This is NOT an open Roleplay. If you're interested to hop on board, please refer to the OOC thread here. Please do not post if you are not accepted into the roleplay. kthxbai.



10.48 a.m. Christmas eve. South Bronx, New York City.

Cautiously, Keeleigh took another step forward bringing herself in sight of the target. The air was still and frigid; a very unseasonal chill clung to the fabric of the air that night, fitting for the task at hand. Her breaths released little puffs of dry dirty mists, and with it the bone chilling shivers from the spasmodic gust of wind that swept her bare, exposed face.

The street in between her and the building was empty, the sky above was a featureless pitch black, the atmosphere– eerie. Sheets of newspaper drifted with the wind, tumbling and bouncing off the tarmac like tumbleweeds in a ghost town. She looked to her left and her right and took a deep breath. Without second thoughts, she tucked both her hands into the trench coat and walked, briskly across the open street. Her steps echoed in a chaotic pattern along the parallel street, triggering barks from stray dogs in distant filthy alleyways.

Once finally across, Keeleigh heaved a huge sigh of relief and stared at the door that greeted her. "46" read the barely visible gold tainted number that was nailed on the wall. The building was old, dilapidated and abandoned; broken shards of glass were littered on the front steps, the paint was either worn off or wearing off from the years of neglect.

Carefully, she placed her hand on the cold metal door knob and turned.

The door hinged open with an audible creek. Particles of fine dust that have fallen off the ledge of the door after years of accumulation entered into her nostrils and into her eyes. She coughed and wiped off a few tears, cursing to herself before looking blankly into the space that was in front of her.

Darkness.

"Fuck this," she muttered.

The first and best way of telling whether a man is temperamental, or a generally nice guy, is by the way he moves. Richard Baril moved like a man who would strike you down as soon as look at you, with long forceful steps. In truth, he was simply attempting to get from A to B as soon as possible, though the grim expression on his face didn't really help his first impression. It was with a barely audible "pop" that he appeared on top of the building roof. Straightening his large, green, coat, he finally let a sigh of relief out. He'd half expected a typical hostage scene displayed before him already, but it seemed that things were quiet. Except for a low munching sound to his left.

"Hey," Walter said in a hushed voice, waving at him with a cupcake. Richard stared at him, trying to convey his whole flood of emotions through his eyes. When it seemed that the German couldn't understand any of it, he was forced to word them.

"The hell are you doing on the roof?" he hissed, looking around to see if any of his colleagues had appeared nearby.

"Vigilante-stuff. Y'know," Walter answered, taking another bite of his cupcake. "Why, am I bothering you? I didn't mean to."

"No! No, 'course not. Batman would be proud," Richard said darkly, shaking his head. Though he’d rather not have the other one here, he supposed there was very little he could do. Except throwing him off the roof, obviously. “What do you know of the situation?”

“What little I could gather from reluctant officers and simple-minded viewers. Oh, and the news, but they didn’t have much to say,” the mind-reader shrugged.

Richard nodded, and the two men fell silent, both waiting for a sign of the situation downstairs. While the agent had been told to await further orders, Walter had nothing stopping him from simply walking downstairs. He decided to wait, however, until they were given further information.

“Damn, it’s quiet.” Richard said, mostly to break the eerie silence.

“Preferable to the other option,” Walter answered thoughtfully. “The only sound of interest is a witch in the other building wondering whether the muggle she met at a coffee shop today fancies her. “ The man sighed, catching a glaring Richard in the corner of his eye. “Or at least I think there is. I wouldn’t know, because I’m not supposed to read civilians minds,” he added quickly. The wizard shook his head, sitting down on one of the boxes, deciding not to speak to his friend before he had more information on the situation.

Zebediah Rawle was annoyed. There was to much coincidence at play with this escape. Guards who happened to be somewhere else when the escape took place. The crime scene nearly untouched, but still staged. He barely noticed it, but there it was. Tiny details that was just plain wrong.

And then Aily told him that there was signs of dark magic there. The elf was usually right about these things, so Zeb trusted him.

"Uhm, master? this is your floor." The tiny creature said as he tugged Zeb's robe.

As Zeb walked towards his destination, Aily followed and mumbled quietly to himself. "Oooh. Master troubled. Maybe Aily should not have mentioned the Locustus spell."

