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(IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

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(IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Tue Nov 02, 2010 4:15 am

OOC: This is going to be the main posting area of the 'Fiction Dictating Reality' role play; at least, until I determine that the RP Tab can support such an adventure.

BEFORE YOU POST: Please see the information on this RP here and review what I have provided as a basic character outline here before submitting a character, as though this is an open RP, I'd prefer the character be reviewed and approved through the system provided.


| 2045L, 30 Dec 1999
| Arlington County, VA, USA

The television was tuned into the Micron PC Bowl, where the apartment's current resident was enjoying a bit of schadenfreude as the Fighting Illini from the University of Illinois stomped up and down the field over his alma mater's main in-state rival, the Cavaliers of University of Virginia. The score was such that it was getting to be too much to even bother watching, and so Jack Russell decided to switch over to the Peach Bowl, featuring Mississippi State versus Clemson. That game had some possibilities, especially given the recent rise of the SEC as a viable league. Just after pushing the appropriate buttons on his remote control, however, his phone rang.

Jack Russell grumbled at the interruption, but he still grabbed the cordless phone off of the table next to the chair. "Russell," he said in an even tone.

"Jack, it's Tom. Got some FLASH traffic that the Boss wants you to see. Might be a deployment." Tom Foussikis was the night watch officer at the Directorate of Operation's Counter-Terrorism desk. That he had something graded as a FLASH priority meant something that had to be done about it quickly. They didn't throw those labels around lightly.

Jack sighed, but stood up from the comfortable chair turning the TV off as he did so. "All right. I'll be there in thirty." His bags were already packed and ready to go. It was just a fact of life that he had agreed to back in January after his commanding officer had recommended him to an Agency recruiter. The main difference between wearing the green beret and this pretty much boiled down to paychecks and the purpose behind the missions. In 7th Group, he was teaching and encouraging foreign militaries. In the Special Operations Group, he was doing direct action as a part of the larger goals of the government of the US. It also meant a bit more money, and a slight improvement in his social life, as he generally had some time available to pursue the eligible women available in the Metro D.C. area.

Hoping into his BMW Z3, Russell quickly and deftly maneuvered through the nighttime traffic on the way to the Central Intelligence Agency's headquarters building at Langley. The time and date guaranteed good parking, and he managed to get a spot just a few down from the elevator in the Old Headquarters Building. It took him another seven minutes to catch the proper elevator and make his way to the watch center. He was surprised to see that the Deputy Director (Operations) was there himself.

"Boss," Jack said, nodding to the DDO before turning to Foussikis. "What do we have?"

Tom handed over an unfortunately thin manila folder, trimmed in orange with the words "TOP SECRET" emblazoned across the top. "Jordanian General Intelligence Department forwarded this to us. Looks like this group... uhm, al-kayduh... has some sort of cell operating in Amman. They offered to give us some access in return for some guidance."

Russell nodded as he flipped through the pages. "Sounds like a plan. This is that group bin Laden is heading up?"

"Right. We're thinking that the information at the location will have some of the details regarding the embassy bombings last year and the attack on the Cole back in October, and maybe even some others." Foussikis paused. "We're hoping that we might be able to narrow down where bin Laden is too."

The DDO spoke up, "Jack, theres something more important here. The Solicitor General just circulated a memo for all of the cabinet-levels. Apparently, there's a big case that the Supreme Court's been keeping black--how they kept it black this long I have no idea--but it might make people think twice about the US."

So this is what has the Boss in here this late at night, Russell thought to himself. "What's that?"

"Apparently, there's a civil rights campaign that no one--not even the Bureau," he specified, referring to the FBI, "Knew about. They're still keeping it close to the chest, but the release is tomorrow, right when you might be landing. Just be prepared."

"Will do, Boss. I'm leaving in the next few hours then?" Russell checked his watch to get a sense of how screwed up his system would be on the 16-hour flight to Amman.

Tom answered. "Yeah. 81st has a VC-20 held for you. You'll be flying with some Congressmen for some of the way at least."

"Oh, brilliant," Russell commented as he handed back the folder. "Anything else?"

The DDO stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Jack. Give my regards to the family. And good hunting."
Last edited by RaptorThreeSix on Tue Nov 23, 2010 3:26 am, edited 2 times in total.
Advanced Support Operator
Oasis Security Group (International Division)

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Fri Nov 05, 2010 10:30 am

| 1522L, 31 Dec 1999
| Amman, Jordan

It's not supposed to be cold in the desert, Russell thought as he shivered a bit in his mid-weight jacket. That it was the dead of winter for this part of the world escaped him, but only for a moment. He sat in front passenger seat of the car, the AKS-74U that had been loaned to him by his hosts was barrel-down between his legs. A ready magazine was in his left hand, ready to slap into the receiver. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was fairly low on the horizon. They didn't have the car on, which explained how the cold got into the car.

"My friend, you should have worn a thicker jacket," the driver said in english, noticing the slight shiver of Russell's hands.

Russell shrugged, the weight of the low-profile armor vest he had on moved awkwardly. He replied in arabic, "I couldn't move properly then. And would be of no help to you."

The driver let it go. Jack didn't stare intently at the building... it wasn't a good idea to show interest in the target, especially only five meters away from the door like he was. So, he analyzed the street he was on. An alley here, a pile of garbage there, no obvious security to be seen. Could it really be that this group had no concept of perimeter security? Or did they think that no one in this part of the world would get involved in any of their business? The Palestinians had thought that, much to their surprise when they were targeted by the military of Jordan back in the mid-seventies. Now, what with the new king reaffirming peace towards Israel, Russell was sure that the country would do well for itself.

"There he is," the driver spoke up again, though he didn't physically make any gestures in the direction of the man walking down the street towards the apartment building. The man took no special note of the two men in the car that were across the street from his building. Russell's companion activated the radio attached to his lapel, "Target One in sight, entering building now."

The magazine that had been in Russell's left hand was now in the weapon, and he quickly yanked back on the charging handle. The bulbous sound suppressor attached to the front end of his AK came up off the floor, ready for a quick start; the selector lever was flipped down two settings to the semi-automatic position. The suspect's apartment was on the third floor, giving the group a good amount of time to get into position. Without a verbal or auditory command, three pairs of men exited their cars, keeping their weapons as concealed as they could even on the lightly-populated street. No one in the nearby apartments was home--checked on by the intelligence officers beforehand. It would be the best chance they had to bag the guy as quietly as they could manage.

Russell was right behind his driver and the second man into the building. They simply stood there for a moment, listening for sounds that would announce the ambush that could be waiting. The sound of a closing door drifted down the stairwell, and both men quietly began ascending the stairs. One of the other pairs followed them, and the last two men took positions at opposite corners of the free-standing building to prevent someone from running away down the alleys.

As he cleared the last step, Russell's apprehension grew. Not one to show it, he stacked himself on the hallway wall opposite the door handle. His driver quickly checked the door for any signs of booby traps or warning devices and nodded to his brother from the CIA. Once that was done, another quick nod to the last pair sent them to their spots on the landings above and below. It would just be Russell and the driver going in. A quote from "Pulp Fiction" ran through Russell's head the instant before he tensed to kick in the door: We should have shotguns for this sort of deal.

Two things happened nearly simultaneously. Russell backed up off the wall, lifting his leg to bash the door down; before he could bring his foot down, the door swung open as the suspect came out with his head down, fumbling with a set of keys. Going off of pure instinct, Russell quickly re-targeted his blow. The boot-encased foot lashed out at the target's groin, causing a shocked cry of pain, and Russell's knee came up into the man's nose. Russell's momentum was going forward, and he simply charged right over the now-prostrated form, not really caring what minor damage his boots might do to the target as he floored it into the apartment. The driver was right behind him, delivering another savage blow to the target's face and knocking him out cold. Russell's AK came up, and he turned right to get into his sector. The driver went left, sweeping into the room. Two doors were on opposite sides of the room, and neither were closed. Russell spun into his, going down to one knee as he turned in case there was someone inside that had heard the commotion out in the foyer. Nothing appeared in the second it took to scan, and so he stood back up, checking the room out more thoroughly as he cleared it. The sound of a single shot from the other side of the apartment didn't break his concentration. Russell didn't know what had happened, but the room he was in was clear, and he needed to get over and support his teammate. He exited his door, again going right but this time remaining focused on the other door. A form emerged, and it did not match that of his driver's and it was carrying an old AKM, not the newer and smaller AKS-74U. That merited it a quick death from a 5.45mm round that Russell drilled right into the target's face, turning the back of the second man's head into a morass of blood and thicker things. He paused for a minute in case another suspect was inside, but rapidly closed with the second room. The driver was face-down inside the doorway of the room, a widening pool of blood coming from underneath the man's chest. Russell acted quickly, seeing the entire room and noting that there was nothing else there. From the main room, Russell shouted in arabic, "ROOM CLEAR! MAN DOWN!"

The driver had no apparent exit wounds on his back, so Jack flipped him over carefully. Instantly, the angry hole was clearly apparent on the right side of the driver's chest, just below the edge of the pectoral muscle. Jack grabbed his knife and began to cut away his teammate's clothing and armor--it hadn't performed well against the high-velocity rifle round, not to Jack's surprise--and he used the material from the driver's shirt to plug the wound. The driver coughed, and the sight of blood led Jack to wonder where the bullet had ended up. It was obvious to him--well briefed in the causation of bodily trauma--that the spleen had been hit first: that accounted for the massive loss of blood already. There was nothing much else that Jack could do; the driver was still breathing which was good, but they needed to get him to a hospital for the rest. One of the men from outside ran in with a medic's bag, Jack quickly replaced his bandage with another, wrapping it tight around his chest. Not a minute later, three paramedics also came in, along with a stretcher. Jack got up and let them do their work as the pair of operatives from outside bound the original target.

With the room secure, Jack looked around taking stock of the apartment they had raided. The first room was a rather plain living area, with a small open kitchen and breakfast table on one end and some sofas and chairs grouped around the TV in the corner. The room that the driver had gone into was just a bedroom with a closet. From the hole in the closet door, Jack figured that his kill had taken cover in the closet and ambushed his teammate, which would explain why there hadn't been terribly much in the way of force left over after the bullet had punched through the body armor.

The room he had cleared was another story. This was the office, and the treasure trove they were looking for. Jack just stood in the doorway again--now that the danger had passed, he was free to do an adequate search, especially for booby traps or security systems that would destroy the material. A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn around from the sight.

"You did well, Mister Russell," the newcomer said to Jack. "The medics, they say that Abdul will be fine. The hospital is only just down the street, you see. Those vests you have supplied for us--they took much of the force away from the bullet."

Jack nodded, "Thank you, sir. I hoped that when I saw there was no exit wound."

The Director of the General Intelligence Department stepped past Jack into the room. "It is amazing how easy this is. It makes me wonder if this was a--how do you say--a false'd?"

"Faked?" Jack prompted, a grin on his face now. He knew that the director had an impressive command of english. The Director smiled with the response.

"Yes, faked. We will see, of course... Insh'allah." God-willing.

"Insh'allah," Jack repeated, quieter.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Hayu on Sat Nov 06, 2010 2:58 pm

I feel that this piece doesn't just throw information at you like a usual story or entry. It slowly puts you in the mood and tone of the story, I started to connect with the story when I was reading the first paragraph alone. By the second entry I was just dieing to read more into this! It flows very well. Your structure is also well written. You also include interesting phrases and terms that shows the uniqueness of the plot and story. Bravo. Keep up the well written work.
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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Sun Nov 07, 2010 4:21 am

| 0604L, 01 Jan 00
| Amman, Jordan

The sunrise in the Middle East had to be some of the most beautiful that Jack Russell had ever witnessed. The transition from dark to light, the hues of the various colors swirling around the sky, the minnarets and steeples from the mosques and churches being silhouetted; it was a treat to watch.

Except when that treat came at the end of a sleepless night of work. Jack's mind wasn't mush or worn out; but the adrenaline rush from the close-quarters battle that had been fought in the apartment across town had sapped some of his energy. The memory of his teammate Abdul bleeding from being shot didn't affect him the way it might have any other human being--he had seen worse in Somalia. They had been processing the information slowly, methodically, and he couldn't really do much more than watch. Most of the information wasn't even worth the effort of having eliminated the cell: just recruiting reports, funding, reactions on the street towards other terrorist attacks. These sorts of things were far better to have if the cell that they had eliminated had just been kept in operation. They'd gather more information that way... they'd gather operating tempos, relationships, and more targets.

Jack hadn't even been allowed to comment on this to his erstwhile allies before they had shown him his carbine and vest. As it was, the delay caused by that damn congressman and his wife getting off in London on a "fact-finding" (read: shopping) mission had forced Jack to have to be driven in a ostentatious convoy of police vehicles to get in position fast enough with the rest of the team. Luckily enough, his five-o'clock shadow had blended in enough that he looked a bit like a local. His command of arabic was good enough that someone had actually assumed that he was from Lebanon. Jack thought that, given some time here, he could actually like Jordan.

