Thriller Blood Moon: Rise of the Lycans (A werewolf RPG)

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
25 December 2065-St.Patrick’s, NYC, North Tower

The howling and screeching had finally stopped. It was an infernal noise that no natural creature could emit. Those were terrible enough themselves. Gus let out a heavy breath in relief.

"North Tower to Narthex!Father! Anyone!”

Kevin did not bother to pause for a breath. The man was a true veteran and a constant source of silent inspiration. He picked up the radio and all but demanded someone to respond. Gus offered him a nod and a wry smile. He was thinking of doing almost the same. A roll-call would have served well as well as a SIT-REP. Neither of them was aware of what had transpired anywhere else in the cathedral. Unpleasant news as it was, they also needed to know how many watchers they had lost during the werewolf attack. They would have to be replaced, and it wasn’t like there was a long line of volunteers or folks that qualified-per se. Willingness, a thirst for some payback and impromptu training was usually all it took.

“Stay put lad and scan the perimeter. It could’ve been just the first wave.”

The first wave?

That thought gave Gus a bit of a pause as his eyebrows shot up and a chill ran up his spine. He was motionless for a brief second as the notion sunk into his mind and soul. Kevin was absolutely right. The Lycans outnumbered the humans. There was no reason why they wouldn’t attack again, even though suicide runs were not typical ‘werewolf’ behavior, but more pertaining to military extremists.

“Roger that.” Gus heard himself say. Whatever bit of relief he’d felt had quickly frozen over and the edge in his voice was back. His resentment towards the Lycans was inexhaustible. Without hesitation, he did as instructed. The young watcher decided to give the laser weapon a break and opted for the scope on his assault rifle instead. Much as he tried not to favor ‘Madame X’, it was clear that he had some unspoken attachment to it.

Spurred by the thought of a possible ‘second wave’ of attacking Lycans, Gus steadied himself and swiveled around as he looked through the scope of his assault rifle. He shifted from infrared, to macro-vision and standard, as he looked for any sign of trouble. Shadows, heat signatures, tracks in the snow. The blasted storm seemed to be laughing at his efforts and he did his best to tamp down his annoyance. The only relief at the moment was that the ‘general alarm’ had not been sound. Father Minghan was safe. The survivors and the children were safe…and Michaela.

Motion near the front entrance caught Gus's attention and he immediately zoomed in on it.

“We have a survivor at the front entrance. Military.” He said calmly to Kevin, as he tried to inspect the survivor as best he could from his vantage point. Besides being obviously military, gender and other identifiers were hard to make out.

“I’m not sure if he’s been spotted yet. Call it in, so we don’t kill one of our own. Don’t forget the wolfsbane test…just to be sure.”

Yeah, he was sounding paranoid, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Always.

There was no immediate answer via radio yet, but he knew that they usually had to wait a moment. There were only so many things one could do during such critical moments. Defending oneself and one’s position always came first. The lives of many others usually depended on that. For that reason, Gus continued his visual reconnaissance. ‘Madame X’ would be nice and rested should a second wave of Lycans appear, but in the back of his mind, Gus hoped that Kevin was wrong about it.

With Eshkol’s minefield already spent, he was uncertain if the watchers on the ground floor would fare as well as on the ‘first wave’.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza “Zee” N'dori, Merry Christmas, Wolvies!
Near the North Transept, St Patrick's Cathedral


Zeeza could barely make out the form of the person outside. She coudlnt tell if it was male or female at the moment, but it was fully dressed, and in some type of armor. Zee quickly yanked yer bolts from the werewolf on the ground, and then stared hard at the figure she saw.

A sound reached her ears, like the sound of a weapon..but the person didnt seem to be drawing a bead on her. Mater of fact, their hand was not on their weapon, for Zee could see that the weapon was pointed down. The person was completely covered, and she could only see the eyes peering out from some head covering. The person let go of the weapon, and then leaned forward, now leaning against a small car.

"Nice shot... " the muffled voice told her. Well, it sounded like a girl. And she wasnt a wolfie. She seemed to be covered in blood and other yuck. It was hard to tell if the blood covering her was wolvies or theirs. Zee stepped out into the open, hoping the guards up in the tower were paying attention. "Thanks. Are you ok?" Zee asked the woman, as she stepped out into the street, looking around. "You better come inside. If there are any more wolfies around, dont want to meet them outside." A strange thought suddenly came to Zee. She knew the churches 'protection' worked on the wolvies..but what about wolvies not in form? Zee kinda figured that they HAD to work on them, or else they would have been eaten a long time ago. Well, she sure HOPED that was right. But she rather be wrong, and have the wards, or the guns take out the person, than to be REALLY wrong, and to leave a human outside to THEM. Zee looked around, and then back at the dark figure.

"Better hurry." she added, as she kept her weapon down, but at the ready, just in case.




TAGS: Heavy Isotope, HanSolo29, spycoder9, Mitth_Fisto, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

GM Approved.

Name: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: English
Age: 40

Appearance: 5ft 10in Tall. Dark Hair. Arms and shoulders thickly muscled. Barrel Chested. Pale skin.
Prison Tattoos.

Where Were You:

Where was I? Banged-up in a Max-Security Gaol, five years into a twenty-five to life stretch for a
murder I didn't commit.

Brief Background:

You look sceptical! Don't worry, I'm not offended, the Court didn't believe me either! No one did!

Happened like this, I was a Roman to Medieval era re-enactor by choice, though I always turned out for
the Sealed Knot people when they needed extra bodies - and an Armourer by necessity; if you're not
rolling in money, authentically-manufactured gear is prohibitively expensive unless one makes it
oneself. Eventually, the Armouring side became my profession, it was lucrative; there aren't many of
us about.

So I got hired onto a Hollywood Movie - you won't have seen it, the publicity and the family's
feelings saw to that - to make the Star a proper Plate Harness and weapons. No way was an ego that
size going to be seen in 'Munition Armour' from the Props' store; not when he could strut about in a
made-to-measure 'Parade' suit! Also showed the cast how to handle the weapons properly, as they
would have in-period; and helped weed-out the more fantasy-inspired suits. Everyone was pleased and
everything went fine until the wrap-up party.

Don't know how, because I'm a soft-drink only man, but either someone topped it up with alcohol or
someone slipped some drug into my glass. Got woken up by Police on the floor of a blood-spattered
room, complete with the naked body of the female lead on the bed and the Misericorde I'd made for the
Star sticking out of her. Don't know how my fingerprints and DNA got on the hilt, either. Open and
shut case, according to the Police, the Prosecutor and the Judge.

Fast-forward to three years ago when some idiot put one of those things into the Gaol without
checking it properly. Transformed one night, murdered and ate its cellmate then ripped the bars
clear out of their mountings. The guards tried, but that thing just ignored the bullets they
fired at it. Must have been thinking 'here's a nice place, good food supply'! More guards showed
up, some with metal poles, some with spades, some with riot-shields, a few with axes; and tried to
cover an evacuation; they died trying. My cell had been one that had been opened and one of the dead
had dropped a fire-axe right outside - not as good as a Saxon Battleaxe, but close enough - and there
was also a riot-shield nearby. Basically, I got lucky. Either that, or gorging itself and carrying
all that lead slowed it down. Anyway, my first stroke took off one of its arms, my second its head.

Turned out that the powers that be needed someone expendable to check out information from overheads
at street level and report in, seems there's indications of survivors on the island!

At least I was allowed to make my own gear. Not that I think I'm invulnerable, but a good suit of
plate means they'll have to work hard at getting me. No, no firearms thanks; they're useless when
they run out of ammo. I'll rely on my longsword, my battleaxe and the take-apart bow in my pack;
also my elbowing spikes, silvered blades and wolfsbane injectors in one.

---

IC: 'Joph' Carter
East 51st Street - junction with pedestrian walkway from FDR Drive.

Would you believe there are actually people studying those things? Well, thinking about it,
it does make some sense. One of them gave me part of my 'Mission Briefing' - such as it was - boiled
down to "look like prey, act like prey, you'll almost certainly get attacked - behave like King
Predator and don't look like anything edible and they might treat you with caution.... for a while!".

Well, that's why I'm striding - as confidently as possible, given the underfoot conditions - towards
the building codenamed 'Target One'; dressed in my finery, which certainly hasn't been a common sight
in NYC, the US, or (for the last five hundred years) anywhere else in the world!

My two-handed longsword is bare in my hands, my battleaxe (a slightly larger, slightly heavier,
version of a farrier's axe - my preferred close-quarters and melee weapon) hangs at my side

and my misericorde,

not properly considered a weapon, but usable as one in extremis, is tucked into my belt.

Insertion was by helicopter winch onto FDR Drive. Don't ask me what model of helicopter; I'm a metal
worker cum blacksmith by training, not a military man or an aircraft buff. My sum total of
military knowledge concerns the Roman Conquest to Bosworth Field. My military experience; just what
I've picked up from doing re-enactments and being around those who treat re-enacting as an
opportunity for doing experimental archaeology. All I know is that it was a helicopter.... a quieter
one than I expected.

Underfoot conditions aren't too bad, but I'm glad I covered my feet and lower legs in protective
wrappings of various kinds - bandage or puttee style - fewer things worse than sabatons (Middle
English for 'shoes') full of freezing water; so far they've kept my feet dry. It also improves my
grip on whatever I'm walking on under the snow.... don't want to slip and end up flat on my face or
thump down on my tailbone. It'd ruin the King Predator image! Not that I'd have any difficulty
getting up again; despite appearances (and misconceptions generated by old research into surviving
suits of armour in museums and collections which were perpetuated in various films, like Olivier's
1944 production of Henry V), the suit only puts just over 30lb (UK Imperial) onto my body weight. It
can be run-in, jumped-in, even shoulder-rolled in. Some people have even swum in the mail portion of
the equipment (the harbegeon - mid-thigh-length mail coat - and chausses - mail leggings or 'hose';
which account for most of the total) and not drowned!

