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Thread: [R/M] Valkyries: Occult Warfare I - The Big Sky Scare

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    Default [R/M] Valkyries: Occult Warfare I - The Big Sky Scare

    This RP is rated R/M for: Violence, Gore, Horror, Occult and Satanic references, Language, Sexual Situations, Nudity, Racial Terminology, and all things that fall therein

    OOC




    It is always darkest and coldest just before dawn, and through that darkness and that gnawing cold, Connor ran. So far north, the weather was as much a challenge as the terrain. Solomon Island as more wilderness than not, with King's Harbor on the eastern shore, Rook’s Harbor on the north, and private property scattered throughout the rest. Thick Atlantic fog drew over the island like a frigid blanket. Connor charged through the fog, breathing heavy, but steady. A backpack strapped tight and heavily weighted to simulate the burden of his duty-gear. Despite the weather, Connor’s skin glistened with sweat as he made the return trek of his five mile trek. Connor knew that habit was dangerous, a ritual in its own right, but the crisp and clean air did Connor good… and the Coffee Cauldron was open by the time he made it back to King's Harbor. Their dark roast was good enough to kill for and strong enough to float an egg.

    Connor trotted to a stop on rocky overlook, gulping down the salty Maine air as he saw the lights of King’s Harbor wink on, one by one. His breath came out as a thin mist, mingling with the twisting tendrils of the ocean, the rising sun casting a blood-red nimbus over the silk-veil clouds below. Grandmother Watching Bear always said such a sunrise was a bad omen, but in Connor’s line of work, every morning looked the same. He snatched his Condor cap off his head, shaking out his cropped mane of brown-blond hair to cool before putting his hat back in place. A shrill shriek tore through the silent dawn on the Blue Mountain. Connor’s gaze sharply snapped to the source, his right hand snapping to the small of his back, the squat grip of his glock nestling into his calloused palm. A pale barn owl leered down at Connor, darkly appraising him with eyes that flared like embers in the burgeoning light of the dawn. Another of Grandma Watching Bear’s omens. Releasing the textured grip of his pistol, Connor pursed his lips, sucking his teeth at the unblinking creature. It shrieked solemnly, and with the whisper of wings on the wind, the ghostly creature took flight, vanishing into the woolen blanket covering the harbor town, only the steeple of the old colonial chapel piercing the roiling marine layer. Connor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, passing his lips in a fog that dragged the warmth from his lips as it dissipated. Standing still, even for the brief moment on the bald, boulder-strewn outlook, the Maine chill gnawed at the exposed flesh of his fingers, calves, neck, and face. Sweat dragged the warmth from him, leaving pinprick motes of frigid cold behind his numbing ears. Puffing into the cup of his hands, Connor resumed his jog, descending the jagged slope with sure and swift footing.

    By the time Connor was back in town, the fog had burned off as much as it would bother, the glaring white ball of the sun blooming in a prismatic display while casting long shadows along Solomon Road as it lead into town. Following the road into Castle Avenue, Connor hung right when he came to Howard Road. Considered one of the more historical stretches of King’s Harbor, it was protected from any possible McDonalds or Starbucks incursions. Though, it was a small town on an island that was mostly wilderness, so they had been spared so far. Cauldron Coffee’s sign was old fashioned, hand-carved and hand-painted wood, heavily lacquered against the gnawing of sea air and gently squeaking on rusted hinges. The sign, a cauldron with a happy black cat in a witch’s hat lounging in a bubbling dark roast, was so overt that it was covert. Like a few businesses on the island, the owners were from the preternatural community. He strode through the threshold, the painted-glass door decorated with stenciled spiders and ghosts of a cartoonish suggestion. A silvery bell jingled overhead. So early, the only other patron was their mascot, a sleek black cat who, upon seeing a familiar face, came up Connor and leaned into his shin with its shoulder.

    “Mornin’ to you too, Lily,” said Connor, his tone husky with a faint Kentucky drawl. He leaned down to scratch the lithe tuxedo behind the ears. As if summoned by the bell, a woman of middling age - though possessing something of an ageless quality - with autumn-red hair and brilliant green eyes burst through the storeroom door.

    “Ach! If it isn’t dashing Ranger Rick! Welcome, m’boy! The usual brew?” She had an unmistakable Edinburgh tilt to her smokey songbird voice, feathery lashes batting. Connor rose, smiling in his lopsided way.

    “Hello, Rowina,” Connor greeted in kind, saddling up to the teller’s counter, complete with an olde fashioned register and hammered copper espresso artifices that one would expect to find in a ritzy hotel. As always, the Cauldron smelled like fresh-ground arabica and nutmeg, with the faintest hint of lavender, sage, and myrrh beneath.

    “You know me so well. Please and thank you, ma’am,” Connor said, fishing a few rumpled bills from his wallet. His phone buzzed, deafeningly loud in the homey cafe. Drawing it out from his hoodie pocket, he saw the caller ID flash across the screen.

    Tuskface. Clicking his tongue, Connor swept right to answer, placing the cold screen to his ear.

    “What is it, Claude?” Connor said, voice and tone like an anvil.

    “Good morning to you as well, Connor, “ said Claude in his velvety, deliberate baritone. A voice like molasses, that one. “Right to it, then. Mister Sullivan received an alarming communique first thing this morning. Straight from O-5. He’s called for all hands on deck.” Connor pinched his nose at the news. O-5 was shorthand for the uppity-ups of the Division’s higher echelons, typically those with unimpeded access to… everything. Whenever an order trickled down directly from them, it was never a good sign. Dire-goddamn-omens, indeed.

    “I’ll be there in 10. Make sure Nate has his breakfast.” Connor said.

    “I’m the OPSAT director for the world’s premier supernat-”

    “You’re a secretary with a particular set of skills, Claude. Make him his goddamn scrambled eggs or I’ll scramble yours.”

    There was a long pause.

    “Salt and pepper?” Claude asked, his voice considerably softer.

    “Please and thank you. See you soon,” Connor replied, then hung up. “Rowina, I’m gonna need about three catering cartons of the good stuff and one of your hot chocolate.”

    “Oh! Of course, darlin’. Company meetin’?” Rowina cooed from the steam-belching machines.

    “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”



    Half a mile later, down King’s Court and across King’s Bridge to the north, Connor came to a stop before the military-grade gate that marked the outermost perimeter of the Avalon National Park’s administrative buildings. A young man with dark hair sat at the gatehouse, bundled in layers and sipping a steaming cup. Seeing Connor approach, he stepped out from the little concrete hut. Those who knew what to look for could see it in the way the young man stood: he wasn’t any park ranger.