But not right now.

"Mister Russell," the Director of the General Intelligence Department said, emphasizing every syllable of the title. "Would you join me in my office, please."

Jack stood up from the chair and headed into the spacious office. It was finely appointed--nice things were a fact of life in a country still ruled by a King, especially one that liked the person in question--and relatively spacious. Much nicer than the DDO's office at Langley, but then again, CIA had never placed much stock in wowing people with their buildings. He took a seat as directed and a sip of the coffee that had appeared before him. The director did much the same, but behind his desk. "You think we did wrong?" the man said, without anything in the way of preliminaries. It had been a long night for him too.

Jack set the small cup down in it's saucer. "Sir, I think that the intel gathered in comparison with the elimination of the cell was poor. We probably should have just set up a watch on it, with occasional black-bags to see what they were working with."

The director gave a small, thin smile. Jack guessed he was about to drop a shoe on him. "You see, Jack--may I call you Jack?"

Jack just nodded. No point in delaying the inevitable. "You see, Jack, I now have a source. I have in my control this al-Qaeda man. He now tells me everything. We will allow him to go free, and rejoin his brothers. He will continue to feed us the information he needs, and his continued freedom is dependent on my good will--purchased, of course, with that information. If he ever so much as thinks about acting without my approval, he will rejoin the prison population without so much as a second thought."

Jack was impressed, but not entirely convinced. "What about code words, distress signals to his handlers. They might just get him out of the country. Or even eliminate him themselves."

"Then there is still one less terrorist that the world must worry about in Jordan." The director's smile didn't fade a wit, Jack noticed. There must be something else going on in that extremely devious brain of his. "He will be watched. Now, enough about that man. We have information in here that must be passed to your people at Langley and at Fort Meade. However, first you will tell me about this," a file appeared in front of Jack, held there by the Director's assistant.

Taking the offered file, he flipped open to a printout from the Washington Post's online edition. Jack read quickly, but knew that this was probably what the DDO had warned him about two days ago.

SUPREME COURT ANNOUNCES VAMPIRES, GRANTS CITIZENSHIP

WASHINGTON--The Supreme Court's decisions, published yesterday, have announced the existence of vampires and their presence in the US, legal writers say.

In an unprecedented 9-0 unanimous decision, a heretofore unknown and unrecognized group of people have been granted immediate citizenship and all legal rights. It was the shortest written decision in the Court's history. No further comment was provided by the Court's spokesman, nor were any administration officials available to comment.

Some in Congress have questioned the Court's sanity at such an announcement. Sen John Warner, R-VA, said that, "This is outrageous. These things are fictitious, and we've gone and made our nation the laughing stock of the world."

None are certain as to exactly what the pronouncement will mean. As yet, no vampires have stepped forward to the press for comment.


Jack didn't bother reading the rest as it was probably just speculation and hyperbole. "Sir, I know absolutely nothing about this. I was warned by the DDO that something was coming down the pipe, but other than that I can say nothing."

The smile had disappeared from the Director's face. "Your highest court has just said that something of myth and legend exists, and you tell me you know nothing?"

Jack shrugged. "Nope."

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Tue Nov 09, 2010 10:26 am

| 0743L, 02 Jan 2000
| Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, USA

Jack shambled his way off of the VC-20, and collected his bags. His body was screaming for sleep, but he still had to drop the documents that the GID had allowed him to take back to Langley. It was going to be a long day.

He drove out onto the GW Memorial Parkway for the (relatively) short drive back to Langley. It was quicker, because it was Sunday, but traffic still flowed out and around the city and kept him on the road for an hour. The BMW Z3 weaved in and out of traffic easily, but took the potholes and other imperfections in the road badly. It was amazing enough that he managed to skirt through without any interference from the cops that were more than happy to write expensive tickets.

Pulling in, he noticed that there were a few more cars parked about than the usual. Russell wondered what could have so many people in on the weekend, a Sunday no less. Much like the rest of the bureaucracy, CIA's population didn't appreciate being at work on their days off any more than anyone else, and rarely bothered. Could something have happened between the last time he had seen the news and now? He figured that it could wait until after he had delivered the materials to the weenies in the Intelligence directorate.

It took fifteen minutes to sign all the appropriate paperwork and generally get things done to where Russell could escape the confines of the building. He was worried when the DDO himself sauntered up to him, extending his hand as he got within a few feet. "Jack, good to see you home safe. How was Jordan?"

Jack met the offered hand with his own. "Cold, sir. I know that it's in the mountains over here, but I had hoped that it would be a bit warmer."

"Well, sorry about the weather. Could you come on back to the watch center? We've got some developing things that I'd like your opinion on."

That was ominous, and put Russell instantly on guard. "Uhm, sir, aren't there more senior agents who would be better to ask--" he said before the DDO interrupted him.

"Come on, Jack. Let's go." Jack didn't like to whine about anything, but he was tired, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to give his best opinions on anything without rest. He also didn't question orders, and those last two words had been given in a sort of soft command voice. Jack rolled his eyes to himself and followed obediently.

"What's the problem, sir?" Jack asked on the way.

"That announcement for the Supreme Court. It's got everyone up in arms." The DDO didn't elaborate further, and Jack didn't push it. It'd all come out in time anyways, and he could be patient. It only took six minutes to get back to the Operation's watch center.

The watch center wasn't--as Hollywood might want to portray it--a big room that looked like something from NASA's mission control. It was, however, a big room, and there were lots of TVs tuned to different news channels for each discrete area of responsibility, each of which had at least one or two watch officers per section, plus the head watch officer. Tom Foussikis was on again, and he was in a huddle with several other people around a section, over which hung a sign, "Middle East."

Jack caught a break between two other DO people and watched what was obviously a news release of some sort. It looked like the Iranians wanted to tell the world something, judging by the flag and the Farsi. Jack didn't know the language that well, but it was obvious that the people grouped around the TV were anxious. When the announcement ended, Tom looked at the guy sitting in front of the screen. "Well, Fadi?"

"They denounce us, as you expected. They question our sanity and lampoon us for their citizens. Nothing new, just the subject matter." The interpreter stood up, his task done. "I don't know if anyone will take us seriously without an announcement from an actual vampire. Or someone who represents them. Of course, anyone who wants to be contrary will simply say it's false and a trick."

The DDO spoke up then. "There's some sort of ruling body of vampires, but of course, they're remaining quiet. We're trying to figure out where it is to see if we can either infiltrate it, or otherwise figure out what the heck is going on. Jack, that's going to be your task, but it can wait until tomorrow morning. Other than the normal wait-and-see routine, I don't see anything else to go crazy about. Go home, and get some rest. Nothing is going to happen very fast on this anyways."

With that, the impromptu meeting broke up, Jack very nearly fled to his Z3 before anyone could change their minds about his involvement. Before he could get out on the road too far, he did make a quick call to his parents, living down in Williamsburg, but got the machine--they were probably at church anyways. "Hey Mom, Dad; I'm back in the States and safe. I'll see you next weekend if you're not busy. Talk to you all later, love, Jack."

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nydie on Tue Nov 16, 2010 5:40 pm

January 1, 2000
Baltimore, Maryland
23:00

“Man, I’d love to have some of whatever those dudes are smoking.” A male voice said from somewhere behind her. “I’d make a killing selling that stuff.”

Shianne rolled her eyes at the wanna-be gangster’s claim. She was clueless what he was talking about, and she really did not care, but he was talking so loud that she could not avoid overhearing his conversation. Casting a glance over her shoulder, Shianne peered at the two men behind her through her fake lenses and black wire framed glasses.

Just as she suspected, the two behind her were definitely the thuggish type. Both were dressed in nearly identical baggy jeans, high dollar sneakers and thick Baltimore Ravens jackets. The taller of the two was wearing a Ravens cap, the bill of the cap twisted slightly to the side. The shorter and louder of the two wasn’t wearing a hat, but had the hood of his jacket pulled up over his shaved head. Shianne took one look at the two and knew without a doubt they were part of the small time crooks that plagued the neighborhood which she currently resided in. She honestly did not care, she just wished they’d keep their conversation to themselves.

The shorter of the two glanced back at Shianne, their eyes meeting briefly. The corner of his lips twisted up in a cocky grin, that Shianne could only assume was supposed to appeal to her; it had the complete opposite effect. Shooting the short man another viscous glare, Shianne turned her attention back to the sidewalk in front of her, forcing herself to ignore the idiots behind her.

“Uptight bi…” The shorter man muttered, but was interrupted by his companion.

“Yo dude. What do you think they’re smoking? Gotta be something messed up if they actually believe blood suckers are real. I think they been watchin too many sci-fi movies.” The taller of the two said, paying no attention to the fact his friend’s attention was momentarily focused on the woman in front of them.

“Don’t know, man.” The shorter man responded, focusing on their conversation again. “I’m telling ya, that’s some messed up stuff they’re puffing on up in the capital. Hell, I’d like to go party with them. Smoke a little of the funny stuff and see the vampires they’re seeing.” The shorter guy snickered. “Aren’t vampire chicks supposed to be smoking hot? Like in the movies? Hell, if they are, you can bet I’d be…..”

Shianne stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening slightly as what the shorter man said finally sank in. Vampires? Why were they talking about vampires? Shifting the straps of her backpack on her shoulder, Shianne glanced back at the two men as they walked passed her and continued on their way. Their conversation had gone back to drugs, but Shianne did not care, she was still trying to piece together what they had been talking about.

Normally she would have simply ignored anything two human men talked about, especially two like the ones who had just passed her, but men like that generally did not mention vampires, and they certainly did not talk about the government.

Her brow furrowed into a thoughtful scowl, her mind racing over the little bit of information that she had pieced together. Apparently some part of the government was aware of vampires, and what? Were they being ousted?

She mentally scolded herself for being so oblivious to current events. She was so stuck on blending in and avoiding being found by her maker, that she avoided keeping up with the news. She did not own a radio, TV or a computer, and more often then not she walked past the various news stands without glancing at the headlines. Her only goal was to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and that is what she did.

Her scowl transformed into a frown as she continued pondering over what she had learned from the two street thugs. Someone in the capital was aware of vampires, but how?

Shianne had run across a few from time to time. Not many, but enough to know that there were others out there. Just how many vampires were out there? The ones she had come across were like her. Blending in however they could. Doing whatever was necessary to survive without drawing attention to their true nature. It was how she had been taught. She would stick around an area for a decade or so, then leave before anyone could figure out that their was something different about her.

It was no different now. Of course now it was tougher to move around and survive. Before she did not need so much paperwork to get a job. Before she could come and go and no one would be able to track her down when she suddenly vanished without a word. Now she had to get fake paperwork in order to get a job. She had to invent a new name, and new story whenever she moved into a new area, and even then people could still track down if her information was fake.

Shianne forced her thoughts out of her mind. She needed to get to a newspaper, or a TV to find out what was going on, and she had to do it now.

Adjusting the straps of her backpack, Shianne rushed down the street, ignore the sound of traffic and people around her. From behind her fake glasses, her eyes skimmed over to the corners looking for a news stand. She could not find one, but she did find newspaper vending machine. Marching to it in a rush, she glanced down at the headline of the Baltimore Sun. “The Supreme Court grants Vampires Citizenship” stared back at her in large bold print.

Shianne gasped in shock. She blinked her eyes once, then twice. There was no way in the world this she was seeing this. It had to be some kind of a joke!

Digging in her pockets, she rustled up some change and fed it into the machine. Jerking the door open, she snatched the paper hastily, and began to read.

In a unanimous ruling today, the Supreme Court has not only acknowledged the existence of vampires, the highest court of the nation has granted them citizenship.

Shianne could feel the paper slip through her finger, but she unable to prevent it. A rush of emotions struck her, rendering her completely motionless. The first was confusion, then excitement followed closely by fear. How had this happened? Did this mean she could finally “come out” instead of hiding? She felt a lump build up in her throat as her fear began to rise. Was this a trap?

“Hey lady, you dropped your paper!” A voice bellowed behind her.

Shianne blinked in confusion, then frowned. Bending down she grabbed the paper and folded it up, tucking it under her arm. For a moment she was tempted to turn around and bare her fangs at the person who had yelled at her, but instead she stalked off in the opposite direction, completely ignoring the stranger.

Her mind continued to race. She was unable to get one thought out of her head. Citizenship. The Supreme Court was granting citizenship to vampires. Vampires! The very creatures who preyed on the living. Creatures who could drain every ounce of blood off every single judge on that court without blinking an eye! The court was granting them citizenship.

She continued to walk down the now deserted streets, focusing on the soft “thump” of the soles of her boots hitting the sidewalk. In her mind she was questioning everything. She found herself in awkward territory. For the first time since she had been turned, Shianne felt lost.

She thought back on her day. She had woken up in her shabby, run down apartment earlier that afternoon, with her biggest worry being whether or not this would be the day her maker would track her down. And now?