The misconception, debunked by the experimental archaeologists, arose because the surviving suits
weren't battle armour from the fourteenth or fifteenth century but mostly later-period jousting
armour, or suits beefed-up to try and repel higher velocity bullets from sixteenth century or later
firearms. Jousting armour (jousting being both a spectacle and a sport) was intentionally much
heavier to guard against the accidental injury of participants.... those suits probably would need
sheer-legs and block-and-tackle to hoist the knight into the saddle! Battle armour accepted the risk
of injury as part and parcel of combat, in favour of increased mobility and agility.

A little under a mile to walk, barring diversions for blocked streets, and hopefully plenty of time
until the Beasts start getting frisky! The Beast-study people slightly complicated matters, though,
apparently there are non-aggressive Beasts in the mix too. No information on whether that's just a
phase in their development or they're desperately clinging on to the last vestiges of their former
humanity. Still, I'm not here as a one-man extermination team; if they leave me alone, I'll leave
them alone.

TAG: No One - unless a scout/forager sees him coming.

 

Robert Gruber
Gruber Estate

For a moment he held his breath as the wolf changed into human form. But his eye never left the kid. His finger never left the trigger. Only from the corners of his eyes he could see the transformation.

“If you speak the truth, you have nothing to fear from me.” He lied. What else could he do? “But I don’t trust a wolf so easily. Over there into the corner, both of you!” He hissed these words out, making clear in his tone that even if they took him down, he would try to kill their child first.

“And you little one, stay calm. If your parents behave, nothing bad will happen to you.”

Wonder if her mom told that to my little ones before they were ripped to pieces.

Eyes I dare not meet, in death’s dream kingdom.

He blinked to get the poem out of his head. It stayed there. Always. Burned into the ruins that were his mind.

“Is it yours? Have you . . . given birth to the pub?” He asked the wolfman and nodded to the youngling.

Tag: Cmdr

 

Tim Battershell Should have only posted the CS and waited for me to introduce you into the game.

​

Jospheus 'Joph' Carter

25 December, 2065​

East 51st Street​

​

Manhattan was blanketed in snow and empty. None of the electronics, street lights or lamps were working like it should have been had the city still had power and was busy with people coming and going. Because there were hardly any humans left to run things, the city's main power plant was inoperable and had run out of fuel long ago. In the ten years of abandonment, plant-life had been allowed to grow in places it normally would not have been allowed to. Barely sticking out of the snow in some places were weeds or saplings growing from the damage or cracks in-between sidewalks or destroyed road caused by the war or simply from poor maintenance beforehand.​

​

It was also snowing heavily.​

​

The powers-that-be who were running the war against the lycans had decided, despite the dangers of the weather, to drop off Josephus Carter near the east docks in the hopes that their approach would go unseen by enemy forces. The drop had been a success and although the moon was beginning to finally set, they had seen no enemy contacts in the vicinity. The commanders didn't believe the ex-convict would succeed in his mission, dressed the way he was. If he didn't get devoured first by some pack, he would surely freeze to death instead.​

​

Still they gave him the mission and a chance at a pardon if he succeeded and survived the war. His job was simple. Reconnaissance the city, find the rumored survivors and make contact and report back their situation and any information he could find on the lycans' plans, strengths and positions in the city. Easier said than done. They had offered better equipment and a gun for his mission but he had declined, so they gave him a backpack with basic survival necessities, including food and water, and a satellite radio with headset to report back with.​

​

They had briefed him on what they knew about the enemy, which wasn't very much. He was told the basics and that they behaved like savage humans with fangs and claws. Although they appeared animal like, they could coordinate attacks and strategies with the same cleverness and savagery as a man. Where they lacked in resources and gear, they made up for it in numbers and sneakiness. It would not be the first time that a lycan had walked into a military camp disguised as a soldier and tore everyone inside to shreds. It gave a new meaning to 'suicide bomber'. Although screening methods had been made since the first suicide attack, some affective-some not, the lycans still attempted it.​

​

He was also briefed on where he would likely find the survivors. The few communications they had managed to get from other survivors, indicated that a group of them had hold up in an old church near the center of the city. Vague. But the powers-that-be were confident that it was St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was large enough to house hundreds, quite capable of being a bastion of defense and someone from the Vatican had said it had been consecrated when it was first built and with that knowledge, any of their people would try and get survivors inside. Whatever that meant.​

​

So Josephus found himself trudging through a foot of snow heading in the direction of St. Patrick's. The old cathedral just starting to come into view. Earlier he had heard explosions and howling, and something that sounded like an inhuman screech before everything had fallen quiet again. It seems St Patrick's was indeed occupied like the military brass had suspected.​

TAG: @Tim Battershell

​

Kevin O'Brian, Gustavo 'Guts' Guerrero

25 December, 2065​

North Tower, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

“We're fine down here,” someone had answered Kevin over the radio. “But Zee spotted something outside though. Think it might be a survivor.” In their scopes, Kevin and Guts, would be able to see the 'survivor' come around the wrecked vehicle they had taken refuge behind during the fight. The person certainly was dressed like a soldier but was not American. The patches and coloration was all wrong. Russian perhaps? The soldier hurried forward, past dead lycan bodies and out of their line of sight.​

​

After a few minutes, a new sound would reach up to them from below to their right. Something metallic was making a noise somewhere on 51st Street and heading west.​

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto greyjedi125 Tim Battershell

OOC: Feel free to spot Tim's character and then be relieved by the new shift to come downstairs and join everyone.

Benjamin Eshkol

25 December, 2065​

South Tower, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Like the North Tower lookouts, Benjamin, would also spot the soldier as the person came running toward the entrance. He would see nothing else below and the only sound other than the storm and his own breathing, was a faint metallic noise somewhere north of the cathedral that seemed to echo off the buildings a bit.​

​

The door to the room opened behind him and a young man entered with a rifle. He was just under six feet with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked to be in his twenties and probably had just been a kid when this whole nightmare had started. Like many of the young boys that grew up in this, his eyes were just as hardened from all the death he had seen.​

​

“ 'm here to relieve you,” the boy said. Ben remembered his name to be Jake or Jack, probably Jake. If the lycans had not given their unwelcome Christmas gift this morning, Benjamin would have already been relieved for the morning.​

​

TAG: @Saintheart

OOC: Feel free to join the people downstairs, Saint.

​

Katia, Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori, John Garrett, Michaela Welch

25 December, 2065​

Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral​

​

With the death of the last werewolf, relief was palpable throughout the cathedral. A collective sigh seemed to spread amongst the survivors and defenders as silence fell outside but the tension of the skirmish was still being felt. Father Minghan spoke to a few of the defenders, sending a few up into the towers to relieve those upstairs before moving forward to inspect the corpse of the lycan that had gotten in.​

​

He looked up when Zeeza called out to John. He took note of the person across the street and sniffed before returning his attention to the corpse. Katia would hesitate before hurriedly making her way across and into the cathedral. Nothing happened to her upon passing the threshold which either confirmed her to be human or the ward did not harm lycans while human.​

​

“A reminder we are low on atropine,” Minghan mentioned from beside the dead lycan. He was messing with something around the beast's neck. “If you insist on using the wolfsbane to test her, remember to use a very low dosage or we'll have to administer the antidote to her. Though I would think that God's recent demonstrate would negate such a need now.”​

​

He stood up and glanced in Michaela's direction as she came closer. “Help me inspect the other lycans for this,” he held up a gold crucifix in his hand, his tone very concerned. It was unmarred but there was blood spattered across the Son and up the chain. There were two lycans at the door, one by the car Katia had taken refuge by and two more in the streets.​

TAG: @Ktala HanSolo29 spycoder9 Heavy Isotope

Robert Gruber

25 December, 2065​

Gruber Estate​

​

They did as they were told. The lycan child running to its parent for safety and into the arms of its sire. The lycan knelt down to comfort him as it suddenly reverted back to its human form. A boy no older than ten years old. He had the fading scars of a bite on his right leg where something had bitten it some time ago and the child had apparently struggled. The boy also had a couple other scars on him from fights with probably other children like him.​

​

“Uh... my wife, yes. Ten years ago,” the cursed man answered nervously. “We... were, I was a banker. I worked on Wall Street. Juliea was a teacher for a pre-school. We couldn't get off the island in time before the Army blew up the bridges and stranded everyone with the monsters. We... managed to survive up until last year before they found us. I... Juliea didn't make it and the others, the humans that serve them took us to a pack. I thought we were going to be fed to them, but the lycans just bit Michael and I. We've been cursed since then.”​

TAG: @DarkLordoftheFins

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Approaching 'Target One' (Saint Patrick's Cathredral)

I hadn't counted on the canyon-like aspects of the Manhattan streets when I'd designed and built my harness. As I forged onward, wherever possible in the centre of the roadway, every slight chink from the hanging plates on my armour (mainly my Tassets striking against my Cuisses) was bounced off the nearby buildings. I was sure that the semi-regular metallic clinking would be being funnelled ahead of and behind me. If that added to my 'strange and unfamiliar' aura, fine by me; if not, then I'd either have to muffle them or dispense with them entirely. That said, I hadn't seen or heard any signs of movement in my vicinity, even when I'd checked behind me, as I had regularly done on my hike.

