Drones failing meant that electronics were out of the picture. No remote detonations. No digitals either. She probably had to deal with something more basic. These curses never made anything easy. She nodded along quietly with what the Overseer said. She did want to get paid, and she did want better accomodations for her experiments and smithing.

Jean slowly approached Snortt as he made his outburst, glancing towards the Overseer. "Snortt, let's not do away with the distractions just yet." Jean spoke quietly, resting a hand on Snortt's shoulder, offering to calm her old boss down, clearly torn between respect for the new boss and loyalty to the old one. "If I'm hearing this right, we have no intel on the place. Drones down, and we have to depend on hazy visions from a Seer to feel our way around? There's magickal interference in there, three of us wouldn't make it. Can't make these omelettes without breaking some eggs."

She turned to Charles now. "What do you think this is, then? Do we blow up an artifact or a person? Or is it just some really funky fertilisers?" It was a long shot, but Charles was probably the best person she knew to ask about things like these. For crying out loud, the madlass stole a name. If someone knew about what was causing this, it was probably her. Probably.

 

[Rumble Fish]

Well the lizard-man and… chainsaw man had already found themselves on the “I don’t care” side of the Satyress. One for trying to take some of her booze and the other for calling her a goat. If the dude hadn’t been made of literal metal teeth she would’ve told him where to go. She would be inclined to throw the wine right into his system to make it short-circuit but… it was a good wine so, no. Her attention was taken away as she watched Jasper, who she recognised from before. Seeing the blatant confusion on his face, she flashed him a sly smirk with her strangely white teeth. Despite her generally abysmal hygiene; she knew nobody wanted to kiss a mouth of rotten chompers. SAlso water was fine to go in her mouth… among other things. Hermy grunted a slight chuckle to herself at her own mental joke. he was tempted to say something to him, maybe embarrass him a little mentioning how he had his hands on her, albeit to get her free from the wall but she was distracted as Arieal and Whyte entered the room. And Scott reciprocated her greeting. Overall this was very… interesting. This weird mishmash of people was a little odd to the Satyr... but holy gods some of these people were jawdropping.

“Thank you, Pan…” The Satyress quietly prayed, a little flustered at being surrounded by, well, very attractive people. Though her flustered thoughts were dashed as Jean bitched about the lack of “professionalism.” Because opening with insults and cheap pot-shots was soooooo professional. “Jokes on you. I don’t have a ma.” She rolled her eyes before instantly cursing herself for saying that now. Now they knew that. Then again, everyone seemed to… know each other? Ah, so it was just like the orphanage; that made things a little better. Something familiar. Though Charles mentioning that Reg -was it?- stank caused the smirk to return. Good. She wasn’t the biggest anomaly here. The satyr scratched under her arm and shrugged, just letting them rattle on.

When Talora finally began the meeting, and spoke to her directly, the released a short and odd hybrid of a laugh and a belch, picking something out of the clove in her hoof as she spoke, “Oh I wouldn’t worry about my sobriety if I were you.” The Satyress sipped again for emphasis, “Can’t worry about what doesn’t exist.” She tapped the corner of her temple with a smirk; knowing full well what she had just said would probably ruffle some feathers. It seemed that these people knew little to nothing about Satyrs. While she had never met another, she did know this. Their intake was impressive. This was her third first full wineskin of the day and; boom, nothing. She was about to snark something else when she suddenly felt her hooves being suddenly off the table and pushed back under. Hermy bleated and waved her arms in an attempt to keep her balance. She flashed Felicia a look, knowing it was her. But... putting hooves back on the table was effort so she flashed her a flirtatious smirk.

“You’re lucky you’re a stunning fair maiden or I would’ve made you regret that.” She meant that, adding a wink and making the 'call me' gesture just to push it further. The Satyress finally went quiet as Talora finally began to tell them what exactly this mission was going to be. People going missing in a fancy hotel? Ohh, like Cluedo! Hermy puffed her cheeks in a suppressed belch, able to avoid this one from going public. Already she was beginning to regret this. But… if she got some money out of this she could put up with this nonsense for a little longer. And she had wine. Wine helped with all. Though what it did not help with was that damn lizard. He was already getting on the Satyr's nerves. "Somebody needs to get a stick out their ass but it's not them." She thinks inside with a roll of her eyes. If she had her way she would be sitting in her room getting plastered. But... money is nice.

