Jack the Ripper in Brooklyn

[garret]

Both Kasim and his ladyfriend, well, friend who was a lady came around the corner right as he started to diffuse the crowd a bit.

“Either of these yours secret agent man?”

Garret bowed to the woman slightly, taking her hand and brushing his lips against the back of it lightly.

"Kasim, you simply must tell me who this vision of loveliness is! But where are my manners? I am Garret Sykes, at your service, madam."

He eyed the broken pieces of the handgun on the ground, crushed by the troll, the rip on the man's sleeve and the cut on his arm. That along with the fact that he handed over a handgun didn't really speak much for him. Garret would have to keep a close eye on the man, as he was most probably his problem now, as Garret got Kasim and the strange woman into this.

He was about to open his mouth and start to question the strange man when yet another BPRD agent came out of the woodwork. Johnny came speeding around the corner and nearly bowled Kasim over. Garret shook his head at the new arrival before turning back to the strange man.

“I’m Bernard, and I have absolutely no idea what this place is or how to get out…could you explain what’s going on and how you can return to the normal world?”

Garret's eyebrows widened a bit at this, he detected hints of a French accent, along with the man sarcastically thanking the goblin in French earlier. None of this spoke of much, except for the fact that the man was trying to hide something, but Garret had no idea what. He put a friendly arm around "Bernard"'s shoulder and steered him towards Kasim and the others.

"Listen, I'm sure that you had nothing to do with the murders going on around here recently, but you can never be too careful. What, with you carting a gun around and" Garret pointed out the rip in "Bernard"'s sleeve, along with the scrape under it. "You seem to have taken an injury somewhere, we should get someone to look at that as soon as possible."

[lucybishop]

She had to smirk when she heard Kasim humming the same song as she. Well, at the very least, the guy had decent taste in music. This agent couldn't be half bad. Not a murderer and liked theme songs from abstract 1960's British tv shows!

"Kasim, you simply must tell me who this vision of loveliness is! But where are my manners? I am Garret Sykes, at your service, madam."

Lucy couldn’t help but curl her lip in disgust and not very discreetly rub the back of her hand against her dark colored jeans. Wishes of poisonous skin or bursting suddenly into flames were, sadly, left unanswered. Though her dear Troll friend behind her managed a deep, foreboding growl on her behalf.
Well wasn’t he a peach, what with his sticking around, protecting her honor and all that while most of the crowd dispersed. Perhaps the murdered troll had been a friend? She didn’t personally know the troll the stood behind her, though she had seen him on numerous occasions around the market.

This was exactly what she did not need- some Casanova wannabe with a hat, a used to be armed shouldn’t-be-here human, and another couldn’t-watch-where-he-was-going, but smelled like an electrical outlet agent. She’d gone from one secret agent man, apparently better known as ‘Kasim,’ with his honesty and not speaking unless told, to a three ring circus of idiots-until-proven-otherwise and some hapless bystander. The finding of this murderer, which she apparently put upon herself to help discover, was quickly spiraling out of control.

“Charmed, really. You can call me Bishop.”

She introduced herself, surprised the words didn’t drop to the ground considering how heavily laced with sarcasm they were, and then very purposefully put her hands into the pockets of her jacket. He was apparently another BPRD agent, though she didn't worry about him knowing her file or who she was. For one, her file was exceptionally vague, making her out as only a glorified locksmith, and for another....this guy didn't look like someone who pored over random, boring files. He was a guy that thought he was some kind of 'ladies man' and touched people without their express, written consent. Ugh. Male egos.

She turned now darkened brown eyes turning to ‘Bernard’. He certainly was what he said he was- a human that didn’t belong here, however there was the question of how he got here in the first place. While the other two newcomers- Sykes and Doesn’t Look Where He’s Going Guy both tingled of maybe not quite magic, but not quite human either....this Bernard had somehow managed to get into one of the most secret, most magical places through a door she knew very well could not be picked by some nobody human thief.....very interesting.

“I’m Bernard, and I have absolutely no idea what this place is or how to get out…could you explain what’s going on and how you can return to the normal world?”

“I think the better question, Bernard, is how you got in here in the first place?”