Even taking their acoustic disadvantages into account, the streets were a Roman Civil Engineer's or Town Planner's dream. A regular grid pattern, with everything at a precise ninety degree angle. Nothing like English towns, even ones that Roman Engineers had (supposedly) originally laid out.

What had most definitely worked, as I'd known it would from distinctly chilly days in England, was my middle-wear of Arming Jacket and matching Leggings; five thicknesses of linen sewn into quilted garments. Horsehair being in far shorter supply in this era, I'd stuffed the quilting with man-made fibre from the inside of a Duvet (or Continental Quilt) instead, so I was toasty warm - perhaps slightly too warm; although I could, and had, opened my helm's visor from time to time to vent some of the excess heat. Their main purpose wasn't to keep me warm, though, it was as padding against impacts on the outer layers of armour; so they'd been worn in the depths of bitter English winters (there was winter fighting occasionally, usually in connection with sieges) as well as in the broiling heat of the Second Crusade.

Thinking of England made me wonder if the Beasts had obtained a foothold there yet. Had some of my friends in the Legio Britannia Invicta gone into action for real with 'Marcus Aurelius Aquila' (everyday name Paul Smith) at their head? They'd certainly lived the full Legionary lifestyle every second weekend, that was for sure, complete with weapons training straight out of Tacticus. How about John Curr (Sir John de Binsted), my notional 'Lord'? All he would have needed to do (as with anyone who had opted for weapons constructed in the authentic manner - but deliberately left blunt) was to have an edge ground onto them to be left with razor-sharp and deadly tools against the Beasts. The various Re-enactment and Living History Groups had, between them, a veritable cornucopia of knowledge on 'how things were done' and the skills to match, so even if the urban areas were overrun, there were still places in the countryside that could be re-fortified without too much effort, and any people in them fed - just not with the type of foods they were used to. And they would fight the Beasts, and hunt the Beasts, of that I had no doubt at all.

I've been counting off the lateral roads as I crossed them, so I know I'm very close to my destination. I'm not about to change my pace, though, I don't want to surprise anybody - that'd almost certainly been gunfire earlier, some of it from something like a small cannon - but any bullet at all would probably go straight through my armour, which is the reason it went into disuse. Better let any sentries or lookouts have a good look at me, give them time to rub their eyes in disbelief, maybe even have a good laugh, and then report my arrival to whoever's in charge. That's the safe way to do it.


TAG: Mitth_Fisto, greyjedi125

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
25 December 2065-St.Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC

The confirmation call finally came in. Everyone was fine downstairs. Casualties were not spoken off at the moment and perhaps it was best that way. Besides, Zee had spotted a survivor! That was good news. Good ole’ Zee. Guts wondered if she’d spotted the same one he’d called in. The one with the strange military suit.

Before he could even turn around to say anything to Kevin, his fellow watcher, the young man heard and felt the door open behind them. It was their replacements coming to relieve them of guard duty. Was it that time already?

Guts greeted the men with amicable nods and ‘fist bumps’ as was his custom. Their expressions showed clear signs of relief. He couldn’t blame them at all, as he felt the same way. A knowing look was in all their eyes. They had survived yet another Lycan attack.

Guts wanted to say something more, but couldn’t find the proper words. He hadn’t enough information, which was likely to be disseminated during a watcher debriefing. As he bent down to pick up the laser weapon, he heard a peculiar sound, not once, but twice…and even a third time.

Curious and inwardly fearful that they had missed a Lycan, Guts got up and quidkly looked over out in the field. What could be making that odd metallic sound. At first he could see nothing due to the storm, so he quickly picked up his assault rifle and looked through the scope.

It took him a moment to spot it, but now he saw it.

“What in blazes…?” He exclaimed out loud.

“Guys…I think I might be seeing things. Can you confirm this? I got a metal man moving on 51st Street….”

It was definitely not a Lycan. Werewolves did not wear armor. Well, not while shifted. Could it be a Lycan in disguise? Who else would put on such gear. No one could survive in that! But what if someone could?

Protocol dictated that watchers call-in any sightings of survivors. All confirmations were conducted within the walls of the church, and that’s exactly what he'd do.

After asking for a radio, Guts spoke calmly into the device.

“Watchers, Front Entrance; This is North Tower: We have another survivor walking towards us on 51st. He’s got on silv…uhm…metal armor. Repeat, survivor with metal armor spotted on 51st Street.”

Guts swiftly returned the radio and motioned for Kevin to follow downstairs, their shift was over anyway. Without hesitation, he went through the door and his flight downstairs was fueled by undeniable eagerness. In the back go his mind, Guts realized he’d almost said ‘silver armor’. That would have been a ‘big assumption’ and probably highly misleading.

“Two survivors today….I’m not sure what to think…”

Guts would always be surprised as to how sound carried within the stairs and bounced off the brick walls. It was enough for even him to detect how anxious he was, which didn’t stop him from jumping the last few steps. Off handedly, he also noticed the black marks caused by the lit candles and torches. He’d always meant to clean those, but never found time to get around to it.

With hurried steps, Guts made his way through the narthex and to the front of the cathedral. At a glance, he spotted nothing out of sorts. The sight of the .50 Cal weapon confirmed the sounds he’d heard earlier. His head did a double take when he’d spotted Michaela, but he recovered quickly. She was safe. That’s all that mattered.

A few more strides took him before his objective. Guts stopped to look at the felled monsters. All three werewolves had been vanquished. The stench of cooked flesh and spilled viscera reached his nostrils, which caused him to snort in response. He couldn’t help the satisfaction he felt inside by just watching the dead creatures, but he didn’t linger on them. Father Minghan had spoken to him about the dangers of harboring such feelings, not to mention the man was nearby. To this day, Guts had no idea how their leader did it, how he kept himself from feeling hate towards lycans.

No matter.

With a solid nod of acknowledgement and approval, the young watcher greeted both Zeeza and John. He even smiled impishly when he saw the young girl with her crossbow in hand, several of her bolts were stained with blood. He didn’t have to guess why or how.

“Hey…” he said simply in greeting as his eyes examined the area. How were they supposed to bolt the door tonight, now that the beam that had served as a bolt had been sundered by the werewolves' attack. A third person was with them, the military survivor. Guts took a moment to appraise the newcomer, whom he greeted with a silent nod. It became clear to him that the survivor was female and well armed, though the markings on her gear he did not recognize, nor did he spot an american flag or symbol upon it. Most curious.

Evidently, she had crossed the threshold without being affected by the cathedral's protective wards. Which meant there was only one test left to be performed.

Movement, sound and a gust of cold air caught his attention now.

Right, they had another visitor on his way.

“There’s a second survivor making his way here, he should be in view at any moment.”

Guts spoke calmly as he carried ‘Madame X’ on his right hand. He looked out the cathedral doors now, hoping to spot the metal man. Taking several steps forward, he placed himself at the doors threshold. It wasn’t the metal man that concerned him so much now, as thoughts of a second wave still lingered in his mind. Ideally, he wanted everyone inside and the doors shut tight.

Lifting ‘Madam X’ once again, he held the weapon at the ready and held his position.

Just in case.

Hurry it up, tin man… He thought anxiously at the moving figure across the street.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @Tim Battershell, @Ktala, @HanSolo29, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, and others ( Sorry if it's a bit long)

 

IC: Katia
St. Patrick's Cathedral, Narthex

"Thanks. Are you ok?" the girl asked, "Yes." Katia replied flatly. The girl stepped out into the street, looking around. "You better come inside. If there are any more wolfies around, dont want to meet them outside." There was a faint clanking sound, maybe some of the lycans regrouping in the wrecked buildings nearby. But it was too rhythmic. "You're right, let's go," Katia said after she began walking past her to the cathedral. Turning around and walking backwards, looking left, right, and up at the roofs of the other buildings before turning back around to head inside. And to see if the girl was still there. You never know when a wolf might pounce...

The Cathedral was a bit warmer, the burned up corpse of a wolf on the floor told her that must have been the source of the howling, stopping and staring at it as a man of the church inspected the corpse. They should really dispose of the bodies. Along with the ones nearby, she thought. When the change of season happens they'll rot and stink, thought Katia, knowing that all too well, the corpses of Lycans were always an indication that she couldn't stay nearby for long. The smell doesn't ward them away.

Realizing the dried blood splatters on her she brushed her free hand at it and the snow before it would melt. Her clothes were stained, scuffed, and dirty from the years but blood would leave a smell. The snow wasn't a big issue the fabric was designed and manufactured to be a hydrophobic prototype, however moisture would still degrade it's ability to keep her warm until it dried up. The man continued, “If you insist on using the wolfsbane to test her, remember to use a very low dosage or we'll have to administer the antidote to her. Though I would think that God's recent demonstrate would negate such a need now.” Katia narrowed her brow slightly and thought, That and you'd be crazy to think I'd let you stick me.

"Hey... " Said a younger, male, voice. Katia looked towards whomever it was, he carried some big metallic piece of gear with him, she also noticed he was sizing her up and tightened her grip around her rifle's pistol grip. All the people around her made her uneasy, but she had little reason to think organized, diverse, and religious survivors would attack her. Even so, she kept her guard up and her balaclava on. The cold air seeped in through the broken door. "There's a second survivor making his way here, he should be in view any moment," the young man said and walked towards the doors.

The strange looks the survivors gave her made her glad her identity was a mystery. It's likely it would remain so until she could trust them. While her gear was untraceable and without serial numbers, her voice would be a give away of her origin. Though she wondered if they could identify it as Russian or just think it was central European. The only identifying mark won't be very helpful. The insignia she bore was a black shield bearing a white greek symbol, Delta. It was embroidered on her jacket's left shoulder. Dusan explained it briefly, that it's for identification by their organization should they need to extract her, or something. Katia couldn't remember anymore.