 

[Fill]

• Reginald "Reggie" Sykes

• Meeting Room

  

  
  Mentioned: Every single one of you fine folks.

  "If being an adult meant having a stick up your ass and leaning on a wall acting like some antisocial teen, I'll pass and stay juvenile. More fun too. Besides, professionalism is overrated, Ms. Fursona."
  
  Reginald's rebuttal was swift towards the magia beast. Juvenile? Him? Probably. If he was not in some part juvenile, would he really be acting this way? Then again, it was all part of the plan. If everyone was too busy hating him or trying to crack wise right back at him, they could not waste all that much energy into hating each other. While others may try unify the group through professionalism or playing nice, he knew there were two sides to that coin. They needed someone to hate. Personalities tend to clash in large group settings, but if he could take the heat off and direct it towards himself, everything would run so much smoother.
  
  Plus, it played into his whole going solo thing.
  
  What he did not realize was that there was actually someone who would actually try and back Jean. Not only that, she turned the whole thing into a joke, a shenanigan. Reggie had to give credit where credit was due as a chuckle was elicited from his rows of razor sharp teeth, curled from a smirk into a smile. Who would a Fae would be the one to tickle his funny bone?
  
  It didn't mean he would go easy on her, but he could play along. Still, a part of him wondered how she found out about his name. Was it in the meeting brochure or something he did not bother to read? That would suck big time.
  
  "Dawg, that's all you. Next time, use soap when you shower. Or are you allergic to that, too?" Reggie chuckles. It may have been a bit of a low blow but he suspected what he said next may make up for it.
  
  "Hands down, out of all you losers, she's my favorite."
  
  Nothing else exciting happened until the demon entered through the doors, deigning to sit down next to the pidgeon lady. Perfect. Hopefully, if they caused a ruckus, he could divert some of the heat towards himself like the unsociable bastard he was.
  
  However, despites Reg's strong front, things went a little downhill for him.
  
  Peppermint thought it was alright for her to have her pet telekinetic on the team to force his feet off the table. Now, Reg was all for following orders, to an extent. If she asked nicely, he might, just might have done it, but he was comfortable and who cared if his feet were up or not. Nonetheless, the telekinetic shove was too much. If there was something Reginald hated more than anything in the world was being manipulated. Not then when he was hitman, and definitely not now.
  
  Each action he did was his own, and he was the boss of himself. Sure, he could follow orders here because he came to them, not the other way around, but he still had his own style of doing things and no one was taking that from him.
  
  He was nipping this in the bud here and now as he pointed at Felicia before putting his feet back on the table.
  
  "Try that again and we're gonna have problems. Don't ever try that psychic bullcrap on me again. What happened to asking nicely?" Reginald chuckled as he shook his head. He had to keep face and shake off the telekinetic manipulation of his limbs. Underneath, he was not a happy customer. Everything about that felt unnatural. Like he held no control over his own limbs.
  
  Which means you're gonna be missing some teeth, shortstack. If I didn't hate telekinetics before, I do now. Pain in the ass.
  
  Those comments were best kept to himself. Peppermint was on about not killing teammates and behaving, and he would be already pressing his luck already with putting his feet on the table again. If Felicia wanted to try again, she was welcome to. He would keep putting his feet back up just to spite her and Talora.
  
  Nothing interesting else was happening besides basic questions that Talora was bound to answer anyway. That and the furry lady was talking with the fae and lizardman about logistics and such. Interesting. Those three had history together. Still, he did not bother himself with talking just yet. In fact, he felt like passing out and going to sleep right then and there.
  
  But the lizardman and goat lady began speaking up.
  
  He might as well get into the action because the goat lady was certainly impressing him with her lackadaisical attitude. A bit too flirtatious for his liking considering he hated the idea of sucking up to anyone, but to each his own. Reginald had two favorites now.
  
  "Aw, baby upset because no one will take him seriously? You want respect? Prove it out there. For all we know, you might just cut tail and run when the going gets tough. Maybe even figuratively and literally. I mean, it wouldn't surprise me considering you're just a common thief. I'm with the drunk on this one."
  
