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Post by Melissa|Tristan on Jan 3, 2011 10:56:08 GMT -5
The massive dog making his way through the trees appeared focused and alert to anything that happened to be watching, but he was in fact very distracted. Aiden's mind was definitely elsewhere, jumping frantically from one train of thought to another with little rhyme or reason for each jump as it came. At the moment his thoughts were centering around the new responsibilities appointed to him.
The Innocent chain of command had been cracked by the loss of Jo, who had gone missing several months earlier, though it had by no means completely failed. And now the Irish Wolfhound known as Aiden was walking purposefully towards the log cabin that was the meeting place of all the Innocents in the area, ready to deliver the words of the Council of Elders to people -and creatures- he'd never met with before. What if they didn't believe he really had been appointed by the Council? What if they wouldn't listen to him as he spoke of what they needed to get done in order to bring the Innocents to their former glory and put the Hunter's in cages once and for all?
More than ever he wished that he had someone to talk to . . . Jo, the Asian girl he'd rescued from the last Innocent attack he'd been a part of, anyone. If anything had been pushing him to quit and become a nomad like so many others, choosing neither side, loneliness was certainly one of the most powerful. Hopefully this meeting would pull his reluctance from him so that he could serve the Innocents as he once had.
Upon reaching the log cabin that was the meeting place of the Innocents he shifted. It was much easier to open doors when one was human, though not impossible as he had found. Aiden closed the door behind him, making his way to the table and chairs in the centre of the room and grabbing a chair, which he stuck against the wall. No point in sitting bored while he waited for his guests to arrive, so he would use the time for one of his talisman's favourite pastimes; sleep. |
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Post by Waddle on Jan 6, 2011 21:08:38 GMT -5
Owen thought that he surely must have gone mad to have come here. It had been but a whisper to reach his ears from someone he didn't even know. Innocents to the cabin at this exact time and day next week. The owner of the voice had been there and gone before Owen could look around again. He would investigate, he told himself, if he wasn't buried under with work. But there was no one here. Hadn't been anyone here in a long time, it looked like. Owen stopped on the porch and stared at the door of the cabin for several seconds. With a sign, he put a hand on the knob and entered slowly. It took a few blinks for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. There actually was someone here, seemingly asleep in a chair. Quietly, Owen walked to the table, pulled out one of the chairs and softly sat down, trying not to wake the sleeping man. The motion stirred dust into the air and Owen released a violent sneeze. He sniffled and glanced to the sleeping man who probably was no sleeping anymore after that. "Sorry," he mumbled, mostly to the wall.
A million warnings were chasing each other around Gibbs's head as he slunk closer to the cabin. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Or one thing, Ava had disappeared without a single warning a while ago and hadn’t shown herself since. Gibbs was uneasy without her, though it didn’t show in his appearance as he walked carefully. He just liked having the German Shepherd at his side. Even without her, he'd been able to follow the young doctor closely, in the hopes of figuring something out. Though he didn't know it, he'd received the same whisper Owen had, only in written for form presenting itself upon his desk at the station. Innocents to the cabin this time next week. No signature. Not recognizable handwriting. Not specific paper. Gibbs had had no intention of going - if he was too busy for his daughter, why would he bother about something he'd never even participated in? - until he had seen the doctor heading, on foot, toward the cabin.
What if the guy's a Hunter? Or a terrorist? No one knows about me, no one can, the corp. made sure of that. I'm ready either way. So insecure in his securities. It drove him mad. Shoving the thoughts that threatened to make him turn around and leave, Gibbs stopped before setting a foot on the porch. His hand brushed the pistol at his hip. Loaded, ready. Unclasping the fastening just in case, Gibbs stepped up onto the porch. Two pairs of feet had recently touched this place. One was muddy prints, another was simply indentions into the debris that the wind had blown onto the porch. As he opened the door, he briefly wondered if there was a back door to this place. Two people to perfectly match the prints. Gibbs scanned the room without finding anything out of the ordinary. This whole thing's out of the ordinary. Then again, when is anything I deal with 'normal'?[/color]
The always sickly-looking doctor had mud on his sneakers and the hems of his pants from when he'd stepped right into mud. Probably a good thing he'd left his lab coat elsewhere. He was smiling brightly, eyes sparkling behind a pair of black-framed glasses. Gibbs returned it somewhat, barely more than a twitch of the corners of his mouth. It was hardly anything, but he was so distracted, and the kid seemed so not-threatening that he almost dismissed him immediately. Not totally, though. No one else was in the place but the three of them, for there was a third person sleeping in a chair.
Owen's eyes narrowed a little with worry. His smile faltered; he shifted uncomfortably and glanced at his muddy shoes. What was he even doing here?! His eyes rose back to the stranger he knew he'd seen before, the smile came back. "Looks like they gave you the wrong name,"[/b] he told the man, nodding toward the gun. "I doubt most Innocents would carry around a loaded pistol at their side."[/b]
Gibbs knew what the doctor was hinting at. He'd noticed the shift, the falter. The kid was scared that he, Gibbs, was a Hunter, or just a bad guy in general. With a humorless laugh, he replied, "Well, if all of us were swaggering, muddy-shoed healers, then we’d get be beaten pretty quick, now wouldn't we?" Owen considered the statement, his lips pursing in thought, and nodded a couple times after a second. "True,"[/b] he admitted reluctantly. "No offence meant. I'm just really confused."[/b] Gibbs snorted with derision. "Trust me, I am too,"[/b] he stated quietly. Both pairs of eyes wandered to the last man in the room, one set hard and questioning, the other just wondering.