Shianne snickered quietly to herself, her gaze traveling down to the paper securely tucked under her arm. One headline. That one little headline had turned her world upside down. What would happen now? What was she supposed to do? Tearing her eyes away from the paper, Shianne finally took notice of her surroundings. She had no idea where she was, but the neighborhood was definitely shabbier then the one she lived in. With another soft snicker, she pried the paper out from underneath her arm and dropped it onto the ground. She really did not want to read the rest. The story was written by a human, and what was to say that human was telling the truth? Shianne knew that the media could not be trusted, neither could the government. There had to be a more reliable way for her to get some answers.

It was then that it hit her. If the Supreme Court was aware of vampires, that would mean they had met one. She knew their were others out there, but it was not like she kept in contact with them. She was a loner. She had never quite fit in with her own kind, but then again, she had never fit in with humans either. Shianne’s longest relationship with anyone had been her maker, and she had run as far away from that once she realized what a whack job that guy was. But now she had no choice. She needed to know what was going on, and she needed to find one of her kind to give her the answers.

It was simple, so simple that she could have slapped herself for not thinking of it. She had to go to D.C. If the Supreme Court was cooperating with vampires, that meant the vampires with the answers had to be there.

Spinning on the heels of her boots, Shianne turned around and began heading back towards her apartment. If she was right, and she was certain that she was, she needed to get to D.C, and she needed to get there now.


((I am a bit rusty, so give me a few posts to improve.))

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby BleedingCrimson on Thu Nov 18, 2010 2:31 am

January 3, 2000
Bowie, Maryland
14:00

Lenora was at school when she heard the news. In the middle of her "senior year," for the sixth or seventh time, she'd lost track by now. She knew all of this- she excelled in all her classes, but the police just didn't believe her when she said she was over 18... She was in her Government and Economics class. It was a Friday so they had their weekly discussion of current events.

She had been bored out of her skull as usual, thinking about her latest "donor." She called her followers this, the only people who knew her true nature, and that was simply because she fed on them. Though they were the outcasts, she made them into a group. They were her humans now, they willingly gave her their blood, for the sense of belonging she gave them, for the new family in these other donors she provided them, and the ecstasy of a vampire's bite. She remembered this from when she was turned. Luckily, one needed to ingest blood of one infected with vamiprism to replace their own blood after being drained almost completely dry. So she was still the only vampire at her school, the competition would be annoying and she didn't like any of them enough to keep them around for eternity...

In fact one of her donors was in this class, sitting next to her. He nudged her, breaking her out of her daze at the news that had been brought up. Lenora caught the tail-end of the sentance of some girl behind her.

"...And Congress voted unanimously in favor of the vampires. As if they were real, and making them citizens!"

Lenora perked up and questioned, "You mean Congress, to most skeptical and argumentative people in the nation have agreed on something? Voted unaimously? For vampire citizenship?!" She turned in her seat and started straight into the girls eyes, unnerving her. The girls voice shook almost unnoticeably as she replied, "Ye-eah. Um, like vampires don't e-exist. H-heh?"

"Yeah, of course they don't. Dunderhead..." Lenora mumbled as she turned back to face the front, mind working overtime to process this and what it ment for her.

The boy next to her, his name escaped her at the moment, "Mistress?" he wispered, "What, exactly, does this mean ofor u-"

"Quiet," Lenora cut him off, "We shall meet after school, such as is normal, and we shall continue in all normalicy- as before. Understand? Good," she hissed. The boy turned his attention back to the teacher as he sensed the conversation was over. One did not anger the vampire, it was simply not done.
All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" - a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live.
~Mark Twain

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Thu Nov 18, 2010 10:10 am

OOC: I'd just like to say that advancing the timeline is fine! Take the initiative! However, let's keep any big jumps small, or PM me about them first, especially if it seems like a character is in the middle of something important... a day here or there is fine though. Also, if you're wondering where I get the super-cool "|" thing, it's the key above the return key on a normal QWERTY keyboard--shift click it! With that, we return you to your regularly scheduled post.

| 0800L 05 JAN 2000
| Central Intelligence Agency HQ, Langley, VA

A normal workday, and the traffic was it's usual horrendous snarls across northern Virginia. The court decision was still on the front page, but it was below the fold now. Only a few inches kept it on the front page, and there still was no verifiable vampires stepping forward to claim credit. Even the lawyers who had represented the client had been singularly unhelpful in the release of who their wronged party was. Searching for whatever might pass for the governing body of vampires seemed like something from a bad Sci-Fi movie, but it was better than assuming that there was none, and so they had to figure out how they were going to get their information. It wasn't like the NSA could--or even wanted to--tap those damn lawyer's phones, nor would it probably be anything approximating helpful. Jack was certain that it would just be wasted time and effort.

It had taken him his customary fifty minutes to get into the office, but he was so distracted that he didn't even notice the time. It wasn't like him to be so confused. Granted, this whole vampire thing was way outside his body of knowledge. He wasn't one of those operations guys who went into places like Moscow or Beijing or Baghdad to try and get actual human intelligence (known within the community as HUMINT). He thought of himself as a rather well-instructed knuckle-dragger, but with just a bit more discretion.

Finally getting into the office he shared with two other officers--though he was the only one not on assignment at the moment--he reviewed his workload for the day. He still had to type up something about the operation in Amman, as well as sit down with the debriefing guy. That dude was a serious prick, Jack thought, and he was glad that it wouldn't take very long. After all that was done, it was back into the world of possibly non-exsistant people and newly minted citizens of the United States. Well, if they wanted it. According to the latest gouge that was coming off of Capitol Hill, Congress was considering restricting the requirement to those vampires that wished to stay in the States... and deportment for those that wouldn't comply and register as such. It would probably result in years of problematic additional court cases as each side tried to fight the other. Jack didn't care. He hoped that this would be the one assignment that he'd have to do before getting back to his normal job...

His first line supervisor came in just then. Mark Wa was from San Diego, had gone to the 'real' USC (as opposed to that fake one in South Carolina, he was always joked--badly) and though he said that he never played football in his life, Jack gave grudging respect for the man's football pool prowess. "Hey, Mark. Guess I owe ya for the Georgia-Purdue game, huh?"

Mark grinned, "Oh yeah. I knew that Purdue didn't have it in them to whoop up on those Bulldogs. Especially on what was essentially a home field. Southerners always love a good underdog fight against a Northern school." He took the offered ten-dollar bill and pocketed it. "Also, we've got word about something just went down with that bin Laden group in Kuala Lumpur, but nothing from that yet. The first bits'll probably get here tomorrow, or later today really. Supposedly, some of that stuff that you grabbed in Amman worked in our favor for once."

Jack scowled. "It would have been nicer if we had people there to listen in. Or even bag some of whoever they were."

"Can't be everywhere, Jack. Besides, it sounded like it was just a touchy-feelie. Terrorists are doing those all the time now." Mark shrugged. "In other news, we've got word that we might have something coming down the pipes. One of our agents-in-place in Warsaw just activated his need-to-extract signal. Probably be a few days, but be advised. Boss says you're up again."

Jack rolled his eyes theatrically. "The things I do for my country..."

Mark's grin didn't waver, he knew that Jack was being facetious. "Hey, at least this time people won't be shooting at you unless you get caught."

"Rule number one of cover operations: Do. Not. Ever. Get. Caught." Jack said, smirking. Mark slapped the door frame and left without another word.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nydie on Thu Nov 18, 2010 11:38 pm

January 5, 2000
Washington D.C
22:00

Shianne had been in Washington D.C for two days now, and so far she had not had any luck tracking the mysterious vampires that had lead to the Supreme Court’s ruling. Of course, she had not been searching very hard, more like hoping for an accidental run in.

She had given notice at her job, if that’s what you could call it. She was a bar tender at a strip club, one of the few jobs she could manage to snag without having to give too much information. She had gone in, given the owner a sob story about being abused by her husband, and asking if she could possibly get a job without the use of a social security number. The sleazy old jerk who owned the place hadn’t bought her story at first, but after a little “convincing” on her part, he was shaking her hand and informing her to be there at 5pm the next day.

After reading the paper and deciding to head to D.C, she went into work and told the boss she was taking a few weeks off. Of course it hadn’t gone over well at first, but again Shianne was able to “convince” the old guy to give her the time off, with pay too. Wasn’t that nice of him?

So here she was, at the nations capital, and currently in a booth, in some seedy little bar filled with lousy music, and even lousier company. On the bar stool next to her booth was some fat, obnoxious, greasy haired suit, who was complaining loudly to the bartender about his “prude of a wife” who did not understand him. A few stools next to him was a shifty looking fellow who was downing shots of tequila like his life depended on it. Across the room was a young couple, who Shianne could only assume was having relationship problems. She only assumed this because the woman kept bursting into hysterics while the man kept eyeing up every other woman in the place, mainly her and the waitress who was serving them.

She knew that she should probably be somewhere a bit more…well, exciting. This place was dull, drab and pretty depressing, but Shianne could not find it in herself to leave just yet. It reminded her of somewhere she had worked in the past, and the last time she had met up with one of her own kind. It was a long shot. The chances of running into him here, just because it was similar to the old joint, but it was better then heading out to a night club full of humans.

Him…Robert, a funny little man whose personality was so much larger then his short little frame. He was only 5’3, and probably 100 pounds soaking wet, but he was amusing, she gave him that much. They had met two or three times throughout the years that Shianne had been in the U.S.

The first time had been during the Civil War. She had been walking in some forest in Georgia, not really in a rush to find a new town to settle in, she was just exploring her options. He had been heading south, while she had been heading north. They crossed paths, quite literally. Neither said a word to the other, there was no need. He bared his fangs at her, she bared hers in reply and off they went on their merry ways.

They met up again in the early 70’s. She had wondered into a bar just outside of San Francisco, hoping to find some poor drunk who was willing to give her a “donation” and a ride out of town. Robert was sitting at the bar, talking animatedly to a pretty blonde who was completely ignoring him. When she entered, he spun around on his stool, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Before she knew it, he was off his stool and rushing towards her with his arms spread open. Without warning she soon found herself being squeezed in a hug while Robert began telling her how happy he was to see her.

Finding a booth in the corner of the bar, they chatted for a while. She learned that he was originally from England was well, but he was at least two hundred years older then she was. Once she discovered that, she immediately warmed up to him. He told her of a few others that he had met, and she was relieved when her maker’s name was not mentioned on the list and relaxed even more.

They talked for most of the night, comparing the cities they had been to, talking about the “old days” when life was much easier. Shianne knew they wouldn’t keep in contact, but she was sure she’d run into the little guy again. And she did, in the 1996.

That meeting had been pretty brief, just a quick hello, and see you again, but she had a feeling that Robert was tracking her, at least every so often.

And this is why she was currently sitting in this hole in the wall bar, being ogled by a pig with his girlfriend and listening to fatty rant about his nonexistent relationship with his wife. She was half tempted to tell him to tell him that maybe if he spent less time on his fat can downing beer and whining, his wife might not be such a “nagging hag”, but decided to keep her mouth shut for the time being. She already had enough attention being drawn to her.

“Speaking of attention…” Shianne thought to herself, her eyes shifting back over to the couple sitting across the room. It looked as if the woman had finally had enough and was ditching the inconsiderate jerk. “Good for her. Maybe she actually does have some brain cells working in that little blonde head of hers.” She struggled not to laugh as the thought popped into her head, but she couldn’t refrain from grinning. Humans were so amusing.

After blondie knocked the jerk’s beer over, she snatched her coat out of the seat of her booth and stormed off, leaving the man calling after her.

“Jessica! Come on! I wasn’t looking at her, and I definitely wasn’t drooling!”

Shianne blinked then burst out into a fit of laughter, quickly calming herself once she realized the man’s eyes had moved from his now retreating date to her. If it had been her style, Shianne would have slammed her head on the tabletop and groaned, but instead she simply glared back at the man, causing him to jerk back in his seat.

Staring down into the mug of now luke warm beer sitting in front of her, Shianne was nearly about to give up when the door to the bar opened. For a moment she was sure it would be blondie coming back to kiss and make up with her jerky boyfriend, as she looked up, she couldn’t help but grin at the sight. There standing in front of her, wearing the funniest looking dark green suit she had ever seen in her life, was the vampire she had been waiting for. She was about to greet him, but the words died and her grin both died once she got a good look at his face. He looked absolutely panicked, and for a moment Shianne swore he would bolt right back out the way he came. But he didn’t. Instead her shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and motioned to the bartender.

“Vodka, please.” Robert requested, barely sparing the bartender a glance to see if his order had been acknowledge.

Sliding into the booth across from Shianne, he raised a finger at her, motioning for her to wait. “Not much time, my dear. I’m getting the heck out of this city.”

Shianne could only arch a questioning brow at the small vampire, her head tilting to the side as she waited for him to continue.

He remained silent until the bartender came over and slide his drink in front of him. Robert dug in his pocket, handed the bartender a twenty and told him to keep the change. Shianne was slightly jealous. Usually to get a decent tip she had to…well, she worked in a strip club, not really hard to figure it out. Pushing all thoughts of her job aside, Shianne shot Robert an expectant look.

