Requiescat in Pace

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

Timeframe: Morning
Date: July 1st, 2030
Place: Bureau graveyard on the grounds of the base
Status: Tabby, open to any!

Morning reports were filed, a small electronic fire had been put out, and Tabby had left the intern who made it copying from an old textbook while she thought about why it wasn't acceptable to plug seven surge protectors into a single surge protector. All in all, it was a quiet morning thus far. The redheaded woman slipped out of her office quietly, tying her abundant and fiery red hair up as best she could in a frayed blue bandana stained with sweat. A casual hello or wave was doled out as she walked through the the corridors, her tool bag slung over one arm and a small bouquet of daisies and dandelions in the other.

The Bureau's graveyard was still on the grounds of the base, but tucked away in a quiet and restful meadow. Were it not for the headstone studding the ground, one would think it a picturesque and calming place to take a nap in the shade of the Rocky Mountains. Tabby headed there now. The sun warmed her bare shoulders as she departed from the main base, and a gentle breeze blew through her tank top, though her jeans shielded her legs from the moving air. Worn steel-toed boots scuffed pavement and then grass as the Bureau's buildings receded and the landscape of soaring mountains, green grass, and towering trees took over.

The headstone popped up slowly at first, like cautious ground squirrels peeking out of their burrows, and then steadily appeared with more frequency. It wasn't very long before Tabby found herself surrounded by headstones, all of vary shapes and make. Some were natural stones, others chunks of concrete, and still others small boulders. Some had words carved into them, others were wordless, but each marked a grave, no matter what their situation. Tabby herself had helped dig some of the first graves that populated the field, burying those who had died in the final battle. The impromptu graveyard slowly grew over the years with those who had died in action, but also those who had died in a far more peaceful manner.

The redhead headed for two graves set off to the side, newer than most but older than some. The stones and graves were kept tended, though some weeds threatened to curl up around of the the headstones. Tabby came to a stop beside them and set the flowers down on one side and opened her tool bag with her free hand. A small spade was pulled from within, along with some work gloves, and the engineer lowered herself slowly down onto her hands and knees.

She made quick work of some invasive weeds that had taken root among the graves and used the spade to clean up the edges of the head stone. Each grave bore the name of "Sumner," though the older of the two was hyphenated. Tabby finished her work and stood back, knocking the remnants of weeds and some soil from her spade by tapping it against her boots. The grave she looked at now bore the name "Rachel Sumner-Foster" and the dates her life comprised. They were too short, too short by far.

"The kids wanted me to bring these for you." Tabby told the grave, picking the dandelion blooms out of the bouquet of flowers. "I hope you like them." Tenderly, she set the dandelions upon Rachel's headstone along with three daisies, and then set the rest of the proper flowers on Rachel's mother's grave. Tabby had known Rachel off and on for many years and, for a few short and sweet months, called her "daughter" when she and Elijah were married. But life was cruel and Rachel's time with her husband was cut short. And just a few short months ago, Rachel's own mother joined her both in the graveyard and in whatever life came after this.

"Missed a few," Tabby murmured to herself, spotting a few sneaky spots of crabgrass taking root amongst the new grass on Rachel's mother's grave. She kneeled once more to eradicate the weed, her face turned towards the base as she did so.

[Silas Wade]

A daisy was a tricky thing.

Silas lay on a grassy area in one of the many courtyards around the BPRD's HQ, twirling the infuriating flower in emerald hands. As he often did when he had time off, Silas was refamiliarizing himself with the world, one object at a time. He had plucked it from the ground, and started an inevitable countdown until it would die. Was it all the more beautiful because of this? Silas formed a lip and chewed on the bottom half, the prospect of what he had done was disturbing.

He had picked a flower to lay at one of the many graves to "all those who were lost". The graves were simply empty plots with unmarked headstones, but Silas felt a warmth around them. He looked back at the flower, in his introspection he didn't stop twirling the daisy around his hands and it was now a shredded mockery of plant life.

Tricky, tricky daisy.