TAGS: @Ktala @HanSolo29 @spycoder9 and GM

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Intersection of Fifth Avenue and 51st Street.

Well, occupying the entire block - as far as I can see in the limited visibility - St Patrick's certainly deserves the term 'Cathedral', although how it compares to some of the real biggies in England or Europe will have to wait for better light, and will be merely an academic exercise anyway.

From passing up one side of it, and knowing the liking for a regular footprint, it appears to be of the familiar crucifix plan, with two spired towers at its western end. No tall central spire rising from the crossing (with or without a tower) though. Still, that can be tricky; Chichester Cathedral's tower and spire famously collapsed in 1861, victims of their own weight (and probably inadequate foundations). Luckily, no one was killed or even injured. Made quite a mess at the time, though my generation had no evidence of the event to look at bar the old photographs.

Definite signs of recent combat about, several Beast corpses and patches of gore, still not covered even with this heavy snowfall. That confirms that there are, indeed, survivors here; better yet, there are capable fighters. The Powers That Be should be pleased to hear that; provided that fancy radio works, there's someone listening on my assigned frequency, and they are, in fact, interested in what information I can provide. Call me cynical if you will, but this whole gig could just be an excuse to get rid of the evidence of an embarrassing mistake, one they made fifteen years ago.

I want very much to get inside and meet the residents, but I have to keep acting like I'm 'King Predator' and entirely unconcerned about anything the Beasts, the lesser predators, might get up to. Here, and just after an attack, I'm certain to be under observation, so scurrying into the building like a frightened mouse most certainly will not do. There's also the fact that, under most lighting conditions, my plate armour looks like dulled silver (it isn't, just well burnished and buffed steel) and it's known that the Beasts don't like silver at all.

So I take my time walking to the steps and climbing them, then turn round just outside the main entrance for a final look before I sheath my sword and enter, unlatching and opening my visor as I do so. Quite the reception committee, including one male who's obviously a priest. The priest seems calm enough, but some of the others look distinctly edgy, and who can blame them? I advance just enough to clear the arc of the door; give a short bow, mainly in the priest's direction, and say;

"Father; good people, be not feared; though I come before you in arms and harnessed for war, to you I come in peace."

This just kind of slips out. I'm at least half in-character as 'William of Walberton' all the time I'm wearing Medieval garb and carrying period weapons - a holdover from my days as a re-enactor, when all of us were expected to use period-style speech patterns, if not the actual words that were in use.


TAG: Narthex Group

 

Benjamin Eshkol

Cathedral entrance, St Patrick's Cathedral
25 December 2065

Ben nodded to Jake, waving a hand as he stood down, pulling the batteries out of his remotes and safeing the .303. "Sure. It's cold today. Keep moving around."

He didn't say much more as he headed down through the south tower's superstructure and made his way to the ground floor of the Cathedral, into the Narthex, in time to overhear the newest arrival to the Cathedral speaking: "...though I come before you in arms and harnessed for war, to you I come in peace."

Benjamin had been right about his impression from the South Tower. The man was dressed like a refugee from the old, never-to-be-repeated Game of Thrones cable show. -- or worse, like a fan of the old, never-to-be-repeated Game of Thrones cable show (Which had ended its run in 2019. The post-finale riots claimed 78 lives. Albeit Hollywood's to-date aversion at dredging that franchise for a remake largely derived from 6 of those 78 lives being TV executives lynched from signposts on Hollywood Boulevard than from the overall body count as such.)

Oh well: if this chap really wanted to run around offering the Lycans a canned form of filet mignon, Benjamin wasn't about to stop him. And in certain circumstance he might actually be handy to have around. How had the old joke gone? "Remember, if you and a fat guy are being chased by a Lycan, you don't have to outrun the Lycan: you just have to outrun the fat guy."

Wait a second. The other person who'd come in from the cold. The one who'd just been talking to Zeeza. The tactical gear was, perhaps, unsurprising assuming she or he had survived on the Island for any length of time. The stance, the look, and readiness of the girl was another thing entirely. This was the thing about special ops teams, the world over: once you were in that mode of thinking, in that mode of life, it wasn't really something you could turn off. And for the most part, you could get by with civilians, even intelligence operatives or law enforcement, because they weren't trained to pick it up. But other operatives? That was another story. Oh, most of the time you could suppress it, sure, consciously try and slouch a little and stop scanning every person walking down the street and assigning them a priority should things go bad -- but, as Benjamin knew, there was always the chance. And the longer you spent away from controllers, from the chain of command, the more (and wholly unintentionally) sloppy you got. As he himself knew; Benjamin had a fair idea if an SAS trooper came wandering down the street, he'd pick Benjamin like a flower in a mudpile. Or a bloodstain on newly-fallen snow.

So whoever this person was, it was clear: Benjamin might not have been able to pick which service she/he had been, but the body language was giving it away like gunfire: this one was a special ops case.

Which only raised more questions, of course.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he actually wished Robert Gruber was back here and not out. There was a guy who'd not lost his edge even with the grey in his hair. The more killers you had in your pocket, the better Benjamin tended to feel.

TAG: All in the Narthex

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
North Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral, NY

Noting the relief that came in he stood and said what he often said when the replacement said he was there to relieve them, "I am relieved." With a curt nod he slung his rifle over his back and picked up his tea cup, mug actually, half-filled with melted snow water. Downing the bracing cold water he nodded at the men as the kid left. He let the kid take the lead as he stayed up in the tower for a minute longer as he bent down and began policing his brass. Shell casings were valuable, if you knew how and had the proper set-up you could replace the gun powder and bullet tips. So, just in case they came across new bullet tops he kept the brass in a crate down below for any that could or found a way to reload them.

Finally grabbing one from under the edge of the heater he plopped them in his pocket for now, with a nod he left closing the door behind him gently. No need to slam a church door after today, and taking what solace he could from radio reply he walked down into the Narthex of the church. The new fella' was an interesting one, all covered in modern armor. He couldn't tell from just looking but something about the eyes made him think 'female', not that he would call the new person such until he got to hear the voice as he was sure those already gathered had.

Then there was the other new fella' and this one was dressed in period armor, as if he had just come out from one of them re-enactment societies that toured the isles and mainland Europe. He had seen only a couple in his days, it had made for a good thing to take a date to. Much better than the movies in his opinion. The man was bowing and speaking in similar ways and with the raised visor there was no doubt this one was indeed a fella'.

He was sure the others had their own words to speak and new more of what was happening than he did, so he stayed a few steps back from the group. One hand on the stock of his rifle as he waited to see how things would go. One thing though that did catch his attention was the broken wood that had kept the main door closed. They might have to organize a trip to get something heftier for the future, maybe some steel rebar from a construction site bound into a bundle?

TAG: All in the Narthex

 

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori- 25 December, 2065
Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral

Zee was getting confused. The 'girl' she had talked to, walked into the church behind her. Zeeza paused, as the girl passed what remained of the wolfvie on the floor, and into the church proper. When she didnt burst into flames or at least start to smolder, Zee figured that she was ok.

Well, she certainly HOPED so. Father Minghan seemed to sense her thoughts, as he suddenly spoke out, “A reminder we are low on atropine,” Minghan called out. “If you insist on using the wolfsbane to test her, remember to use a very low dosage or we'll have to administer the antidote to her. Though I would think that God's recent demonstrate would negate such a need now.”

Zee just gave a grin, and nodded, but she didnt say anything. She noticed the Father was busy messing with something around the wolfvies neck. Zee looked back at the new girl, who seemed rather quiet. Then again, she had just come off the streets, so that was to be expected. Before she could really say anything to her, more excitement at the door caused her to turn around once more.

Thats when Zee noticed the metallic rhythmic sound that was near the door of the church. Turning around, she saw a sight that made her eyes open just a bit wider. Was that..the tin man? So dude, it just HAD to be a guy, was walking around looking like a museum piece. Ancient armor. Complete with sword. Zee's mouth just dropped open. The person opened the visor, and it was indeed a guy. Then he spoke, giving a stiff bow as he did:

"Father; good people, be not feared; though I come before you in arms and harnessed for war, to you I come in peace."

Yeah...

Nobody said anything to the guy. They were all still probably in shock, at having a metal guy stomp out from the snowstorm. Zee closed her jaw, looking around. She then looked back at the guy. "Well, Sir Knight, if ye kindly walk yer metal butt inside, so we can close the door, and try to figure out how to secure it."

Hmm. A girl in tech gear, and spam in a can, all in one night. And wolvies. Well, so far nobody was bursting into flames, and Zee saw the other people coming down from tower duty. So Zee found an empty pew seat, and grabbed a rag. She cleaned off the bolts she had fired earlier, and then carefully put them back into her weapon. Yeah, that door was gonna have to be fixed. A pew, if worse came to worse. But they might have to go out and find something to use. But after a wolf attack, that would not be a good thing. Not now. Zee kept an eye on the newcomers, staying quiet.



TAGS: Heavy Isotope, HanSolo29, spycoder9, Mitth_Fisto, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Saintheart, Tim Battershell, greyjedi125

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
25 December 2065-St.Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC

In the back of his mind, Guts decided he’d stand guard at the front while the doors were open. He glanced at the carnage outside the cathedral, at the spot where Flynn fell victim to two lycans. Tamping down his emotions, the young watcher switched scenery, although he did wonder when they would do clean up.

