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.

Comments

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

"Good day. My name Ben Powell, Special Militiaman, and this is my associate." Brief gesture to the other man in the room, and that's all the introduction he gets. The Militia is fond of its anonymity. "Please hand him your CiD and have a seat so we can get this over with."

[dailymask.livejournal.com]

"One can only hope," he says under his breath, with regard to getting this over with. To the unnamed associate he gives a careful look, but he hands over the CiD and notably neglects to introduce himself before taking a seat, posture poor and leaning on the arm of the chair.

"How can I be of service, Mr. Powell?"

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Oh introductions, surely they are for strangers and not for such good friends as you would find in here. Mister Powell doesn't even care to correct anyone on his title, that's how informal we are today. His smile stays the same.

"You can tell me if you are aware of what you're doing here, Eames."

[dailymask.livejournal.com]

Eames kindly refrains from insisting upon Mr. in turn. So that is the name they have, then. It's the only one he's used here (so far), but since it's certainly not the only one he might be known by, he thought it safer not to guess. His own expression remains carefully neutral.

"It would appear I'm sitting in a chair answering your questions." The qualifier inane is left unsaid. If he can, he would rather avoid making an impression, especially a negative one. "Care to be more specific?"

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Very clever, to be sure. The way the Agent smiles one could almost be moved to believe he's actually entertained and not simply bored with repeating the same patterns over and over.

"So it would appear, yes." Delightful. "Why do you think you're in this room?"