Zeb knocked on a door. "Mr Pennington? Have you got a minute?"

“Lumos.”

A small white luminous glow lit the tip. Pointing it forward, Keeleigh ventured slowly into the abyss, treading carefully through the maze of overturned furniture and desolated corridors. The premise was quiet, save for the drops of water heard slipping through the cracked ceiling and the sound of shuffling rubble as she continued her venture into the building.

Apart from the rats scarpering away from the incandescence of her wand, there wasn't a single soul to be found, not for the moment at least.

She had to search higher, taking the winding stairs, pausing and taking a quick look at the main corridors of each and every floor.

By the fourth, her previous anxiety had now turned into boredom. She knew that this may be one of those instances when the target had long left the place, and that she had gone through all the trouble for nothing. She stopped and took a breather, staring blankly at her feet below. She sighed, before being abruptly interrupted a loud sonorous tapping sound echoed down the stairwell, apparently coming from the floor above. Bingo.



In his enclave located at the top floor of the NYMP building off East Dukeham Avenue in Brooklyn, Garry Pennington was seated with his back leaning against the chair and his legs crossed, resting on a cushioned leg rest. His phone was in it's usual place, against his ear.

"Yes, I understand. Yes," he further reiterated his point. "But the Department is already stretched too thin, we cannot afford a budgetary reduction of this magnitude. At this rate we won't have the manpower to deal with half of the cases filed to us."

"Alright then, sure. I'll talk to you after Christmas," he forced a smile. "Merry Christmas to you too." He placed down the phone and sunk back down to his chair, shaking his head. He stared out the window and took a deep breath, wondering if his daughter was doing okay. Then, a knock to his door.

"Come in!" he replied.

Cautiously, she inched her way upwards, one step at a time, careful to not let herself be heard. The tapping noise, which was muffled from the floor below was now getting louder.

The suspect was a deranged man, by the name of Kurt Waterson who was wanted for escaping St. Murphy's and for killing two staff members of the hospital with the killing curse while doing so. Labeled as "highly dangerous" by the Department, he was to be taken down on sight and strictly not to be negotiated with.

Keeleigh stacked herself against a wall and peaked at corridor in front of her. Clear. Crouched, she moved in quietly, taking smooth deep breaths in spite of the foul air to keep her composure. Just then, the tapping stopped. It was utter silence. She shook the light off her wand, cursing under her breath as she ducked to the nearest cover she could find. She knew her cover was blown.

"Who is that?"

Keeleigh remained silent.

"Who is that? Come out here!" the man exclaimed, his voiced echoed down the corridor.

Gripping her wand tightly, Keeleigh broke out of cover. "Stupefy!" The jet of red light momentarily lights up the floor, missing the man before ricocheting off the wall behind him.

"Expulso!" A portion of the wall near Keeleigh explodes, sending shards of chips flying everywhere. "Leave me the hell alone!" he screamed at the top of his lungs before firing another spell.

Keeleigh winced again to the noise of the shattering concrete, covering herself from the fragments showering her. She dosen't have a clear view of the target and instead was firing blankly into the darkness. For a minute, a brief exchange took place with either magicians failing to subdue the other. Knowing that it was hopeless staying put, the man retreated, cursing and yelling and firing fanatically as he did. A small window of opportunity arose, it was now or never.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

He goes still and tumbles harmlessly to the ground. Panting, Keeleigh approaches the body and double checks his identification. Brown eyes, wavy gray hair, hollow cheeks and a wide chin, right on. She kicks the wand out of his hand, not taking any second chances before slumping lazily down to the adjacent wall. It's just another day's work.

As the first spell hit the wall, they were both on their feet.

"Is there an entrance to the lower levels?" Richard asked, knowing that the vigilante probably had a more of an overview of the situation that he did.

"Well," the German answered, "I'm no architect, but I think the only door leading anywhere, neatly placed right over there, might lead downstairs."

Richard shot him a glare, bringing forth his wand as he went for the door. Walter was closed behind him as the descended down the stairs, now able to clearly hear two pair of voices shouting spells at each other. As they reached the floor above them, a female voice called out the final spell, and things went silent.