    “Security checkpoint, sir. Your credentials, please.” Connor, who had four cardboard jugs of piping hot breakfast beverage braced against his chin, shot a baleful glance at the man.

    “You new here? Just open the gate, I’m late for a meeting,” Connor said gruffly, and the young fellow crossed his arms. Rolling his eyes, Connor rummaged in his pocket, pulling out his fist and flashing the finger to the shining crown of the Beacon Lighthouse.

    “Is that supposed to be funny?” The guard asked, unamused, but his head turned to the voice in his ear. “What? You serious? Oh… y-yes, ma’am.” The guard returned to the gatehouse, and with a buzz, the razor-crowned gate slowly slid open. Connor smirked. He only knew one person who could so swiftly make a man’s spine slip out his ass.

    “Thanks, mom,” Connor shouted in passing, tossing a lazy salute to the lighthouse as he stepped through the opening gate. “Have a good one, Steve,” he called over his shoulder to the gatehouse.



    Ascending the gradual hill, Connor passed the familiar alpine lodgings that formed a semi-circle around the large circular courtyard, their MH-60R Seahawk parked neatly atop the spray-painted “H” neatly in the middle. Even if the rotors were running, there was more than enough room for people to drive and park their various duty vehicles. The occasional duty officer waved or nodded to Connor, all of them in their park ranger guise, just like Steve. Cutting directly to the main house and the great stone tower overlooking the sea, Connor saw the sardonic grin and golden hair of Sigrid waiting on the porch, cradling her Saber sniper rifle like a baby, her coffee tin dangling on one nimble finger.

    “Mom?” She asked with a crooking eyebrow. Connor shrugged with a grin,

    “I call it how I see it. Stop nagging me about my veggies and we can talk about a different nickname.” Connor ascended the wooden stairs, Sigrid opening the front door for him.

    “Maybe once you eat your vegetables like a grown man, instead of a gun-toting baby.” Sigrid retorted.

    “Listen here, you yankees steam everything, and it’s offense to everything good and natural.”

    “And frying is so much better?” Sigrid tilted her head, talking and walking alongside Connor as they entered the lighthouse proper. Stepping into the metal cage of the elevator, Sigrid entered the code. Lurching faintly, the concrete beneath them slid away with a low rumble, and the elevator descended down into the heart of the Beacon complex.

    “It is, but we’ll agree to disagree. Any word on the O-5 call?” Connor asked, looking sidelong to the valkyrie. Pursing her lips, her fingers drummed on the stock of her rifle.

    “Not much. Sully was still getting the details when I hopped up to the nest. All I know is it has to do with another Division task force.” Sigrid’s cavalier way to discussing business details was as admirable as it was terrifying. Then again, she’d been in the fight since before the United States was a thing. Still, being called in about another task force was never a good sign.

    “Well… double-fuck…” Connor sighed.

    “Quite so, and swear jar.” Sigrid said with a wink as the elevator lurched to a stop. The grate opened in time with a steel blast door befitting a presidential bunker, revealing a utilitarian, yet oddly homey intersection of halls.

    “You’re fuckin’ joking, right?” Connor said with a chuckle, but Sigrid already stepped out and hung right, vanishing around a corner.

    “Swear jar!” Sigrid called, and Connor pursed his lips into as tight a line as they could go. Connor would bet that Claude narced to Sigrid. The orc might be too big for a trash can or a locker, but a dumpster would fit him just fine. With a sigh, Connor exited the lift and followed after Sigrid, weaving through the labyrinth of corridors, smiling at the occasional chalk drawing their protectorate members were wont to draw. It was stringently against regulation, but few among their ranks were brave enough to invoke the ire of the Valkyries en masse. Besides, Doctor Millar’s psyche evaluations insisted that the carefree chalk-graffiti was good for morale. To the left side of the wide corridor, the wall beveled in to a pair of old and heavy oaken doors, opened wide to show a conference room. Rectangular in shape, and relatively large, the back wall was lined with empty tables, already holding donuts, bagels, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Another table, baroque in make and hewn of mahogany, sat neatly in the middle, the winged-sword emblem of the Valkyries inset in white ash. Smirking at that table, Connor moved to the back and set down the thermoses of coffee and cocoa. His cup was already waiting; an enameled metal mug with the words “Probably Whiskey” stenciled on one side, “World’s Okayest Boss Dad” on the other, corrected with permanent marker by one member of their group, though Connor had no idea who, to this day. Connor filled his mug, piled a plate of protein and cholesterol, and found his seat. He brushed his hand soberly over the scored wood. It was custom for every member of the Valkyries to make their mark, and Connor found his; a simple C+A, something he had tacked on when he made it through Division preliminaries.

    Connor shrugged out of his backpack, stretching and rolling his thick neck atop his shoulders as the Valkyries filed in. The last to enter was Henry Sullivan, the pursed pensiveness of his brow spreading to his forehead as he glared down at the tablet in his hands over a pair of spectacles. He already nursed a cup of coffee, and he had a bushel of rolled papers under one arm. They smelled of fresh printer ink. He looked haggard and bedraggled, and much like Connor, wasn’t really dressed for a proper briefing. Henry was in matching pajamas and robe, proudly wearing his East Texas University Alumni tee underneath.

    “Mornin’ Henry,” Connor said over the rim of his mug, to which Henry scoffed.

    “If only it was, Hoss. It’s been a shit sandwich since before the sun came up.” Henry mumbled, dumping the bundle of scrolls and papers haphazardly, without taking his eyes from the tablet. Connor paused, looking to Sigrid, who had helped herself to coffee and had taken her own seat.

    “No swear jar for him?”

    “He outranks me... and pays my salary,” Sigrid smirked in that way she did, cat-like and all dimples.

    “Okay, that’s fair…” Connor muttered into his mug, sucking down a hefty chug of the brew.

    “Hoss,” Henry called, and Connor looked his way. So far as Connor knew, Henry only called him that. “Open up a couple more chairs. The hellions are joining us for this one.” Connor stopped mid-bite, quirking an eyebrow to Henry as if he started speaking in Tongues.

    “Fuckin’ run that by me again?” Connor leaned forward in his seat.

    “Swear ja-”

    “Eat me, Tinkerbell. Henry, you have a stroke or somethin’? They can’t even drive. Hell, they don’t even have all their grown-up hair yet!” Connor spat, a shower of half-chewed egg flying across the table. Henry sighed, leaning back in his chair and slowly removing his spectacles. Knobby fingers, broken too many times, rubbed his grey eyes and pinched his nose.

    “I know, Hoss, but this is from the top. O-5 called for them by name. I’ve already sent Claude to fetch them from their rooms.” Henry leaned his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he met Connor’s eyes. He truly looked… sorry.