Silas quickly wiped his hands off on the grass, an affectation kept from his earlier years. A rolling breeze carried the torn petals and plant matter down the hill, startling him out of his thoughts. Try as he might, his natural enthusiasm was never far below the surface, ready to break through.

"Enough moping, time to have some fun!"

There was a tree on the campus he had been eyeing for a good month or so now, but never had the time to actually go to. Silas mentally counted the days he had been so close but held up by someone who needed a favor done. First there was the doctor's aide who needed a sample delivered to her boss, then a woman who needed Silas to watch her kids for "just a moment". "Just a moment" turned out to be about an hour and then she had the nerve to scold him for playing with her children.

He hated being treated like some sort of creature.

Again, the tree called him out of his thoughts. A massive oak that the builders chose not to fell while constructing the installation rose from the ground like some sort of ancient behemoth. Silas grinned, he was finally going to conquer this beast. One hand, then two, then the feet, limb by limb he slowly made his way up the tree, gaining more momentum the higher he ascended. Branches whizzed past his head, slapping into his shoulders, marking their passage with slight grooves in the smooth green membrane. Within minutes, he reached the pinnacle of the great oak.

Silas was surprised by exactly how much he could see from the top. Also, it was extremely windy and the tree shook a lot more than it looked from down below. He had finally conquered his nemesis, the oak tree! Silas was always one for romanticizing his goals, after all. He let out a peal of raucous laughter, shaking the tree even moreso than the breeze. The sun lit upon something that caught his eye. That color red could only belong to one person on campus. Everyone said the head of all things technical at the institute was a bit wacko. Kind, but wacko.

Silas only had a few chance run-ins with her, most people didn't like him around delicate equipment, and he had to agree. Fine control wasn't exactly his strong suit. Aaaaaaaaaaand now she was looking at the base right behind him. Was he even allowed to climb trees on the grounds? Some of the rules confused him even now, years later.

He waved, what else was there to do? He was caught no matter what. Laughter started welling up from his chest again, he had to look absolutely absurd, like a demented Christmas tree topper. He started making his way down the tree, leaves sticking in odd places to his body and yelled out a greeting.

"Helloooooooooo!"

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

The last of the crabgrass was eradicated with a twist of the spade, and Tabby threw the chunk of weed and roots away from the graves. A light breeze stirred the golden petals of daisy and dandelions alike. "Xavier and I will bring the kids by sometime soon." The woman promised the headstones. "I just wanted to make sure everything looked pretty." With that, Tabby reached into her jean pocket and extracted a smooth stone, tenderly placing it on Rachel's marker before she turned back towards the Bureau.

She had barely gotten a few steps before a loud hallooing greeting cut through the silence. The motion of leaves shaking drew her eye to the large and ancient oak tree that reigned over the landscaped and -- there! Tabby got the absurd notion, for all of half a second, that a green mold of Jell-O slipped between the branches, but then she quickly realized the person as Silas, one of the newest and unique agents to the Bureau. Her face split into a wide and toothy grin as she scooped up her almost-forgotten tool bag and took long, purposeful strides to meet him.

Tabby waved like a madwoman as she approached the tree, suddenly blinded by a sparkle of sunshine off of his refractive being. She had seen him on-and-off during his arrival and was briefly consulted over the construction of his wetsuit. Silas' attitude was very refreshing compared to most of the residents and members of the Bureau -- his congenial attitude and boundless energy was something that Tabby easily found a kindred spirit in and, if he was who her kids often mentioned as "Mr. Jell-O," someone who was already endeared to them just by sight.

"Hello!" She greeted in kind, teeth glimmering in the sun. "What brings you out here?" As she grew closer to the bulbous and gelatinous tree-climbing man, she saw leaves sticking to him like little tufts of plant life. With his already green hue, the leaves made Tabby think of mint jelly -- but she'd keep that to herself.

[Silas Wade]

Tabby ran towards him with all the force of a small naval fleet, waving her arms in a display of joy.

Well, at least there wasn't a rule against climbing trees, then.

