It Feels Like Coming Home

[Frankie Guidicini]

Timeframe: Evening
Date: July 11th, 2030
Place: Former Trenton, New Jersey, and the former BPRD Headquarters
Status: Deadhead, Clayton, Maggie, and Frankie. Closed.

The area leading up to the supernatural Tri-State are was either BPRD or Greater Elfland. Frankie and those who accompanied her found safe passage for most of the way, save for a stretch of Tennessee no man's land. The immortal had the sneaking suspicion that those who attacked them were the mongoloid descendants of inbreeding, but they were quickly dispatched. From there on out, it was friendly territory the entire way, right up until the enormous wall that had been erected to try and hold any stray supernatural forces back from what remained of New Jersey. A heavily fortified gate guarded with runes and a few spells allowed those on official business through, and Frankie soon discovered that the process of opening the passage took much longer than expected.

The quartet waited by the gates as they heard gears grind and electronics whirr. In decades before, she would fiddle with her wedding ring as something to do while she waited. Now her finger was naked and instead she spent the time waiting flipping through the mission briefing. It was simple: travel the short distance to Trenton, get to the old Bureau, recover all the data from the mainframe (Tabby had sent along a generator and one of her electric pulses to coax any electronics back to life), and see what else they could find.

Evening was falling and Frankie turned to the rest of the group. "Have your night vision goggles prepped and ready. That should give us an edge on... whatever's lurking out there."

[John Deadhead Muller]

John "Deadhead" Muller never quite minded traveling by foot but when it came to long distances and groups of people moving through no-man's-land speed was the foremost concern. It was for that reason that he was then sitting at the front of an old horse carriage...

Minus the horse.

The carriage had been his own idea. Having the ability to summon and will the dead to do one's bidding often allowed one to forego some otherwise vital details. In this case he'd foregone procuring a living horse and instead gathered four dead ones, one for each wheel.

This had made what would have been a very long and tedious journey much shorter and safer. The fact that he was sitting in the drivers seat of the carriage was simply because he felt like enjoying the open air.

The first part of their journey complete, Deadhead leaned back, staring at the sky. The wait for admission was longer than anticipated and as the stars began to show themselves Frankie reminded them of their night-vision goggles. He stooped with a grunt and picked the goggles up off the floor by his feet. Being dead, his eyes didn't really work very well any way and it was more his "sixth" sense that told him what stuff looked like anymore, but he figured he might as well wear them anyway.

Having strapped them to his head he turned around and peered at everyone else.

"What's wrong guys? You're lookin' a bit green."

[Maggie Bruttenholm]

Behind the group and several yards back, something stalked them through the rubble and tree line. Maggie had disappeared half an hour ago, waving off the call back with a yeah, yeah, I’ll be right back. She accentuated it by shoving her night vision goggles into Frankie’s hand, calming stating she didn’t need them. She hadn’t returned yet as the evening waned on. What was once a building of some sort lay crumbled into a large boulders of rubble beneath what had been a second floor. An office of sorts, one could just see a few desks and chairs where the building was almost neatly cut in half, exposing it’s insides. Something snapped behind them and from the building, a hulking figure stood silhouetted on the second floor.

The demon dropped into a low crouch atop the crumbling pile of rubble, balancing on the balls of her feet. The setting sun cast shadows along her features, her golden eyes afire by the fading light. A tilt of her head and her eyes nearly vanished against her strong brow and the line of her mouth tightened, a frown puckering her brow. Behind her, the long thick tail swept overhead and she stared at the group briefly before a pearly white grin broke out. Se stood and walked off the rubble, landing with a dull thud. She seemed unbothered by the ten foot drop as she shook the dusk off her coat and reached up to the sudden movement along her neck, partially hidden by her blue scarf. A softly curved head appeared and a sleek tongue appeared a few times as beady black eyes stared out. Yellow, brown and tan splotches marked the snake’s origin and it’s oddity of being in the states.

Maggie reached up, brushing a knuckle underneath the snake’s head as it burrowed itself in the warmth of her clothes. “Found this little guy, Indian python maybe. He’s a long ways from home.” She looked behind her, her gaze darting back and forth before her stance relaxed. “Probably from a pet shop,” she looked down at the python. “Except you’re too young to a first gen.” She smiled again as the snake bumped it’s head against her fingers. By far an animal person, she seemed to revolt against the idea of having pets as a kid and only mildly seemed interested in cats, unlike her father.

Running a hand through her hair, she brushed it back and plucked a couple of twigs from it. Blood smeared across her knuckles, already drying in the warm air but she made no mention of where she was and what she did and didn’t look like she was going to explain any time soon. Setting her hand on her hip, adjusting the handle of one of her blades she looked back at the group.

“We going or what?”

[Clayton Booth]

One god-forsaken state, these better be some goddamn high-quality supplies.

Clayton walked along, well, not exactly with the group, more like "he walked along loosely associated with the group of people but not close enough to start up conversation". A few weeks ago, a routine trading stop with the Bureau (petrol for ammunition/food/supplies) turned into a job offer of all things. The BPRD needed someone who knew their way around the hostile territories of the supernatural beasts and the enigma that was no-man's-land. Clayton, taciturn as he was, was still known around the area as a man who willingly lived in these two places. A week ago he had been fine with the job, now, after traveling a thousand miles in the close confines of a ghost-powered carriage, he wasn't so sure.

The weapons they promised him would have to be worth it.

In order to get Clayton to go on the Odyssey to their old HQ, the Bureau promised him a veritable armory's worth of weaponry and equipment. As experienced as he was, Clayton was starting to feel his age, and extra firepower never hurt anyone.

