| Foul World (AU Rhiannon & AU Connor) |
[10 Jun 2009|04:56pm] |
"This world is foul."
Connor muttered the words as he stalked into the building he and the other Inquisitors were using as their headquarters, closing the door behind him with an overly-controlled motion. He took a long deep breath, the mask of the air purifier tucked out of sight, then crossed to where he'd set up his maps, pinned to the wall with tacks. He picked up a pen, circled the name of the park where the succubus had escaped, started marking likely spots where she could go to hide. If she used her abilities, she could possibly use some unfortunate human as her accomplice. He wished he hadn't missed.
As far as he could tell, he was alone in the building, which suited him as his mood was rather dark. He disliked failure, especially in himself. There could be no more mistakes, not if the heathens had gotten so desperate as to carelessly assault someone in public. They must all do better from here on out.
In a quiet corner, Rhiannon sat calibrating her instruments. On a walk through the Lincoln Park area, the levels on the handheld gear went haywire, and afterwards nothing carried on her person at the time seemed to work properly. She took a few of the wrist-mounted gadgets apart to see if moisture had gotten in, but the gears were dry as a bone. Working with a light and magnifier, which could be fastened over the eyes like a pair of glasses, she painstakingly reassembled the gear.
( Riding on a Man's Coattails )
( Panic )
[OOC: All inquisitors should receive Rhiannon's patched copy of the transmission, contained within this scene.]
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| Dissension in the Ranks (Inquisitors Reilly and Bryson) |
[10 Jun 2009|06:32pm] |
Connor's memory for street names and locations paid off, but it still seemed to take him a very long time to find his fellow Inquisitor at the right place. The medical bag swung from his left hand as he ran, occasionally striking him in the upper calf. He could almost hear the seconds ticking past on his watch.
He finally found the other man in a small stand of trees, and he came to a slow, winded stop. He was sweating, salty perspiration gathered at the nape of his neck. There was a huddled figure lying nearby. Bryson's coat was spread out over it. Connor swallowed. The greasy taste was back.
"We missed the original signal. The radio wasn't transmitting correctly, something to do with energy interference." He looked at the figure again. "Is she...?"
( The Trouble With Purists )
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| Casualties (AU Hayden) |
[10 Jun 2009|11:51pm] |
Hayden went down on one knee and pushed his fingers into his eyes.
Kathleen Guevara. A second Inquisitor dead under his command. By now, Harrison's body would've been located and brought home. There'd be a flag over his coffin, a medal in his sister's hand, a name carved into brass.
It wasn't easy to lead. It wasn't something he sought when he joined the Royal Inquisition, but neither was combat. He was a scholar, recruited out of University as an interpreter, having mastered four of the modern languages. During his first year of service, before he met Victoria, he accompanied a squad on a mission out of England. A town had become a haven of sorts for demons; he was there translate for a member of the Inquisition, who didn't speak the native tongue. Word of their delegation's arrival spread quickly. When the raid happened, he picked up arms alongside the others and was one of nine survivors in a squad of twenty.
Afterwards, his career picked up momentum. He was a natural pick for leadership; he was intelligent, steadfast, loyal to a fault, and most importantly, he bought into the doctrine. Bit by bit, he drifted from academia, until there was little left except strategy, directives, targets and ammunition. He was intended to check his questions at the door and simply fire.
( Right, But Unjust )
( Issuing Orders )
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