    “When we get everyone mustered, I’ll brief y’all quick and that’ll be it. This is the hand we’re dealt, Hoss. I’m sorry…” Henry lowered his eyes, and resumed to the work on his tablet. Grinding his teeth, Connor scrubbed his face and sat back.

    This was turning into a “Probably Whiskey” morning.




  2. #2
    Red Ninja
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    As the first rays of dawn came over the horizon a sound similar to the scream of an enraged beast ripped through the dewy forests on the far side of Solomon Island sending scores of birds up in a panic and forcing any animal still sleeping to jump to full wakefulness before darting off in every direction of the compass. The all consuming silence that followed was only just coming back when the distinct sound of a sliding bolt clicking back and a large smoking bullet ejecting from the chamber and tumbling down a slope of rocks. Next a voice followed.
    "Well ye killed the fuck outta that buoy there Jedi Master." A dark haired man said from a small ledge powerful binoculars held up to his face and a sound dampening com set atop his head. "Aye nigh a mile an' alf miles out, thing is fuckin' blown tae bits." He let out a low whistle and scratched the numbers down. "Nearly a new record, and great readin's fer the new rifle rounds."

    Below him a man laying atop a green cloak with only a pair of boots and a green kilt between his glowing body and the cold sea air. He chuckled in agreement. "Ay Duncan, Alura said we'd have fun with them. Ye sure ye dinnae want a go?" Duncan laughed shaking his head quickly. "Nae a snowball's chance in a ditch digger's arse. Ye keep yer cowardly bullets and guns, I much prefer gettin'." He flicked his wrist a slender blade snaking out from his gauntlet. "Up close' an personal. We got twa' left tae check Forcebreaker. A UV round, no physical damage, but able tae make nasty crawlies explode in purple flames and leave nae trace behind tae track back. And the exact opposite, the Science pukes call it a miniature nuke or some such shite. I swear tae fuck these prototypes are gonna give us cancer or somethin'. Dealer's choice killer." He chuckled loading both rounds in a small basket attached to a zipline before pushing it down to the tattooed man's level.

    Resting his rifle on the wood pile he was using for cover and rolled to his back groaning softly as he took the basket and inspected both rounds. The UV one sounded useful, but if there's one thing F.B. learned from being around Alura is that explosions are always better so he loaded the Mini nuke and set his sights high. "Let's give the fish cancer first aye?" Both men chuckled and settled into their positions. Duncan grabbed his binoculars and checked his equipment. The wind usually works against them in the morning, but morning was the only time they could go to the unofficial extend gun range of the island. For years it's been nothing but open dead sea off this point, the Division has pretty much quarantined Solomon Island off for like 50 nautical miles in every direction and the supply ships never come around in the morning. So for a few hourse you can be out here and shoot old buoys or derelict ships for practice, currently the long distance record is held by some scarecrow looking guy with red glasses and a long trench coat from one of the Division's global allies. Roughly two miles out, but F.B. knew he could break it. His current gun wouldn't be runed which would be cheating, but he was still sure he could do it if the fucking wind would play nice.

    As he lined up the shot though his prayers were answered. The wind shift to under where he would be shooting, but it was gentle and would actually carrying the round further, but only if he shot now. Emptying his lung he began to squeeze the trigger, and just before he was about to scour his name in the history books his commset began to suddenly squeal in his ears and made him wince in the last second before he fired. The round sailed wide and impacted a ship at the 500 yard mark and quickly turned it into a molten pile of slag sinking below the sea. Hugely impressive and great for the experiment, but pissed the Nyxian off like no tomorrow. Placing his gun down he jammed the button and shouted into the mic. "CTHULLU HISBLODDYSELF BEST BE AT OUR FUCKIN' DOOR, OR I'M PERSONALLY SENDING YER UGLY FUCKIN’ HEAD BACK TAE MORDOR!"

    There was silence on the other end for a few seconds then the unphased voice of Claude answered.
    "You know anger is the path towards the Dark Side F.B. Jedi are supposed to be collected and calm at all times like me."

    Taking a few deep breaths Forcebreaker growled through the comm. "I will kill you and yer entire bloodline one of these days...I....fuckin'....swear! Now...what...do...ye..want!"

    "Emergency meeting straight from the top, O-5, Sage is calling all his wayward sheep home. Even the angry glowy ones." With that the call ended and Forcebreaker growled standing up then stowing his rifle in it's case his tattoos glowing with his anger still even as he put his cloak back on, but some control has returned to his voice as he looked over at Duncan. "World's fuckin' ending lad. Word straight from O-5, get back an' keep an eye on things aye?" Duncan nodded and began packing up his gear as Forcebreaker tied his rifle to his back and summoned up his Anima.

    "Bloody hell yer nae gonna try that daft slingshot idea again are ye?" Forcebreaker simply nodded and slung his magic out to grab onto a couple of trees with two invisible beams of energy. "Fastest way back mate. See ye on the other side." With that Forcebreaker walked back keeping his hands tight on his manifested power and his Pull Ability. Magic or not physics are physics you put enough strain and pressure into something the rebounding force will propel you. He took a deep breath then sling shot himself up into the sky and began soaring over the treetops. Talking off was easy, it's the landing he was still working on. He reached the edge of Beacon after slinging himself one more time, but the second attempted wasn't as perfect the trees he had to use weren't the same height so it through him into a tumbling spiral. And as the hard concrete of the beacon's path came into view he had to think fast and using Push and Pull in tandem he stabilized himself enough to manage an almost graceful superhero landing. He hit the ground hard and sent a small crater two feet out in every direction. The young guard was outside his hut weapon drawn and ready to shoot. "Where the hell did you come from?!"

    Standing up and dusting himself off Forcebreaker studied the young man. "Where the hell did ye come from! Where's Murry? He was a fun bloke."

    Keeping his gun trained the young man shouted. "Hand up and get on the ground!"

    The glowing man simply sighed walking to the Guard. "I dinnae have time fer this." Walking he grabbed the young man by the the collar of his uniform and dumped him ass first back into his little hut then simply walked over the gate listening to the kid try and hail someone on the radio to report a security breach. But a loud voice squealed through his earpiece shutting him up.

    With his gun still in place Forcebreaker found his way to the meeting room seeing only the old man, the Valkyrie and the less handsome tattooed man had arrived. "This better be legit, and nae another prank by those fuckin' Fae!" It was then he felt a damn hard hand smack him upside his head. "Swear jar for you too!"

