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"Chuff. Hurm."
Chrys's doggy nose disliking the heavy rain, he tries to snuggle further into his poncho, the plastic rubbing against his fur in a most unpleasant way.
He looks to Karen, wondering how long this whole thing will take.
"Gruff."
He shakes himself just as the sirens being their howl, making him want to curl his toes in distaste and fear. Splattering Karen far more than he meant to, Chrys growls low in his throat at the noises around them.
Spoiler
OOC: Hi everybody!
So, who's actually playing in this?
__________________
Idiots give me indigestion.
Don't give me indigestion.
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dragonrider
Wadledo, you dislike EVERYONE. Therefore, you don't count.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Draken
Maybe this is the only true fix for spellcasting, making people scared of using it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by dragonprime
There's a concept called mercy. Are you familiar with it?
"Steady on, Chrys," mutters the tall woman, wrapping her jacket about herself more tightly. "It's just up the road. We'll check in there first." There was something about rain that made it infinitely more irritating than snow.
She squints up at the sign; Greyhawk Hotel. That's the place. She pushes open the door for the poncho-clad dog, following him in and glancing around for the people who might be here.
Karen is not an unobtrusive woman; the first adjective that comes to mind is tall. The first adverb is very. Even hunched down in her coat (which is slightly too short), she has to be over seven feet tall. As she takes her hood off, it becomes clear that she has blue eyes, fair skin, and golden-yellow hair, currently plastered down under the back of her jacket despite the hood.
Anyone walking into the hotel will see John sleeping restlessly on one of the chairs surrounding the tables. Most of his equipment is scattered on the table. Anyone who cares to look will see that there are notes on the plan, a map, a checklist, and several papers covered in scribbles. The thing that stands out the most is ofcourse the suitcase halfway open, pointing towards John. Set out next to it is a gun cleaning kit, and half obscured by paper, several bullets. A gun barrel can be seen slightly sticking out of the side. The papers are scattered as if to cover anything. John himself is tossing as much as one can on a chair, but tossing none the less. His jacket is hung on a coathunger by the door, the jacket is slightly drying, yet still quite wet. John himself is only damp.
The tall woman looks over at the receptionist, taking in her size. "He's Chrys. I wonder, miss," she adds, walking over to the desk and lowering her voice a bit, "do you know if there's a person called Mox around here?" The email had completely failed to include a picture or even a description; not like Agdor, who was usually very thorough.
*Pant pant pant*
The Saint Bernard flips his poncho back, walking calmly over behind the receptionist's desk.
Looking up with big, soulful eyes, he extends and tilts his head so the silver streaks in his fur catch the light, waiting to have his ears scratched.
__________________
Idiots give me indigestion.
Don't give me indigestion.
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dragonrider
Wadledo, you dislike EVERYONE. Therefore, you don't count.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Draken
Maybe this is the only true fix for spellcasting, making people scared of using it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by dragonprime
There's a concept called mercy. Are you familiar with it?
"That'd be me." The door to the kitchen swings outward on it's hinges as a man walks through cradling a fresh cup of tea. His average height is distorted by coarse, curly hair shaped into a relaxed mohawk. Honey colored skin and exotic features speak of a rich and diverse heritage. A light brown tie snakes from a crisp white collar only to disappear back beneath a green sweater vest a moment later. Along with his meticulous appearance comes an air of refinement and calculated confidence and poise. The man identifying himself as Mox takes a sip of tea. "What can myself and," he raises an eyebrow at John's sleeping form, "my compatriots do for you?"
"Well, there's a group here on some official business, I think, but I don't know their na-" Her response is interrupted by Moxey announcing himself. With the query answered, she turns back to Chrys.
"You are the most adorable doggy I have ever seen!"
She starts in with the ear scratching, but is quickly distracted by a flash of lightning and the accompanying thunder, which is loud enough to cause windows and loose objects to rattle.
"Right. We might want to get in the basement, just in case we get a tornado here."