  Reginald leaned back in his chair, smirking before turning his head to Talora. This time, the jokester attitude began to shift away into something more serious. The hitman in him. He was good at tracking people down, reading them. And he suspected they may have been looking for a person rather than an object, but he has been wrong in the past before.
  
  "I gotta say, Peppermint, I think I know why you hired me on and goat lady over there. Trees. Chainsaw. Grass. Goat. You want us to trim the forest? Real funny joke. But, let's get serious. If some witch, and we're assuming said witch is dead 'cuz of the heir, put a curse on a princess, shouldn't said princess be dead and the curse dispelled? Hell, vice versa?" Reginald tapped the table, "Seriously, you all are thinking about when we're being deployed or what it is causing this or getting taken seriously, but never thought about the fundamentals? Can we even rely on this folktale? What's up with this doppelganger crap? I mean, fine, it's not our concern, but where's the actual heir? Maybe he got high and screwed up the curse. Maybe our princess is an immortal vampire. Explains why this stuff is still happening even after God knows how long. Maybe the vanity thing too. And the people disappearing in the hotel. Vamps need blood."
  
  Reginald shakes his head. This whole thing was a mess. Good thing he was great at cleaning those up too. All par for the course.
  
  "Everybody lies or something is lost in translation or things get jumbled. We're really going to bet our lives, our whole gameplan, on some stupid folktale? Too many questions, too little answers. Who's the say the princess didn't just shift this curse onto the world or the heir and we're all to suffer for it? Hell, it'd probably be better if we burned the whole damn forest and the hotel to the ground and see what happens."
  
  Reginald chuckled at the last part. He was not even taking himself seriously when he said that last part. But what he said next was an open invitation for others to throw their theories into the air.
  
  "C'mon, I can't be the only one thinking these things."
  
  
  
  

 

[Heterological]

Location: Briefing Room

Whyt flinched as the door slammed open. The foot that caused the noise stepped into the room and Whyt got a look at a chainsaw-man-thing. The guy said some crappy one-liner, and then chuckled. Chainsaw Man seemed like a stereotypical, arrogant brawler, but if he had to spend more than an hour listening to him ramble on, then he would lose his mind. Whyt listened to him for about three seconds more before he turned his attention back to the overseer.

He listened to her description of the situation at hand, frowning. They had no info other than some folklore that sounded like a Disney movie, and he wasn't exactly sure why he had been called for the mission. Whyt was a combat and movement specialist; he was good for chases and fighting, not for tracking or defense. He could try facing a monster or something like that, but a curse like this was out of his expertise.

As the overseer addressed the unsavory folk in the room, he glanced around at them, taking a mental note to be more cautious. It seemed like some of them had a history of thievery or betrayal. Whyt would have to be ready to make a quick getaway if necessary.

He nodded once the overseer had finished, and looked around once again, scanning for any more details of the crew. Jean, from the corner of the room, asked, "If I'm hearing this right, we have no intel on the place. Drones down, and we have to depend on hazy visions from a Seer to feel our way around? There's magickal interference in there, three of us wouldn't make it."

Whyt nodded in agreement, and he stayed quiet until Chainsaw Man asked some questions about the reliability of the folklore. Whyt said, "The thing is, we have no intel at all. The folklore might lead to something, but it's useless without more information. There are a ton of possibilities for what's going on here, and we can't assume anything. For all we know, the princess could be nonexistent. The story sounds like something parents tell their children to make them behave." In a falsetto voice, he said, "Don't be a spoiled brat or you'll be lost in a magic forest forever!" Whyt shifted back to his normal tone. "But there's no way of knowing anything. I'd prefer to get more information on how we can destroy the curse before we go in, guns blazing."

 

[s e v e n]

Location: SMITED HQ
Interaction: pomme Fable

There had been more rather interesting company that follows them afterwards. Ariael had resorted to simply nod curtly towards all of them, the man that had followed, a- a- something. “Dear me,” she muttered to herself, unable to quite conceal her shock this time around. Instead she simply cleared her throat, averted her gaze, and managed the perfect composure she had always been brought up to embrace. Yet then, among all others, came a young woman. A woman is, perhaps, not the best way to have described the creature, for goats and lizards aside, she was the only one that was capable of causing Ariael’s stomach to turn.