    F.B.'s eyes sparkled for a few seconds before he realized it was Sigrid. "The flyin' fuck is a swear jar!? ...OW bollocks!" He shouted as she smacked him once more. But she stopped at the second thing. "Hmm do foreign swear words count? Ah well." She smacked the Nyxian into silence as he found his seat behind his initials carved in the Inkkin alphabet.
    Last edited by SikstaSlathalin; 12-22-2018 at 04:51 AM.


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  3. #3
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    Kodran entered, Benbryter firmly in its sleeve. He managed to walk in just as Forcebreaker was slapped by Sigrid. He chuckled. He found his seat, with his name written in Norse letters. "I wass sleeping. Thesse better be good." He mumbled more to himself than anyone. "I need someting to drink."

  4. #4
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    Ansleigh turned her head on the table as her Phone started to vibrate noisily against the table. Tiredly she tried to ignore it but it just wouldn't shut up she was half tempted to take the damn thing and chuck it across the book filled room but groggily thought about the ear full she'd get for damaging the Valkyries property. Reaching out she took hold of the object of her annoyance and opened her eyes to peer at the screen. It was Claude. What good reason did he have to call her now? other then sleeping in and obviously not being located in her rooms and probably being late for some kind of training....

    She groaned as she set up against the stiffness in her back and the soreness in her neck. That's what she got for passing out slouched against a table. Opening her Phone she put it to her ear leaning heavily against her other hand as she yawned into the Phone. "I'm awake... I'll be ready for whatever training regimen you've got for me today in a few..." she mumbled sleepily to the Phone.

    "Maybe it would do you some good to sleep in your own bed once and a while?" Claude responded.

    "If only it were that easy." She sighed pushing herself to stand, stretching once more with a low groan.

    "You better get to the conference hall, Emergency call O-5."

    Ansleigh plopped back down in her chair blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Really?" She sighed. If she recalled correctly O-5 spelled bad news, came from the top as far as she could tell, but she didn't think she'd ever been in a meeting with this level of bad news before. She shut the book. "I'm on my way." she grumbled.

    "Good." And with that the orc was gone.

    "Bad news?" Carder asked floating at the side of the table.

    "I think so." She mumbled heading for the door and down the hall. She was a right mess, dressed in an over sized, baggy T-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, Her hair was in a messy pony tail and there were bags under her eyes. She made a B-line for her room which was several halls and corners away. Goodness she hated this place. It was so needlessly complicated and secret and... she just hated it. She had come to resent most everything about this place... and as much as she hated to say it... she'd come to resent Carder as well. He could sense it, she was sure he could.

    This place was just a never ending reminder that she was anything but normal. All she had ever wanted was to be normal. And for the fraction of a second she'd really found something normal but it was taken away and turned into something unnatural. She hated it.

    Flinging her door open she tossed her note book on the bed and snatched up a second book and a small black light, Invisible ink, it wasn't the most advanced way to hide information but it was simple and effective. Flipping to the back she turned on the light to read the hand writing on the back cover. O-5 indeed meant trouble, lots of trouble. She figured it was best not to let code words lay around in the open but she'd be damned if she could remember them all. Setting the note book back on the table and tucked the black light into the crack between her bed and frame where it couldn't be seen.

    With her hands free now she pulled out her pony tail and ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it while she looked around her room for a pair of clothes to wear. Being as she was now in a military installation she had been more then briefed on keeping her living area tidy. For the most part she'd stuck to this but there were a few items haphazardly scattered around the room. Books, papers, pens, pencils... Okay maybe she hadn't kept to keeping her room clean but at least her clothes were neatly folded on top of the dresser.

    She kicked her door closed and Carder floated around the corner of her room with his back turned to her. Dead and he still had manners enough to not look when his girlfriend was undressing. "Okay, you can look now." she told Carder as she pulled her hair free of her long sleeved shirt and tossed it over her shoulder before giving it one last brush with her fingers and put it back into a pony tale. At least she looked a little more presentable.

    "You better hurry, your likely the last one Claude called."

    "Ya, I know." she said throwing on a denim Jacket, snatching up another notebook and pen and heading out the door. Carder close behind following her down the hall, for those with out the sight he was nothing more then cold air but to Ansleigh he was still very real.

    She took long strides down the halls towards where she knew the old oaken doors were for the conference room. Already the olden men where there, Connor, Henry, F.B, Kodran and Sigrid. She gave mild nods of acknowledgment to all of them before she flopped unceremoniously down in her chair. How did she know it was her chair? she hadn't carved her name in its place yet...

    It seemed she had missed a part of the conversation, a tens part of the conversation that seemed to have Connor in a bad mood. She'd also missed the fact that there was food! Ansleigh's stomach growled loudly and she dropped her notebook and pen on the table before pushing herself up from her seat, sideways over the armrest, and made her way over to the back where the food was. loading a small plate with a little bit of everything and filling a cup with some of the hot coco someone had generously left steaming on the table next to the coffee. Carder floating silently just behind her chair.

    Sliding her notebook over she placed her food down on the table and set down shortly after. She wasted no time digging in, noting that there already seemed to be a bit of egg on the table. She couldn't help eyeing everything going over the information she had in her head about them. Sometimes it still boggled her that things not human were quite common place in their world. She might have lived side by side with a monster and never would have known. She would have preferred it that way but unfortunately there was no going back. She glanced at the bracelet around her wrist. It made it difficult for spirits to feed off her and manifest, which also meant that there weren't as many following her around, just Carder.
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  5. #5
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    Isa let out a frustrated yawn, staring at the parchment laid out before her. Various religions and manuscripts scattered about. She looked through old hieroglyphics and even sanskrit. Sure she couldn't understand it all, though that's what translation guides were for. The page in front of her held one group of runes, a mix of pictures and what she was able to sketch. It was a pet project for her to figure out, as it was the biggest riddle shes been facing.

    “It might as well be Atlantian for all I can get from this.” Isabelle grumbled before pushing away the papers and pulling out her book. It had been days for her studying the rune working of Force Breaker, when he wasn't trying to hit her up. Alura already had a fling with him, yet the insatiable man wanted more. She allowed him his flirty nature only to get his runes penned to paper. After that she had spent several sleepless nights when not working on making sense of these runes.

    “Thinking of time though.. I should get some sleep before Sigrid comes after me for staying up.. again.” Isabelle rubbed her eyes, not sure of the time herself. It would do best to get some sleep soon, but first was a shower. Stowing her reading she stood, her panty clad form glistening from the steady LED light as she headed towards the shower. A nice hot shower would help loosen her form and help relax before getting some sleep. Stuffing a yawn she was about to close the door when her phone went off. She stalled, hoping that it was either a scam or message, but the moment she could hear the TARDIS theme, she knew just who it was.

