Evil's Return Chapter 7: Roadside Diner and "Cabin" in the Woods.
 

It had taken Martin six hours to hitch-hike his way to the meeting place, Greasy Al’s. As he thanked the driver of his latest ride, he scanned the parking lot. Scattered through the parking lot were the rides of the other Protectors, in various states of disrepair. It was raining, so he hurried inside the small diner. Inside, the TV was turned on, and the news was being broadcast.

”…thories again do not know if there was any connection between this more recent attack, and the hallucinogenic attack that took place at the local high school a few months before. Again, a gasoline tanker exploded outside of Taylorsville City, after an apparent high speed chase, which included a number of police helicopters. Causalities at this point are still unknown, but sources tell us that the burnt remains of the driver were still in the cab of the semi. There are also reports of another body being found nearby, killed execution style with three bullets to the head. Authorities are not commenting on this story, and are holding the name of the victim pending notification of next of kin…”

Martin stopped paying attention at that point, once more the memory of kill Jacob raced through his head before he suppressed it. He scanned the room. The others were scattered throughout, some eating, some talking, others just sitting there. He spotted Duncan sitting by himself, and felt a flare of resentment. He went over to his table, and sat down. “So, they found Jacob’s body, huh?” he said pointedly.

Duncan was looking into a drink…what it was exactly, Martin couldn’t tell, but Duncan seemed real interested. “Yeah…and Nathaniel’s, too?”

Martin started a little. “Nat? I saw his bike outside. He’s here, ain’t he?”

“I rode the bike here,” Duncan said. “The twins grabbed Laurella and took off in my car when I tried to stop the Fallen. Nat called and told me where he left the bike…he said he wasn’t going to need it anymore.”

Martin gave the man a confused look. “But they just reported on that…they said they only found the body of the driver and Jacob’s…” Understanding dawned on Martin. “Nat drove the truck? He exploded the truck on purposed?”

“That’s my guess, yeah,” Duncan said. “Until the ‘local police’ recover all the bodies, however, we won’t know if it was enough to kill the Fallen or not…so we have to act like that thing is still after Laurella.”

The resentment that Martin felt died. “I’m sorry. It was my understanding that the two of you had been friends for a long time.”

“Just about 19 years,” Duncan said, “I was there when Nat found Laurella, only a few days old…we were the first two Protectors. We knew it was probably going to end badly for us one way or another…but I never thought it would come to this…”

Martin kept quite, allowing Duncan to return to him memories and his drink. He scanned the room to see how the others were doing.


((OOC: You should either be at the diner, or just arriving. A little bit of downtime. The owner of the place, Al, owes Duncan a favor or two, and is a ex-Warden with the power to heal, so if you are hurt, you can see him to get patched up.))

Michael walked out of one of the back rooms as he slowly unwrapped his bandage, the wound on his arm seemed to have been mostly healed but he still had a ghastly pale complexion of one who has lost much blood. Disposing with the bandage, Michael brought a plate of eggs over to a table against the walls of the room. Fiddling with his food Michael looked at the window, frowning into the rain and lost in thought. Reaching under his shirt Michael pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Looking away from the depressing rain Michael started to jot down notes on the paper.

In a soft, unassertive voice Michael did an almost stage whisper to the room and called out I don't mean to interrupt anyone's grief, but to those who feel they are capable of gathering themselves together, we might need to start planning. I'm not sure what types of wards this place has, but we really won't have much longer then it takes for our opponents to consolidate their forces and do a debriefing. Besides the risk of satellite tracking from SECA, the Society has some of the best seers in the world, and it won't take too long to find the Mother of Hell with all the magical resonance from her presence.

I'm hoping as much as everyone else that the Fallen died, but in case he didn't, if we don't get something together the next attack is only going to be nastier, if not outright larger. The key to surviving a battle is eliminating as many variables as possible, and we need to start doing that. I have a shadow of a plan, but I'd like some input and discussion before we get thrust into action. Again, apologies for interrupting our grieving, but I wouldn't want to make anyone's sacrifices in vain because of inaction. Michael finished. Going back to eating his eggs, Michael looked at his notes as he waited for any of the present to come forward and join him.

Trish was absentmindedly fiddling with a sheet of paper she found in her pocket. She drew her index finger along the center to make a crease.