Before him, the tin man was taking his time. Just great. But he could understand. One false movement under the current circumstances could get one ‘accidentally’ dead. Thankfully, the metal man didn’t have a pack of werewolves chasing him down, otherwise Guts imagined the man would be running down at them with all his might. That mental image caused him some amusement and he smiled, but said nothing as the metal man passed by him and entered the cathedral.

Guts was able to appraise the man as he’d passed. Something didn’t add up. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet. Facing forward, the young watcher kept an eye out for any lycan activity…or other survivors, should anyone else decide to make an appearance. Now was a good time, it seemed.

'Father, good people, be not feared. Though I come before you in arms and harnessed for war, to you I come in peace.”

Guts raised an eyebrow as he listened to the conversation behind him. The new guy had a strange manner of speaking. He sounded as ancient as his armor looked. Did he just travel through time or something?

Guts chuckled, but not too loudly. This guy looked like one of those warriors from that ‘Ultimate Fantasy’ MMORPG. Perhaps he had skills like those too…however, this was reality and not some computer game. It was best not to over think it.

No one else seemed to be speaking. Well, three dead lycans at the front of the cathedral would that.

“Well, Sir Knight. If ye kindly walk yer metal butt inside, so we can close the door, and try to figure out how to secure it.”

Guts knew that voice. This time he couldn’t help chuckling out loud. Zeeza was still a spunky kid and he totally appreciated that in his own way.

“No lycan activity out here…” He informed those behind him. Then with the ‘knight’ as dubbed by Zeeza, finally in, Guts pulled the doors closed, one at a time. Once that was done, he turned to the gathered group.

“Well now you two, welcome to the St. Patrick’s, haven for survivors….”

With a gesture of his gloved hand, he pointed towards the man in priestly garments.

“That over there is Father Minghan, he is our leader in all respects.”

“You can call me Guts. That’s Kevin over there and that’s John. The guy with the glasses is Ben.”

As he spoke, he tried to gauge the reaction of the newcomers and his companions as well.

“The lovely lady over there is Michaela….”( C’mon Gus, keep a straight face). “And our spunky markswoman is Zeeza.”

Quick introductions were in order, so it was best to get them out of the way. At least that was his thinking.

“After Ash Wendsday, holidays just don’t seem the same…” Guts said, despite knowing he wasn’t any good with humor.

“Forgive me for if I seem a bit…forward. But how many lycans have you killed? Must be though on your own.”

The young watcher kept an even gaze. The question was for both newcomers, but in his case, it was more for the tin man. His armor did not show any signs of previous combat. No bite marks, scratches, dents or anything. At least none that he could see. It was most curious, that, and the man was only armed with sword and axe. This was a story he needed to hear. Perhaps he wielded ‘Excaliber’s’ bastard replica or something. As for the military woman, he had no doubt her story would be very interesting as well.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable…” He said in addition as he gestured towards the closest pews, finally recalling what little manners remained in him.

Tag: @Tim Battershell, @Heavy Isotope, @Ktala, @Mitth_Fisto, @Saintheart, @HanSolo29, @spycoder9, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, anyone else. ( A bit rushed. apologies. Manic Monday et al.)

 

​

John Garrett, Gustavo 'Guts' Guerrero, Benjamin Eshkol, Katia, Kevin O'Brian, Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori, Michaela Welch, Josephus 'Joph' Carter

25 December, 2065​

The Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Father Minghan glanced over at the second arrival. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of a man dressed in full period armor, striding up the steps of the cathedral and entering through the open bronze doors. The priest stammered a bit in reaction to the greeting he was given by the man, “Erm... yes. I know New York has its eccentrics and, uh, interesting people...” he gestured at the armored man and then as if remembering what Zeeza had said a moment before he added, “Please... do come in before we all freeze and introduce yourself. I do hope you have a name and not something like Sir Gawain.”​

​

The priest smiled warmly at his own humor.​

​

He then became serious again and stepped around Katia and Josephus to go through the doors. Gesturing to the sentries that remained, he quietly had them bring in what was left of their dead while he, himself, plucked crucifixes from the two lycans at the door. Two more people tossed the remains of the lycans out onto the street to be, for the time being, preserved by snow until they could be properly disposed of later. Minghan glanced across the street to the bodies of the other three lycans and after a moment decided against checking them as well before coming back inside.​

​

The two dead defenders that had died protecting the bronze doors were brought in and Gustavo closed the doors behind them. Their bodies mangled and bleeding. The men carrying them hurried to take them down to the sacristies inside the crypt to be buried later below while Gustavo introduced everyone that was gathered. As they did so, one of the bodies groaned and the men carrying it nearly dropped the man in surprise.​

​

“Father!” cried an older man. “Chris is still alive!”​

​

“Good God.” Minghan hurried past. “Kevin, John... you're in charge. Take care of our new guests and see about that door getting barred. You two, take Chris to my sacristy and bring hot water and clean rags. And someone find me a sober Doctor Singh.” The men hurried with their instructions. Chris was taken to the Archbishop's sacristy with the Father right behind them while the others took the body of the dead defender into the crypts. In Minghan's hurry to help Chris, he had left the three crucifixes on the nearby information desk.​

​

A moment later Sister Tala and the children emerged. She handed the children over to an elderly woman before hurrying to the sacristy and disappearing inside.​

​

It would not be the first time Minghan had left Kevin or John in charge of the ragtag group of survivors. Since the priest rarely left the cathedral because of the threat DuMont posed toward him, something which Minghan had never explained as to why and changing the subject when ever asked, someone was needed to keep the others together and bring them back alive.​

​

“What do we do now?” asked Karen, a dark haired woman who held a semi-auto assault rifle in her hands. She was one of the defenders that had stood guard near Zeeza's position. “How are we going to lock the door now and what do we do with them?” She gestured toward the two new arrivals with suspicion.​

TAG: @Ktala Saintheart Tim Battershell Mitth_Fisto HanSolo29 greyjedi125 spycoder9 Heavy Isotope

OOC: Alrighty. Time to plan on what you guys intend to do, now that you're all together with the exception of Fin's character.

I know this post may look awkward, but I had just finished writing when greyjedi125 posted for Gus. Had to tweak it to include his actions.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Day

Hearing 'Guts' he raised a hand over his eyes. If not for the decorum of at least offering them a pew he was tempted to apologize for the lad. The good Father had a different tac' and just seemed to be more concerned with the dead. Well, that was until one was found alive, and he must admit his smile at the revelation was thread worn. Still he nodded at his and John being left in charge. Before John could waggle out of it Kevin clapped his hands after the woman asked her question.

"Good question. . .Karan." probably got the name wrong, but he was sure he was in the ball park. "How's 'bout you two remove them helms and take a pew, it is Christmas and this is the house of God, unless you fear freezing hats off. Best not to shock the kiddo's too much when they come back." Nodding to John he gave a wave to indicate the newcomers were all his now. The man had better survivor relations than Kevin, in Kevin's opinion. Not to mention Kevin didn't put much into getting all touchy and emotional with the new comers. Especially if you didn't know if you would be scavenging their bodies before burying them next week.

"Gut's! Set ye down that lug 'Madame' and give me a hand with a pew." Moving to the far end he waited to lift it until the kid was in position and ready. "It'll have to do fer now." A pew was the only thing handy, something better suited would have to wait until after another scavenging mission. Something that you just did not do after a lycan attack, nor later in the day with a blizzard going on outside unless you could help it. Not to mention, in his book you dismantled the church as little as possible, any other building would do, but you only used the church when you had no better option and tying a string of guns together certainly wasn't going to do it. So the pew it was for now.

TAG: greyjedi125, HanSolo29, Tim Battershell, Ktala, spycoder9, Heavy Isotope, Saintheart

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

"Well, Sir Knight, if ye kindly walk yer metal butt inside, so we can close the door, and try to figure out how to secure it."

The first words from one of the residents (a brown-skinned, brown-haired young lady) bring a grin to my lips. As the words are spoken, I notice two more people joining the congregation, presumably from the towers, as I make absolutely sure I'm out of the way by taking a couple of extra paces forward.

The young man behind me swings the doors to and speaks before I can reply. I make a mental note of the names as he mentions them, then the priest, Father Minghan, speaks to me himself. There's a slight stammer in his voice, probably due to lingering shock at seeing my weapons and armour. "Please... do come in before we all freeze and introduce yourself. I do hope you have a name and not something like Sir Gawain."

There's an interruption while the casualties are cleared away, complicated by the discovery that one of them is still alive. Father Minghan hurries away to help tend to the seriously wounded man leaving Kevin and John in charge. Then someone else asks about locking the door and what to do with 'them', which I take to be an indication that the un-named, but competent-looking and well-equipped probable female is, like myself, a very recent arrival.

I swivel to aim a measuring glance at the doors (metal, apparently bronze) and the broken securing bar on the floor, then turn back to address the group, removing my helm (not too complicated a process) and pushing back the 'arming cap', actually a hood attached to the Arming Jacket, to leave me with just my very WW2 British Army 'Cap Comforter' as headgear.

"For the doors, if some hardwood wedges can be scrounged or fashioned, tapping them in at the bottom between flagstones and metal might be a temporary solution. We'd need to be able to knock them out again when we want to open the doors again, though, so whoever does the 'tapping' shouldn't be too heavy handed - just far enough in to take some of each door's weight. My name's "Joph" by the way. My background's in metalwork, with a bit of blacksmithing thrown in. Used to make these period suits and weapons for re-enactors, and do some of that myself - as much as I could get away with!. As to my 'score', just one of the Beasts thus far, some time ago and a long way away - but unarmoured and with a fire-axe. Except that I've been given a job to do by The Powers That Be, part of which has been completed by confirming your presence here, I think I'd better brief Father Minghan on the details and let him release the information as, or if, he sees fit."