"Let's hope our team won, shall we?" Richard commented as they ran down the last staircase and opened the door to were Keeleigh had defeated the target. They entered, the wizard with his wand raised defensively, and both got a quick overview of the room before turning towards the colleague seated upon the floor.

"Well. That pretty much wraps up this case," Richard said simply. Walter shrugged, walking over to have a closer look at the man lying on the floor. He then looked up at Keeleigh with a polite smile. "Are you alright, m'am?"

Zeb walked into the office. As he greeted his superior he also produced a notebook.

"Evening sir. Just came back from St. Murphy's, I thought you might want to hear this for yourself. Somebody tampered with the crime scene, and did a good job on it too. No guards close by the cell where they kept him, no witnesses when he got out of there. Also this."

He took out a vial, with a beetle inside it, and handed it to his boss.

"The Locustus Spell. Egyptian. Transforms the target into a swarm of poisonous, and sometimes very hungry insects. There is no way Waterson could know of this one, I only heard about it because it was mentioned in a book I read once. But all my spells say the same. Locustus."

Zeb pocketed his notebook. "Sir. Considering the Dark magic, that no one saw him actually get out of the cell and tampering with the crime scene I conclude that this escape happened with the assistance of one or more people. They may have split up afterwards, but I don't see why they would. You might want to warn whoever you send after him about that."

The sudden sound of shuffling feet to the room drew Keeleigh's attention, turning towards it like sunflower to the sun with her wand raised as a precaution.

A friendly face. She heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that she didn't need to be locked in another engagement after that ordeal. She smiled and mustered whatever strength she had to get on her feet.

"I'm fine," she replied, "slightly shaken, but nothing too serious."

She turned back and took a look at the stone frozen individual behind her. "It was pandemonium for about a minutes or so," she explained, "he tried to make a run for it with his back against me, struck him with a Full Body-Bind and down he went. Anyway, I'm glad to see you guys, wouldn't be surprised if there were more guys like him hiding in this building. It's like a madman's enclave here."

She chuckled, and walked towards Kurt's wand that was about five feet away from where he laid. "Yew, eleven, looks like a kelpie bone core," she described, picking it up. "I'll take this back and have the Department look at it."

"Oh, and you guys are taking the body back... am I right?"

Walter smiled and nodded as soon as Keeleigh told him she was fine, laughing slightly at her comment about "madman's enclave". It certainly was, though he didn't exactly want to draw attention to that. He didn't even listen when she commented on his wand - they'd never been of much interest to him as his race preferred not to use them. It made what little magic they used a lot less powerful, not to mention controllable, but as a result they'd never been completely dependent of it.

Richard, on the other hand, couldn't help but to wonder whose wand it was and where that poor bugger was now. He doubted Kurt had been able to get his hands on his own wand, so he'd probably stolen it from someone else. Running a hand through his hair, he could only hope nobody got hurt in the process.

"Yeah, I'll bring him in," Richard agreed, putting his wand away in order to walk over to the unconscious madman. "And if Batman over there isn't too busy, I'm sure he could check the rest of the building to make sure he didn't have any friends."

At that, the wizard disappeared with a small "pop". Walter straightened, brushing a bit of dust off of his clothing. He couldn't detect the thoughts of anyone else in the building, but he didn't want to rule out strong-minded psychopaths. With a small nod and a smile towards Keeleigh, he headed towards the door, intent on giving the building a thorough search.

Gary paused, and took a quick look at the documents that laid in front of him. He leaned forward and opened it up; in it were pinned photographs of Kurt himself and the scene of the crime at St. Murphy's. He was quick to think of dismissing detective Rawle's statement as speculative, but considering the number of staff that were in that hospital they would've been likely to contain the suspect before he escaped, making a two man team entirely plausible. The again, who would help an insane deranged man is another question altogether.

"So you're saying that there was a second person in the crime scene. Our agents were there about 7 minutes after the crime was reported, making tampering of the scene unlikely, but this," he picked up the vial, "do you know of anyone in the City that has access to such exotic practices? They are few and far between and we can close down the leads to the few who do. Anyway, I have to be heading off, Christmas tomorrow going to have a-"

His sentence was interrupted by an Owl that flew in through the window. A letter. He unfolded it and took a glance.