“Shianne, it’s a trap.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he leaned in close. “I think something fishy is going on.”

“You mean….” She knew she did not have to say the words, they were both well aware what he was talking about. “Do you know this for sure?”

Robert shook his head. “No, but don’t you find it odd? No one has stepped forward.”

Shianne frowned slightly. Resting her elbows on the table, she leaned in so that their conversation might remain private. “Have you spoken to anyone else? Has anyone thought of coming out?”

Robert matched her frown with one of his own, his bright blue eyes darkening. “No, I haven’t, but I honestly don’t think they would anyway.”

“Why not? It could be an opportunity.” Lowering her voice even more, she whispered. “I’ve been thinking about it. If it is a trap, why would they announce it so publicly? The whole world is aware now. If no one steps forward they’ll be made to look like fools. They would not make this offer if they were going to do something to us for taking them up on it. They need us to come forward. If we don’t, no one is going to take them seriously. They'll look like a bunch of science fiction addicts who have been reading too many Anne Rice novels.”

“You’re right, I know it. But what happens when we do? Surely you don’t think they’ll let us continue on how we are. They’ll want to track us at the very least.” Robert leaned back, casting a suspicious glance around the bar before shifting his gaze back onto Shianne.

“I don’t know….” Shianne paused for a moment, leaning back in her seat. For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to figure out what could be done if they stepped forward and claimed their citizenship. Roberts words brought out images of being tagged, they tag animals before releasing them back in the wild. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she opened her eyes. “I don’t think they would. They’re offering citizenship, that would mean…” her voice lowered even more, but she knew he would hear her. “That would mean we would be treated the same as the humans. Wouldn’t it?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Robert asked, his voice still in a whisper. “How do you think the rest of the human population would take it?”

Shianne thought on this for a moment, reflecting on everything that she had overheard from humans. “There are some supporters, not many, but some.” Casting a quick glance around the bar, the corners of Shianne’s lips quirked up in a smirk. “We do have our charms.” Emphasis being put on the word charms.

Robert laughed. “True. Do you think that’s what caused this to begin with?”

Shianne’s expression turned thoughtful. “Possibly, but I have my doubts. I honestly do not know how this all came about. Something in me wants to believe it’s all on the up-and-up, and that if we ignore it, we’ll be missing out.” She sighed quietly, her hands moving to the still full mug in front of her. “But…I feel the same as you do mostly. There’s something going on that we’re missing, and until we know, there’s no way to make a move.”

Robert stared down at his drink, appearing to mull over her words. “I’ve been following you, but I think you already know that. I’ve been around, trying to figure out what to say.”

“What to say about what? Since when have you ever had problems with words Robert?” Shianne chided playfully.

“Since Sebastion….”

For a moment what little color was in Shianne’s face drained completely. To her, it felt as if the world had just fallen on top of her. “Sebastion….where?” She nearly panicked, but reminded herself if her maker was close by, Robert would not have come to see her, especially knowing how she felt about the creep.

“Not here. No where close to here. On the other side of the country, actually. He’s still searching.”

Shianne scoffed, her eyes rolling in their sockets. “As if I hadn’t guessed that one. Still convinced I’m his, is he? I tell you, he’s not the brightest crayon in the box, and a few fries short of a happy meal.”

Robert nodded in agreement. “That he is. He does have another though.”

Shianne quickly perked up after that piece of news, the corners of her lips once again twitching into a smirk. “Then I am safe, at least until she figures things out on her own.”

Robert shook his head, reaching out to take one of her hands into his smaller one. “No, you’re far from safe. He’s out for you. ‘The one that got away’ as he puts it. He’ll never stop.”

With a soft sigh, Shianne squeezed Robert’s hand. “Does he have any clues?”

Shaking his head, Robert released her hand. “He’s about 30 years behind you. I know how you were, it will take at least 15 years for him to catch up to where you are now, unless this court business brings him closer.”

Nodding her head in understanding, Shianne shifted restlessly. She could not worry about that now, not with everything else that was going on. The main issue was what to do next about the court’s ruling.

“I doubt he’ll head here. He doesn’t like to share, and I have a feeling others will be heading this way soon, if they aren’t already here now.”

Robert reached for his jacket and began pushing his arms through the sleeves. “I believe you’re right, which is why I am heading out, tonight.” He glanced at Shianne, giving her his usual mischievous grin. “Don’t be the sucker for the cause Shi. Let someone else be the guinea pig. I know what you’re thinking, and I agree with most of it, but we can’t know for sure until someone else makes the first move.”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Shianne reluctantly nodded. “I know, you’re right. The opportunity is so tempting, but the motives are so unclear. I want answers damn it! All I am getting are more questions. I thought for sure there would already be others lining up at the doors.”

Robert stood, adjusting his jacket on his shoulders. “I think they’re all waiting.” His grin faded. Briefly he looked as if he were about to cry, but instead he gave her a stern look. For a moment she felt like a child who was getting lectured, at least until she rose to her feet and towered over the vampire in front of her. “Just watch yourself. Don’t listen to the news, you know what I mean?”

Shianne nodded. “Of course not! I’ve made my decision already. I won’t be the first, but I’m damned if you’re going to beat me, small fry.” She grinned playfully, extending her hand out in front of her. “Make a deal with me?”

It was Robert’s turn to arch a brow. “For you dear, I may need the next decade to think about it.” He laughed at the scowl she gave him. Reaching out, he took her hand and held it lightly. “Let’s hear this deal already so I can get the hell out of here.”

Giving his chilled hand a light squeeze, she grinned. “Here, six months from today. If there have been others who take the first plunge, and it all works out, you’ll meet me here and we’ll go together.”

Roberts mouth formed an O which he quickly covered with his free hand. “A date? No, it feels more like a proposal! Are you asking for my hand?” He said teasingly, another of his mischievous grins forming. “And here I thought Miss Shianne would die an old spinster!” She scowled at him once again, and he laughed. “No need to get your panties in a bunch.” Gently he shook her hand, letting her know in his own way that he was agreeing to the deal. “In six months it is, and I am flattered that you would ask me.”

Giving his hand another squeeze, she gently pried her hand out of his grasp. “Don’t be flattered. You grew on me, kind of like a fungus with no cure.” It was now his turn to scowl, and her turn to grin.

For a moment, Shianne felt a pang of loneliness as Robert turned towards the door, turning back to her long enough to wave his goodbye then walking out into the cold winter night. The pang was brief, lasting only until Robert was through the door and it had shut silently behind him. There went her only "friend", if she could call him that. He was one of the few vampires she felt comfortable around. Maybe it was his age, or perhaps just how he was. She didn't trust him fully. She knew he would keep her location a secret from her maker, but she had her doubts about what he would do next. She had a feeling that he'd be jumping on the opportunity way before the six months were out.

She wasn’t sure what the next step was. There were others, she knew this, but she had no idea where they were. She needed a plan.

Feeling a bit light hearted and generous, Shianne dug in her pocket and dropped a twenty on the table top. Grabbing her coat, she threw it on and marched to the door. After casting one final glance at the bar’s occupants, she dipped her head in a nod to the bartender and left the building just as quietly as she had slipped in.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby BleedingCrimson on Fri Nov 19, 2010 1:03 am

| 01.05.2000
| Bowie, Maryland
| 18:00, The Warehouse

She was at The Warehouse. The Warehouse is the meeting place of all those unsavory people your mother told you about. The Warehouse is a misnomer, being located in a large area that covered just over a block or two of condemned and thouroghly decrepit factories and warehouses that were abandoned after the Industrial Era. In fact, many of these buildings still had old machines and goods. But that wasn't why they were here. They were here for her.

For Lenora, they are the only ones who know about the truth of the vampire. She calls them her Outcasts and her Children, they call her Mother. She is the only family most of them have, she's the one who brought them truly to life. With the intoxicating bite of a vamipre, she connected them to something bigger. They weren't the worthless nobodies everyone thought them to be, they had a higher calling than most of those hacks did! They sustained life! They kept her going, and she, in turn, gave them a family- a place to belong.

Though, at this point in time, Lenora was not happy. She brooded and pondered and was generally, all around pensive about this most recent turn of events and her Children dared not approach without permission as they usually were wont to do.

Lenora sat on her ornate, high-backed leather chair in the Centre, the very middle-most storehouse in The Warehouse. The Centre was one of the smaller factories and in better shape than most but had been completely stripped of all machines and otherwise useful things. This was how Lenora liked it, and had promptly turned it into her hall, fit for royalty. Old tapestries adorned the walls and an ornate candle chandelier or two were hung from the ceiling. Torches were also plentiful and gave the concrete building an eerie yellow-orange glow, deceivingly soft and welcoming, as if beckoning one into the building so that their wildest dreams would come true. Only for some, the Outcasts, was this true.

Lenora's eyes areshut and her brow is wrinkled in deep thought, her fingers are steepled so harshly that her knuckles are white as she slouches in her chair and her elbows resting comfortably on the arms. The only sounds are of a faint crackling from the torches along the walls. Suddenly, her eyes shoot open, revealing bloodshot eyes, and Lenora speaks. Slowly and deliberately she talks, as if testing the sounds of each word on her tongue and savoring them as if they were the sweetest honey.

"Child," the boy closest to her starts a little at Lenora's English drawl, "Get me one to feed on. Matthieu would be good. Yes, fetch Matthieu, he does not mind being bloodied a bit." Antonio, the boy, fled the second she finished, unwilling to test her patience by leaving a moment before. If she was saying she was going to feed roughly then she was angry. Their 'Mother' never did anything that would cause them pain if she could help it. Even now, she specifically asked for the one person that knew of her that liked pain.

As the boy left she seethed inwardly, tempermental from not feeding the day before. Goddamn Congress! Why would they pass such an inane law?! Do they realize what the repercussions could be? Do they know what we vampires are capeable of? Do they think that we will not test them to their very limits for letting us go out publically? Do they think that we are still human? She scoffed increduously at this, Truly they are insane if they believe that. Vampires might have been human at one point, but living so long as we do tends to turn one mad. I have not met a sane vampire in all my life, or rather unlife for that matter. They all have their quirks and tics. Something completely inane that sets them off, grudges still held after hundreds of years for some imaginary slight. Yes, none are sane, not even I. Though some simply hide it better than others...

At this she laughed. By God did she laugh. 'Twas the laugh of one who knows that they have gone insane but can't quite accept what that really means- perhaps thinking that it only ment she was more intelligent than them all. After all, there is a thin line between brilliance and insanity, a line is a very dreadful thing to cross, don't you think?

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Fri Nov 19, 2010 3:38 pm

OOC: Last thing, I swear (for now): if you want to do some sort of flashback thing--because what's a vampire's/therian's/human's life without flashbacks?--go for some formatting attempts at italics. Now roll that beautiful B-footage!

| 1900L, 06 Jan 2000
| Queen Bee Restaurant, Arlington, VA

It was rare indeed that Jack was able to use his capabilities as a regular James Bond; the ones that didn't involve raising dissident minority armies or storming terrorist hidey-holes. Most especially disturbing in some vague sense (at least to him) was the use of those capabilities inside of the United States. It was slightly--to be honest, very much more than just slightly--illegal to use certain covert CIA assets to spy on American citizens. Really, since he was simply trying to develop some contacts was toeing the line very delicately. Reporters in this town were more than willing to feed the hand that fed them to their readers, and print reporters were notorious for their desire to scoop those damn prima donnas on the TV set.

And so, Jack found himself at a corner table in the deepest, darkest corner of the justly famous Queen Bee Vietnamese restaurant. Soon to be arriving was one of the bigger reporters for the Washington Post. He had already been, well, if not exactly waiting per say, then most definitely using his skills to determine if anyone here was paying him more attention than they should. It just wouldn't do to have a reporter seen with someone who may or may not have been a date, and then that 'date' possibly linked to the Agency. The local conspiracy theorists would have a field day. So Jack did what any other male did when he was waiting for a woman: fidget. He didn't like to do it, mostly because he tried to hold himself to the higher standard, but in certain situations, it had its uses.

Some women even found it endearingly cute, though the one that had just walked in could probably freeze those other women with a single glance from five meters.

Jenna Liscombe was probably one of the most under-appreciated women in the entire Metro-D.C. area. At barely 5' 2" and a (proudly boasted whenever the opportunity allowed) bare 100 pounds, she looked like a pixie with her rather indie-style-black tomboy hair cut and a smattering of freckles. She dressed at times like she was in a particularly nice college, but it did have the side effect of leading men to presume that they actually had a chance with her. She sat down at the table, looking unsure of herself. It was very much out of character for her, and in the back of his mind, Jack enjoyed watching her squirm if only a little.

"The food here is good," she said, in a rather trembling voice. "Especially the summer rolls."