Silas had often seen her around the base, either talking about things he didn't understand much too fast for him to understand, or spending time with her absolutely massive family. An entire floor for a family, it seemed like they would generate enough energy to power the base on their own! Silas kept forgetting exactly how many of the Foster clan resided on the Bureau grounds, but he swore it had to be at least half the base. But maybe that was just from the noise. Tabby seemed much like himself, there was so much stuff to do to let the end of the world get her down.

Like climbing trees.

She ran to the tree, her face divided in two by one of the biggest grins he had ever seen and returned his greeting. Silas matched her grin and held out the hand of his that wasn't covered in plant matter.

"Climbing trees and apparently trying to impersonate a Christmas wreath."

He held out his foliage-covered limbs for emphasis, sticking out his tongue.

"Badly."

Silas looked up at the tree, the myriad branches casting a pool of shadow over the grounds, the sun barely peaking through.

"I've actually been wanting to tackle this for ages now, but never had the time until today. I always wondered what this place looked like from above!" His grin widened as he spotted her dirt-encrusted tools. "Getting some gardening done?"

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

Her bag hit the ground with a dull thunk as Tabby took the man's extended hand and shook it. Wait, was she supposed to shake it? Or maybe it was an invitation to scale the tree as well? She'd probably find out, but in the meantime, she continued to grasp Silas' arm and shake it, vaguely hoping that her hands were clean -- or at least not dirty.

A loud and delighted laugh tinkled from Tabby's throat, and she threw her head back as she laughed. "I think you're doing a very admirable job of it! And just moments before, you were like a green angel on the top! If Christmas trees were oaks, that is." His comment made her think of a Christmas party may years ago in Trenton where she went around staple-gunning Christmas decorations and garland to every fathomable surface -- And, if she remembered correctly, plunked a wreath over Abe's unsuspecting head before running off and avoid a talking-to. "Though I guess the leaves aren't exactly fir boughs or... whatever Christmas wreaths are made of."

Tabby followed his gaze to the boughs above and smiled into the sun. What a beautiful thought! Too many people were preoccupied with mundane things like making sure to drink purified water and having enough protein to survive. No one ever just did anything for the fun of it anymore! She looked back to the man-blob and grinned. "What does it look like?" She asked. "I'm sure I could try to get as high as you, but then before you'll know it, I'll be skewered and left for some crows. Or other carrion birds. Because if I'm as graceful on the ground as in trees, then... yeah, it's not going to end better than that."[/b]

At his question, Tabby didn't even flinch or contort her face in a sorrowed expression. "A little." She jerked her head over her shoulder at the two graves she had just left. "My daughter-in-law and her mother rest there. I just wanted to make sure weeds weren't overgrowing them -- and my kids picked some dandelion blooms for them." A gentle smile curled her lips, and the redhead followed it up with, "They insist that dandelions are far prettier than daisies anyway."

[John Deadhead Muller]

A raspy voice croaked out a chuckle a few feet away. John Muller, corpse-whisperer extraordinaire, was shuffling his way toward the two and just happened to hear the last bits of the conversation.

John had been making his way to the Bureau graveyard for a bit of conversation. It was, after all, from the departed that he had learned much of what happened to the world since his passing. The rest had come from Abe. Sometimes he just felt like laying in the graveyard and listening to the stories, it was rather soothing in a nostalgic kind of way.

This time however, John found one fiery red-head and one sentient lime Jell-O bantering by the very old oak that sat very near to the expansive field of stones.

"Being dead isn't all that bad. If someone brought me flowers on a regular basis then I might have actually stayed in the ground. Hell, I'd settle for a few weeds."

He grinned at the both of them, his pale flesh almost shimmering in the sunlight filtering down through the tree, and lit up a cigarette.

"You don't mind do you? I'm normally used to company that doesn't really breathe."

[Silas Wade]

If Silas could blush, he would have. He mentally punched himself in the face for his comment. Gardening? She's in a cemetery, of course she's visiting someone who died!. The fiery redhead didn't seem to be upset at his misunderstanding, so he filed it away under "things not to ask people in cemeteries".