"We've got him!" he exclaimed, suddenly enlightened .

Quickly, he put on his cap and winter coat. In a joyous countenance, he stumbled out of the door with his usual limp, waving goodbye at the detective.

6.14 a.m. Christmas Day. Brooklyn, New York City.

The decors around Keeleigh's apartment were less than elaborate to say the least. A couple of lazily taped garlands and a rather awkwardly hung wreath in the living room and that was about it. No Christmas Tree, no fancy lights and ornaments. Besides, since staying alone single, there wasn't really much of an incentive to actually decorate her place. If fact if it weren't for her dad coming over for a visit later, her house would be as plain as it usually is.

It was the dawn of Christmas morning, the rays of the morning sun pierced through glass window and glistened on her face. Sluggishly she turned over and checked the clock. 6.14 a.m. She sunk back down on her bed with her face against the pillow, cursing an inaudible word. She feel back to sleep, or at least tried to.

There was a knock on her door. An unlikely one considering she wasn't expecting any guests in the morning. Probably sales, she thought. She let out a huge sigh and went for the door, calling out for the person to hold on as the knocks continued.

"Marshal Pennington?" She opened. "Marshal Jason Tamberlane. Sorry for ruining your Christmas, but I've got news from DC."

"What news?" replied Pennington, still dazed from her sleep.

"Long story," he sighed. "Look -uh, can I come in for a second?"

"Sure."

Jason walked in, dressed in his full Marshal uniform. He had woolen gloves on both his hands and was holding his broomstick on his left. He was wearing winter boots, and it tapped rather loudly on her parquet floor.

"Please, take a seat." Keeleigh directed him to, which he did. "So, what's this news you speak of?"

"Senator Woodhart. He's dead."

"Dear god, is this news yet? Where did he-?"

"Delaware. His car went into the sea while coming back. It was washed up ashore this early morning. Some locals reported it to authorities about 2 hours ago."

Stunned and awoken by the news, Keeleigh paused and stared blankly into space for a moment. "So it's a confirmed murder I guess."

"No, not at the moment at least. Preliminary reports of his deaths aren't in yet, we're now scrambling over to the scene before news of this breaks out. MCB and the Marshal Service in the region are heading to the site now. Being in New York I guess you–"

"Yes, I understand. I'll get changed. Are you coming along?"

"I'm here to take you over there Ma'am," Jason chuckled. "I'll wait here until you're done. Please, no need to rush, just take your time and enjoy your Christmas morning."

Richard awoke with a slight headdache, speaking rather of a distinct lack of sleep than a night of partying hard. He didn't bother to open his eyes for a long time, just trying to enjoy the fact that unless something completely unpredictable happened, he would be spending the rest of the day happily ignoring his mother and annoying ex-girlfriend. The fact that it was Christmas, in his opinion, just spoke of better TV entertainment.

It took him longer than he would later admit to realize there was someone in his bed.

"Morning!" a German-accented, male voice said with cheery enthusiasm.

The worst part was probably that this was absolutely not the first time this had happened. He opened his eyes one at a time, looking over to a fully clothed (thank God) Walter, grinning at him from his position on the top of the covers.

"Walter," Richard said, doing his best not to kick the foreign bastard out of his bed. "You know, I've been thinking," he added. When the other man decided not to inquire, he continued. "I think this may be why my ex-girlfriend is convinced that I'm gay."

"You might be right," Walter agreed, flinging himself on the floor. "It might also be the hair," he said, dodging the pillow that immediately came flying across the room. Laughing heartily, he then managed to get out of the door, calling back from his position in the hallway. "I made Christmas cupcakes!"

After spending a few minutes convincing himself that even if he managed to drown Walter in the kitchen sink he'd have one hell of a time to hide the body properly, Richard finally dragged himself out of bed. As if on cue, he heard a knock on the front door, and the familiar sound of his friend rapidly getting out of sight. There was another knock, slightly louder, as he finally reached his destination and pulled the door open.

"You've got work," the familiar face said bluntly. "Pack your bags, we're heading to Delaware."

"Delaware." Richard repeated. "Right."