Jack grinned, putting down his Manhattan. "The summer rolls are especially good for you." He took another sip of his drink, just to let the words hang in the air for a bit. "You wouldn't have cut it at the Farm. Certainly no James Bond."

She straightened up. "You jerk. Why all the skullduggery? Who are you anyways?"

"That is a very good question, Ms. Liscombe. Who I am is really of no import to the tape recorder in your left coat pocket."

Jack could see the visual reaction from the woman seated across from him. It was good to remind who was really supposed to be running this small interview. "Word on the street is that you have some go power with regards to this whole court case." It was, after all, her name on the by-line. "We need to know what you know. If the information is good, there may be some worthwhile information exchanged in return." Quid pro quo was the term that most intelligence services used. If you scratched my back, I'll scratch yours was a less... well, a less elegant way to describe it. It was also the currency of life inside the Beltway.

Ms. Liscombe straightened up in her seat, opening up the menu as she tried to regain her confidence. It was a telling thing to be contacted by a high-ranking member of the CIA's much-vaunted (or lampooned, depending on who one asked) Operations Directorate. She looked over the options as she considered her response. "Do they say that I know things about this? Honestly, I have nothing."

The waiter deposited a drink in front of Ms. Liscombe. A vodka martini, her favorite. That she had not yet ordered one just told her how well in-the-know that the man across from her was. Jack swirled his Manhattan in the glass. "Ms. Liscombe, please don't try my patience. It's just a few items that interest us. You know things. Things that could affect this nation--wait, no. That's incorrect. They already have affected the nation. We need that information."

"I find it odd that I'm having this conversation with a member of the CIA, as opposed to the FBI," she retorted. The waiter returned after a moment's pause. Jack ordered the summer rolls for an appetizer, then an order of basil beef with a side of rice. The reporter across from him ordered a chicken curry. Once the waiter had retired, the conversation resumed. "Mister, what makes you think that I have the information that you're looking for? It's not like I've been given any sources to use in my articles."

Jack's smile didn't fade. "Who said I'm CIA?"

"The man who called to set this damn dinner meet up," she fired back.

"And who was that, exactly?" Jack gave her a bemused look. "For expediency's sake, yes, it was the DDO. Beyond that, I can't guarantee anything that he said in his phone call." He had been there for it, so, really, he could--if he chose to which was looking beyond doubtful at this point.

"Fine. I'm going to enjoy a nice meal at government expense. Hopefully the company gets better after it's had a few drinks."

"It might. I am intrigued about the court case. Anything you share would be gladly appreciated." Food arrived, and as expected, it was excellent.

After a few bites, Liscombe visibly surrendered. "Alright. You want to know about the court case."

"Yes," Jack said, carefully. Couldn't frighten the game at this point.

"The plaintiff was the vampire," she said. "Ugh, that sounds so much like a bad movie. Anyways, they brought the case against the Federal government. That's how they got straight into the Supreme Court. The lawyers said that their kind was being oppressed by the lack of actual civil rights. Said that people were hunting them down, or something like that."

"Of course, no mention of who is doing the hunting," Jack sniffed.

Liscombe shook her head. "Not in court. The lawyer that I managed to talk to said that there was something going on in Europe or something. Some kind of power struggle that is about to go bad."

Jack smiled as he took another bite of his summer rolls. "Really. How did you ply this poor lawyer's tongue?"

The reporter gave Russell a look that might have frozen flame. "I have my ways."

There were rumors about that those "ways" may have involved some interesting connotations, to include sexual exploits. Jack didn't pursue the line of questions. "So, how'd the lawyer get this information? There was no indications of who was even available in the court room to present the case."

"That's interesting. Not even the Feds know who was involved... might make a story with that," she said, evading the question for a moment. "Anyways, I think that the lawyer was identified by these dudes because he was easily plied. I got him to reveal what they had told him easily enough." The line was delivered with the pride of someone who felt like they had been used for an objective that was below their resources.

"You make a story with that and someone will eat you alive faster than you can believe, Ms. Liscombe," Jack said warningly. "Anyways, did he give you anything else? Locations, companies, et cetera that might be these vampires belongings?"

Liscombe took a sheet of paper out of her purse. "I knew you'd ask eventually. I was hoping that you'd be able to feed more info back to me than I'd be able to give you, but obviously not."

Jack finished his dinner plate. "What's the catch?"

"Well, some of the information you develop would be nice. If it doesn't violate national security, obviously. Maybe even a non-work-related dinner. You seem like a nice enough guy." She batted her eyes at him. Jack tilted his head slightly at that. It was a rather odd change in demeanor. Without being obvious about it, he glanced around the restaurant. Maybe someone was controlling her? Might she have been a plant?

"We'll see. Thanks for the tip, Ms. Liscombe. Sorry to dine and dash, but you know how these things go." Jack got up and left the table without even looking back. Well, she had to know that he was living on a small government pay plan. She didn't even seem all that phased by it. Once back in his BMW, Jack looked at the list and nearly choked on his own saliva. Some of the offices on this list were fairly high up there in respectability. If they were actually vampire concerns... how long might this have been going on?

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby BleedingCrimson on Tue Nov 23, 2010 2:22 pm

| 01.06.2000
| Bowie, Maryland
| 19:00, The Warehouse

"Feliciano, Romano!" Lenora yelled from her seated position. A scrambling sound was heard and soon two identical brothers ran out and saluted her.

"Good. I want you two, and Antonio, to gather all the vampires within the area. You will know who they are, they have come here before. Those meetings you were at about others being allowed into my territory. Do you remember those? Yes, good. Anotonio should help you remember where they live now, if not you may look in the records, ask Ludwig to help either way..." She threw a card at Feliciano that would allow them access into The Vaults, another warehouse that is used solely for the purpose of archiving documents on her Outcasts and Children along with the neighboring vampires who seek asylum in her territory, under her 'rule'.

Lenora gave them a dissmisal via a wave of her hand and the twins started for the door. "Romano," She called out softly, her voice carrying throughout the Throne-Room eerily, "Don't forget to get Antonio, should I know he was not taken along..." She trailed off and let the threat hang in the air. They fled, though she could faintly hear Romano calling Antonio a "damn Spaniard" and Ludwig a "bastard potato-head". She chuckled at the names he had bestowed on some others.

Lenora pondered and was pensive over the recent happenings, and she believed that this decision to call council was the best open to them- after many hours of debate with herself and a long wighing of pros and cons and all the possible effects a call to arms like this might have.

Soon, we shall see if anyone knows of the traitor. If no one does, we shall have a massive hunting for him! Our way of life shall be protected henceforth, and none under me shall be torn from their homes so that they may feed in silence once more! We shall put a stop to this and fade into ledgends once again. No one may know of our existance unless we are sure they will keep it a secret or can be 'delt' with. If this stays out, and the people learn there are actual creatures such as vampires, we shall never be able to hunt again. The race will wither and die out. Vampires will be no more...
Last edited by BleedingCrimson on Tue Nov 30, 2010 11:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby zhill on Fri Nov 26, 2010 4:47 pm

[OOC: I am going backwards in time, but I am only doing so to establish the entrance of my character. I will be posting in time with everyone else after this beginning part.]


| 30 December 1999
| somewhere in the west hills of Virginia
| 9pm EST

"Come on, pick up!" Tollins continued to speed along the mountain road frantically as the phone rang. Normally he didn't get an answer on the first ring, but it was six...now seven and nothing. "Crapcrapcrap," he muttered anxiously to himself as he gripped the steering wheel tightly and checked his left palm again. It still looked normal, but how would he know?

Clumsily mashing END he blurted out "Call Sam," followed by a whispered, "please be there."


Four rings

He looked down to hit END again as the call connected. "Teddy!" Startled, he looked up quickly to see the road curve off to the right. Dropping the cell phone, Tollins gripped the wheel with both hands and pulled hard, adding a "Holy Crap!" to help him make the turn.

"Teddy," the voice rang out again, this time from the floorboard and clearly nervous. "Hold on," he shouted back. After navigating the turn, he reduced his speed, but only slightly, and began sweeping his hand blindly around the floor for the phone.

"Teddy are you ok," she asked again, more agitated. Finally grabbing the phone, he pulled it up to his forehead and wiped away copious amounts of sweat as he checked the rear view mirror. Though he didn't expect to see a naked man running after him, he was still looking for one. "Im here," he said finally, switching the phone off speaker mode and placing it up to his ear.

"Where are you! Are you ok? What is going on," she spoke rapidly.

"Can you change into stuff," he asked in a short burst of intensity.

After a moment of silence, the voice sounded again. Now anxiety was gone and was replaced with curiosity. "You mean like my clothes?"

"No," he spat back angrily. "You. You people. Can you change into like dogs, and bears and stuff?"



More silence.


"Ed tell me what happened."

"I....uh...," Tollins searched for the words as his own memories began to fade like some kind of psychedelic dream. "I think that....uh...I'm infected."

"Did you call dad," she responded instantly.

Quelling a sudden spike of anger at the phrase "dad", he willed himself to focus. "No, I couldn't reach him. And I think....hold on." Looking at the phone in response to its interrupting vibration, he saw the notice of an incoming call from one of several numbers burned into his mind. Pressing SEND, he switched to the other call without attempted to explain.

"Tollins what is it," the new voice, an older male resonated with calm that attacked his wavering state.

"Sir, I uh...I think I got it."

"You don't get it," the voice chided back. "We have discussed this."

"Yeah but there was blood...and...I..uh..."

"Edward, listen to me," the voice on the phone suddenly took on a deep and relaxing tone as Tollins felt his brain virtually snap to attention. "You are going to take a deep breath and you will continue calmly. Tell me exactly what happened."

Taking a deep breath almost involuntarily, Tollins began in an even voice that approached monotone. "I was tracking this wolf for a few hours. Just couldn't seem to catch up with him. I finally saw him when I came up over this ridge and it was eating this 10 point buck. I got him in my sights and shot him clean through the chest. It was maybe 150 yards away." Though he was reciting the exact details of his recent hunting experience, Tollins felt more as though he were watching a movie of himself on the phone. "When I got to the buck there weren't no wolf."

"Wasn't," the voice interrupted.

"Right, there wasn't any wolf. Just a buck and lots of blood. More than there should have been. Then something jumped on my back and wrapped around my throat. I managed to get myself loose and drew my Glock. Got him twice in the head, and thats when I realized it was a man. I had his blood all over me and it made me think I got infected."

"But you can't change from contact with blood can you," the man asked calmly.

"No sir, you have to get bit by one of you."

"Very good," the man answered with genuine pleasure. "Now listen to me, I want you to drive safely to the ranch. I will meet you there. When you hang up the phone, you will not remember the wolf. You will only remember the buck that you had been tracking all day long. When you found it, something else had gotten to it first and eaten it, and that's where the blood came from. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Tollins answered.

"Good now hang up."

Tollins unconsciously hit END, and blinked rapidly. "Wake up knothead," he slapped himself across the cheek firmly to stimulate himself, inwardly cursing for dozing off on mountain roads like these. "I got to get to the ranch and rest some," he instructed himself, feeling a second wind come over him.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby zhill on Fri Nov 26, 2010 6:12 pm

[OOC: If this seems like a double post, just know I'm doing it this one time to separate the scenes. Also, there is a person in this post left unnamed on purpose. Though he is part of my backstory, I'm leaving it up to Raptor to decide his actual identity in order to incorporate him as a plot device if needed.]

| 30 December
| Bio-Juvenate Ranch, on the outskirts of Christiansburg, VA
| 10:05pm EST

Tollins pulled his truck into a parking spot along with the other white pickups and SUVs at the ranch, put it in park and shut off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. No one ever came out this way unless they were coming to the facility, and most people around here just weren't that interested in a small ranch that was focused on using animal blood to test possible cancer treatments in the development stage. Grabbing his shotgun from the rack behind him, Tollins got out and picked up the rifle which was haphazardly slung into the bed, though he didn't remember doing so.

"Teddybear!" The voice was more filled with fear than delight, Tollins noted as he turned towards the front gate and looked for Samantha who was running towards him.

"What happened," she asked nervously. She opened her arms to hug her brother as she approached but stopped just inches from him. "You have blood all over your pants," she said with curiosity.

"Yeah," he began, handing the rifle off to his sister to carry as he grabbed his duffel bag from the bed of the truck. "There was this big dear I was on, and somethin else got im before I could. Ate him good." he recited emotionlessly. "Why are you all stirred up?"

"Uh," she said quickly, realizing that he didn't know that he had called her. Though Samantha didn't approve of her brother's "brainwashings", she knew that it was always for the better, and that is was best she didn't interfere. "Dad's coming here. He called a meeting," She offered in short bursts, explaining away her excitement. "I thought you might know what its about."

"Nah, I ain't talked to him. And you know he ain't our dad." Though he had a tremendous amount of respect and loyalty to the person in question, there was just no way he could ever bring himself to attach such a familial title to someone he would just as soon see dead. But he also understood it was different for her: she was like him, like all of them at the ranch. Vampires.

