Interlude: Militiavisits by Candlelight

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Who: The staff and residents of the Valhalla Inn with a special guest appearance by the Militia.
What: A lock-down. A shake-down. Some questions.
Where: The Valhalla Inn. Different locations will be designated by different subthreads.
When: Early Coardi morning and into the afternoon.
Notes: OOC Discussion
Warnings: None yet, but expect (subtle) threats, coercion, and general jackboot'n'blackbag shenanigans.

Rumour travels fast in Baedal; soon everyone in Mog Hill and beyond will know that the Militia are at the Valhalla Inn and no one is getting out. Official word is that this is strictly routine; protocol dictates Arrival Houses be locked down for evaluation after a City-wide crisis. It's still early morning. Outside, the sun is rising after a night of gentle rain. Birds sing and gorge themselves on dead monkeys yet to be cleared away. It's going to be a beautiful day.

Meanwhile, inside Valhalla, the Militia have firmly requested that every guest, every employee and every incidental visitor gather in the Common Room as they search the rest of the Inn. The proprietor and her staff are visibly unhappy about the event, but the closest they have come to voicing dissent is managing to call for the Sheriff. Still, so far the gentleman who seems to be in charge of the proceedings has been nothing but curtly polite. The Militia works fast; they have gone through the whole place in less than an hour and are now, as they say, ready to take interviews. These will be conducted one-on-one in a different room of the Inn. Most individuals who arrived after the creature invasion are sorted out and escorted outside of the building. Some, however, are not.

None of the Special's agents or their more thuggish companions say so, at least not out in the Common Room, but it is evident that their search turned up something.

open } { what a town without pity can do

[im_apimp]

Who: Alec and OPEN
What: Alec's arrival in Baedal
Where: Random roof not too far from the Inn.
When: Coardi (Wednesday) afternoon.
Warnings: None as yet.

Alec is sitting on a roof, somewhere in the city, nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder.

He knows this isn’t the place to be taking care of it, but there are some instincts that are louder than others, and finding out where he is takes precedence over his own physical health at the moment. Besides, it’s just a flesh wound. He’ll be fine. Thankfully, it has already stopped bleeding, and he’s immune to any infection that he could happen to pick up somewhere along the way.

Granted, that’s home and Alec doesn’t think this is home. Nothing smells familiar, and everything is new and different. He’s currently cursing his luck, because he was just starting to get used to Seattle and all it’s strange and different glory, and now in the course of the day he’s been shot by one of his best friends, woke up in a room with no way out, and told that hi, this is Baedal, and you are now so very screwed. Excellent job, Alec. Max is going to have a field day with this one. Never mind the fact that somehow, whoever left him here, got Rachel’s locket, and left it for him, like it’s some kind of welcoming gift. Alec doesn’t see it as much of a gift. He sees it as someone making a point, and it’s done nothing but piss Alec off.

In a big way.

One hand fists the thin chain in his pocket, while the other holds up the CiD for his careful study. It’s pretty basic technology, and it didn’t take it long to figure out how to work it, let alone page back a bit and see what information is there. There doesn’t seem to be much information on this “cohort” that doesn’t go back longer than a month or so, but it’s enough for Alec to see that there’s someone here with his face. Someone who isn’t Ben, from what he can tell, which is only confusing him more, and he isn’t going to make any rash assumptions until he can get up close and personal with this guy. It’ll just make his life easier if his nose is the one to make that decision—not that he’s inclined to get close anytime soon. Right now he just needs to figure out a game plan, stay off the network, and not attract any undue attention, up to and including the scary military people who had stormed the inn when he was being let out. He slipped out the back door, as he was trained to do, but that didn't guarantee he hadn't been seen. Still, it's all the same to him -- hiding from the military, hiding from the NSA -- it was all a matter of keeping a low profile.

He’s absolutely capable of that. “Blending in” is his middle name.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t touch base with the one person here he does know, and hope she’s not from a time where she hates his guts. There’s a quick private message to Max over the network, and then the CiD gets tucked safely back in his pocket as he waits for her response. This day has been rough enough without getting the whole world in on it.

If there is ever a dude in serious need of a hug—this is it.