It was early, and she was tired. The paper took on the form of a sparrow. It sat in her hand for a moment before she unfolded it completely and began again.

She had seen far more than she would have liked that morning. Poor Nathaniel. Poor Jacob. Another mountain fold on the paper. Nat willingly gave up his life to save Laurella. Sure, that was technically what the Protectors were supposed to be ready to do at any moment. The paper was forming a bird base again. But still, when actually confronted with that choice...

She creased the paper again to form a bird's head. She tugged on the wings, and a crane sat in her palm. The image of the towering flames still burned in her mind's eye. Did Nathaniel have a family? Was he really ready to just... die?

The crane was picked apart. Back to square one.

And then there was Jacob. Valley fold. Jacob was just a kid. He didn't even do anything, really. Trish hadn't seen the actual death, being up in the air as she had been, but she had heard murmurs from the other Protectors. The paper was creased in a diagonal line. The poor kid was just attacked. And he was killed by the Protectors themselves. Out of mercy, she guessed. Another set of folds. That could have been any of them in the Fallen's grasp. Jacob was just in the right place at the wrong time.

Michael started talking just as the origami koala was being finished. Trish was halfway listening, but she was dividing her attention between her own thoughts and the paper in her hand. She was tired.

Alicia had just come out of the women's room when she saw Martin walk in. The look of relief was definitely clear on her face. She nodded and approached the counter, where Al was busy cleaning glasses.

"What can I get you, luv?" Al asked in a pleasant, gruff voice, the ex-warden taking his eyes briefly off his work to acknowledge Alicia with a nod and a smile.

"A mocha with three sugars, a shot of whatever's strongest on your alcohol list, a croissant and a blueberry muffin, please," Alicia responded politely before waiting patiently for the order to be taken.

On the TV, the report of their most recent run-in was being beaten out. Alicia winced and massaged her still-tender arm, but apart from that, her mind didn't wander to the chase, the shootings, Martin killing...

Ok, so maybe it wandered a little bit, but whatever was going on in Alicia's mind was most definitely not what happened just 6 hours ago on an abandoned stretch of highway. Alicia's mind snapped back into focus and her eyes lost their glaze as a steaming cup was placed under her nose, as well as the other items.

"There ya go, luv. That'll be..."

Alicia absent-mindedly forked out the money before juggling the items back to the seat she occupied. She slid the shot of still-unnamed alcohol to Rick who sat opposite her.

"You want the muffin or the croissant?"

Dog Tired OR A Drinkin' Song
 

Rick had collapsed into his seat, thoroughly beaten and exhausted from the harrowing events that took place on the Freeway. He lost count of all the muscles he had worn out between seemingly endless firings his bow and riding on the back of a motorcycle for quite some time. Man I wish this was all a dream, that tomorrow morning I’ll just wake up and go for another run before school, getting my daily briefing. Shori…

The reminder of his possibly dead comrade and the others who fell on the way troubled Rick. He let his head fall to the table. I sure could use a drink…

He heard Alicia arrive at the table and the tiny glass that she slid next to him.

"You want the muffin or the croissant?"

Absentmindedly, he grabbed the tiny glass and gulped down its contents. He immediately bolted upright, eyes open as wide as saucers and started coughing uncontrollably, grasping his throat.

*cough* “Burns!” *cough*

He looked toward Al and motioned desperately for water. Once he managed to get a few sips of that he sat up and looked at the plate in front of Alicia. He wasn’t hungry but knew he needed to eat something.

“Muffin please.”

He sat there chewing, and thinking, and realized he didn't have any information on her. He reached instinctively to his back pocket, and was quickly reminded of his severed ties... . He set down the muffin and addressed the person across from him.

“That’s twice today you’ve saved my ass,” he said seriously, then smirked, “and twice today you’ve tried to kill me. I don’t think I can thank you enough, Alicia was it?" still half-smiling "Wouldn't happen to have a life story I could hear, would you?”

I need to take my mind off what has happened today...

"It's still Alicia," the woman flashed a tired, amused smile at Rick's reaction to the alcohol. As to his other question...

Alicia took a long, slow sip of the abomination of a mocha she ordered - three sugars. THREE SUGARS! - and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment. The foam briefly moustached her upper lips before she dabbed it off neatly and quickly with a napkin.

