Comic book hunting (Rachel, Horatio, Granny, open)

[rhys]

((Post what length you want/need, not fussed on word limits))

Rhys pushed his way through the mash of people on the bus. His face was thunderous indeed, especially when three teenagers lounging by the door refused to get out of the way. Rhys hated crowds, and he hated teenagers.
“This is a door, mate,” Rhys said, tapping one of the boys on the shoulder. “The bus has stopped, as you can hopefully tell. I wish to get out. Move your arse, and f*cking take a shower, not everyone has to put up with your unwashed filth.” Sometimes, having a wolf’s sense of smell was a curse.
“Whatever, man,” the boy drawled. “It’s a free country.” He and his mates chuckled, but seeing the rage on Rhys’s face, they quickly dispersed. Rhys stormed out onto the sidewalk, muttering under his breath. He knew he could try to get a U.S. driving licence, but since the Americans drove on the wrong side of the road, and since Rhys had a history of road rage, he decided against it. For now.

The irritated werewolf went into the shopping centre complex. He usually only came to the grocery store and sometimes Bibliophile Books. It was more crowded than usual, and he sighed very loudly, ignoring the looks he was getting at his obvious impatience for the world.
When he reached the book store, he went straight to the comic book aisle. He quickly determined that what he wanted wasn’t there. Two seconds later, his phone rang. He answered it straight away, as work was too important not to take any unidentified calls.
”Hello. How are you today? I am a representative of the Horizon Phone Company. Did you know that you could be saving money-”
Rhys’s face went red.
“Are you f*cking kidding me? This is a bloody private, unlisted number. How did you get my number?”
Customers raised their eyebrows at him. He ignored them and continued, “Who’s your manager, you get your manager’s arse on the phone right now, and we’ll sort this out, we will!”

Rhys stormed out of the shop and back into the main centre, heading for the other shop he knew to sell comics. He went into The Forged Sword, still on his mobile. The man on the other end began to give him cheek. Rhys roared, “Don’t give me that crap! If you call this number again, so help me god, I will find you … oh is that right?! Is that right? Because this call is from overseas, you can’t be held accountable for your bullsh*t attitude?! Believe me; I’m good at finding people. You can count on it.” He hung up and nearly threw the phone at the nearest bookshelf, but he managed to restrain himself and put it into his coat pocket.
The werewolf took a few deep breaths. He didn’t want to transform in the middle of the shopping centre. He scowled, knowing he needed to seriously work on his temper. But his boss had been working him like a dog and he wasn’t settling into his new home at all.

Realising he was being stared at for his shouting match on the phone, Rhys went to the comic stands and began searching, trying to ignore the disapproving looks. The colourful array of comics seemed to be ordered according to publisher and then alphabetically, and Rhys gritted his teeth. He had no idea what the publisher of the comic was. He had been given a hint by a lead who wouldn’t tell him anything else.

“Find this comic,” he had said to Rhys. “It’s called Pandora’s Box. About a post-apocalyptic world in which non-humans have waged war on the human race. It’s obscure and they only made 6 issues, so ask around. It contains an important message. It’s only a matter of time before the government has it removed from every shop, if they ever found out. Find it and meet me by the Drive-In theatre tomorrow at noon.”

All very mysterious and maybe a bit dramatic, but Rhys had decided to bite. He hadn’t read a comic since he was a kid. Now that he was actually in the store looking for the comic, he felt like a right idiot. It was probably some rubbish conspiracy that he had gotten himself into, but he felt he had to check every lead. He looked for a shop assistant or someone who could help him. When he found someone promising, he said politely, “Excuse me, I’m after a comic called Pandora’s Box. I don’t know where to look, to be honest, ‘cause I don’t know the publisher.”

((Feel free to have whoever as the person he spoke to! I deliberately didn’t describe the person for that reason. Hope it’s OK that I used The Forged Sword as a setting – thought it’d be where he might find your characters and you did hint at it in the plot thread! I think Poor Rhys, he can be very charming when he wants to be, though.))

[kerasia4]

{OOC: I took your obscure comic reference and ran with it. I hope you don’t mind…}

Rachel was having a bad day. Some low-life scum had attacked her private torrent account. There had been several hate crimes, which she couldn’t have stopped, reported at her support system. Laurie was grilling her about the newest grilled cheese recipe. Horatio was not going to be at the Shop until 3pm, as there had been a new shipment of occult comics, his newest fancy, and he had gone to receive them with Kerasia, who was at The Forged Sword even more regularly after she had taken the mantle of Hellfire Regent. Tyr, her part-time employer, was out chasing ghosts, literally. Well, at least the closed camera circuit system around town had also proved useful at thwarting hate crimes, but Rach couldn’t focus this morning! And when Rach couldn’t focus, things blew up. Again, literally. And there was a crowd of seemingly inept customers in The Forged Sword. And Alexander the vampiric-kitten-who-grew-up had found a new friend, a little kitten that could fly and tickle people by looking into their eyes. And she was having an electric deficiency, damnit all to Non-Existence!

The whole morning, the whole morning Rach had been helping complete wastes of space to find overpriced, trite, boring comics they could very well find by themselves! She was quite at her wit’s end when a new customer entered the shop, the little bell over the door jingling happily. However, Rach would have realized that particular customer had entered the shop even without high-tech cameras and traditional bells. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at some unknown person at the other end of his phone line. {At last! Someone not so annoyingly cheery and happy! A kindred spirit!}Rachel watched the man in an interested manner, simultaneously giving orders at her nanobot army to help up a poor guy who was being pummeled to the ground a few blocks from the shopping district. {Finally! My concentration is back!} Rachel’s gold-painted lips stretched languidly into a smile, her fingers with their also golden nails mock-typing a command to Laurie in thin air. The command was, basically, ‘create holographic versions of live employees to take over helping the wastes of space and do not mention Michelin Stars’.