He turned over the night-vision goggles in his scarred and calloused hands, another gift from the Bureau. He nodded to Frankie and adjusted the straps so they wouldn't hang loose before placing them in his bag. The goggles would just be a detriment until the sun fully set anyway. Not that the red-skinned woman seemed to need them.

She was an odd one, Clayton mused, as was their entire eclectic group. As far as he could tell, the man directing the carriage was dead, the non-demon woman had some sort of calcium problem that caused her bones to jut out of her face, and apparently, the other woman was quite literally half-demon or something.

And they wanted me to help these people? The initial surprise wore off quickly, he had enough tricks up his sleeve to keep up his own end if push came to shove. The demon-woman whatever disappeared by herself quite a while ago, Clayton didn't object.

She was loud, anyway.

He was hired on as a guide, not a chaperone, if they wanted to be suicidal they could go ahead. Against all odds, the woman jumped off a building, snake held in a bleeding hand. Clayton shrugged slightly-lopsided shoulders, she was loud, but having a half-demon along with them wouldn't hurt. He glanced back at the sun.

"We gonna be headin' out? Don't wanna be 'round these parts after dark, ain't got much daylight left."

He shrugged again, the torn-and-patched canvas backpack making ominous clinking noises as it shifted to a more comfortable position and turned to Frankie.

"Ya'll know where this base o' yours is?"

[Frankie Guidicini]

At Deadhead's observation, Frankie looked to Clayton to see if the man was looking skittish. He already looked unhinged -- his eyes had a hollowness to them, as well as the rest of his body, and he just seemed twitchy. He had done a handful of things for the Bureau before, but Frankie didn't know if she trusted him. He seemed rather fond of his knife, and she supposed the only good thing about bringing him along on this mission was that one of them was already dead, knives didn't bother Frankie that much other than hurting like hell for a few moments, and a blade would most likely only piss Maggie off. Add that to the fact that he wasn't a highly trained agent (and slightly more expendable that way), and Frankie supposed that Clayton was a good enough fit for this. But he didn't look green.

"Who are you --?" Frankie began to ask Deadhead, but then she saw that he had followed her advice and slipped his goggles on. A sigh escaped from her and she stuffed the briefing back into her bag. "Very funny, Muller." It was actually pretty funny, but Frankie had too much on her mind to laugh. Muller was good for easing the tension. Perhaps death gave one a pretty cavalier attitude about excursions into hostile territories; Frankie wouldn't know. But she was too worried that Booth would get stabby and Maggie had gone off by herself half an hour before. A little joke wasn't going to make Frankie laugh.

The wall had been built along the remains of Highway 70 with the gate positioned in what once had been Medford, New Jersey. The entire north of New Jersey amalgamated in the supernatural mess that made up the tri-state area. And, as far as the reports said, the wall kept the supes at bay.

Maggie rematerialized, holding a snake proudly like a little kid. The whinge of regret and guilt that panged Frankie's heart was not unfamiliar, but she surveyed her with a serene expression. "If you're holding on to it, keep it contained." If it was anybody else, the immortal would have barked at them to put the damn snake back where it belonged, but Maggie wouldn't listen. She was far too like her father in that respect.

Both Booth and Maggie asked about continuing on, and Frankie placated them, "They don't open these gates every day. Just a few moment's more and --" With a low moan of resistance, the gates cracked open. On the wall above, Bureau sentries aimed their assault rifles on the ground below while others readied frag grenades and casks full of holy water. Beyond the wall, a devastated wasteland awaited. Gnarled and twisted trees wove together, the remains and shells of colonial houses looked as though they would disintegrate with the faintest breath of wind, and the remnants of pre-Ragnarök dotted the landscape. "Load up."

Frankie pulled her night vision goggles onto her head and pulled herself back into the carriage, even though her rear was still numb from the ride. At Booth's question, Frankie replied. "We have around twenty more miles to go. Deadhead was there more often than I was before the war, so we're in good hands. Anyone sees anything, call it out." She loaded a magazine into her Bureau issued handgun with a click. "I'll watch the east out of my window."

(The Bureau account will pop in and out of this thread to add in hostiles and other occurrences to which the characters in this thread can react. So get ready for anything! This is about to get real.)

[John Deadhead Muller]

John chuckled to himself. Frankie was always too much of a worry wort to laugh and Mr. Booth had the look of a man who'd cried and crossed his laughs away long ago. Maggie, of course, hadn't been within earshot so she wouldn't have been there to appreciate his humor, but he liked to think she would have.

John enjoyed Maggie, in an old dead uncle kind of way. Both he and the twins were granted life on the advent of Ragnarok, and he regarded them both with a sort of appreciative affection. Maggie, however, had been his favorite. She had a sincerity in her actions and a shyness in her words, and she was quite possibly the best drinking partner he'd ever had.

When the half-demon reappeared, python in hand, the dead man grinned and nodded in approval.

"Looks to me like the lil' guy wanted a taste of adventure."

Finally the gates began to groan and Deadhead tipped his hat to the battle-ready guards. When the gates creaked open wide enough to fit their carriage John adjusted his bowler, straightened his back (as straight as it would go), and pulled out a very old looking revolver.

"Ready! March!"

His raspy shout was met with naught but a dusty wind. Looking a bit exasperated he knocked the butt of his gun against the seat in frustration, peering sharply at the wheels through the night vision goggles strapped to his face.

"Giddyup!"

With a jolt the carriage began moving once more, slowly picking up speed as it went.

"All abooooard!"

The dead man made an airy whistling sound while pumping his fist as if pulling an invisible train whistle. His living compatriots seemed on edge, but, in his opinion, that was the best of times to be a little light hearted. A little laughter goes a long way, he mused to himself before hearing something that was neither the carriage, nor the creaky gates. The sound that sobered him was the ghostly cackling of Agatha...