Tag: Heavy Isotope, HanSolo29, spycoder9, Mitth_Fisto, Saintheart, greyjedi125, Ktala.

 

Benjamin Eshkol
Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral
25 December 2065

That's our John. Give him an unknown in tac gear sporting a rifle that looks like it's loaded FMJ enough to turn half the Cathedral into Swiss cheese, and the first guy he starts questioning is the Crusader wannabe who won't be able to stand up before someone puts a bullet in him. To be fair, Garrett probably hadn't been talking to many special operators recently, but sometimes Benjamin had to wonder whether he really had been a police officer like he said.

Either way, interrogations weren't exactly Ben's thing.

Well, that was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Anyway, whatever the intrigue surrounding these two strays coming in, he had other things to do. He gave a vague sort of nod to the other Paddies (as he called the residents of the Cathedral) and turned into the main body of the hall, looking for -- ah. There she was. Still had her pistol out, too. Strange to see death in the hand of such a beauty. Even with the scar that had marred her features, Michaela Welch's eyes were arresting enough to make most men look twice, even with the familiarity of a good decade sharing flatulence and burps in a converted churchhouse. It might've been the way she kept her hair tied back despite the scar, he decided; no vanity there to conceal what otherwise might have been ugly, and what might have been a disfigurement was converted to strikingness. Emerald-green eyes and a clear white face weren't exactly his thing, but you didn't have to be a sculptor to appreciate David, either.

Of course, the look in her eyes right at this moment was arresting, too, though probably not for the same reasons as her (doubtless) would-be paramours might have liked. Benjamin, for his part, had seen that look before - generally on the faces of other women in the IDF, typically the ones who had lost a father, or mother, or sister among the civilian casualties during Yom Kippur Two.

He walked up as casually to her as he might, shifting the .303 over his shoulder. He dipped his voice. "Hey. I'm heading out; swinging by the Library. Anything the kids might want?"

After all, he'd seen her reading to them now and then, though children's books were fairly few and far between out here. The Library was another matter. Although the New York Public Library had been pretty well picked over for practical subjects, you could still find a hilarious Dan Brown in there or a waterstained Harold Robbins which was just as funny. Children's books didn't really have economical masses of paper to burn for fire, though, and there was still a fair number strewn around down that way. And -- he told himself -- it was sort of on his way anyhow. He'd been meaning to check over the upper floors of another building down that way, and you never knew. He'd picked up a Complete Works of Shakespeare there four months ago. The Merchant of Venice was very funny.

TAG: spycoder9 , anyone else around...

 

IC: Katia
St Patrick's Cathedral

The young boy with his impressive armament, or 'Guts,' as he called himself introduced the lot he asked, “Forgive me for if I seem a bit…forward. But how many lycans have you killed? Must be tough on your own.”

Katia tried not to scoff, so it came out as a sigh. Rightly so, she was exhausted. It had been too long since she found proper sanctuary. She had never counted honestly, nor had she counted the samples she left as dead drops for her organization. The battles she's fought have taken up plenty of ammunition. The drops wearing thin over the past months were an indicator that she can't remain in the shadows. There was still enough ammunition for now though, a new cache wouldn't need to be located for some time. An effective operative needed support, but could also do without, Katia hasn't pushed herself as far as she could. All of her skills seem so natural to her, however there have been times she wondered if she would ever get herself in over her head and... Well, die. She was bred for a shadow war. A war that came in a very different form than what was expected by her organization.

Although right now, her weapon needed attending to, she was lucky the sentries had noticed her, what with it jamming like that. She was good with her knife but not that good. As far as she knew... One of the sentries called out to the father about a defender named Chris still being alive, he left before Katia said anything to him.

Socializing didn't interest her, the group broke off a bit and she took the opportunity to turn away without introducing herself she walked around the group, towards Zeeza. “What do we do now?” asked Karen, a dark haired woman who held a semi-auto assault rifle in her hands. “How are we going to lock the door now and what do we do with them?” She gestured toward the two new arrivals with suspicion. Katia rolled her eyes and looked to the group as she passed.

Her quick assessment of those gathered gave her some insight. Zeeza and Guts could take care of themselves, it seemed. The clanking Joph was likely to get someone killed in such noisy and ridiculous armor and cumbersome weaponry. The two middle-aged men (Kevin and John) were hard to gauge, but it's likely their age would be a hindrance at this point, a reminder of her own approach to her thirtieth year of life. The father left quickly, however in her view a man of the cloth was unlikely to commit any direct violence. Ben... There was something about him Katia couldn't place but from the glance he had given her earlier, there was something in her only he could see. Narrowing her eyes after him as he walked off towards another young, pretty, woman further inside. Holding a pistol in her hands, maybe she was competent as Zeeza. Katia didn't care at the moment. If they wanted to shoot her she could do nothing but hope her ballistic vest under her jacket could hold up. Holding off the Lycans was something she ignored in her assessment, as she was merely pondering if they could harm her. As far as killing the wolves... She would need to see them fight again, for now she remained guarded.

Katia's assessment had taken but a moment, the surroundings were easy enough to take in, not much by way of entry other than the windows and the door was now secured again thanks to Guts and another man. But right now, she knew she was tired and without rest. Katia approached Zeeza, she might not notice Katia's small glances to the others as she approached. "Are there rooms for privacy, is there a place one can bathe as well?" She asked, her voice direct and unchanging. Almost as if 'no' would not be a possible answer, even if it was. Zeeza seemed tougher than that. So far she was the only one she'd respect. Aside from this... 'Guts' perhaps, if his armament produced the laser which had saved her form the pouncing werewolf. Placing her free hand along the top rails of her weapon's upper receiver, Katia shifted her weight to look less threatening and tried to relax what to her was now a natural glare.

TAGS: Ktala primarily, the rest of the group feel free to interact with Katia should you want to try.

OOC: Remember her accent, if your character would be good at identifying that sort of thing (Looking at you Ben ) then by all means take that into account.

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

"While I admire your loyalty, you heard what the Father said, I'm in charge until he returns.... I assure you, anything you tell me I will relay directly to the Father and it will not leave this circle unless you approve.... You need to understand if I'm a little leery, especially with the recent attack. Given that I don't know you, I want to make sure that you are not some spy for the enemy who is trying to get some 'alone-time' with the Father to dispose of him. Make sense?" John finished.

From his accoutrements and manner, I think he is, or was, some kind of policeman, and I've become rather suspicious of the American version of those over the last fifteen or so years. My experience of that breed is that they tend to jump to conclusions rather too readily; then never change their minds, not for any reason.

"It does make sense.", I reply, in a tone loud enough to be heard by those in the Narthex and beyond, "Except that he did not know when he did so that I'm a visitor from the outside world; quite probably the first there's been for these past ten years! I don't begrudge that injured chappie any aid and Spiritual Comfort that the Father can provide to him, so I'm quite prepared to wait on the Father's convenience.

Truth is, though, I'd never even heard the name 'Father Minghan' until I walked through that door and have no reason at all to harm him, or indeed, anyone else here; and, with a little lateral thinking there would seem to be ways and means of ensuring his safety while I tell him what I'm here to do. The wait will surely give you time to come up with some reasonable precautions in that regard.

As for being a spy, I can think of much better stratagems for inserting one of those inconspicuously among you than by turning up dressed and equipped as a Man at Arms from the Hundred Years War!

The Beasts are as much my enemy as they are yours, they're the enemies of the whole fully-human race, seemingly intending genocide on a scale that makes Hitler's Holocaust look microscopic. Only thing is, I don't look, smell or act like easy prey; which is possibly why I wasn't attacked on my way here from FDR Drive."


Tag: HanSolo29 - indirectly Heavy Isotope, spycoder9, Mitth_Fisto, Saintheart, greyjedi125, Ktala.

 

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori - Christmas day
St Patrick's Cathedral


Zeeza sat down and listened to all the chatter around her as she reloaded her crossbow pistol. The guy she knew as 'Guts' introduced some of them to the newcomers. She resisted sticking out her tounge, when Guts described her as “our spunky markswoman". She merely looked up, and gave a small salute. It was certainly a very strange day. Even Father Minghan seemed a bit shocked, as he could only stare at 'Spam'. He then invited them in, as he made a small joke that made Zee chuckle. But they didnt get too far into intro's, when it was discovered that one of the guys who folks thought was dead, wasnt, and the Father and Sister disappeared off, with the wounded man, leaving John and Kevin in charge. It grew strangely quiet after that, until one of the other ladies, Karen she thought her name was, who was next to Zee suddenly asked..

"What do we do now?"

Zeeza just tilted her head at the girl. Same thing they always did. Clean up, and re-secure the building. But now, they had two new people to look at. Guts started talking something about sir spam, but almost all seemed to have ignored the girl. Maybe it was because she was not so strangely dressed. O'Brian (she liked that better than Kevin), was quick to answer.

"How's 'bout you two remove them helms and take a pew, it is Christmas and this is the house of God, unless you fear freezing hats off. Best not to shock the kiddo's too much when they come back."

He then started trying to move a pew in order to help secure the door for now. Another moved to help him. Sir Spam introduced himself as Joph. Strange name. He had a slight accent. The girl had an accent too. So did Zeeza, so it was easy to spot. Not surprising. Lots of different nationalities were in New York. And then the UN and all that fun stuff. So it was not unlikely that others would be here as well. While he was talking Zee had moved to look at something the good father had put down on the desk. She stared at the crosses, spattered in blood. When did the wolvies get religious? She doubted that was the reason, or they wouldnt attacked the church. So, did they think that it might protect them? Protect them from their church? Zeeza was curious. The wolvies were trying very much to get in. Their church was special. Zee knew that. What did the people who built this church know, that the others didnt? That was a good question. Obviously, wolvies were thinking the same. She sat back down, on the bench.