There was obvious tensing around the edges of her lips, yet Ariael had not allowed such matter to disturb her off her poise. Her back remaining straight, eyes cast ahead, the Nephilim woman held back a huff. “Elis,” she began, and she found it harder each time to completely stray her eyes off the creature. A sickening beauty, one that a nightshade seems to possess. How cruel, how unjust. The hypocrisy of nature perfectly sculpted before her. “-is what you call yourself, is it not, demon?”

For truly, how is it that such a vile being deserve a name? Only one of purity should have, and the way the name rolled off her tongue caused Ariael to nearly gag. Sickening. To think that there was not a standard in their company to prevent such being within their premises. When she had spoken again, Ariael felt the hands sitting neatly over her lap clench. A click of the tongue was heard.

“You are very bold to mention the name of Her Holiness in my presence, demon.” She narrowed her eyes to a glare, this time, she had gazed right back towards the other woman. But then she smiled once more, yet just as always, it was only her lips that lifted. Her eyes remained hollow. Empty. “It is beyond me to revert to…petty dares, but I do wish you would do the same when we are not within the constrain of the law and eyes of the people.”

For I will end you where you stand.

Her attention snapped away when the voice of the Overseer chimed within the room. Back to her regular poise, she allowed one hand to sweep by her wings and gown, her chin pointed up as a sign of refusal to further engage with the demon. That was right- she had a much more important thing to attend. A pesky inferior being should not have been any of her concern as of the moment. A cockroach at best, a pest to walk their realm.

Ariael had simply nodded upon the further briefing. There were laws, of course, but she was bounded by her own laws. She will abide to them, until she must no longer. There was little to say, fewer to argue, the Nephilim smiled politely at the merfolk maiden. Her eyes briefly shifted to these less than model citizens, yet her expression remained stone cold, a perfect sculpture without flaw. It is what she is after all, what she must be.

“You are uncertain. May you be at ease, Overseer,” Ariel remarked. “There will be little to worry as long as we do not stray the path of light. I am sure these- most of these fine citizens are good all the same. I myself will do my best.”

 

[Tarmagon]

Jasper was a little surprised when Talora didn't immediately dress down the satyr, but then more 'team members' , and goddess bless but that definition was taking on a whole new meaning, made their entrances. The bellicose lizard man drew a raised eyebrow from the mage, especially when he asked the satyr, Hermione she had called herself, or Hermy, for a swig out of her wine-skin. That was going to go over well. A rather attractive woman wearing a gown more suited to an evening in a formal setting than a mission brief entered next, downy wings marking her as a nephilim. Jasper had worked with a couple in the past, and once you got past the 'holier than thou' attitudes, they had been, competent operators. He caught the name Ariael before his attention was drawn back to the door and a man entered, taking a seat beside him and introducing himself as Whyt. Before Jasper could respond, the doors flew open violently, and a thing that appeared to be a melding of machine and human strode in, arrogance dripping from every word and action. Jasper narrowed his eyes slightly as the thing spoke, but shrugged internally. Not his business who the agency hired.

Jasper's attention left the, chainsaw? yes, definitely chainsaw, headed creature as a beastkin entered. The woman seemed to know the lizard man, and introduced herself as Jean, also noting the behavior of the chainsaw head. Maybe an actual professional? Jasper began to have his doubts as some kind of fae appeared, draping itself over Jean before transmuting a chair into a box which it stood on and began to berate Hermy for her hygiene. As the fae ran down, a demoness entered the room, choosing to sit beside the nephilim. Jasper groaned internally, feeling a headache starting, but then Talora was speaking, so he turned his attention to the Overseer.