    “Okay, maybe not that early in the morning.” Isabelle spoke when she turned around to her phone. Picking it up she flicked it open for Claude, responding with a cheery morning. She felt her face drop some as Claude relayed the message of the morning meeting. It was an 0-5 mission.

    “That serious?”

    “That serious? Foods in the meeting room. See you there.” Claude finished as he ended the call. Looking to the bathroom she shifted her focus and moved to her closet. Opening it up she began getting dressed, putting on a fresh pair of jeans and swapped out for her black Sabbath hoodie. It was a comforting outfit as she fiddled her hair the way it wanted to lay before finally exiting. She greeted those who had come before her as she snagged a cup of coffee, knowing she would need some energy after a long night up.

    “An, you need to sleep more.” Isabelle offered to the younger girl as she studied her boyfriend, wondering just how their relationship worked out.

    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
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  6. #6
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    As with all things he does, Todosi flowed silently through the Kata. The wooden sword cutting furiously through the air. The assassin moved immediately into the next move, the blade audibly slicing through the air. The vibration of his cell phone stilled the man’s movement, his head turning to face the distraction. Stepping back into a ready stance, the blade twirled and slid into the assassin’s hand at his waist, as if sheathed.

    Moving to the gym’s wall Todosi returned the practice weapon to it’s home. Turning he stepped to where his phone rested and lifted it. Tapping the face he studied the alerts that awaited him. Quickly unlocking the device he opened his text messages. The ninja’s eyes scanned across the letters written, and his eyebrow quirked.

    Seeing no need to reply, Todosi slipped the phone into the pocket of his Gi. Grabbing a towel from the stack near the door, he wiped his brow clean and exited the gym. Nodding politely to the staff as he worked his way through the halls to the conference room. At the door his eyes skimmed those gathered inside. With a polite wave of a hand he moved to the table at the back; Collecting a plate, the human loaded it with various fruit from a platter hidden behind the eggs and bacon.

    The assassin collected silverware wrapped in a napkin, and grabbed a half dozen strips of bacon. He moved to the table and set his plate down. His fingers briefly stroked the dragon carved into the table, one nearly identical to the tattoo on his back. Unrolling the napkin Todosi grabbed the fork, quietly beginning to eat his breakfast, after taking his seat.




    Khoonbish’s snores competed with the incessant ringing of his phone. He rolled over in his sleep and fell off his bed. Sitting up suddenly, the werewolf snarled in irritation. His hand reached out and closed on the phone, lifting it he eyed the missed call alert and groaned. AS it began to ring again he tapped the screen and groggily said, “Baina uu.”

    “Don’t hello me.” The baritone grumbled irritated. “Get to the conference room. Orders from O-5.”

    “Why would they have or-” Ken pulled the phone from his ear as it went silent. “That was rude.”
    Ken’s mouth opened in a massive yawn, as he stretched and got to his feet. He glanced at his mirror and ran his hands across his shaven head. Looking down at his black Metallica tee and cargo pants the werewolf hesitated briefly before shrugging. Running his hands across some open bottles sitting near the door he lifted the one that still held alcohol and marched out the door.

    Ken moved his way through the hallways raising his bottle in salutations to those he knew. Entering the conference room he again raised the bottle in greetings. AS he passed his spot he set the bottle down at his seat and grabbed a plate. Heaping a pile of eggs onto it he stopped at the bacon. Lifting one he frowned at the crispy strip. “Bacon’s over cooked again.” He complained before adding a pile bacon to the plate.

    Grabbing a fork the stocky man moved back to his seat, setting his plate next to his bottle. Ken shifted stretching out as he began to shovel eggs into his mouth. “What’s this all about then?” He asked his eyes moving to Sullivan.
    Spoiler: Cuteness 

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  7. #7
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    Default An awesome P.K. and Koti CoPost

    Nate gave a grumbled yawn as the light was forced through his window, making a grumbled attempt to pull the shielding blanket back over his head. Sure it was only the overhead lights clicking to life, it was the last thing he wanted right now. A frustrated mumbled passed his lips as he struggled to fall asleep again, only to hear the alarm ring atop his book case. It only pained him further before he tossed one of his pillows at the damn thing, knocking it off the top, along with some of the wood carving.

    “I'm gonna get that overbite Tuskface for getting that thing. Worst gift ever.” Nate grumbled as his awoken body forced him to take response to nature's call. Slipping out of the warm covers he danced along the cold floor and into the restrooms, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a simple wife beater. Normal attire for a growing teen boy to be seen in.

    Bella had been awake for some time, she didn’t seem to rise and fall with the sun opting to do something more along the lines of cat naps. She stood on her tip toes peering at her reflection in the mirror as she bared her teeth. She might still have many of her feral traits but one thing she’d come to understand in this civilized section of the world was cleanliness. And she groomed often. through observation of others and the teaching from the elders Bella had picked up on the use of a hair brush and a toothbrush and could generally make herself appear like a presentable young girl. That seemed to be very important to the pack setting here.

    Though it had taken a little over a year for Bella to get used to clothing, and to teach her not to wiggle out of them she still refused to wear shoes. Her human development was behind but she wasn’t stupid. Bella’s light footsteps took her across the room, her body may not be built like an animals but ten years of living like the observed forest dwellers made her movements unusually easy. She took hold of the door handle and twisted it allowing the door to swing open so she could peer into the hallway.

    Nate paused the minor moment as the door opened, catching him somewhat off guard before the head of Bella poked it's way free. A smile cracked his face for a few seconds before his attire made that different. A few years ago this would be acceptable, but times change when one enters the age of a teenager. Blushing furiously he scampered into male restrooms, hoping she hadn't seen to much. Growing up with most everyone here was family, and his attire wasn't the biggest problem. Bella was different, only having joined when he was ten, and her being feral and taking lessons meant they didn't see much of each other to start.

    Nate stuck his hand out to wave her hello before heading into a stall to answer the call to nature. Bella interested her the most, not only from the gift she had, but more the fact she treated him like just another child. Nathan guessed that was due to her animalistic uprising, or maybe her younger age, he wanted to hang out more with her. That started their years of chaos and ruin!

    He showed her all the cool hideouts he had seen, and had been trying to learn how she moved, hoping that he could use her skills to escape from the base now and again.

    “Good morning Belle.” Nate greeted as he poked his head out of the room, a broad smile on his face knowing that his friend was awake as well. Sure they might have lessons that day, they would have to catch them first if Bella felt up for it.

    Bella grinned at her friend before cocking her head as his face changed colors and he rushed off into one of the rooms she wasn’t allowed in. Clearly she didn’t understand that behaviour but she made her way over to the door and waited outside patiently till Nate stuck his head out and greeted her. “Good morning.” Bella repeated his greeting back to him. She’d picked up language so slowly sometimes it was still hard to tell if she understood what it was she was repeating.