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The latest thunder strike is enough to awaken Johnny. Several bullets fall of the table, clinking against the floor, otherwise the table seems to have been spared from the rattling. He gathers his gear, everything finding it's location in the suitcase, or the mysterious confines of his coat. The rifle itself is covered with papers and a false cover, making sure that it'll pass quick inspection. Anyone looking closer will still notice the false cover.
"A... mutual friend of ours directed us to you," Karen answers, choosing her words carefully as she sizes him up. Odd, but she can't see anything other than a human. Maybe she was missing something. "Wants us to do something about the weather."
"Mmm," the man muses, almost purring, "The weather, you say. I believe the rest of us were contracted to check up on the prevailing winds of the political climate, so if thats what you mean, welcome aboard. If not, I'd be glad for some sunshine, but sure wouldn't know how to assist you."
"I was actually speaking literally," Karen says, realizing how much she'd sounded like she was speaking in some kind of code. She lowers her voice, "Our friend's determined that someone is messing around with the weather, and he thinks they're based somewhere around here. We don't know if the storm is what they're trying for or a side effect, but either way it probably isn't good."
The dog trots out from behind the desk, subtly trying to get the halfling to follow(mostly be accidentally tripping over her chair).
*Berk!*
After shaking off the fall, Chrys moves across the room to look at Johnny.
__________________
Idiots give me indigestion.
Don't give me indigestion.
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dragonrider
Wadledo, you dislike EVERYONE. Therefore, you don't count.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Draken
Maybe this is the only true fix for spellcasting, making people scared of using it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by dragonprime
There's a concept called mercy. Are you familiar with it?
The weather outside seems to have stopped getting worse, as far as you can tell. It's still rather unpleasant, though.
"Goodness, you should be more careful, you big furry thing. Anyway, the basement's just down there, there's some chairs and a table, plus the protective wards."
"I don't really know anything about your original investigation," the tall woman admits, "so I couldn't tell you. He did say you'd be compensated for helping us."
"Well, seeing as it's pretty bad out there, I can see how this is more urgent." He gathers the rest of his stuff, and starts walking towards the counter.
Anyone that happens to look out a window at this point will note that the weather is improving. The wind has died down, and the volume of rainfall is slowly decreasing.
"Not as much as you want, probably, but it's a recent development and they haven't had much time to look into it. A—our friend thinks it might be a cult, and recommended we look into warehouses and abandoned buildings around here. That's all I've got." Karen looks out the window. "This looks like as good a time as any to head outside. Should we start?"
At the mention of empty warehouses, Chrys barks, walks over to Karen, looks meaningfully at the halfling receptionist, then returns to looking at Johnny as though his briefcase contains food.
__________________
Idiots give me indigestion.
Don't give me indigestion.
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Dragonrider
Wadledo, you dislike EVERYONE. Therefore, you don't count.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Draken
Maybe this is the only true fix for spellcasting, making people scared of using it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by dragonprime
There's a concept called mercy. Are you familiar with it?
"Sure," the man shrugs once more, "You'll get no complaint here. Give me a moment to slip into character." Turning, he pops open his briefcase for a moment, removing a clipboard, trading out a wallet and placing a id tag on his vest. Moving to the coat stand, he retrieves his not- quite-dry overcoat, whirling it around and on. Standing there is a tired, middle aged man, hair thinning in front, pasty white from an apparent life spent pushing papers. "Think I'll take the direct route," the man intones, a twinkle flashing in the dull, grey eyes for a moment before receding, "Leave y'all free to go round back or on to another building." Closing the briefcase, Moxey looks the part of any other overworked civil servant, though he takes a moment to peel up the sweatervest, cinching the straps on a pair of decidedly extraordinary pistols, snugly in their holsters. "What?" the man asks, all trace of luster removed from his eye, "Think I'd go in unprepared?"
"No, it's probably good to take those along," Karen says, a little surprised at the change. Shapeshifting isn't completely new to her, though, so she spends only a moment staring. "Let's go." She heads for the door, pausing as she ducks under to make sure Mox and his crew are following—and to see exactly who his 'crew' is.
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