Sir spam..yeah..the name was gonna stick, was talking, and she heard him say something curious. ".. .Except that I've been given a job to do by The Powers That Be, part of which has been completed by confirming your presence here, I think I'd better brief Father Minghan on the details and let him release the information as, or if, he sees fit..." Powers that be?! Mission? confirming that they were here? Where were these powers that be ages ago? Obviously, they werent expecting much, as they didnt send him with supplies. If he had not been killing many wolvies, did that mean the rest of the contry was not as bad off as they were?

John's next words really made Zee think. "...You need to understand if I'm a little leery, especially with the recent attack. Given that I don't know you, I want to make sure that you are not some spy for the enemy who is trying to get some 'alone-time' with the Father to dispose of him. Make sense?..." It sure did to Zeeza. They had run into humans that had 'turned'...working WITH the wolvies. Lure out unsuspecting humans, thinking it was safe, and then ... Zeeza turned away. She would let them handle this. So much didnt make sense.

Footsteps caused Zeeza to turn her head once more. The girl, the one Zee had spoken to earlier, was walking up to her. Zeeza pushed her weapon to her side, out of the way as the woman came over to her. She was still all covered up, cept for some strange symbol on her clothing. Reminded Zee of greek letters, like in a frat. Her father had told her about those. He taught her the greek alphabet too. But Zee didnt think that had anything to do with us. Military? Most likely. The girls walk, reminded Zeeza of being back in the savanna. A practiced walk. Controlled. Like a panther. Carefully keeping and eye out around her. The head covering highlighted her eyes. And the fact she still had it on, Zeeza was sure the girl was feeling a bit uncomfortable. If she had been out there all alone on her own for a long time, being in a room full of strangers would probably be almost terrifying. The girl stopped in front of her.

"Are there rooms for privacy, is there a place one can bathe as well?" She asked Zeeza. Yep. Deffinately an accent. The woman shifted her weight, and body language shifted. Zeeza stood up. "Well, as you can imagine, privacy is kinda hard to come by. But the bathing areas are private enough. Nobody will bother you. Even got warm water. And if you have a change of clothing, we even got a place where you can wash your gear." Zeeza nodded. "I can show you. And they will probably be getting ready for dinner soon. It is Christmas, after all." Zee offered the woman a grin. "Course, ya might want to take off the headgear, later on. Unless you like the kids to be staring and whispering and asking you questions all night long." Zeeza looked at the girl. "You got a name, by the way, or shall we just call you Delta?" Zee asked her. She then paused. "Just a sec."

Zee turned and gestured towards John and Guts. "Going to take Delta here to get cleaned up. You got plenty of time to chat later." Zee turned and walked back over to the woman. "Let's get you cleaned up then." she told her, and pointed out the direction for the bathing area and rest rooms. Once thing about the church. You were never really alone. Well, not for more than ten to fifteen feet or so. Plenty of guards all around. Zee wasnt too worried. But hey, if she didnt return, they would come looking plenty soon enough. Zee walked next to the woman, gesturing as she showed the way.


TAGS: Heavy Isotope, (HanSolo29, spycoder9, Mitth_Fisto, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Saintheart, Tim Battershell, greyjedi125, and anyone I might have missed)

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Christmas 2065-St.Patrick’s Cathedral, Narthex

The young watcher chuckled when Kevin had asked him to put down the ‘Madame’. When had he become so attached to the laser weapon? It was almost an extension of himself by now. Guts carefully put down the weapon and unslung the battery pack. He immediately felt several pounds lighter and more vulnerable all at once, quite a contradicting set of feelings. His eyes narrowed for just a moment as a passing thought wandered into his mind. ‘Madame X’ was dying. He needed to find a way to revitalize her. That, or a part of himself would die as well. What an odd thought that was…

Thankfully, the move didn’t take long at all, especially between two people. Both Kevin and Guts placed a pew to help barricade and secure the main entrance doors. It had been a good suggestion by Kevin, and a fine enough temporary solution, but the look in Guts eyes bespoke his lack of confidence.

“Thanks Kevin…” He said to the man regarding their security efforts. “But I’d feel a whole lot better if we had a proper beam to close it.”

Before either man could speak, someone cried out. One of the watchers, a ground floor sentry was still alive. Chris.

A chill ran up the young watchers spine.

Guts was a bit stunned by this. Everyone else seemed relieved, so he tried not to show his real emotions, except to Kevin, whom he gave a look of surprise and concern. No one ever really survived a wolf attack. It was usually a death sentence if one was attacked by them. Either that, or victims usually died from their critical wounds after suffering terribly for hours, if not days. It was unlikely that Chris would survive, much less recover. Poor Chris.

But that never stopped Father Minghan from trying to save anyone. The man never gave up hope. He was a true inspiration.

“Kevin, John…you’re in charge.” Father Minghan instructed. Guts patted Kevin on the shoulder and gave the man a smirk, as if to say ‘better you than me’. Guts shook his head slightly as he watched father Minghan retreat to the infirmary. He had requested for someone to find ‘never-sober’ Dr. Singh. The man preferred the oblivion of drunkenness to their bleak reality. Yeah, poor Chris indeed.

Karen was nearby and she had posed two good questions, one which was of great interest to Guts. That’s when things got interesting.

Tin Man, or Joph, as he called himself, actuallyy spoke up and Guts listened. His tale was quite interesting indeed. Guts liked the newcomers idea regarding the security of their entrance doors. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an option. Not only that, ten minutes after his arrival, the man was already contributing to the cause. Guts nodded at this. The man might seem odd, but that was no crime. It all sounded good until he mentioned his ‘mission’ and ‘The Powers that Be’.

Guts offered another quizzical look to Kevin.

What the heck?

John, however, spared no time to set things straight. Joph 'Tin Man' was not getting any alone time with Father Minghan, not if John could help it. Interestingly enough, Joph’s rebuttal was pretty good too. Bet John wasn’t expecting that.

Guts tried not to chuckle at that. The man might be from another time, but he was intelligent and had useful skills. A metalworker could work wonders here at the cathedral. Hmm…

Guts only took a moment to muse about what they had just learned. Such information only generated more questions. The female newcomer had not said a word, nor had she taken off her helmet either, but at least her weapon was pointing down. It seemed only natural that she now approached Zeeza, who was young and probably the least judgmental of the group. Good ole Zee gave off the least amount of hostile signals in comparison to the rest, but she was equally dangerous. Yeah, good ole Zee. Still, the newcomer’s lack of compliance only garnered her more attention as someone to keep an eye on. And speaking off such…

Guts looked past the gathered folks and visually searched until he found what he was looking for. Michaela was still in the room, but had been approached by Ben 'Wolfsbane', the bomb-maker.

Hmph.

Guts forced himself to look away, lest he be caught staring and not focusing on the matter at hand.

Zee gestured just then, immediately catching his attention.

“Going to take Delta here to get cleaned up. You got plenty of time to chat later.”

Guts paused for a moment. He nodded at Zeeza, but also gave her the ‘be careful’ look. It’s not like she was asking permission. Either way, it was a good start. Hopefully John would see it the same way.

Delta, eh? Nice nickname Zee. You noticed her patch too. Hopefully you can get her actual name while you’re at it. Guts thought to himself.

Turning to the others, he was now ready to address the second part of Karen’s question.

“The door…” Guts started, his tone serious. “ I personally don’t like not being able to lock it from within, but that’s just me. I’d like to go get us a replacement beam before sundown. Anyone else feels the same?”

With an even gaze, he looked at the others. Tin Man’s suggestion was very good. But he needed to get a consensus from the rest. They could go with Joph’s suggestion, which involved less ‘outside’ risk, but made opening the doors from the inside a bit of a process, or they could venture out again, and face the possibility of a werewolf attack for the sake of securing the church doors. Either way, they needed to come to on agreement, unless a third option was offered.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @HanSolo29, @Tim Battershell, @spycoder9, @Saintheart, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, any others

 

IC: Katia
St. Patrick's Cathedral

Joph's mention of 'the powers that be,' piqued Katia's interest. That would be something to investigate... Another time perhaps.

"You got a name, by the way, or shall we just call you Delta?" Zee asked her. She then paused. "Just a sec." Katia narrowed her brow a bit, Delta... A voice echoed in her head. Delta...

Zee turned and gestured towards John and Guts. "Going to take Delta here to get cleaned up. You got plenty of time to chat later." Zee turned and walked back over to Katia. "Let's get you cleaned up then." she told her, and pointed out the direction for the bathing area and rest rooms. Katia followed on with Zee to the washrooms. Delta... The words echoed in her mind. She didn't recognize the voice, Delta... Katia closed her eyes tightly for a moment to close the echoes of the words out.

"Katia," she said to Zee when they were far enough from the others. "If you'd rather call me Delta... That's up to you." When they reached the washroom Katia turned to Zeeza, pulling her balaclava down from her hair and face, leaving it around her neck. Despite her youthful appearance, her eyes tired and skin a bit pale, her red hair was a bit of a mess. "Thank you," she said a bit awkwardly, "I'm going to wash my clothes in here, too. If that's alright. Does the lock work?"

TAGS: Ktala, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori - Christmas day
St Patrick's Cathedral


It was Guts who first responded to Zeeza's comment, and he gave her a 'knowing' nod. With that, Zeeza lead the girl 'Delta' towards the area that they used. There were other buildings, connected to the church that during the day, most of the folks splintered off to, so that they would have some privacy, and other areas to wash, cook, and other daily concerns. But at night, everyone moved back inside the main church proper. For safety. And after the first real look of the churches 'security' system in action, she didnt think anyone else would ever complain about it again.