"I'll explain further in the car," the agent answered, grinning slightly at a small furry form that made it's way through the room, climbing Richard's leg to reach his shoulder. "Still got the rat, I see?"

"Ferret," he mumbled, but he seemed to be ignored. The agent was brought in to wait while he got ready, and Walter eventually emerged from behind the kitchen counter to talk a little. Fifteen minutes later they were all finally seated in the car, the latter two were still chatting away while Richard had decided to ignore the both of them while he ate his cupcake. It was only when the agent decided to tell them what kind of crime scene they were headed towards that he stopped sulking, if only to pepper the man with as many questions as he could think of, only to have a very small number of them answered.

"You'll see when we get there," the agent said.

The sea was calm and clear, jade with a phosphorescent gleam. The beach was empty, except for the few people of authority clad in their gray trench coats and fedoras already examining the wreck of a vintage Ford. Or at least, what's left of it.

"Marshal Pennington," Jason began, "may I introduce Marshals Thomas Leinhart and Marlowe Hayes, from the D.C. . Gentlemen, Keeleigh Pennington, New York."

Briefly they exchanged a couple of smiles and greetings before Thomas continued, showing the both of them the wreck. Strapped in it was the Senator, still firmly seated by the seat belt. His eyes and mouth were wide open. Shocked? Frightened perhaps? Poor fellow, probably never saw it coming. What was apparent was that the window to the left of him was completely shattered, unlike the others which managed to withstand the impact when the car hit the water.

"A projectile?" Keeleigh asked, examining the wreckage.

"I'm not sure. But yes, numerous evidence point that this is not simply an accident," Thomas replied penning down a few words on his leather notepad.

"So it's confirmed he was dead before he hit the water?"

"No, not yet. But our preliminary examinations show that his vocal cords were not tightly sealed. He didn't drown, something else killed him. We can't really confirm anything yet though, not before we take the body back to the morgue for further examinations."

The word "murder" was written all over the scene. The bloke was still strapped in, if he had drowned surely he wouldn't have been silly enough to sit there and watch himself suffocate into the depths of the sea. Someone, somehow got the Senate's schedule and intercepted the vehicle here and assassinated the man through that window.

The last thing that could prevent an criminal investigation from taking off is–

"Marshal Leinhart, do you know if the MTA are into this?"

"Unfortunately," he replied with a dread of reluctance. "They are."

"Boss? ... Boss? ... Boss?"
Zeb turned his head down towards the voice.
"Your coffee, Boss."
"Thanks Aily." Zeb drank deeply. It was somewhat hot, but at least he woke up from it.

The books had confirmed everything about the spell. He had tracked down a couple of his informants, but they had very little to say. Just as he decided to go home to sleep, he overheard the news.

"Oh no." He chugged his coffee, took Aily and went straight to the scene. This was probably unrelated to his investigation, but there was a nagging paranoid voice in the back of his head that kept telling him: There is no coincidence.

Richard stepped out of the car before it came to a full stop, striding immediately towards the Senator's car, where Keeleigh was standing. On his way, he took note of his surroundings, looking for places where an assailant could have been positioned. The agent had been kind enough to spill the beans as they closed in on the crime scene, giving him the basic details of what had happened.

The Senator was dead, possibly murdered. It was hard to believe.

He arrived early enough to catch some more of the information that Thomas had given to Keeleigh, giving them all a nod. Richard had at some point been told he had an aura of "I'm supposed to be here"-ness, which often caused him to forget introductions. In a slightly more conspicuous fashion, Walter made his way after him, flashing a nervous grin at a few wizards who gave him narrowed-eyed glances.

By the time Walter reached the Senator's car, Richard was already hunched down on all fours by its side, looking slightly comical as he searched for any further clues.

"Slight sign of a struggle," he mumbled, mostly to himself, as he looked inside of the car. "Possibly caused by panic. Definitely not panicked enough to have occurred fighting for his life under water.

Walter pressed his lips together, wondering slightly if Richard was intruding on the other people's work. Though the wizard seemed to be careful not to touch or leave any fingerprints, he couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong. Though, being a telepath, that might just be the general feeling of the other people rubbing off on him. He looked at Keeleigh, giving her a slight smile.

"Hello again," he said, with a slightly depressed cheer to his tone.