[Sorry if it's long and just rambling... I've been working on it for about three days now xD][/size]
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Post by Augustus is a SWOObat on Jan 7, 2011 23:14:48 GMT -5
Something strange had happened. Out of the norm. Unusual. Thomas had gotten a note. That, in itself, was odd, but it got.. odd-er. The manner in which the note arrived was what was caught Thom's attention. It was no small secret that Thomas ate a lot. He opened his fridge for his fourth meal, though it was only a little past noon. It was hot, and when the weather was warm, Thomas was insatiable. He would lick his lips if he didn't hate the feeling of it. The cool refrigerator air chilled him, but it felt good. Thomas decided on eggs, and pulled the little cardboard carton out. He had hardly opened it before something thin peaked out. For a second, Thomas was frightened. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't an egg. His gloved hands pulled back, and he brought his face closer, squinting with effort. He thoroughly inspected the little corner, and suddenly it dawned on him. It was paper. It was a note, but a note for him? That was the question. This was the first time he opened the carton. The note had to have been there when he bought it. How did the sender now this was the carton he'd pick? He slipped the paper out very cautiously. He squinted harder, but couldn't make out the words. They look like a black blur, all the letters indistinguishable. Reluctantly, Thomas pulled out his thick, black-rimmed glasses from his pocket. He looked behind his shoulder, self-concise. He knew no one would be there. He just had to check. Thomas slipped them on, and instantly the words were sharp. The thick black ink jumped off the page. Thomas wasn't use to the clarity. His indefinite world was compromised of blurs, swirls, and blobs. There was nothing vague or unclear about the message.
Innocents to the cabin at this exact time and day next week.
Thomas blinked. He had never been contacted by an Innocent. He was an Innocent long before he came to Noatak, and the only other Innocents he ever met was his old friend, Owen. If he had something to tell him, he'd do it in person, not some creepy note hidden in his food. He re-read the note, and something occurred to him. How would the sender know when he would open his egg carton? Thomas closed his the carton, put off from his meal. He put it back in the fridge, and fingered the note curiously. Looking at the back, he returned to the precisely written message when he realized the back was whiter than snow. Thomas wondered who the sender could be again. Obviously, whoever was in charge, but Thomas hadn't really been aware of any chain of command. The little note gave him a lot to think about.
Thomas blinked away the week-old memory. He had been staring into the foliage, not really thinking, but reliving. He did it often, but it had been happening more frequently. It was starting to worry him. He'd relive things that happened only moments ago or things from his childhood. Some were silly, like brushing his teeth, while other were so intense it practically brought him to tears. The most reoccurring was the exact moment he left his mother's horrible excuse for a house. It was dark and cold. The wind was blowing and howling. It threatened to knock over the house. How long had he stared at his mother? She was tucked in bed, looking peaceful, for once. Thomas was tempted to stay, though her face was the only thing angelic about her. Her face had tempted many men, trapping them temporarily, but they all left eventually. Thomas was the only one who was permanently trapped, but who said he had to be? He glanced very briefly to the man in her bed. She didn't know his name. Thomas backed out of the room silently. He wasn't even 15 yet, but he knew he was better off alone.
Thomas stopped himself. He was drifting into another memory again. He let out a shaky sigh. He ripped up some leaves and played with the dirt, swirling patterns in it. Thomas was thankful for his leather gloves. Should he go inside now? He had arrived hours earlier, afraid he would miss the meeting, and.. he didn't trust the note. He peeked around the corner of the cabin to watch the dog-man showed up, but it wasn't enough to spur him into action. In fact, Thomas was paralyzed with fear. Dogs terrified him. He had bad memories in both forms. As a raccoon, he was constantly chased, and as a man, he was licked till he was in the fetal position, weeping. Surely he wasn't the only Innocent invited. Maybe Owen would show soon. He sat still, listening his hardest to hear what was around him. Owen showed up, finally, and Thomas stood up, ready to go inside now. He stretched, but froze when he heard a sound. He peeked out from the corner and noticed another man. Something about him made Thomas uncomfortable. He seemed very similar to the dog-man. Thom's eyes flicked down to his gun. It made him more uneasy. He watched the gun-man enter. Thom worried for Owen, but surely the gun-man was an Innocent. He probably received a note too. How else would he know about the meeting? Thom breathed out to calm himself, and, confidently, he walked throw the door. As soon as he was in, all his confidence drained. Thom didn't really know what to say. Staring at his feet, he plucked at the tips of his gloves, and scooted closer to Owen. Being near Owen made him feel better.
Emmie wasn't contacted by a note. While sipping coffee, a very confused waiter relayed the message. He looked at her for an explanation, but she just handed him the money for the coffee and left. She wasn't going to go. She wasn't even curious. As far as Innocents go, she was a very bad one. She was too apathetic. Emmie played with the end of her hair. Ryan was out of town, hunting a deader. She didn't have much to do. The Innocent meeting might actually prove interesting. Maybe it'd stir her enough to knock her out of her seemingly constant apathy. She had watched the short man walk in, and wondered if she should. The lot seemed interesting enough. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. The older man was the one that interested her the most, the one with the wolfhound talisman. She'd never seen him before. Emmie wasn't very interested in the Innocent meeting, but she decided to go in, for the sole reason of hearing the wolfhound speak. It wasn't very cramped inside, but Emerson didn't feel like standing with the huddle of men near the door. She walked slowly to the table and sat on it. Gracefully, she crossed her long legs Indian-style. She smiled, remembering her teen-age years, when it took several tries to tuck in her legs just right. She had been so awkward. It was a good thing she'd had a few years of practice, or that might have been embarrassing. There was a little pause of silence. Emerson was never the type to worry about silence, but this one seemed particularly unsettling. ".. Hello."
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