"What does it look like? From up there, everything looks like these little model sets I had as a kid, I can almost see a mini-trainset chugging along through the Bureau there."

At the mention of daisies, Silas looked at his left hand, a few petals from the one he had been twirling around earlier stuck in his membrane.

"Well, I don't know about prettier, but dandelions are definitely more durable, at least."

It was nice, finding someone else at the Bureau who didn't let the world's state of affairs get in the way of a nice walk and some decent conversation. A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, a voice attached to, well, a dead guy.

His grin was kind and his words were welcoming, and no amount of exposed bone could refute those two facts. The man lit a cigarette, asking if they minded his smoking.

"Of course not!" Silas grew his mouth a bit wider. "I'm fairly good at holding my breath, you know." At that, he attempted something he was practicing for parties, the balloon-maneuver, he called it. Silas drew in a large breath, expanding his head appendage until it looked like a large bubble on a human's body. He let out a squeak when he spied Tabby's toolkit, Silas had heard tales of the woman's mischievous streak.

"Please don't pop me."

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

"I bet it's beautiful!" Tabby declared at Silas's description of the view from the top of the tree. Perhaps she would get Xavier on board to come out here with the kids for a picnic and a little bit of impromptu tree climbing. That way he could tend any wounds that would inevitably happen, especially to the graceful creature that was Tabby. She just wouldn't tell him about the tree-climbing beforehand.

The redhead laughed, looking at the remains of the daisy in Silas' hand. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." She said with a shrug. "I won't ask what happened to that poor blossom, but I have never seen a dandelion in such a state. I think. Probably because the petals are too numerous to easily pull off."

Just then, they were approached by another, who Tabby greeted with a grin. She couldn't remember if she had actually made it to the Bureau while the necromancy was still alive, or if she had arrived after his death. Whether she had or not, it didn't stop her from at least gaining cursory knowledge of the guy upon sight. Especially since he was brought back to life because of the events of Ragnarök. Cause, you know, shit happens.

A hearty laugh echoed from her throat at Deadhead's words and the engineer bounced exuberantly on the balls of her feet. "That is like... One of the best things I have heard all week. I will make sure to bring you a cornucopia of dandelions the next time I ask a favor." She laughed with a wink.

Tabby adjusted her stance to make sure that she would be upwind of any cigarette smoke, if only to avoid the aroma clinging to her for the rest of the day. She had welding to do later, so she was already going to go home smelling like slag and smoke. She nodded emphatically at Silas' own grant of permission.

And then Silas inflated the part of his body that Tabby could only think to name his head (or head region) and almost hysterical laughter bubbled from her throat. "Oh. My. Gosh, Silas." The woman snorted. "I'm not making any promises, but stop it. This feels almost disrespectful; I mean the graves are right there and you guys are making me bray like a donkey over here."

Tabby looked to Deadhead. "If any of them complain to you about the loud redhead, please extend my apologies. Lord knows I can't control myself. It's like a disease."

[John Deadhead Muller]

John took a long drag of his smoke at Silas and Tabby's go-ahead. Being dead had a couple benefits that came along with it. Namely that your body was more akin to clothing than your actual medium of being. Like most people wouldn't care much about an old ratty shirt getting scuffed and dirty, Deadhead was happy enough to puff so much smoke, tar, and chemicals through his suit that you couldn't get a dirtier rag if you put it over a pre-Ragnarok oil-refinery. Be that as it may, it was still his favorite and he wasn't going to willingly part with it any time soon, such as it was.

He savored the feeling and memory of the smoke, for that's really all you have once you die, your senses of taste and smell get pretty much shot, and he let it slowly seep from his nose and mouth as he spoke. The overall appearance was almost as if someone had lit a fire in his belly.

"Oh no worries there, most dead folks like the sound of laughter, with a few exceptions really...

Agatha for one."

He chuckled out a few plumes of smoke before taking another long drag and patting the bowler on his head.

"She's just ornery though."

As the smoke rolled up over his face he peered at Silas' bloated head-pendage and grinned.

"You put some hydrogen in there and you could fly like that..."