The stare she fixed him with brooked no argument. With Mr. Man Troll behind her and the Aggry beads in her belt, the gun at the small of her back, or a well placed kick to the face, she was going to find out what the hell this guy was doing here, whether he liked it or not. At Syke’s mention of injury, her eyes flicked up to the torn cloth on his sleeve,
“And maybe if you answer nicely, we can have the brujos...a healing shaman take a look at you, before the 'environment' down here gives you some sort of flesh-eating disease. ”

This wasn't likely to happen, though his injury could very well get infected....if not treated at all....but why not twist the truth when it benefited you?

[Yves Castel]

“I think the better question, Bernard, is how you got in here in the first place?”

“Bernard”, aka Yves Castel, returned the woman’s gaze with a cold stare of his own. He might be surrounded by hobgoblins and other beasties, but he wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by that woman. His hand closed upon the switchblade in his pocket.

“And maybe if you answer nicely, we can have the brujos...a healing shaman take a look at you, before the 'environment' down here gives you some sort of flesh-eating disease. ”

That sent a shiver down his spine. Was it possible to get magical leprosy down in this glorified sewer? Would toadstools start growing out of his injury? He pushed the thought away, all the while remaining calm and collected. They had all seen him with a gun, and, last time he checked, random civilians did not go about with machine-pistols. Maybe he could tell them he was a police officer of sorts, or a member of some governmental agency or other…but they seemed to be from some similar agency themselves, and wouldn’t be fooled by his weak attempt at masquerading as a member of the FBI or CIA.

But how about something from his own country?

Cooly and without flinching, Yves answered the woman’s demands:

“I’m Bernard Ventabren and I’m from the DGSE’s Division d’Action. I was sent to New York to take out a dangerous international art smuggler. I ended up having to chase him, and I chased him through some huge mechanical door, ending up here. And yes, the smuggler has been ‘supprimé’” as we say back home.

Oh boy, now you’ve done it, thought Yves. Now he would have to pretend to be a member of the French secret services while hoping these people would somehow help him get out of this strange world. And if they found out he was lying? Well, he’d have to tell them the truth, in which case he’d be royally f***d.

[Kasim Chionesu]

All the sudden, it was raining not only water, but Bureau agents as well. "Hey Johnny, I could say the same for you... And Garret." Had the BPRD sent backup and not told him? Kasim was utterly perplexed, but at least he wasn't alone now.

Kasim's eyebrows raised at Garret's question. Had she introduced herself? He couldn't quite remember -- probably because he was flooded with relief at not being burned by some magical beads. "She helped me out of a sticky situation, one that you guys almost tripped right back into." Kasim looked to Garret and the soon-to-be-named Bernard and then Johnny. This was turning into quite the gathering.

Bernard answered the questions the others had for him, and Kasim bit the inside of his cheek in thought. The agency Bernard said he was from sounded French, and Kasim didn't know if the French had their own BPRD-esque division, or what they would be doing here. "Whatever you do, you should probably stick with us." He said quietly. "There's a murderer going around down here, and humans aren't exactly being looked upon too kindly." He looked to his fellow agents. "The Troll murders being committed with a gun? One happened just before I got here. That's why they questioned Bernard -- Saw his gun, thought he had done it. Same thing happened to me." He looked over his shoulder at the Troll and then glanced back to Lucy. "I'm cleared, but I think it'd be stupid to want to venture further in without a companion."

[garen]

>>"Hey Johnny, I could say the same for you... And Garret."<<

Of course Kasim had no idea that Johnny was here, it was just something to do on his spare time. Seeing as Johnny never visited the troll market before, he figured today was as good a time as any. Running into Kasim however, whether coincidence or not, seemed to have dragged him into something... interesting... or so he hoped.

Unfortunately, Johnny seemed to have stumbled into the conversation at the perfect time to get lost. It was a sort of a talent he developed over the years, though he preferred to label it lucky as it really only happened when he had nothing better to do anyway. After sorting through the pieces, however, Johnny soon found himself in the conversation... barring a few minor details of course.

Bishop, as she called herself, was no doubt irritated by the whole situation, yet for some reason injected herself straight into the investigation without complaint. Well, without vocal complaint... Johnny could see the agitation behind her eyes in each of her subtle facial twitches. The Troll standing close by must have been related to the murders in some way, probably knew the victim or something along those lines. Johnny felt it unimportant, well... less important than the current situation anyway. He could figure out details later.