"Nah, you wouldn't like to hear it. It's all filled with teenage angst and skeletons in closets," Literally, she wanted to say, as her right hand traced the symbolic sigil on the back of her left glove. Ever since she's put on the gloves, she's been afraid of ever taking them off again. In case that thing was still there, lurking in the back of her mind, waiting, wanting...

"But I suppose you could know that I used to bring extremely bad luck to anybody I cared about, or to the general populace I was around. Got kind of hard making friends, but I got over it. I got better,"Alicia smiled absently and stared somewhere else, before focusing back on the bedraggled Rick.

"Did you know that eight people a year die by a vending machine falling on them?" Alicia had that far-away voice, as if she wasn't really there and was spouting random crap just because her mouth felt neglected and wanted to fill in the silence. Alicia stared blankly into outer space for a moment, dreaming of god knows what, before blinking owlishly and turning back to her companion, surprised that he was still there.

"Did you want another shot, or would you prefer some Dr. Pepper?" Alicia asked as she began nibbling on her croissant.

[OOC: yes, she is a crazy person.]

Deep Thoughts OR Crazy
 

Rick listened intently, wanting to gather as much information on the newcomer as possible. It was procedure after all, gather information on all variables. Identify, classify, verify. Well, I’ll have to skip a step. But she actually sounds normal, well, compared to the demons, ninjas and rich kids. I’m sure I’d know normal if I saw it…

“Did you know that eight people a year die by a vending machine falling on them?”

“You don’t say?” Rick was now hesitant. …perhaps…almost normal…?

“Did you want another shot, or would you prefer some Dr. Pepper?”

Rick nearly shouted, but instead smiled and quietly said, “No thanks, not that I think Al would report it, but I’m not allowed to drink, laws and everything. I prefer water anyway. And who knows what mind altering substances would do…”

He trailed off for a second, looking at his pendent. No one had thought of what would happen. I haven’t even taken it off in all of my years alive…

Rick returned to chewing on his muffin.

"Yeah, I guess s-- wait, just exactly how old ARE you?" Alicia doubled back and peered at Rick intently, who squirmed a little under her gaze.

"Um... 16?"

Alicia leaned back and inhaled deeply, before letting out a slight chuckle and slapping her forehead with her palm.
"Introducin' alcohol to a minor, how COULD you, Alicia?" she muttered to herself as she rummaged around in her coat and pulled out a pen and a notebook.
It had obviously been written in before, and was already half filled when Alicia flipped to an empty page and scribbled furiously into it. Done, she tucked the book back into her inner shirt pocket and took a gulp of her cooling beverage.

"Right, now... where were we? Oh yeah..."

Alicia gave a very brief - and it was BRIEF - recount of her past and her background. She lost her parents at a young age and was sent to an orphanage after her aunt couldn't take care of her properly. She dropped out of college due to 'difficulties' in making friends, and took up Sigil-magic studies on her own. The Society took her in when they found her advancing powers and she's been working with them ever since.

All the while, Alicia took her time with her croissant and her mocha. Her voice was pleasant but quiet so as not to disturb the other patrons of Al's dining house.

"So what about you, kid? How come you're with all these other peeps?"

Harm was a bit longer in following Michael out of the back room, the healing of his broken ribs and messed up vertebrae had taken a good deal out of him. He sat down in the nearest booth, not knowing who was in it, or if anyone was in it.

"Could I have a drink and some meat..." With that he passed out with his head on the table.

After the adrenaline rush was all gone once they made it to safety, Laurella desperately needed to empty her bladder.

She couldn't cry. She was much too shocked to cry, or she perhaps had spent all her tears during the actual confrontation on the road, tearing up over her own lack of ability to protect herself so that people wouldn't lose their lives doing it for her.

She was quiet, and didn't have an appetite, so she forced herself to eat. The food and drinks were good, but she just couldn't appreciate the taste. Two lives too many made it difficult to enjoy being alive right now, and that didn't include the SECA members, who she didn't bear any ill will towards. After all, they were just government officials, doing their jobs.

She was also too furious to cry. Furiousity directed at the Fallen. That self-righteous bastard had taken Jacob and Nathaniel. Laurella wasn't quite sure how she planned to do something about that, but her rage burned and only the blood of the Fallen could extinguish the blaze that tormented the Mother of Hell.