Apparently Talora was a bit irritated, since the first thing she did was try to reign in the more, disruptive elements of the team, and have Felicia clear the table of feet. She managed to finish a basic briefing before something she said triggered another outburst from the lizard man. Jasper listened to him rant with half an ear, his gaze on the, what WAS that creature? Jasper dredged his memory, vaguely remembering something about things coming to life. Hmm. Japanese folklore. Tsukumogami? No, those were animated items that received life after a hundred years of faithful service. Chainsaws weren't a hundred years old. Yôkai? Weren't those spirits of deceased humans? Bakemono perhaps? Jasper gave up, it didn't matter. At least the man sitting by Hermy was paying attention, since he asked a pertinent question about deployment. The beastkin seemed to be trying to rein in the lizard man, which was good, but... Hermy was saying something, but it was lost as the chainsaw creature put its feet back up on the table, by actions and words almost daring Felicia to remove them again before tearing into the lizard man and then into the Overseer herself. Jasper's opinion of the creature, not high to begin with, dropped precipitously, as did his estimation of its intelligence.

Jasper reached into his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen, ostensibly to take notes. He flipped the notebook open as the man sitting beside him voiced his misgivings about the limited intel they were receiving. Smart, but ultimately useless. They would only know what the upper echelon wanted them to know, though this time, Jasper might be able to shake things up a bit. As the man finished, and the nephilim assured the Overseer that she would remain on the 'path of light', Jasper busied himself writing in his notebook, or at least, he appeared to be writing in his notebook. His pen was actually drawing a precise string of runes on the table just below his notebook. He nodded to himself as he looked them over, then glanced at Ariael with a wry smile.

"I actually think that comment was directed at me," he said, then turned his attention to the Overseer. "And for the record Overseer Reed, I didn't actually kill any team members inside Pandora's Box, I merely chose which of them should die in order to advance the mission."

Jasper shrugged slightly, then continued speaking, his voice not overly loud, but clear.

"Hey Scraps," he said, looking directly at the chainsaw creature, "That WAS the Overseer's way of asking politely. She could have asked Felicia to roll you up into a little ball and throw you out a window. Like you said to the ambulatory luggage there, respect is earned, and you haven't earned any. It might be best if you took your feet off the table before things get, interesting."

The chainsaw thing's feet stayed planted on the table, and Jasper shrugged, laying one hand on top of the runes he had written on the table. Blue-white fire flared around his hand, and the chainsaw man's feet were pushed aside as though someone had given them just enough of a shove to move them to the floor.

"I've convinced the table that it doesn't like feet up on it," Jasper said easily, his voice neutral. "The more feet are put up there, the more, strongly, it will express its displeasure. And before you start in on another tirade, I've actually spoken to one of the agents who went into the forest. Do you want to hear what she told me, or do you want to keep up with the 'measuring' contest?"

Fill s e v e n _Line 213

 

[pomme]

Location: SMITED HQ
Mentioned: Everyone, s e v e n , Tarmagon , and Heterological

The first thing Elis noticed as her more elysian companion broke her silence was her voice. It was soft, floating with its gentle notes, drifting and weaving itself through the other sounds and washing them out. It felt comforting, warming almost – but it took her no longer than another breath to notice the hatred rolling off her in waves.

She fought to keep her brows from shooting up. Of course, Nephilims and those types were something she'd grown used to through stories her parents would tell as they bandaged her, but seeing them in action was truly something precious. This one specifically – Ariael – made her wonder. It was a simple question, something that felt plainly displayed to her, but one she hadn't heard before. If the 'holy' too harbor hatred, what does that speak to their 'pure hearts'?

Elis was never stranger to that animosity, the one that she'd only seen between wings and horns, ivory feathers and ebony gazes. She'd seen it in the scars that were boasted to be from an angel, or in the countless paintings of severed wings, the way they were worshipped in a way worlds away from holy. But this, this woman that sat before her, was something she'd never seen before. Something about her was familiar, familiar as the look in her aunt's eyes as they brandished their sticks, familiar for Elis in the way that she would always seem less childish the hours after a lashing. It made her bitter in a way that nothing else could, and somehow the easy, teasing smiles she wore like a charm didn't come as easily.

It seemed the ways of angels would have to be something she learned on the job, but the look in Ariael's eyes told her something she'd learned from countless people, demon and other alike. If the ways of their kind were ones of dignity, that was what Elis would brandish.

She raised her chin and turned away, keeping her focus on the leader until she'd finished detailing the mission. She could already hear the others voicing their questions, many of the same which had already spurred within her, but she was determined to get a final word in with Ariael. Avoidance could be stowed away for later. "Oh, I would never, Ariael," she murmured, her gaze still floating around Talora. "Getting blood on that beautiful gown is a sin I fear far too grievous for me." She settled back into the chair, letting her words rest and joining the angel in her turned-chin ignorance.