Another suck on his deathstick...

"... or become a living bomb I suppose."

[Silas Wade]

Silas let out a loud exhale, the air wooshing out of the bubble he had created. Partly because he didn't want to upset 'Agatha', whoever that was, and partly because the mention of hydrogen head explosions kinda surprised him.

"I suppose this isn't the most appropriate place." He formed an approximation of a sheepish grin on his newly normal-sized head. John, who Silas knows as "that-dead-guy-who-still-walks-around-but-is-pretty-cool-anyway", took a drag on his cigarette, taking on the appearance of there being a fog machine installed somewhere inside of him. And he talked to the deceased! The bureau certainly attracted its share of strange individuals.

"So, uh, I don't quite get it--" Silas scratched his head, one of the many habits and mannerisms that he hadn't quite forgotten "--are these people, like, your friends?"

Well, that sounded a bit more awkward than he wanted it to.

"I mean, uh, do you just kind of 'hang out' here and talk to them?"

Silas decided he'd just keep his mouth shut about dead people. He looked up at the clouds as they drifted lazily across the sun, maybe with a head full of hydrogen, he could fly, that'd kill the view gotten by climbing trees!

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

Tabby really liked the fact that the dead liked laughter. It brought a calming sensation to her heart that was... unexpected and pleasant. And, of course, she supposed it was rare for the dead to hear laughter. They were dead. "Every party does need a pooper." Tabby chuckled at Deadhead's comment about Agatha and took notice of the smoke billowing and wafting from the man. "Can you... blow smoke rings? I'm just curious. I once smoked a hookah in college and tried to blow smoke rings, but that just ended up awkward with some smoky burps and... yeah, I haven't inhaled anything that was smoldering since."

A bird called from a nearby tree and Tabby's blue eyes looked back over the field of headstones as she enjoyed the serenity of the place. There couldn't have been a better location to put a graveyard, in her opinion. Her attention went back to her two comrades and, at Silas' question, the redhead listened eagerly. She almost wanted to follow it up with whether Dead spoke to Rachel or not -- but the possibility of the answers that he could give stopped her. It felt wrong to ask, and what if Rachel asked after her husband and why he never came to tend her grave or leave flowers? No, that was better left alone right now, especially since Tabby didn't even have an answer for such a question.

"You could be the Silas-berg." The redhead commented, smiling a little at Deadhead's suggestion. It was all playful, nothing sinister... unless, you know, maybe they needed a living bomb. But she'd... keep that under her hat. "Oh, the humanity!"

[John Deadhead Muller]

John chuckled out a few more puffs of smoke, took a drag, and released a tunnel of smoke rings from his mouth.

"Decades of practice, babe."

He grinned, his cigarette hanging from his lips, and took a few more puffs while he contemplated Silas' question.

"Well they're really just like normal people except they don't get around so much. I dunno about friends but we have a kind of...
Camaraderie between us. You know? It's nice to just stop by and chat sometimes."

He brought his hand to his hat once more, removed it, and pulled out a greyed mass of wrinkles that had once been the features of a human face attached to about a foot and a half of coarse black hair.

"Agatha here for instance, really isn't all that friendly, but I like having her around anyway."

The shriveled head suddenly began mutely flapping it's lips in an almost emphatic manner.

"Thankfully most non-mediums can't tell what she's saying."

He gently placed her back atop his head and replaced his hat.

"Most people probably wouldn't like her much if they could understand her."

[Silas Wade]

The now deflated Silas listened intently at the dead-but-still-pretty-cool-guy's explanation of what talking to other dead people was like. He just went out to climb a tree and now he was learning about post-mortem conversation conventions! The Bureau, while many things, could never be called boring. Silas glanced rather enviously at the dead-man's ability to puff out smoke rings, a rather addicted smoker in his pre-blob life, Silas could no longer smoke as he lacked the capacity to well, have lungs.

Silas simply had to reform a grinning mouth at the mention of the "Silas-berg".

"Tabby, you wondrous woman, you have just had the honor of renaming my little parlor trick!"