    Bella grinned impishly up at her friend. “Lessons… chase?” she asked haltingly. They were coming easier now but it was still difficult.

    “Yeah, but I need to get dressed first. Mind meeting at my room in a minute?” Nate spoke, still hidden halfway by the door. He knew that Bella had begun to grasp the concept of human worlds, yet there were some aspects she still was coming to learn. While they were the same age, she was female, and that made the difference to him, if only mentally.

    Bella cocked her head to the side before looking back towards his room for a moment before turning her bright green eyes on him. “Minute.” she agreed. She waited a moment before she seemed to realize that he wanted her to go so he could leave. Again she wasn’t sure it mattered. Bella made her way back to her room slinking to her bed and digging under her pillow to pull free a few pilfered snack bars. She had various stashes like this hidden across her room, once and a while Claude or someone would come along to clean out her stolen goods but she always managed to retain some of her goodies to share with Nate.

    With the way clear and things taken care of, Nate was able to dart back into his room, having given Belle plenty of time to make it back to her room. Entering in he looked around, from the number of small statues scattered across the top of his dresser to the different gifts from around the world are from others. Heading towards his dresser he picked out an outfit for the day, settling on some shorts and a tossed on shirt. He grabbed his knife and spun it around his fingers, feeling the small bits of anima still pulled from his using last night. On the small work bench sat his latest work, a rough start for an ambitious project of making a dragon.

    “Belles probably waiting for me.” Nathan spoke quietly as he rolled and stretched his body a bit, an eager grin on his face for what they planned to do now. Maybe this time he could beat her at a race through the archives finally. It did annoy Claude, and Sigrid, but that only added to the fun. Besides, other than the training hall, it was the only large enough place, and it had obstacles to jump and run around.

    Bella had taken up a seat, cross legged, near Nate’s door, tearing open the wrapper to one bar and eating it quickly. She had a second one out to Offer to Nate as soon as he came out of the room. However Bella paused in her meager morning meal and looked down the hall. There were heavy footsteps coming from down the hall, footsteps she recognized. Claud soon came around the corner at the far end of the hall and made his way towards Nate’s room.

    Claude was still grumbling at having to play errand boy to Nathan, despite his years in service to the valkyries. Besides that, the young man had grown into a huge brat. They had trained and taught him from when he could learn to hopefully turn him into a fine young man. So where did they go wrong? The swear jar was one such thing that would hopefully make a change.

    Turning the corner he spied Bella sitting next to Nate's door, slowly munching on a snack bar she had managed to hide away. Honestly, the girl was gonna get ants at this rate with what she squirreled away in her room. The bigger concern was her hanging outside the boys.

    “Good to see you awake Miss Bellatrix? Not planning on anything mischevious were you?” Claude asked the girl as made his way up to her, his flat baritone voice focused on the girl.

    Bella watched the large beast of a man walk down the hall and address her. She pushed the rest of the bar into her mouth, munching on it as he closed the distance. By the time he was upon her she’d swallowed down the morsels, crumbs the only remaining evidence, and shoved the other bar into her pocket.

    The wild child thought over what the orc said for a moment before she smiled impishly. “Planning.” She responded finely. Bella pushed herself to her feet but even straining on her tippy toes the orc dwarfed her small hight. “Come… for?” She asked as innocently as she could manage.

    Raising one eyebrow he studied the girl. Despite what she has been taught, several of her wild habits were stuck in place. Last time he heard her planning, she ended up bringing a bear cub onto the base grounds. It was not pleasant getting the bear back home. With her resting outside of Nate's door, it only smelled of trouble.

    “I hope you don't plan on bring back another one of your friends. Now, what are you planning with Nate?” Claude asked the girl. Nate had heard the steps from his room, and even he could barely contain a groan at his presence. If he was already heading towards them, then their chances were slim they could actually get free. He would need to plan a way to get away from him. It did excite him that they could already start their games early.

    Bella grinned but she clearly wasn’t going to tell, and not just because she had a difficult time with speech. She liked the orc, but she also liked messing with him. But that was true of just about everyone in the facility. Their reactions were to good and it seemed to make Nate happy. Bella dropped to all fours again and prowled around to the Orcs side in an attempt to draw the orcs eyes away from Nates door incase he slipped out now. Bella would have an easier time avoiding someone’s grabby hands then Nate would. If Nate wanted to make a brake for it now she was sure they could make it a good chase.

    “Seems like a good chance now.” Nate spoke. Having laid down he was able to watch at least their feets as they moved. With Belle on his side, Claude was now forced to choose between the door and her. Neither was a good option to take focus off of. With the distraction made, Nate knew just what to do.

    “You are not making a good impression for this morning so far. We got enough going on that I don't appreciate the thought of you causing trouble.” Claude reprimanded the young girl, only to turn as the door behind him opened up with a bang. In the archway stood Nate, holding up the statue of the boar. Oddly enough modelled off the small one Bella had snuck in.

    “Anima project!” Nate pushed as much anima into the statue, watching as it stumbled the orc. Proud that he had managed to at least wind the giant, he tossed the statue effortlessly to plink off of Claudes head as Nate ran to the side, tugging on Bella's hand.

    “Run! To the archives!” Nate yelped happily in the air, putting as much effort into running from the large Orc, making sure Bella was with him.

    Bella let out a squeal of excitement as they took off down the hall together in the direction of the archives. It took Claud a moment to get back to his feet, but in that moment they were rounding the corner as the Orc yelled after them, as if that would make them stop. Bella Lopped alongside Nate. It wasn’t quite like running through the trees on a crisp morning but it was close enough to start.

    As they tore through the halls towards the Archives Bella’s keen nose picked up the unmistakable, fresh smell of doughnuts. She slowed for only a moment to savor the smell before speeding on ahead. “Food!” She barked picking up the pace to take the lead as she looked over her shoulder at Nate with another grin.

    “Hey, no fair!” Nate spoke as he tore after the girl, trying to keep up with Bella. In serious races he had yet to win against her, and with food on the nose, that was even less likely to happen. He followed after, taking riskier turns as he could hear the thunderous foot falls of Claude following the two children booking it through the castle. He didn't dare bellow after the kids, not wanting to know he had been punked by the children.

    “I'm going to get you this ti-” Nate spoke, only to come skidding to a halt as he nearly bowled into Bella as they entered the meeting room, gathering the attention of the Valkyries there in.

    Bella had rounded into the room and nearly collided with the old man at the head of the table, she came skidding to a stop just before slamming into the old man’s knees and doubled back until Nate came around the corner. The two 13 year old kids just barely avoiding becoming a tangled mess upon the floor.