Elis was carefully attentive as the others piped up in turn, the remarks of the chainsaw specifically leaving a sour taste in her mouth. His points were echoed by a few others, and they certainly were valid, but as she gauged the others out, she feared she had already learned all there was to know about his type. Her attention was again drawn as one of the men by the chainsaw drew vivacious fire from its surface, doling out his own thoughts on the situation. Though she wasn't yet sure she should say anything to the Bakemono, she was glad someone had voiced what she'd hoped they were all thinking, and a hint of a smile played itself across her lips.

"The magician is right here, I'm afraid," Elis spoke firmly, nodding in Jasper's direction. "And, if there's anything I can contribute, it's that parents don't kidnap guests and operatives just to keep their children in line. If we're laying this all out, the folklore is really our only option, and while it might not be the most credible, it gives us something to lead on." She paused before turning to the other man who had spoke.

"Sadly, I reckon if there was a way to eliminate this curse from the outside it would've been done before operatives died the first time around. All of this is a long shot, though I'd guess it's much better than going in blind. Do we know anything more about what this magical interference entails?"

 

[_Line 213]

Snortt
Briefing Room
Interacting with: Everyone​

Jean's consolation only seemed to cause Snortt to dig himself further into his seething hole, the lizard intensifying his finger-drumming as he slinked a little lower into his seat. At the very least, his outbursts seemed to have been quelled, reducing themselves to grumbling murmurs as the others began to bicker amongst themselves. His eyes darted back and forth between the operatives as they spoke, each utterance seeming to cause his eyes to narrow further as a suppressed hiss continued to build. The lizard was seemingly running on a very short fuse, and the near-complete lack of advance planning seemed to shorten it considerably. Though most of the proverbial shit-flinging was headed in other directions, it was another tirade from the living object that seemed to finally spur Snortt back into action.

"Listen, pal," he said, leaning forward on the table as he pointed a claw at the chainsaw, "you think you're clever? I knew a guy like you, once, and y'know what happened to him? He thought he was the hottest shit on the block, walked right into a tomb while the rest of us were still prepping, and died to the very first ward the place had. And if that happens to you, I'm gonna laugh, buddy. A big, huge, uproarious gutbuster." He hissed, reclining back slightly, but not before slapping a few of his digits onto a nearby pad of paper, dragging it toward him along with a pen as his eyes slowly slid across the rest of those assembled. "Listen to leaders, listen to veterans, Sobek's scales, you people are gonna get us all killed," he said, drumming his fingers on the table for a moment. "And I dunno about you, but I'm not interested in dying; as soon as my tenure with the trash-heap is up, I've got a luxury modernist cabin out in Europe with my name on it, and the only time I'm gonna consider death is when I run outta money to pay the mortgage, we clear?" He paused, sweeping his eyes back and forth across the group for another moment. "In line with these goals, and since no one else is putting anything up, I have a plan. It's simple, it's easy, if we do it right it won't get us killed, and as long as no one does anything stupid..." he paused here, looking pointedly at the Bakemono, "...it might even be fun."

One more sweep of the room, and then the Sobekan twirled the pen around in his fingers, clicked the end of it, and then began to draw a box on the page. "Okay? Okay. Now here's the plan. Let's assume that we're not getting any more intel. There's no point in doing any research, because unless the IQ outside of this room is even lower than the IQ inside of it, they've sent teams to comb through all the books they've got and they've come up with no leads. That means the only leads are in the place itself, and unless we wanna walk around in the underbrush, get lost, and die, I say that we start out with the most promising note so far, that being that hotel, or...castle, or...or whatever. So, wha' d'we do? We treat the first half like you treat a take, and we adapt the second part depending on what happens in the first." He looked up at the group after finishing his drawing on the paper, seemingly having only made a rectangle. Holding up a finger, he continued addressing the group. "Now, what's the first thing that you always do when you're working a score?" he asked, pausing as he looked around as if soliciting answers. "Y' case the joint. The intel doesn't matter, the method doesn't matter, the means don't even matter. You always. Case. First." He tapped the rectangle he had drawn, before making a series of marks on it, as if indicating doors and windows on a floorplan.