Though it had been very hard for him to swallow, his boss had helped him to understand. More than that, he had saved their lives. After he had killed that one in the park they were marked for death, he had been told years ago. It didn't matter that she was one of them, its just how things worked: you don't kill a vampire without permission. Ever. At least, that's what he was told, and he didn't really care to know too much about how they did things. All he cared about was that Samantha wasn't hunted down and tortured like some kind of freak by a Frankensteinian mob. If the world knew what she was, she would never make it. But now she was healthy, educated, and most of all happy. He was the true "freak" around here but he didn't mind so much because he was never treated as if he were just some piece of meat.

As the two of them walked through the main gate to the three story building, Samantha wrapped an arm around him lovingly and brushed a finger against his pant leg. Casually licking the blood off her finger, she asked again: "So you don't know whats going on?"

"Nah, but I aint paid to know either. I suppose" he was cut off by the sound of a helicopter coming over the hill that stood on the ranch's west side. Speedily it banked towards the helipad and began a smooth decent. "Lets go find out."

Tollins noted that they weren't the only ones invited to this meeting as they walked towards the chopper, now touching ground. It seemed as if almost every employee on staff had come out to see him land. Something was definitely up. Kneeling to the ground, Tollins set down his bag and pulled out his cap from the side pocket, firmly planting it on his head before standing again. The engine was already winding down as he stepped off with a grim expression on his face. Normally he was kind of serious anyways. Tollins figured that after 500 years life just doesn't seem as whimsical. But this was different; something was going down. Shuffling his feet, he felt the pistol move slightly in its holster at the small of his back as if to confirm his desire to ensure it was in place. Sam, almost as a complete opposite, ran to meet the older man exiting the craft with a high pitched "Daddy!"

Though he showed little compassion, this man who was now Sam's father always made sure she felt loved and safe. Tollins smiled just a bit as he thought about that. He didn't go to shake his hand, wave, or even nod. He didn't need to. After 10 years of working together, Ed knew when to be polite and when to be vigilant. As the blades on the helicopter began to stop, the man began speaking in a voice that, though not raised, was clearly heard by the 30 some odd attendees.

"Franklin," he said calmly and watched as one of the staff nervously stepped forward into the circle that had formed. "We have rules for a reason. We have chosen not to descend to the depths that others go, and perhaps we have even gone in lives past." The old man was in speech mode, and that was a distractor. Though he was human and just as subject to the influence of his voice, he knew this man's tactics and what his part was in them. Whatever Franklin had done was bad. Shifting his shotgun from his shoulder to his left forearm as casually as one might scratch their nose, Tollins looked quickly to see that no one had noticed. The old man continued.

"You all have chosen to be here. You have chosen to live by our rules," he spread his arms as he spoke and emphasized the uniformity of the group that he lead without challenge. "If one of us, regardless of who they may be, chooses to give in to there animalistic urges and live like a savage, then only one thing remains." He had made a complete circle around Franklin without ever looking at him. Franlkin, Tollins guessed, was sweating his balls off, though he didn't see any red stains on his crotch. It didn't matter. It was done before the chopper even landed.

"Tollins," he said, walking back to Samantha as if to shield her. Franklin turned to look Tollins in the eye with a snarl, but all he saw was the barrel of a shotgun. Before he could even twitch, Tollins pulled the trigger and Franklin's head exploded like some kind of blood volcano. Vampires were tough, but nobody walked away from a 12 gauge slug to the head. Though he had lowered the gun to his side, Tollins watched the others carefully for any signs of aggression. To his surprise, they all seemed as if they agreed with what had happened. When he looked back to Sam, she was receiving some piece of instruction in a whisper, then hastily walked off towards one of the barns.

"The body is in Barn 3," his boss began again with that calm commanding voice. "Take it and Franklin to his house. You know what to do, so do it quickly," he continued as he pointed to several members of the staff. "We cannot afford mistakes like these any more. Our operation here has become all that more....vital. Go."

On that final syllable the group dismissed themselves and began moving with purpose as though they were synchronized. When the old man came to Tollins' side, he decided to finally speak up. "Sir, this is my kind of work. Why aren't you sending me?"

"Tollins," he answered calmly as if he hadn't heard him. "Did you get anything this time?"

"No," Tollins answered with frustration after a short pause. "Just some buck that somethin else had already eat up."

"Well, perhaps next time," he offered with a wink and a smile as he put his hand on Tollins' shoulder. "Walk with me. I have some other work for you." As they walked towards the man's personal vehicle, which was always kept on site, fueled, and ready, the older of the two spoke again, "I need to hear it."

"You know I am loyal," Tollins shot back defensively as they reached the passenger side of the black SUV, the only black vehicle at the ranch.

"Edward."

Tollins took a breath and then sighed audibly. "Fine," he began with a controlled anger. "It wouldn't hurt me none if all y'all up and died all of a sudden," he said, ignoring his employer's preference for proper english. "But Sam's one of y'all so thats not an option. So long as you and yours keep feeding on animals, I got no problem making sure you and Sam don't get hunted down like monsters, or turned into lab rats, or circus freaks, or...whats this about sir?

As the old man opened the vehicle door and sat in the passenger set, Tollins was handed a manila envelope with a single page inside. He opened it and began reading immediately.



"Is this some kind of frickin joke sir," he said with shock as he looked up. The older man only extended the vehicles cigarette liter in response. Closing the folder and setting it to the ground, Tollins set fire to it and waited until it was completely burned out before standing up and looking his boss in the eye. "This shit just got serious," though neither of them had any regard for swearing, Tollins could think of no more suitable word.

"I am afraid so," the man answered as he reclined his seat and closed his eyes.

Tollins walked to the back of the only black vehicle in the lot, and opened the rear hatch door of the SUV, setting his gun and his bag inside before closing it again. As he opened the driver's door, he asked flatly, "When is this happening?"

The old man responded as though he were talking about a bus schedule. "The first reports will be out tomorrow morning, but they will be sketchy. There wont be an official report until after lunch. I need to be in Washington D.C. before any of that happens."

Tollins sat in the driver's seat and started the engine, adjusting the temperature to a cool 52 degrees, and rubbed his face briskly. It had been a long day, and he wasn't sure what lay ahead, but he knew he had to be up to the task whether he thought he was or not. As he reluctantly placed his hand on the gear shifter, the older man spoke again without having moved. "Go get a shower and a sandwich. We have enough time for that. I am going to take a moments rest before we leave."

A shower and food wasn't much, Tollins thought, as he stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door. He was just glad they kept some coffee in the pantry for him when he showed up. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby feralfairy on Sat Nov 27, 2010 9:18 pm

(I'm sorry it's so short - I'll make the next longer.)

|January 7, 2000
|Burnsville, Alabama
|12:00, The Tiger Cafe

It figured she would be sitting around. It figured she would be lost. It figured she would be spending the last of her money on the coffee in her hand, unless she could somehow land a job. Not likely.

She sort-of kind-of needed a house, or at the very least somewhere to live. She needed to speak to more people than just workers. She needed a lot of things, apparently. One thing, though, wasn't a coat.

Laughing slightly to herself, Kendra felt quite privileged to be wearing a T-shirt and jeans on January 7th. It was her first ever not-cold winter. She had had two non-white Christmases, not counting this past one, but it had always been cold.

So what if it was her first year alone, truly alone. Or her first not at home.

There were certainly lots of differences this year. Certainly, she mused to herself.

Paying for her coffee, the therianthrope scowled at a newspaper lying innocently on an empty table. She didn't really have a reason to make a face at it so - and though it was generally regarded as odd, she felt bad and picked it up, perhaps to console it or something.

Of course, the front page read ‘Vampires Receive Citizenship From Congress – Do They Even Exist?’ Something along those lines. Truth be told, Kendra wouldn’t be surprised if they did – along with mermaids and unicorns and fairies. At this point, she felt that if the world suddenly sprung apart at the seams and was revealed to be a box, she wouldn’t care.

Maybe there was another young vampire girl like her out there somewhere, wanting to huddle in a corner and have a breakdown but having to stand strong. Or not, as vampires were immortal and they had probably corrupted the government slowly over the ages. It didn’t matter.

Smirking as she made her way across the street, Kendra thought about how the world had gone to ruin. The U.S., and her life. Probably loads of others.

The bobcat pursed her lips. Enough with the depressing thoughts. A little voice in her head reminded her there wasn’t anything else. She ignored it.

Kendra walked for a bit longer before letting herself into the empty rental property she was taking residence in. Her mind was blank, and that was just how she liked it.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby zhill on Mon Nov 29, 2010 9:31 am

[OOC: Mostly to bring up up to the current time. I hope I'm not taking too much liberty with the current situation; I'm just trying to follow the feeling I have been getting off everyone else's posts.]

| Friday, 7 Jan 2000
| Kareem and Sugar, Washington D.C
| 8am EST


"Right, double macchiatto and the Times. Be there in a few." Tollins put the cellphone back into his inside suit coat pocket as the call terminated. Rubbing his face briskly as he walked into the small but luxurious cafe, he thought about what a long week it had been. The coffee house/cafe/gathering spot for this generation's version of Beatnik's (whatever they were called now) was owned by an Arab man with a thick accent named Kareem. Though he had only come to the country a few years prior, he had carved out a permanent niche for himself in the nation's capital. But more importantly, he served barely legal doses of caffeine in the most inventive and delicious ways Tollins had ever found. Though the boy from West Virgina had been a loyal fan of black, run through the filter three times, his new life had helped him to learn appreciate some of the finer things in life. Mostly, it meant he went to exclusively private galleries to look at really neat pictures and was a connoisseur of coffee. And this morning he would need it.

When it was his turn to be seen by one of Kareem's young and hip staff, the young girl turned her back on him and called for the owner. Though he had only been in a few times a year, for some reason he had earned a soft spot in the man's heart. "Mista West Virrginya," Kareem said with a broad smile as he came to the counter from a back room. Wiping his hands quickly on an apron, he extend a hand to Tollins for a warm hearty shake.

"Vur..jen..yuh", Tollins corrected, returning the shake and smile. "I'll countrify you one of these days Kareem."

The two men shared a quick laugh before Kareem's face became grim. Though he was the nicest Arab Tollins had ever met, he took his coffee dead serious. "What can I get for you Edooward?" He had always had trouble saying his name right, but Tollins didn't mind.

"Boss wants a double macchiatto and I want a donkey kick in the nuts."

With a wave of the hand, the first order was already being made by one of his staff (who always seemed to be young women fresh out of some modeling magazine. Putting his left hand to his cheek, Kareem studied the man carefully. "How much time do you have," he asked as though it were an interrogation.

Knowing that whatever he had planned would be worth it, Tollins mentally made the adjustment to the schedule. "I'm good."

"Follow me," Kareem said flatly as he turned to go to the kitchen. "Helen, keep that hot," he ordered calmly in reference to the first order. "Tell me of this news you hear. What do you think?" Tollins had followed the man behind the counter into the kitchen, and then back to a corner of the industrial space that was clearly Kareem's playground, with opened bags of coffee beans and grinders spread out across a dull gray metal table. Taking a breath, he wondered what his friend actually knew.

"Uh...vampires? Do you believe in that stuff," he offered weakly.

"It is not what men believe, but what is," Kareem answered back without looking. He was crouched down sorting through unopened small bags of beans as he continued. "What do you think?"

"I think they all gone nuts," Tollins offered glibly, but then followed more seriously. "I dont know man. How does this happen? Whats going on. Kareem you got big ears, come on." In truth, the Arab's ears were unusually small, but Tollins was often amazed at the things he was aware of. As Kareem stood and faced him, he placed a single finger to his nose quickly. It was a small enough gesture that anyone would have thought it a scratch, but he knew the meaning: "Not here, not now."

"I have this for you I think," Kareem began, oblivious to any other conversation as he held out a small canvas bag the size of a baseball. The smell alone coming off of it was enough to perk up Tollins as he took it in his hand. "I have a friend in Japan. He is doing some very interesting things. I think this will 'kick your walnuts'," Kareem offered with the same wide smile.

"Kick my nuts," Tollins corrected again with a smile. "Do I just brew it or what?"

"No," Kareem responded quietly as though insulted. "You suck on it in your cheek. But only one bean at a time," he warned with an upraised finger as though it were a toxic chemical. "Even you will not need more than this my friend."

"Right," he said with a knowing smile. "I will catch you later then?"

"Take your boss his bland drink on the house and let me know how this bean from Japan finds you." Kareem again spoke dismissively. Tollins realized that he knew something and it was enough that he was not willing to even regard the existence of such knowledge in front of anyone else. Whatever it was, Tollins knew the old man would want to know.



Outside the shop and on the way to the black SUV, he called to check in.

"What took so long?" The question was delivered calmly and without emotion.

Looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, Tollins responded quietly. "Kareem knows something big about this, but I don't know what."

A soft "I see," was the only response.

"And I got the King Kong of coffee beans. I think it'll even make you twitch."