And the Deadhead, freshly done with his explanation of how dead people enjoy talking, pulled out what looked like a woma--

Yep, that was a head. In his hat.

He had a head in his hands. That he just took out of his hat.

And it was flapping its lips around.

The absurdity of it all just struck Silas at once and he couldn't stop himself from emitting a rather loud chuckle. He would have been horrified if Deadhead wasn't so congenial.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just, you pulled, well -- I thought 'Agatha' was another "resident" here. And then you pulled a head out of your hat and it started flapping and I kind of lost myself when it went all --"

Silas formed yet another pair of enlarged lips and made exaggerated smacking sounds, pantomiming the shrunken head's performance.

"You know?"

[Tabby Whitman-Foster]

"Awesome!" Tabby declared, watching the smoke rings bubble from the undead man. It almost made her want to take up smoking. Not cigarettes, pipes. Her grandfather used to smoke pipes, and the tobacco of his choosing always smelled so good. It was hard to explain, but when Tabby remembered the aroma, she thought of a crackling fire and his grandfather's tweed jackets and leather chairs -- all with a hint of sweetness. But she probably wouldn't take up smoking, because then that was just one more thing she needed to do, and then smoke rings would be all but forgotten and... wait, smoking was bad for you anyway.

A smile danced on the redhead's lips as Deadhead explained his relationships with the corpses. "I was wondering... do you take requests? Well, not really requests, but..." The redhead glanced at Silas before deciding to soldier on anyway. "I was just wondering," she repeated, if maybe I could talk to you sometime about talking to someone for me? Not today. I just,"[/b] Her blue eyes glanced to the graves she had tended and then back to the man. "I just want to check up on someone. If you'd be so accommodating. If not, I'm good."

Laughing, Tabby replied to Silas' enthusiastic words. "Let's hope it continues to be more successful than the namesake. But if you ever feel like going out with style... or explosions... or seared flesh and blown-out bystander eardrums, let me know. I've got connections."

And then Deadhead -- well, introduced wasn't the proper word for it -- presented this Agatha that he had spoken of. Tabby gave the shrunken head an exuberant smile at a little wave as the head's lips moved -- what else was she going to do? -- and kept the smile on her face even after Deadhead replaced her in his hat. Wait -- was that why he was named Deadhead? Because he had a dead head on his head? Cool.

Tabby stayed silent through Silas' giggles and words because... well, even though she had been laughing before, after "meeting" the shrunken head, it felt rather odd to make any more jests, or at least a bit rude. But then again, this was an odd combination of a walking and talking man who was formerly dead, a sentient blob that had once been a person, and her, the chick who sometimes exploded things mostly on accident. And meeting in a graveyard? The only thing more peculiar that could be added to the situation was perhaps a troll, but Thor was supposed to be in class at the Institute. "She seems very... impassioned." Tabby offered.

[John Deadhead Muller]

John chuckled.

"Sadly, she mostly spews insults at people. Y'know, witches have this thing against other people...
they don't generally like them."

He looked pensive for a moment and sucked down one last puff of his cigarette, reducing it to an ashy nub before blowing out two streams of smoke from his nostrils.

"Or it could be that she's been sealed in her own preserved head...
Y'know I think that may be it..."

He tapped his ash into the rim of his hat and dropped the nub into a coat pocket before continuing to speak. He had given some thought to Tabby's request and thought he may have pieced together a response.

"You should know, talking to the dead isn't so simple as uh...
dialing a phone number.
If you really think about it. Most people in the world are already dead.
Now, now just imagine for a moment what it'd be like if everyone all hung around after dying.
Why, the uh...
Earth. The Earth would have to be the size of Jupiter to hold 'em all. N'If they're still lingerin' about, sure I'll dial their number, but if they've moved on, it'd be a hell of a time pullin' em back."

As he spoke he pulled out another cigarette and, at several intervals, looked like he was about to put it in his mouth and light it only to pull it away and use it in some manner of gesticulation. Finally, upon finishing his sentence, he perched the smoke between his lips and set it alight.

"So we'll see I guess."