"You tag all the doors. You tag all the windows. You make note of anything that looks like it'll work as an entrance, and then you pick the best ones--spoiler alert, the front door isn't always the best one." He narrowed his eyes again, then drew a circle a short distance away from the rectangle in the middle of the page. "Usually, you get a whole day just to case. Since they're putting the rush on us, we don't have a whole day. So instead we're gonna have a rally point, we're gonna compare notes, and then the next thing we're gonna do--" he reached his writing-hand up, pointing the edge of his pen at Charles before drawing an arrow into the building, "--is send Charles in through the best entrance. Why? Because they can go through walls. Easy. Brilliant. Fantastic. Charles is gonna do an interior threat assessment. Are there hostiles? How many are there? Can we walk around, or are we gonna get shot, beaten, or erased from existence?"

He moved his pen back to the circle, and then drew a curving arrow from that to one of the entrances. "After that, we assess, and we plan our breaching location. Depending on what's going on inside, we've got a few options. One, we all breach together and try not to die. Two, we use a breaching team as a distraction or as perimeter security, and split off me, Charles, the Seer, and uh..." He paused, looking around, before pointing the end of his pen at Felicia, "--the telekinetic, yeah, as a seeker group. The seer and I for tracking, Charles for mobility, and the TK for utility. Jean, I love ya pal, but depending on what's goin' on in there the rest'a these chuckleheads might need the firepower."

Snortt snorted slightly, reaching a palm up to rub at his nose. "...Three, we play it quiet, split up if we have to, and cover as much ground as possible, assuming there are little to no hostiles present inside. If we don't need everybody in there, then we can think about splittin' up and canvassing some of the forest as well, in case there's anything of interest out there. But! At least from what I'm hearing, if there's anything that's gonna point elsewhere in the forest, then it's gonna be in that castle or whatever the hell."

With that, he tossed the pen down on the pad, and crossed his arms. "So like I said, so easy a caveman could do it. If the seer points us somewhere else--which I doubt she will, but it's a possibility, so whatever--then we use the very same plan as a contingency, identify a suitable perimeter and any entrances and exits from it, and proceed in the exact same or a similar fashion. Any questions."

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

"Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm." Charles nodded along with the other agents' various ramblings and bickerings, a look of smug self-assurance splattered across her features. So silly. The lot of them, that was, with their theorizing and plotting.

"Let me tell you, my dears-" When she spoke, Charles did so with the sort of confidence that only a proper moron could carry. "Trees are like the turtle not the hare. Slow and smart, not quick and greedy. That is the job of people and their precious civilizations."

"If you ask me, the real victims here are the trees. Poor things. I bet they are screaming right now. One of your idiot human spells or hexes is probably doing something incredibly stupid and making them do things even more stupid." In the back of her head, Charles thought some sort of derogatory thought about the magically inclined of the physical races. In the front of it, she considered something completely different.

"Leave it for long enough and I am sure enough that the woods will sort themselves out." Perhaps, she reckoned, one to two hundred years at worst. "But, since you organizational types are always so impatient, I say we listen to my scaley compadre here. I am not sure if you are all informed, but he and she and me are very good at the sneaky-sneaky." Charles gestured at the whole of Vanishing Act as she bragged. "If someone like them-" Then, she stuck a finger out at the Nephelim. "Or they" And finally the chainsaw-head. "Were to waltz into the woods, just the smell of ego would have them found in moments. They would be thrown to the wolves, and Snot would laugh. Hah-hah. Not me though."

"So I am voting Snott! I am with him! That is what all you people are into nowadays, right? Politicalizing and the like? With the ballots and the debates?" Pausing for a moment, Charles mulled over her own words.

"Oh." Her eyes lit up with a look of revelation. "Is that it? Is that why there has been all this bickering in my poor, sensitive ears? Is this one of those debates which I have heard so much about?" Clearly, Charles was convinced that she'd figured it out. Whatever exactly it was. "Yes-yes. Then, I vote Snot for President and the pretty one for Vice-President."

It wasn't clear who the second half of Charles's final comment was directed at.