    “Whats going on here?” Sigrid Spoke up from her seat as she stood to take a better look at the two kids, exactly where they should be but looking like they had just caused some sort of trouble. Claud wasn’t far behind, appearing in the doorway and cutting off the Kids escape huffing but not out of breath.

    "Uh . Good morning everyone?" Nate offered, trying to lighten the mood they had just put them in.

    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
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  8. #8
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    Kodran growled and waved a hand. "Fuck off ya obnoxious pygmies." He looked back at the rest of the group. "So what's happenin'? Tell me soon, because I'm hungry, tired, and impatient." he chuckled a low chuckle.

  9. #9
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    In the time it took for everyone to trickle in, Connor was already on his third cup of coffee. Upon seeing the sloshing bottle clutched in Khoonbish's fist, Connor chewed the inside of his cheek. He had a feeling that by the time Henry adjourned the briefing, a drink would need to be had, to hell with the hour. The air in the conference room grew hotter and drew tighter with every extra body that filtered in. The bacon-grease-and-coffee smell started to subside in the face of... people. Connor gnashed his teeth, folding his arms over his chest.

    "Beg pardon, everyone. I was under the impression I was running a crack team of occult-military professionals, not a whinging carnival of milksops," Henry said in response to the stark overabundance of bellyaching, not even looking up from his preliminary work. "But I don't believe a few extra hours of beauty rest is going to be doing any of you much good, anyways." Connor smirked at that. The old man was still sharper than a vorpal sword, and didn't flinch at antagonizing a room full of admittedly powerful beings. Sigrid voiced Connor's amusement with lough guffaw, slamming a money-stuffed mason jar down in front of Connor. Grumbling, he leafed out a buck for every curse and jammed it down the threaded glass gullet before passing it along to the others who owed, Breaker and Kordan. She gave the viking a knowing look. Being a Chooser of the Slain, she could make his existence in particular extremely unpleasant as well as brief.

    "Thank you, Sigrid." Henry said warmly. When their junior members stumbled in with a panting Claude hot on their heels, Henry and Connor glanced to where Belle and Nate had sprawled in a tangle. Sigrid, seeing the mark on Claude's forehead from Nate's figurine, tugged gently on her husband's tusk and kissed his furrowed brow.

    "Not quite right on time, but welcome. Take a seat, and we'll get to it." Tapping the screen of his tablet, the lights in the room darkened, Claude closing the heavy doors to the conference room on queue with a dull whump as they sealed. Connor waved to Nathan and Bellatrix, gesturing to the seats on either side of him. He wasn't so cruel as to keep the two of them on opposite side of the room, but neither was he dumb enough to sit them side by side. This way, he could at least make sure both kept their focus on Henry's briefing.


    "If you're gonna eat, get it now, then sit. Double-time," Connor said, snapping his calloused fingers in his telltale sign of "hurry the fuck up".

    "Now, as Claude mentioned in preface, this is coming directly from O-5 brass, so no B.S. You'll likely have questions, so I'm going to tell y'all ahead of time that I probably don't have any answers. Some things are over my paygrade, and miles above yours." With the room darkened, a projector cast a brilliant cone of light from its housing in the ceiling, casting a map grid on the screen above and behind Henry, showing sprawling wilderness, all green and shades of amber with smatterings of unseasonable snow.

    "Starting in mid 2017, the Ranch placed Task Force Mustang in deep cover within Helena, Montana, and the surrounding Lewis and Clark County on a simple recon and observation detail," Henry swept his hand, and the next image zoomed in, showing the county boundaries in stark yellow, the city of Helena marked with a red pin.

    "According to local reports from... we'll call them people of interest, a local neo-Christian anarchist-seditious cult had been doubling down on their activity, possibly stepping foot into our kind of strange. Talks of miracles and other weirdness outside of the usual weird cult shit." Henry paused, making brief eye contact with Sigrid as he laid a dollar on the table, then continued. The next slide zoomed in further, close enough to make out individual buildings and the nearby terrain, surrounded on almost all sides by hills, mountains, forest and gorges. North-east from the city was mostly hills and plains, pockmarked by lakes and ponds, latticed by streams fed by the Missouri River.

    "The Children of the Blessed Mother have been on the federal radar for a while, having numbers, anti-government attitude, and a metric shit-ton of firepower," Henry placed another dollar bill on the table, and Sigrid smirked in the dark. "They recruit on a national level, gravitating towards marginalized populations, usually working-class and former military. Normally, I'd say let the FBI, NRA, or one of the other Alphabet Soup Agencies deal with them, after Mustang missed their check-in twice, the associates at the Ranch called for a Tier One response - you lot. Apparently, they had enough "wet concrete" data to bump The Children up the ladder. What that is... is mostly conjecture based on Mustang's observation." Henry made brief air quotes as needed, bringing up the next slide, this one a series of images. Four individuals, one of which had a red "x" over the head shot. They all seemed to be pulled from a penitentiary photo-shoot. The first was a thickly set man, easily a decade older than Henry himself, with thin and messy hair and an equally unkempt beard. There was an unsettling wideness to his eyes, giving him a hawkish visage.

    "James Waltley, 68, Founder of The Children of the Blessed Mother, deceased. Sources indicate a mining accident in late '17. His son, Noah, took up the helm as "Father"." The image labeled Waltley, Noah was a spitting image of the older man, but thinner, more athletic, with soot-dark hair. Though he possessed the same fervent intensity in his eyes. Even from the high prison collar, tattoos were easily visible on the man's neck, all the way to his jawline and ears.

    "Noah Waltley, 38, a real piece of work. American Nationalist, violent anarchist, and the current Father of the Children. According to the 2018 reports from Mustang, the Children have grown far more active in recruitment and activities, though they still generally keep to their compounds. They other two we know almost nothing about, since the cult has been keeping closed ranks. We know them only as "Teacher", and "Mother"." The next two images were subsequently of a man and a woman. The male appeared to be in his mid-thirties with a red beard and hair cut high and tight. There was a wolfish quality that Connor immediately recognized. Anyone who looks at the world that way - the way Connor also does - has seen a particular kind of hell. Connor pegged him as a soldier. The female was the youngest of the bunch, looking to be no older than thirty, by his guess. Blonde and blemish-less, almost catlike in the sleek symmetry in her face. Connor could almost call her pretty if it wasn't for some unnameable quality in her money-green eyes that made his spine crawl.

    At the head of the slide was an odd symbol, a perversion of the cruciform shape with draconian elements. He saw the same symbol tattooed on Teacher's right cheek, just beneath his eye. That must be their symbol.