After an almost inaudible laugh, the old man gave instructions. "I will make my own way to the 9 o'clock. Make the deposit and meet me there. And you can bring whatever meager bean you have to challenge me."

Again the call terminated abruptly, but Tollins was use to that. He was used to a bunch of things. Like secret meetings with people that buy and sell small countries and political dignitaries. He didn't know what any of it was about, but that wasn't his job. He just made sure no one got close enough to take a shot at the old man, and that fresh stock was available. He had gotten back in town from an early morning run to the ranch to pick up a few gallons of fresh blood. It was stored in special refrigerated containers, marked according to type, in a nondescript Samsonite suitcase. Though he didn't understand much, or care to, Tollins knew that each animal's blood had a particular flavor. At least to vampire's it did. So his boss liked to keep a variety on hand when he could.

As far as the meetings went, Tollins could only guess. He figured his boss had met with some 30 people already during the week. And if the tension in the media and on the street was any indicator, something big was going down. He was almost afraid to find out, but even without being told, he knew that it would be expected of him to meet Kareem later in the evening in one of his more discreet hangouts to obtain what knowledge he could.

"Out of the frying pan, into the barbed wire undies," he muttered to himself as he unlocked and entered the vehicle. Things were likely to only get worse from here.

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zhill
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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Tue Nov 30, 2010 12:54 pm

OOC: OK, I've posted up a thing under the activity tab of FDR's roleplay that describes in detail the layout of European and North American vampire governments and how they work. Please review it here. All activity to date will not--repeat, not--be required to be edited to conform. Just bear it in mind as we go forward, and I look forward to seeing how this impacts all characters! Also look forward to pack dynamics for the Therian groups.

| Monday
| 1030L, 10 January 2000
| CIA Headquarters, Langley, VA

Jack shook his head again as he poured himself another cup of coffee. When he had first received the list of possible companies and firms that were either vampire-owned or -controlled, he had expected that it would go smoothly from there. Digging up information on these firms was supposedly easy. And, to an extent, it was. It was easy to figure out who was running what, and the money was all matching up as they tried to sniff it out. It all seemed legitimate. So, if that was the case, where the hell were the vampires? Were those people in charge actually vampires? Even that was a dead end--they all had verified records. Some had even died--naturally or otherwise. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Figuring out just how these vampires controlled things was actually proving impossible. Unless they were not actually being controlled so much as just... what? What else could it be?

Once he had gotten his side of what he wanted from that reporter, Jack had come in the very next day. He had not been home all weekend, instead working through everything he could with the best of the Intelligence Directorate people. They had been selected for this special "Seventh Floor" tasking, and that was ideal; it was the gateway to promotion. The people involved had gone from hopeful to discouraged to cynical about the entire venture. The task seemed impossible. There were no shadowy corporations that seemed to produce money from nowhere. There were no links to unidentified overseas or even national investors. Every time they tried to reanalyze where the money came from or went to, or who was in charge of what and when, it was all kosher. Sure, they had come across a few abnormalities; but those were mostly due to accounting errors that had been resolved later on, or even problems within the company that had been pushed under the various rugs.

Jack headed back to the conference room that they had been working in for the past two days. Could they have overlooked something so simple that they didn't know it? It was the obvious explanation: when looking for conspiracy and intrigue, often the most devious made the most sense to keep as simple and as unobtrusive as possible. Also, if the controls were something that were taking place away from the office--that is, in the private lives of the individuals that were in question, or even well below the CEO or VP-levels of the company hierarchy--there would probably be no evidence that the analysts would be able to find. This was probably going to have to be handed off to the FBI soon anyways--they had the capability and the ability to handle this kind of tasking.

The Operations man was disappointed. Since coming aboard to the CIA, he hadn't failed any of the missions that had come his way. Of course, he knew that eventually there would be a mission he'd fail--but something this easy shouldn't have been it. At least, that's how he was trying to rationalize it. It was at that moment that the DDO came in.

"Morning, Jack. How's the search going?"

Jack grimaced. "Oh, just great, sir. We've gone through the entire list. Other than a few missed things that the IRS might or might not be interested in, we've uncovered nichts." Nothing.

The DDO nodded. "It's like that. Sometimes, it just is so obvious that no one can actually figure it out without actually disassembling the entire haystack one stalk at a time, but that would take too long, obviously."

"Obviously." Jack polished off his coffee. He really ought not drink it, but he was tired and felt a bit chilly after sitting in the building the whole time. "So now what, if you don't mind, sir? We've struck out here. Either that reporter was a plant to see if she could get information out of me, or she didn't give us good information."

"Well, we'll see. This will go in the files, and that's about it. Maybe in a week or so we'll have more information to go on. In the meantime, Jack, relax. Take it easy for the rest of the day. I'm pretty sure that there's some training that's tomorrow for you guys down at the Farm." The DDO walked away without saying anything else.

Jack thought about that for a minute. It wasn't all that far into D.C., and he really didn't have all that much to do in the office anyways. He decided that he'd take a little trip to visit the Washington Post's offices. It proved even easier than Russell had expected: just hop off the GW Parkway onto Key Bridge and then take K Street down to 15th. He managed to even find a parking spot within two blocks of the appropriate address.

Getting to the building was a breeze, but here Jack confronted a problem. He had to figure out how to navigate his way to the appropriate office. He knew who he wanted to talk to, but the officer at the front desk was less than helpful. It took him a few minutes to convince the guard that no, he was not some psychopathic stalker of Ms. Liscombe. Yes, he actually knew her personally. Jack took a further liberty and said that he was her boyfriend and was intent on surprising her in the office for an early lunch. It was a hard sell, he knew, but eventually the guard relented and gave Jack the appropriate directions.

Once in front of the right office, he quickly ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. He knocked on the door with a bit of authority, but refrained from pounding on it. Wouldn't do to have her thinking the police were here.

When Jack heard the "Come in!" through the door, he entered politely and gave a nice grin/smile that one might give a girlfriend. He closed the door behind himself before anyone outside could hear their conversation.

"How are you doing today, Ms. Liscombe?" The reporter was staring in open-mouthed shock at the presence of the man who had stiffed her at the Queen Bee restaurant. "We need to have another chat, I think." He flattened out the blinds in her office, giving them a bit of privacy from the open floor.

The reporter stuttered a bit before recovering herself. "Well, hello, secret-agent man. What wonders are you going to wow me with today?"

Jack pulled a chair away from the wall and closer to the desk. "Well, you can start with what you meant by that list that you gave me back at the restaurant. None of those companies have ever put a foot wrong. No connections to anything abnormal. You seemed to imply that they were a bit more than met the eye."

Ms. Liscombe laughed. "Really? Did you think I'd just roll over and give you my sources. Aww, I hope that you people didn't put too much work into it. By the look of you, though, you pulled an-all-weekend binge on trying to figure it out."

Jack laughed. "That's my normal look, Ms. Liscombe. What about me, did you dream all weekend of me James Bond style? Sorry, but agents seldom score on the job," he said, throwing a barb back her way.

The reporter sniffed. "Maybe. So what if I was? Girl's gotta have her little pleasures."

"Well, I'd prefer that you give me what I wanted originally. Without the games, I mean. You got some information from me. I get some information from you, quid pro quo and all that." Jack gave her a look.

"You know, I did have something happen over the weekend. Someone gave me a call." She pulled her notebook out of her attache case. "Yeah, told me that I should probably be at a certain coffee shop tomorrow morning." She tossed Jack the notebook. "The page with the dog-eared corner."

Jack opened the book to the appropriate page. It was scribbled with a few notes, including a phone number and the name of the coffee shop. He also took note of the description of the voice. "No name?"

Ms. Liscombe shook her head. "Nope. He said he was connected to the court case. That's all. He didn't seem interested in much other than telling me where to be and when."

"What's all this about the voice?"

"It seemed odd. Like, more guttural than a normal american. Sounded like his normal language would be German, or maybe Czech? I couldn't tell." She shrugged. "Oh, he also said that I should invite you."

Jack's head snapped up. That wasn't something one wanted to hear as an operative who was supposed to remain anonymous. "How did he phrase it, exactly?"

"It's on the next page."

He flipped the page. The scribbled note read, "Bring with you the Queen Bee gentleman. He will keep you safe." Jack read it three times, compared the writing to the other scribbles on the previous page to see if she was just pulling his leg. "You're certain this is what he said?"

She nodded slowly. Her eyes were wide enough that they conveyed a bit of fear. "What do you do?" she asked.

"Are you worried?" he asked in return, avoiding her question.

"Hell yeah I'm worried. I'm supposed to trust the CIA to keep me safe!" She grimaced. "No offense, I'm sure you'd do a great job."

Jack took note of the number again and tossed back the notepad. "Do you want me there? If not, I'm sure that I could arrange for someone else to be there for your safety."

Ms. Liscombe fingered the notepad. "I'm--I mean, I wouldn't mind it terribly if you were there. But if you wanted to bring a few friends..." she trailed off.

"You'd feel a bit more comfortable." A nod.

"OK, thanks for the meeting, Ms. Liscombe. I'll pick you up that morning." Jack stood and rearranged the blinds before he left. The reporter hadn't said anything else. Once he was out the door back on the street, he pulled out his cell phone to call back to the Company. "This is Russell. We've got a problem."

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby BleedingCrimson on Wed Dec 01, 2010 12:05 am

| 01.10.2000
| Bowie, Maryland
| 17:00, The Warehouse

In a dark room somewhere in The Warehouse sat a table. It was populated by nine dark figures sitting on dark chairs, though none were as high-backed as the one at the head of the table, Lenora's. "Gentlemen," she begain, in an eerily kind voice, "We are here today because of treachery." Lenora spat the last word, and the others around her flinched as her fist hit the table, hard enough to make a sudden noise in the dead room. Lenora sucked in an angry breath as she had a habit of doing when she was peeved.

"But you here, are safe. For my target is that blasted vampire that told of our existance." Her voice became tight and strangled in her wrath at this unknown vampire.

"We shall find him, I want each and every one of you to use each and every one of your contacts to tell me where this man might be hiding!" Lenora got up from her seat, the man closest to her wincing subtely at the sudden movement. Like an abused dog, she mused cruelly.

"You two," she pointed to two of the men at the furthest seats from her on the right, "Go search for information on the FBI and CIA and other government organizations. Find out if they knew about this or if they're just as confused as we are. If they know nothing, then leave them a message. Tell them the number to the old Insurance company a block to the east of here. Go." They left and she turned her gaze to another duo.

"Margareta and Aayame, pay special attention to the going ons in D.C. I know you have contacts behind the scenes. Search them. If you have any inkling of treachery kill them. Make it look accidental though. And don't drain them or bite them at all for that matter, we cannot have masses start suspecting that Congress might have been right about the existance of vampires. Go." The two women left, leaving four behind.

"Ivan, Gilbert, Arthur, and Francis," She nodded to each in turn. "I want each of you to see to your contacts, yes. But I also want, no need, for the four of you to report everything even the slightest out of the ordinary you see. You four are my most trusted. I have known you each for over 50 years." Her voice was softer now, she was speaking with friends, not underlings, at this point.

"Please, tell me what happens. I cannot watch everyone all of the time, I need to know these things. For the future of our race, do this." The four murmered ascent, nodding all the while. Good, I knew they would understand.They always do.

"Thank you, you may go if you so like now." Lenora sat in her chair once more, intertwining her fingers she rests her chin on the backs of her hands, sighing. How I wish I was old enough to really run my own Territory. This underground, mafia-like organization works, ture, but for how long. I suppose that it would be for however long I made it last, but if we are exposed, truly and for good, we may never live without fear again. Mortal humans will also feel the strain, lashing out in their horror at such a creature they thought to be only myth and legend. Terror from humans always result in hatred, and in that hatred violence occurs.

There will be news of stakings in the paper, violence will break out in the streets. It will soon turn into a war of thespecies, vampires against mortal humans. It would be world-wide as more nations become wary of their citizens and start burning people at the stake again. It will trigger a massive Witch Hunt, except this time, it will not end. Ignorance is the only peace we shall have, and we have lost even that.


Lenora closed her eyes and leaned back into her chair, she would rest. Perhaps I will dream this time, though such a thing rarely happenes anymore. Lenora thinks bitterly to herself, if there was one thing she missed about being mortal, it would be dreaming.

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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby zhill on Wed Dec 01, 2010 8:53 pm

[OOC: FYI, if you don't have a calendar on your computer you can manipulate, you can find one for the year 2000 here]


| Tuesday, 11 January 2000
| Kareem and Sugar
| 9am EST


Though he had wanted to immediately follow up, his boss Vincent had convinced him otherwise. Tollins finally agreed that it did make sense to let a man like Kareem decide the time and place to share what he knew. That time and place was supposed to be Tuesday morning here.



