multiversallogs | Interlude: Militiavisits by Candlelight

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Agent is a patient man, you probably have to be in his line of work. He watches Jones with what looks like mild interest, smiling faintly as her expression falters.

"We certainly understand miss Jones, that as a newcomer to our City there are a lot of things to take in. We further understand and could even be said to appreciate a curious nature, however, this," he holds the offending CiD up as he speaks, "this is your means of identification in the City, as well as means of communication. If tampered with, how do we know you're really you?" A point grossly oversimplified, but the Militia isn't at the Inn to hassle people over cracked devices. Not that they won't, given half the chance.

"I see this was not adequately explained to you, miss Jones. Please, don't worry yourself. You're not in trouble, but I can't give this back to you."

"Oh. I—but—oh, I guess that's all right." She entertains asking if she could get some of the extra parts back, but thinks the better of it. In any case, she saved most of the good parts. And the unicorn sticker.

"So, uh, do I have to wait for a new one, or—"

The chances of that would be slim, sticker or no sticker. The Agent's thin smile stays where it is.

"Quite. Here is what we'll do; before you leave this room we will fit you with a new CiD. This one will be blank, which means you can't use it as an ID. However, you'll be free to tinker with it, as long as you remember that it ultimately belongs to the City." Most reasonable deal ever, surely. Of course, IDs are important in this City, they enable the carrier to access public services such as riding the the trains and receiving medical care.

"You will be able to earn back your ID rights; gifted technicians tend to be in some demand in certain fields. Do you find this agreeable?" More of a courtesy than an actual question.

She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Jones doesn't have any illusions about what this means. She's on a sort of probation, she is. Then again, it's not like she's not started off in a city on the wrong foot before, and last time, five months later she was second-in-command. Granted, she'd like to ride the trains, but she'll get there eventually. And maybe this'll help her find out a few more things about this very odd city.

Yeah. Okay. She can work with this.

Deep breath. "Agreeable? Yes, certainly." She gives the Agent a half-smile. "Uh, can I get the terms outlined in writing, though? Just to make sure I know what they are."

She definitely doesn't trust these guys to agree to something without a written agreement.

We're all very reasonable here, at least that's what the patient expression on Agent Powell's face seems to say. "Why of course, miss Jones." It's a small concession to make, and it is heartening to see people who still believe in the integrity of the written word. Not to mention people who believe it makes a difference. "My associate will draft one up for you."

"Oh, sure," says Jones, studying him carefully. She can't quite figure him out. "Though I'm guessing this whole, well, event isn't about my, aha, over-enthusiasm with city-issued electronic devices?"

Some thirty good years of lying to people professionally would make anyone hard to figure out. Any concern or parental displays are clearly affectations, but that doesn't mean that everything he says is untrue.

"Oh, no. No indeed not, miss Jones. You are of course familiar with the recent troubles our City has experienced at the beaks and talons of assorted creatures. What we are doing here is to eliminate the Valhalla Inn as a possible source for these troubles." It would appear, at least if the light tone the Agent is using here is anything to go by, that Jones can count herself among the least suspect of people. "Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me how the City has been treating you since you got here, technological mishaps not withstanding."

The "Miss Jones" bit is starting to get irritating. She realizes she opens herself up to it by not giving a first name, but it's what all the damn vampires called her when they thought she was young and powerless.

Then again, it's probably what Special Agent wossname thinks, too. And maybe it's best to keep it that way.

She matches his light tone. "No, everything's been fine so far here for me, invasion of murderous animals notwithstanding. People have been very kind."

The Militia likes to keep what the Militia thinks to itself. Running a totalitarian security force works much better that way.

"We're pleased to hear that." Powell is still smiling, one could almost believe that they are pleased to hear that. "And what are your plans for the foreseeable future?"

"Find a more permanent place to live, acquire a job—although it seems that to some extent one has already found me—perhaps do some knitting. Make some friends. Nothing particularly special."

Jones shrugs. To be perfectly honest, these days this sort of life change is not particularly surprising. Life goes on.

"Very good. It sounds like you are settling in to the City quite nicely. Nothing could please us more." Aside from infallible mind-reading technology and the criminalisation of stepping outdoors, no doubt. The Agent still remembers to smile.

"Well miss Jones, I think your business here are about concluded. Why don't you follow my associate here to the next room and he will help you with your new CiD, and that paper you wanted."

And there's very little Jones wants else than to not have to talk to this guy any more, so this arrangement suits her perfectly well. She stands.

"Thank you, Agent," she says, giving him the smallest of smiles. There's something that unsettles her about these men. Perhaps it's just that they remind her of the stories her older comrades tell about the Red Scare.

She'll have plenty of time to think about that later, though, so she follows the other man out the door.

Interlude: Militiavisits by Candlelight

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