Ever.

So Zee headed for the back, one of the closer washrooms that the girl could use. The girl was pretty quiet for the most part, just walking alongside her, as they headed for the back room.

"Katia." The girl said suddenly, as they have moved away from the others, and were now almost at their destination. Zee smiled. It was quite a pretty name. Different too. She liked that. Katia continued, "If you'd rather call me Delta... That's up to you." Zeeza grinned. "Well, actually, I just called you that, because of your patch. If you want me to use Katia.. then Katia I will use. But if you like Delta, well that works too, so actually, it's pretty much up to you." Zee grinned. "Course, cant help any nicknames that come your way." Zee gave a small laugh.


When they reached the washroom Katia turned to Zeeza, pulling her balaclava down from her hair and face, leaving it around her neck. Wow. The girl was pale. And Zeeza thought she looked a bit tired. Then again, running from wolvies all night long, by yourself would do that to you. Katia had bright red hair, and it looked natural. The fiery red hair really set off her pale skin. A little bit of 'bed head' but nothing too bad, considering. "Thank you," Katia said and then kinda paused, "I'm going to wash my clothes in here, too. If that's alright. Does the lock work?" Zeeza nodded to the young woman. "Yep. Should be fine to do both in there. And yes, the lock works, but I'll be sitting out here, waiting on you, so nobody will bother you. After a good wash, we can work on getting you fed, and then figure out where you can crash, baring any more visits from the howling bunch." Zee tried to remember had she forgotten anything. "Should be some soap in there. Since they are cooking, cant guarantee any hot water..but at least, it wont be freezing."

With that, Zeeza gestured to the door, and then walked over to a bench along the wall that others would use to wait their turn to use the room. She sat down, and leaned back against the wall, relaxing a bit, while she wondered if she would pull out one of her books while she waited.




TAGS: Heavy Isotope, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Katia
St. Patrick's Cathedral, Washroom

Zeeza grinned. "Well, actually, I just called you that, because of your patch. If you want me to use Katia... then Katia I will use. But if you like Delta, well that works too, so actually, it's pretty much up to you." Zee grinned. "Course, cant help any nicknames that come your way." Zee gave a small laugh. "I suppose not," Katia said in a lighter tone being somewhat disarmed by Zeeza's kindness, "You can call me Katia. Let the others figure it out." She wasn't used to asking anyone for help, the fact they'd help her in the first place was a small surprise... Even more surprising that she tried to make a joke just now.

Zeeza nodded and replied to her earlier questions as they reached the washroom, "Yep. Should be fine to do both in there. And yes, the lock works, but I'll be sitting out here, waiting on you, so nobody will bother you. After a good wash, we can work on getting you fed, and then figure out where you can crash, baring any more visits from the howling bunch." Zeeza continued -- Katia didn't know what she meant by crash, "Should be some soap in there. Since they are cooking, cant guarantee any hot water..but at least, it wont be freezing."

"Thanks again," Katia said trying to look grateful before gently closing the door and locking it. She removed her rifle and tactical sling from over her shoulder, holding onto the barrel she leaned back against the wall and sank into sitting with her legs in front of her. This was tired, more tired than Katia had felt for as long as she could remember. Maybe she was safe here for a few moments respite, she thought as she unclipped the buckles on her dark grey LBV (load bearing vest). Willing herself back to her feet she sat on a small wooden bench, setting her weapon aside and taking a mental note to clean it before or after Zeeza and herself got something to eat... Food sounded good.

Katia untied the laces and straps of her boots and removed them, loosening it as much as she could to air them out, setting them aside. Even though her clothes were of special materials, that wouldn't do much good without washing them... And chyort, they need to be washed... Removing her LBV and placing it beside her weapon she unzipped her jacket, setting it aside. Examing the dried blood on her jacket and LBV, she noticed it wasn't much compared to the dirt and scuffs of the years. Taking off her gloves and socks felt amazing... Though the ground was quite cold it felt welcome compared to the inside of her boots. There was a wicker basket under the bench she placed her clothing into, for a moment she held her jacket, looking at the shield shaped patch bearing the letter Delta. What did it mean... She stared for a minute or more before putting it in the basket with her other clothes.

Trying to consider how she could wash her LBV as she removed the magazines and her tourniquet, setting them neatly beside her rifle. Emptying the contents of the auxiliary pouches and her first aid kit, there was the standard items: iodine tablets, two pressure dressings, packs of clotting agent, a nearly expired bottle of iodine, and a compact roll of gauze. The two auxiliary pouches held a few mission critical supplies: a silver scalpel, forecepts, small containment bags for samples, small needles and vials for blood samples (which were useless because she didn't have silver needles.) The other held her weapon cleaning kit and a small bag of dried, probably useless now, wolfsbane. Katia held up a small plastic bottle and shook it's contents, good... she thought. She still had some cold weather lubricant for her rifle. Her pockets held nothing important, just a speed loader for putting ammunition into her magazines. Now undressed down to what looked like a gymnast's uniform, dark grey in color, she placed the rest of her clothing into the basket as well. She prepared the soap, brush, and makeshift washboard in the deep sink. Thinking about how just two layers kept her from freezing in the winters and from being too hot in the summers. It wasn't perfect, she still got cold and still got hot, but never to an extreme of sweating profusely or becoming frostbitten.

With her LBV and pockets now empty she picked up the basket and set it on a small table next to the deep sink and set about soaping and scrubbing her clothing. Zeeza being outside made her feel less vulnerable, even so... It was strange to feel this safe at all.... The slightest smile touched the corner of her mouth as she methodically cleaned her clothing, setting her balaclava, socks, and gloves next to the heater, hanging her jacket and camouflaged trousers on the towel rack above it. Setting her long sleeve and form fitting pants on the heater itself so they'd dry faster. Plugging the drain to the sink she removed her undergarment and placed it in the soapy water, scrubbing it gently but quickly then placing it on the heater with her other clothing. Her clothing's material was made to absorb the grime and sweat to keep it from the skin, preventing such problems from occurring. It was good to clean it often and Katia didn't have the opportunity to do so more than a few times a year, even then it was not even close to being this thorough. Getting all of the blood out at least, though some of the darker stains merely faded but couldn't be cleaned completely.

)pening the faucet and walking into the shower the lukewarm water felt unreal, like a dream. It seemed like it had been ages since she checked herself over for fungus or infection, thankfully nothing was to be found except for the usual scars along with some scrapes and bruises. Her muscles sore and her bones ached, yes... Very tired, maybe she was finally beginning to 'age.' Remarkably, she looked young; appearing only around twenty-one to twenty-three years old and having a strong immune system, no doubt credit to the organization tampering with her in some medical lab somewhere... Some of the scaring on her body looked surgical and precise... No doubt this meant what she always suspected. Until now she never had good opportunity to think about the nature of her existence, to see herself clearly, her purpose in life... All the years growing up she hadn't considered, until now, that the scars weren't from climbing trees and playing with the other children at the 'orphanage.' Katia closed her eyes, placing her forearms on the wall and resting her head below the faucet as the water rinsed over her. The warmth of the water brought some color back to her naturally light skin.

Some time later she finished washing and turned the water off, her clothing was dry, except for her trousers and jacket. The shirt and pants would have to do. Thankfully her undergarment was dry as well. Quickly drying herself she donned her undergarment, socks, pants, and long sleeve. Looking in the mirror for a moment, full gear made her look somewhat masculine; but now with what looked like (odd and all black) 'casual' clothing on and hair slightly wet still, she looked like what the few Americans she talked to would call her: a tomboy. If she looked any other way, it would make her uncomfortable. Thankfully her pants and shirt weren't skin tight like her undergarment, nor was she excessively shapely or well endowed. Her femininity was subtle, her body lean and athletic, despite the fatigue of the past years. Putting her boots on before she drained the water from the sink then cleaning up after herself she took her remaining clothing and folded it neatly. Placing her magazines and items back into their respective pouches on her LBV, placing that around her folded clothing, bucking it neatly around so it would be easy to carry. Picking up her rifle, slinging it across her chest.

Katia's balaclava and gloves were dry as well, she put the gloves in her waistband and put the balaclava on over her face and damp hair, pausing. I might as well try making an impression... She thought, very begrudgingly, bringing it down around her neck so it wouldn't hide her. Looking in the mirror again pushing aside the few damp locks of hair that stuck to her cheeks then using the towel attempting to dry her hair again. Showing her face didn't make her feel safe, at all. Especially with Joph's comment about 'the powers that be,' it's unlikely he or the so called 'powers,' (whoever they are) knew who she was though. Even if he could identify her accent it was unlikely he could trace anything of her, not even Katia herself could aside from her mission and national origin, which only she knew precisely.

Picking up her clothing, she held it to keep her rifle from moving around too much as she unlocked and opened the door. Putting her hand, once again, on the pistol grip. Zeeza sat nearby, reading a book, Katia approached her. "Zeeza," she said as warmly as she could muster, which was more deadpan than warm. Coming to stand beside her but still at a comfortable distance, "What are you reading?"

TAGS: Ktala, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

OOC: A bit long and drawn out, I know. Thank you for reading though. I wanted to add things here that I thought were too lengthy and wordy for the CS. Hopefully I can get a chance to reveal more backstory for her as time goes on. Breaking off from her inner commentary and flashbacks to reveal bits and pieces from the perspective of a narrator as well. Also, the underlined words are hyperlinks for your convenience, if you don't know what those items are.