multiversallogs | How many goodly creatures are there here!

Welcome to Baedal.

These are the first words newcomers hear when the door opens and they are invited into their new world. Some fuss, some fight, some need time before they have the courage to step outside. Others, shell-shocked or jaded, go quietly along with the proceedings.

They are given brief instructions; a repeat of what's described in the pamphlet and a door key.

Please stay in your room. There will be dinner soon.

It's been almost a day for some. For others, only an hour's wait. The latest newcomer is lead straight from the arrival room to the dining hall where candles and lanterns have been set out to compensate for failing electricity. (Those who have been here longer explain about rolling blackouts.) The food, however, is warm, varied and plentiful. Seating is open, and less conventional chair are available to those who need them.

There are many strange faces around the table, the majority of these recent arrivals. The proprietor of the Valhalla Inn is here, as is some of her staff. The Sheriff of Mog Hill is introduced, his function detailed. The reason for the dinner is explained:

It's a celebration. A new cohort has finally been officiated; CeidaryBlue523. Your cohort. Please. Introduce yourself. Mingle. Get to know your fellows, they will be your brothers and sisters for as long as you live in this city.

((OOC post for discussion and coordination.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Having explored around the inside of the Inn, Hellboy makes his way out to the courtyard. Partially, this is because he wants to be thorough, but also it's that he wants to get a smoke in, and he doesn't want to take any chances with how the staff might take indoor smoking. Since it seems appropriate, he fishes one of the cigars he'd gotten back in Bete Noire for special occasions, cutting its tip with his knife and lighting it up with a wooden match struck off of his Right Hand.

It's only once he's got the cigar lit, glowing in the evening air, that he notices Lyla. He tries to be nonchalant and not stare, but he side-eyes her curiously all the same. Only once he's at least moderately sure does he finally turn and address her directly.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you, but you look familiar."

Holy fuck, there's a giant red dude with a cigar. She tilts her head to the side, squinting at Hellboy just a little. Well, she's seen weirder, and she appreciates fellow nicotine addicts.

"You don't. And, uh, I think I'd remember..." But she can get a magical vibe of some kind off him, and that is relevant to her interests by a lot. "Where'd you live at before here?"

She just assumes they'll be sticking around for a while. It's how it goes, right?

"Huh. Maybe not, then." He'd assumed that whoever he'd seen around Hell House had probably seen him too, but then he also sometimes seemed to pass oddly without much notice.

"I spent about a month in a different kidnap city, called Bete Noire. Before that, back in my own world, I'd been... traveling. Long story." He extends his left hand. "Name's Hellboy."

"No shit? I came from there, too." To be fair, whenever he saw Lyla, she was probably looking hungover or in a k-hole. Her coping mechanisms got a little strange, in Bete Noire, not that they're likely to be markedly superior in Baedal.

"Lyla. Sick name." That's...sick in a good way, Hellboy, she's like that. Handshakes ensue!

"Uh, thanks." He kind of gets her meaning from her tone, but it's still odd enough to him that leaves him a little uncertain he's got it right. "So, yeah, you worked for Hellsing, right? I... well, I guess I was a senior field agent." He fishes his badge out of his coat pocket and shows it to her.

"Yeah, I was like, a trainee." And their in-house oracle, complete with visions of God. She's still not sure how she feels about that, or why she ended up here--maybe it's like another level. They're gearing up or the boss fight. Like a video game.

"Have you seen anybody else from Hellsing here...?" Not that she's invested. Or anything.

Well, that clears up that little mystery. Hellboy shakes his head. "Not yet, but I hadn't really thought to go looking. They gave us new communicators, though, so I guess one of us could put out a call once the party's over."

"Yeah. Yeah, we definitely should--I mean, just because we left the universe doesn't mean we quit the job, right?"

This is more responsibility than she ever exhibited prior to her eighteenth birthday, which was not that long ago; bear with her, Hellboy. And her tiny determined face.

Hellboy rubs his chin with an uncertain expression. "Well, sure, we didn't quit, but unless by some chance this place happens to have a Hellsing or a BPRD or some other local equivalent, there's not much we can do about that. I'm certainly not the guy to start something like that from scratch."

Of course not. He's only the Rightful King of England, after all.

"...BPRD?" She sounds less certain about this--Hellsing as she knows it is defined more by the people involved than the concept or organization itself.

Hellboy gestures at the patch on one of the sleeves of his coat. "Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Sort of my world's equivalent to Hellsing. Travel the world, investigate weird stuff going on, usually end up having to punch it in the face until it stops bothering people."

"Huh." Sounds useful--like Hellsing, but without the familial aspect, maybe. More 'modernized', since Hellsing has so many old world aspects.

"I'm really mostly good at the punching part."

The look he gives her starts out with bemused puzzlement, not really sure how this statement squares with her tininess, but then smoothed into a warmer pleasantness as he decides to run with it anyway. He leans a little closer to her, his tone confidential.

"The Professor would probably be a bit sad to hear me say this, but the punching's one of my favorite parts."

How many goodly creatures are there here! :: GAME OPENER

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