    "This morning, roughly a hot five minutes before I called you people in for this brief, O-5 notified me of an encoded communique on one of Mustang's deep net channels, requesting immediate extraction. Details are iffy, but O-5 and the Ranch expect the worst. So be prepared for anything. Primary objective is to recover Mustang assets and exfiltrate any surviving members without raising alarm. If the cult catches so much as a whiff of G-Men, they'll head underground, and if they have any hostages, they might get the axe. So go in quiet, don't engage the cult unless ordered or otherwise out of self-preservation. I don't know what exactly you should expect, so I will leave the particulars of your travel supplies in your more-than-capable hands." Henry spoke evenly with an almost clinical detachment as he swept to the last slide, a censored image of Task Force Mustang in their full-tilt operational gear, their faces blotched by censor's ink. A five-operative team, three men, two women, all standing with the casual poise of seasoned and professional soldiers.

    "Given the level of unknowns, O-5, in their infinite wisdom, have ordered that Nathaniel and Bellatrix be brought along on the mission. Spare me your reservations and objections, the die is cast," Henry raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Their presence is precisely why I'm advocating extreme caution. I've taken the liberty of chartering a jet to Helena Regional Airport, due to leave in three hours. Any other pertinent details will be in your mission files, so unless you have nothing better to do than ask me a question I probably can't answer, I'd advise you all get ready. Good? Good. Dismissed."

    Gradually, the lights came back on. Connor felt simultaneously uncomfortably warm and cold at the same time, his arms instinctively resting on the backs of Nate's and Bella's chairs in a guarding manner. The silence was almost electric, and Connor's heart thundered. Keeping the two kids in line on top of the others, all while keeping under local and federal radar was going to be a goddamned nightmare. Puffing out his cheeks in a sigh, Connor scrubbed his face.

    "Well, shit..." he mumbled, sliding another dollar across the table to Sigrid before rising. Mug in hand, he smiled tightly down to Nate, ruffling the boy's hair as he walked behind Nate's chair to the coffee pot, helping himself to another deep cup of caf. Claude had opened the doors, and as soon as the murmuring static of conversation started up again, Connor snatched up his backpack and made himself scarce.


    Leaving the conference room behind, he navigated the familiar labyrinth of the bunker's commons to the showers. Rummaging through his bag for his change of clothes, Connor stripped down and set one of the shower nozzles to "molten lava" temperature, his Glock in quick and easy reach as he closed his eyes and let the water wash over him. It made the previously chilled skin scream, but it was relaxing in its own way. He just stood there for several long moments, mulling over the gravity of everything laid out before him. The mission sounded way to small for O-5 direct command, which frankly scared Connor more than being directly ordered to deal with a Code: Omega. He knew there was more, but they all lacked the clearance, meaning that Henry, goddamn him, was doing his job.

    Connor clenched his hands into fists like mallets, scarred knuckles grinding into the wall of his shower stall. Damn Henry twice for being good at his job, even if it meant putting Connor's...

    He breathed deep, scars and tattoos heaving across his broad back.

    Even if it meant putting their youngest team members at unfathomable risk. Connor rubbed his eyes, massaging the headache that had settled in at the back of his sockets. The dull buzzing in his brain was gnawing at him, a ghostly anxiety that seemed to strangle the thick trunk of his neck. Reaching to his chest, Connor clutched the medallion that hung on a leather thong, rubbing his thumb over the minuscule inscription. Pressing it to his lips, Connor forced himself to clear his head. No matter how much he wanted to spend the whole day in the hot water and the steam, the team had a tight timetable.




  10. #10
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    Nathan, once deposited into a seat on the right hand side of Connor, had begun to zone out some while eating his breakfast. He had been in a very select few mission briefings when he was, mostly after having visions in his sleep. This time was a bit different, but it still made no sense to him. His main focus was on the plate of eggs and bacon he snagged before having sat down. The mission was in regards to one of the other groups, one called Mustang. His first thought went to the car of the same name, the next being the group itself.

    He scowled at the image of the cult leader as they popped up on the screen, a heavily tattooed man, another who had the same look as Connor when he was in training mode, and a woman who he swore was part cat with her eyes. She looked pretty, but it was unsettling. He mentally groaned knowing that he would be stuck behind again with Claude as the rest went off on another awesome mission.

    That was, until Henry spoke again.

    "Given the level of unknowns, O-5, in their infinite wisdom, have ordered that Nathaniel and Bellatrix be brought along on the mission. Spare me your reservations and objections, the die is cast,"

    This caused Nate to almost choke on the hot coffee, spluttering in complete shock as he felt the weight of fath- Connors arm resting on the top of his chair. Simultaneous mixture of excitement, fear, dread and nausea pulsed through him. His eyes scanned the room. From most their faces were masks to him, some bothered, others worried. The lights clicked on slowly and he could finally see the face of Connor, noting the tight smile as his calloused hand ruffled the cropped mess of hair he had. The boy didn't even have a chance to ask him anything before he vanished.

    “C'mon boy. Let's get you properly set up.” Claude spoke up, giving no room for barter as he mad sure Nate was following, thankful that Sigrid would take care of Bella for the upcoming prep.

    “I get to go on a mission?” Nate finally found his voice, scampering after Claude as they headed towards his room. Claude only nodded before they finally entered his room, the door closed tight.

    “Nate, sit,” Claude pointed to the bed before taking a seat for himself. He waited for the boy to side before letting out a sigh,”Yes you are going on a mission, so I need to stress this more than ever. You need to listen and follow orders as they are given, without complaint or question.”

    “I know th-”

    “I mean it. If they tell you to stay put and hidden, you do that. If they tell you to run, you do that as well. I don't care if they ask you to dance like a chicken, you do that. No questions asked.”

    “Why would they want me to dance?” Nate looked at the man perplexed.

    “You know what I mean. They have been on several missions and know what need to be done.” Claude ignored the brunt of his question.

    “Now, let's get you packed up properly. After that you can shower.” Claude spoke, motining the boy to start packing up his things. He guided the boy on the best stuff he could use on the mission, making sure both the staff and gun were properly loaded and cleaned. He could see the excitement start to creep upon the boy, knowing that for the next insufferable couple of hours the boy would be ranting on. Hopefully Nate could get it all out before they landed for their mission.

    “Now, go grab a shower and get cleaned up properly. Last thing anyone needs is to be given away due to sweaty teen boy smell.” Claude spoke once they finished packing up. Nate stuck his tongue out but rushed off to the showers, already trembling with joy. Claude sighed before double checking over the items they had prepared. He added a few more items that he was sure they needed and organized it, wishing for the safety of the entire crew and that they would make it back alive.

    -

    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




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