The other one, Bernard, seemed a bit... fishy. A French agent chasing a dangerous art thief? For some reason, Bernard's story just seemed... off. And why the Troll Market? Surely there were plenty of other places for this thief to go rather than here. Of course, Johnny threw around the idea of the thief simply trying to escape the agent... but again, why the Troll Market? If anything the thief would have to have some sort of destination or ulterior motive if he were coming here. Assuming Bernard's story was true, however, Johnny knew that he would have no idea what either of those would be. The whole story was just... missing pieces.

>>>"I'm cleared, but I think it'd be stupid to want to venture further in without a companion."<<<

Johnny didn't really feel he could simply overlook the missing details of Bernard's story, so he decided to wing it, in a manner of speaking.

"Hang on, lemme take care of that injury really quick." Johnny said hastily in response. He then proceeded to walk over to "Bernard" with enough electricity built up in his hand to cauterize the wound, taking of his right glove. "This should be enough to at the very least prevent infection." Or so he hoped. Johnny had no idea what he was doing, but he decided to roll with it and keep his mouth shut.

After pressing his hand on the wound, he immediately pulled it sharply away from the arm, simultaneously channeling all the electricity out of his hand. Johnny stopped after pulling his glove halfway over his hand, then turned to "Bernard" attempting to look as inquisitive as possible. Johnny wasn't ever a very good actor... and nothing changed at the time but that didn't stop him from asking what he wanted to ask.

"I was just curious about a few things. Does this art smuggler have a name? Why did you chase him from France all the way to New York? Don't you have some sort of jurisdiction, or am I being too presumptuous? If so, surely you weren't simply sent here completely blind... I mean, I assume you have some sort of Dossier, frequented locations to find him, or known associates, right? At the very least you have to have a photograph and a contact to meet here? I just want to get all the details. Perhaps we could help you find him... provided you are willing to entrust us with the information of course."

[garret]

Throughout Bishop's sarcasm-laden tirade, all Garret did was grin at her, his eyes sparkling of some unknown mischief above his oversize nose. Given enough time, Garret was more than confident he could melt even this ice queen's heart. He reminded himself that it wasn't why he was there, though. There were murders to be solved, metals to be bought, Johnnies to bump into.

“I’m Bernard Ventabren and I’m from the DGSE’s Division d’Action. I was sent to New York to take out a dangerous international art smuggler. I ended up having to chase him, and I chased him through some huge mechanical door, ending up here. And yes, the smuggler has been ‘supprimé’” as we say back home.

"Well then, we can get to to Langley or wherever they do crossprocessing as soon as possible and you can be on your way."

The man was way too cool under these circumstances. Imagine having your world turned completely topsy-turvy, upside down, everything you thought was make-believe was real. And yet the guy doesn't bat an eyelash at humans with "superpowers" or fantastical creatures. But that didn't matter to him. The "real" world mattered about as much to Garret as the fantastical did to normal adult men. Garret turned to Kasim:

"Come down here every once in a while to procure a few...items of usefulness."

He jangled the metals in his pockets against the already-prepared vials for emphasis, making sure not to break any of the fragile glass containers. He raised an eyebrow at Johnny at his rather overt use of power. Usually Garret was the one showing off. And then came out a veritable tidal wave of interrogation. Garret hurriedly tried to stem the tide.

"Hey, the guy -- Bernard -- has been through a lot! Let's at least give him time enough to breathe."

[lucybishop]

Brown eyes widened in shock as she breathed out an appalled “Mon Dieu!” as well as a longer string of other whispered curses as she watched some what-had-to-be a rookie agent both electrocute and cauterize ‘Bernard’s’ open wound. For heaven’s sake, what the hell were they teaching those agents at that place?!

Now this ‘Bernard’ might not be the guy he said he was, in fact, Lucy was pretty damn sure he was not an agent with the DGSE. She had no way of checking of course- technology wasn’t really her thing and she had no ties or connections with Division d’Action and thus no way to check his story, but her gut said no, and she’d learned long ago to listen. However, this guy could have been a known criminal, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be electrocuted and cauterized with not a pinch of anesthetic.

Ouch.

She could have guaranteed that her brujo friend would not have done that.