In the past three days, Tollins and the old man had taken a trip back to the ranch to check on the cleanup he had ordered on Thursday. That meant fresh clothes and a home cooked meal for Tollins. It was a decent break from the pace they had kept on their first day in the capital, plus he enjoyed the chance to visit with Sam again so frequently. On their way back into the city Sunday afternoon, his patience gave out and Tollins made a call to Kareem in spite of the sigh of protest from Vincent. The number, which he had been given with the understanding that it should only be used if it were very important, was answered on the first ring with silence.

"Hello," Tollins offered more as an unsure question than a greeting.

"Yes Edward?" Kareem's voice was calm and quiet, though he sensed that his friend was slightly disturbed.

"I hate to bother you Kareem its just that I really need to..."

"Tuesday morning," Kareem politely shot back without waiting to hear the request. He then ended the call with a civil, "Goodbye."

Though Tollins had only used Kareem for information on rare occasions, he was unsure about how things would play out. Vincent, who had overheard the entire call, assured him that his friendship with the man would likely continue. Only now Tollins was not so sure.



On his third cup of coffee, Edward sat nervously in one of the cozy over-sized chairs while trying to look like a regular caffeine junkie. Checking his watch for the fourth time during this cup, he noted that it was 9:03. Something was wrong. In the few years that Kareem had operated his cafe, there was allegedly not a single day that he had not opened or shown up on time. Now he was uncharacteristically two hours late, which meant something serious had deterred him. Gulping the last of his coffee, he rose quickly and walked to the black SUV with a pace that was almost frantic while attempting to appear normal. Dialing the ranch, Tollins heard one of the staff answer and begin with a rote greeting.

"I need a location on this number and I need it fast," he interrupted. "Write this down," he began as he entered the vehicle and started the engine, not bothering to take the time to buckle up. "Its 202......"



After a harried drive across town, Tollins had arrived at his destination. Parking carelessly in front of an older brick apartment building in one of the less traveled metro areas of the city, he took a moment to breathe and consider how foolish he would look when he burst in on Kareem nursing a fever. Casting the unlikely possibility aside, Tollins darted from the vehicle to the front door of the building, unconsciously mashing the lock button on the vehicles key fob on the way. Sprinting in the building and up to the third floor, he slowed himself to a silent stop mere inches from the apartment designated as "C" by a large white letter nailed to the door frame. Whether it was a land line or cell phone, the last known call from the number had originated here. Though the staffer at the ranch had been unable to obtain the number dialed, Tollins was confident that the directions were accurate.

Pausing for a moment to listen for any sound, he extended his hand silently towards the tarnished brass knob. After several seconds of listening only to the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears, he gave it a slow, testing turn. With wide eyes and breath held, Tollins watched as the door effortlessly swung open. Beyond the point of no return, he carefully crept into the apartment as he tried to remain aware of any possible noise or disturbance along the hallway leading to the living room. The piercing sun of late morning was seeping through the yellowed curtains as Tollins turned into the room, painting a garish scene in a pale ribbons of light.

Laying on his couch as though he were resting was Kareem. Only he wasn't resting. He was dead. That fact was indisputable by the way he had been ravaged. All of his years as a hunter had never presented a similar scene to Tollins: Kareem looked as if he had been gutted, and then ripped open even further for no other reason than unadulterated violence. The couch, he could not guess its original color or pattern, was now covered in bits of flesh and thick red blood that looked sticky, though he didn't have the courage to test his suspicion. Kareem had lay as he was for some time, though Tollins guessed it couldn't have been more than 8 hours.

Spinning and driving his fist recklessly into the wall as he looked into the kitchen, Tollins feared that whatever knowledge he could have gained was lost with his friend. Numbly pressing 1 on the cell phone to speed dial Vincent, he walked into the small kitchen to find a pack of generic cigarettes next to a running coffee maker. The Mr. Coffee had been a joke gift from one of Kareem's employees, and even he knew the man would never use such a mundane machine for his precious beverage. He also didn't smoke. Ever.

"Yes," the old man's voice called him back to the phone pressed to his ear.

"Vincent we have a problem. Kareem is out. I will work my end." Terminating the call without waiting for a response, Tollins put his hands on the counter and leaned over the sink as he took a few deep breaths. Reality had just given him one heck of a bitch slap.

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zhill
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Re: (IC) Fiction Dictating Reality

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RaptorThreeSix on Thu Dec 02, 2010 2:04 pm

| Monday
| 1303L, 10 January 2000
| CIA Headquarters, Langley, VA

It was usually unheard of to have FBI officers inside of the CIA. Generally, the only time it happened someone was suspected of playing for the other team--also known as the Soviets. People tended to shy away from that. Getting involved in a counter-espionage case or a mole-hunt was synonymous with career suicide, especially when the FBI was involved. The current situation was not either agency's usual. The standard operating procedure for something that required or may be expected for law enforcement or anything inside of the United State's borders was to hand it over to the Feds and then all ties with the case would then be severed by the CIA unless it went back overseas, and even then, it was difficult for the CIA to get it back as the FBI could also work cases overseas.

In this case, however, at least one of the people involved would be a civilian. If either agency was recalcitrant to allow the other into it's operations it was downright hostile to involving a civilian--much less a reporter--into the scene. It was much better to do whatever needed to be done without involving anyone outside in. Though the FBI had a much better track record than the CIA did with regards to public relations, it would much rather dictate to the press on ground of it's own choosing. This had led to a massive 'war council' and conference with Jack and the DDO as far as who was going to be present and when.

"I think that both myself and Ms. Liscombe are going to have to be present," Jack said, for the millionth time in the meeting. "She's the one who was contacted by the unknown element. If she's not there, whatever is going down might not happen. Same goes for me. If we have our operators there, or an obvious police presence, we might spook the game."

The senior FBI guy there nodded, finally subdued. "Fine. But I'll have at least three agents inside the coffee house specified and four cars with a pair of agents in each ready for either pursuit or backup."

Jack looked at the DDO. The DDO turned to his counterpart from the FBI. "Alright, Mike. I think we can handle that. You're people will be in completely low-profile mode, right? No radios, no earpieces, all that?"

"Right. Dressed as college students, I guess."

Jack spoke up again. "I'd like to go over this with them before tomorrow if at all possible. Just to make sure that they are aware of the conditions of this whole system.

"Fine."


| Tuesday
| 0721L, 11 January 2000
| Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

Russell was standing on the door stoop of the townhouse that was owned by Ms. Liscombe, and he had knocked only four minutes early. He expected the woman to be either late or at least be a bit frazzled to get out the door. Instead, he was surprised to find that the woman was already appropriately dressed and ready to go, even though he was early. Even before he could say 'hello', she blew right on by him and out to the street. He had to smile. Of course a reporter would be already ready to roll out. She was wearing an appropriate-length (though a bit on the short side) skirt over what appeared to be hose. A silk blouse was covered partially with her long jacket. Her shoes were three inch heels, which seemed a bit out of place given the time of day and the relative temperature (cold).

"Which car's yours?" she asked, without anything in the way of salutations.

Jack walked a bit slower down the steps, pointing to his grey BMW. "It's all warmed up, too. I left it running so that you wouldn't be cold getting in."

"How thoughtful of you," Ms. Liscombe said. "I just hope I fit. This thing looks to have about as much room as my linen closet."

Jack swept up in front of the reporter and opened her door, much to her apparent displeasure. "Not that I don't think you're capable, but I wouldn't want you to bust your ass, Ms. Liscombe," he said, motioning with his head. "Also, I did grow up with civilized people. Wouldn't want whoever may be watching to think that I'm not a gentleman."

Ms. Liscombe stuck her nose up a bit, but the look on her face suggested that she'd put up with his 'gentlemanly' cover. Entering on his own side of the car, Jack even got a good whiff of her perfume. It was expensive smelling stuff, and the CIA agent hoped that it wouldn't stink up his car too much. He hated to drive with the top down in the dead of winter but there were few other ways to get the smell out. With all of his 'team' together, he pulled easily out into traffic and headed downtown.

It only took ten minutes, even with the traffic to get to the specified coffee shop. Neither of the two people in the BMW spoke as they meandered through the Washington rush. Without much in the way of warning, one car seemed to pull out in perfect time with Russell's arrival, merely half a block away from the shop. The reporter shot Russell a knowing look, then turned back to see the obliging car turn the corner. "I'm assuming that was one of your friends?"

Jack just shrugged, not wishing to really divulge. It hadn't been one of the cars that he had expected to see, just a lucky coincidence, but why ruin the surprise? Once they had parked, the pair got out and headed towards the coffee shop, Jack was walking slowly to keep from outpacing the shorter woman. He also broke the silence first, "Our cover is that we're a couple that's taking their morning coffee break together. Keep the conversation light and quiet. Whatever happens, if someone starts shooting or something, get the hell down on the ground."

"You won't be shooting too?" Ms. Liscombe asked, shocked.

"Nope," he grinned at her, "I'm supposed to be just a normal everyday kinda guy, right?"

The faith that had been in her face fell slightly until he said quietly to her, "Hey, be happy. Keep your cover up, OK?"

They walked chatting amicably about work, Jack supplying a false cover that he had worked up the night before. They managed to walk in the door to the coffee shop at exactly 0741, by Jack's watch. There was a pair of baristas behind the bar, brewing coffees, expressos and lattes for the assembled throng of people. Jack casually looked around and caught sight of at least three of the four Feds. True to their word, the just acted like Georgetown undergrads, reading through books, highlighting passages that caught their eye, but seemed to be making more notes than usual. It seemed like an average crowd on an average day in the average local coffee shop.

It took about ten minutes to get to the front of the line. Jack ordered a medium vanilla latte and a croissant, Ms. Liscombe just ordered a medium regular coffee. Having ordered, the CIA agent led his 'date' to a table in the corner of the room. Having gotten into the groove of the joint by now, Jack was looking for anything out of the ordinary. To this point, most seemed to be just chatting amicably or working their way through the paper, or typing away furiously on laptops. The rest came in, got their coffee and left.

Only one seemed out of place. He had come in at about 830-ish, and didn't seem to have anything to do except wait. Much like Jack had feigned back at the Queen Bee, this caused him to fidget. It was with the fifth and sixth check of the man's watch within a span of about ten minutes that Jack had him pegged as a 'player'. Jack made a motion of tugging at his ear, then seemingly leaning back in his chair, bringing his nose up in the direction of the man sitting in the chair at a table by himself. A girl two tables over double clicked her pen, acknowledging the signal and making him aware of her presence for the first time. She double-clicked her pen again to signal that she had eyes on his target and went back to scribbling in her notebook.

The conversation with Ms. Liscombe that had been maintained like a perfectly manicured lawn started taking less and less of Jack's attention as he focused a bit more on the man. He was wearing a suit--obviously well-tailored, as it concealed what to Jack looked like about 200-pounds of well-maintained bulk. A haircut that was on the low-end of a high-and-tight and the sport-style watch that didn't mesh with the suit seemed to shout that this was someone who needed to be watched. After ten minutes of general glances in the direction of their target, the girl in the Georgetown hoodie sweatshirt got up and stepped outside the door to the coffee shop to answer a cell phone call. Jack figured that she was reporting in the description of the man that had been pointed out, and was hoping that the FBI could go without messing up.

A few minutes after nine, and another latte and coffee, Jack was wondering if anyone other than the fidgeter would show. It was then that the man--with barely concealed concern--nearly leapt up out of his seat and started a nervous fast walk (that seemed to be the man trying to remain calm. Jack, with two drinks in his hand, made ready to head-motion to Ms. Liscombe, but she was also apparently paying attention to the man and was already next to him and taking her coffee. The two copied the fast walk of the man who had just left, and managed to reach Jack's car before the man reached his SUV. Jack had the car out and first in line without much in the way of warning, in front of a line of FBI cars, none of them the standard police Ford Crown Vic.

The 'chase' took about twenty minutes, with the various FBI vehicles performing a complex dance of rearranging themselves behind the target vehicle. The SUV stopped carelessly in front of a run-down apartment in one of the areas of D.C. that wasn't on the tourist maps. When the subject darted from the vehicle, Jack immediately looked at the reporter riding with him. "You stay in the vehicle. I don't care what happens. Stay in the vehicle."

After getting an assenting nod from the reporter, Jack parked only slightly less haphazardly behind the SUV. He calmly emerged and walked into the building, with a trio of Feds in their raid jackets behind him running to catch up. Jack drew his SIG P229, following the target into the apartment building, although very quietly. The four men heard a door open up above them, and climbed the stairs slowly. When they heard something slam into something else, the four began ascending the stairs more quickly. They found the door to apartment C opened, and heard a man talking. "...eem is out. I will work my end." The sound of the cell phone closing led Jack to gesture to the Feds to get in there.

With a shouted, "FBI! FBI!" The three agents stormed into the apartment, Jack remaining outside on the landing, covering their backs. He didn't move in until one of the agents shouted "Holy Christ!" Wondering what was going on, he entered himself, checking to see that the man that had entered first was properly restrained and everything was clear. The sound of an agent puking his guts out in the toilet that they had found wasn't good. Jack quickly figured out why.

"Holy Christ, indeed."

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RaptorThreeSix
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