While Johnny-sparks-a-lot began his rather intense interrogation Lucy gave a glance up to her Troll companion, now further known as....Moe, and gave a slight nod of her head. She renamed almost all the creatures she met in the market, their real names more often than not unpronounceable to her. With the Troll’s understanding returning nod that he would stay and watch over the things here, she eased away from the sudden explosion of BPRD agents/ impromptu interrogation and folded easily and seamlessly back into the still bustling crowd.

She wasn’t in the mood to be patient today, and didn’t really care one way or another if the ‘French agent’ was who he said he was. If he decided to stick around, the Market would surely take care of him. Plus, with the BPRD agents throwing around their powers, Lucy wasn’t keen on getting in the middle of any of their casually thrown around abilities.

She slipped purposefully through the crowd, coming upon a cart that was laden with odds and ends and various knick-knacks. What was more unusual about the cart though was the fact that everything on it was all human belongings. It seemed that the creatures of the Market shared the same interest in the people above as they did in the things that moved below. Finding the owner, a small grey haired gnome with a crooked grin and a string of Mardi Gras beads around his neck, she rested a hand on her hip and with a smirk asked a few questions in Gaelic. The gnome scratched his beard in thought, and then clapped his hands together in realization. Burrowing through his various ‘merchandise’ he pulled out a small object resembling a flashlight, handing it to Lucy, who gave him a sparkling grin and pushed a rather enormous gold coin(way too much) into his hand. Lucy had always liked Mr. Tuesday (Fat Tuesday? Mardi Gras? the beads around his neck? Anyone getting this?) She was about to turn around and leave when he motioned for her to wait. Disappearing around the side of the cart, he came back out with a takeout cup of steaming hot coffee. Taking the cup, she pressed a kiss to the top of his head (to which he blushed),
“You, Mr. Tuesday, are a godsend.”

A very normal black light in one hand, delicious, soul-healing and piping hot coffee in the other, she made her way back to the body. Hopefully the murderer had left some sort of trail that she would be able to follow. This was a very human way of doing things(a path she rarely chose), but all the magical artifacts she knew of that traced blood were way too gross to carry around every day, so she was going to have to slum it human-style for this.

[Yves Castel]

Well everything is just swell…

Yves felt like he was about to crack. First he had been embarked on a job that had gone badly, followed by a stressful chase through he streets of Brooklyn, followed by him accidentally stumbling into a world of insanity in the pursuit of his target, and now he was surrounded by people with a variety of hocus pocus powers (one of which had been used on him to rather brutally heal his injury). Still recovering from the electric shock he had sustained, his hands shaking and his eyes wide, he barely registered Electro Man’s interrogation, his shocked and horrified mind bulldozing the questions away.

And if they discovered his true identity and occupation, it would be a one way trip to prison for him. They would probably see him as someone to be hated, a man at the very limits of acceptable society, a black sheep to be locked up due to his dangerousness. But the truth was that Yves hated his job, and had never had the option of saying “no” when it was forced upon him. Would he ever be able to escape his job? Sure it was well paid, but murdering people he didn’t even know was not a decent way to earn his crust, far from it. If he turned himself in to the police they’d probably just lock him up, but if they decided to apply the witness protection program to him, “La Boîte” would still be out to get him, and they were frighteningly good at getting rid of people, even if said people were protected by the police.

The only truly viable option he had left was disappearing. Vanishing on the job, changing his identity and going to live somewhere isolated, away from the world. His charming employers would probably assume he was dead, which was all for he better…hadn’t he heard, during a stay in his mother’s lonely country village that Mânes, a neighbouring and equally isolated centre of human activity, was looking for a guardian to take care of the old priory? That would be ideal…

He would get the bus to his father’s house in Aix-en-Provence immediately after he got off the plane at Marignane, get the old Honda motorbike he had almost never used and then drive North into the lower Alps, to Mânes, where he would nab that job as the priory’s guardian. Perfect. This would be his last job…

…which brought him back to reality. He was still standing amidst these insane individuals with insane powers, and a whole army of things that that even Perrault or Tolkien wouldn’t have included in their books. From what he gathered, the humans around him were part of some special agency who dealt with fairytale horrors and they were looking for a murderer…a murderer of fairytale horrors to be precise. Why they were even giving a toss about trolls and leprechauns getting butchered was beyond Yves.

Might as well try to help them somehow…

“Hum”, said Yves, clearing his throat, “do you have any more information as to how the err…trolls were killed?”