That taken care of, Rach was free to observe the newest customer end his call, visibly refrain from wrecking his phone on one of the green Hulk bookshelves – and what a pity that would have been, such a chatty mobile device, his phone was indeed – and take a few calming breaths. She couldn’t help but widen her smirk; from what his phone had told her, and what she had managed to find by running a basic search for the number that had called him, it had been one of those annoying mobile network company calls Schliel had been getting lately. And now with the comic, Schliel didn’t have time to waste on such trivialities. She had been working on Pandora’s Box Issue 7 plot for a week, with no breakthroughs. Well, ‘Li had had a breakthrough, but revealing the 3A’s to the world was definitely not an option. The existence of a secret government agency just for Supernaturals being covertly revealed in a comic book was one thing, the existence of several private companies performing genetic splicing on Humans and Supernaturals alike revealed likewise was also one thing; the existence of an Out-Of-Time, Out-Of-Space secret society bent on studying the Armageddon/Apocalypse was something else entirely. Especially when said secret society was led by ‘Li and Tyr’s ‘parents’. Yes, Rachel’s friends were even weirder than Rach herself, and Rach was the one who had conversations with sentient toasters.

Rachel couldn’t stop her left eyebrow from rising all the way to her hairline at the looks of disapproval the man was getting for his obviously short temper. It was hardly a surprise that the man would be angry at such an annoying phone-call; then, not everyone had Rach’s understanding or even information. She shooed some very annoying people – yes, unprofessional, but Rachel was never professional when in an electrical deficiency and people either accepted it or gave up – out of her way and strutted in her gold twelve-inch high-heeled knee-high boots towards her ‘unsuspecting victim’ – a.k.a. Rhys Winters, journalist, if the voice recognition and face recognition softwares she had run as soon as he entered weren’t wrong, and they weren’t, since Rach herself along with Horatio had programmed them. Once there, Rachel smoothed out her grey short schoolgirl skirt and her also grey shirt with the gold-colored tie and waited to be noticed.

When she was noticed by Rhys, she expected anything except what she got. It wasn’t that she thought Rhys would be rude, or something like that. No, it was just the topic of conversation that caught Rachel off-balance; she couldn’t have heard right! A shocked second later, Rachel telecommunicated with her portable voice recorder masquerading as a huge golden bangle earring, her eyes, which had turned honey yellow for that second when she had been frozen by shock, flashing their custom gold, and ascertained that Rhys had indeed asked about Pandora’s Box. {Well, I’d be eradicated! Another Seeker? Horatio would be thrilled to meet him! I sure hope he will be nice to my H, though… If he’s not, he’s gonna have to do with me!} Of course, Rachel didn’t leave any part of her machinations show on her exterior; she appeared a perfectly polite, if a bit puzzled, shop assistant. Well, fashionable shop assistant. Rachel would be overwritten if she ever got out of bed without makeup, no matter how light, not to mention short skirts and high heels or her honeysuckle perfume to cover her natural ozone scent.

And he didn’t even know the publisher; not surprising, as Horatio and Schliel had published Pandora’s Box under an off-shore shell publishing company of Tyr’s, Archetype Manuscripts, which, yeah, had been a codename for several Apocrypha and assorted occult during the Antiquity and later for several scientific publications during the Dark Ages. Tyr had profited highly from each and every one of them, and a considerable share of her current wealthoriginated from there. However, that was Tyr. Always an opportunistic dear, their resident Concept. Rachel smiled at Rhys, perfect white teeth revealed behind golden lips. “Oh, of course! It is rather obscure, Pandora’s Box! Follow me, please!” Rachel uttered gently, and pointed towards their Black Widow-themed bookshelves at the back of the shop, close to the counter. Then she led the way, not checking if she was being followed. However, one thing that was bugging Rachel was Rhys’s level of electricity; it was positively amazing.

[rhys]

{OOC: No, it’s perfect , love the improvisation }

The woman Rhys had addressed turned around at his query. The first thing he noticed about her was the strangeness of her scent. She smelled female, but something else about her didn’t quite match up. And her scent reminded him of something from his childhood.
Honeysuckle, his memory told him. There had been a cottage in his home in England, an abandoned, rundown house which had been overtaken by nature. Honeysuckle had covered one of the walls. Rhys and his brother had often played with some of the other children in their werewolf pack, sneaking into the cottage and fleeing the local police when they gave chase.

Of course, the woman’s appearance was not forgettable, either. The journalist couldn’t work out whether she was dressed as somebody or whether this was her normal style. She was very attractive, though Rhys preferred curvier women. Bright golden lips curved into a smile. A pair of intriguing golden eyes matched her obvious adoration for the metallic colour. Even more startling was how tall she was – taller than he was, and Rhys was a little over six feet. When he realised that the reason was her enormous heels, he wondered how on earth she hadn’t broken her back already wearing those things. Women! Rhys in comparison was dressed quite plainly, in jeans, black boots, a dark blue plain shirt and his black jacket. And a watch. He felt almost out of place, especially when he saw two girls enter the store, both wearing incredibly odd costumes, complete with fluffy wings and large clawed footwear.

Rhys returned his full attention to the shop assistant. The werewolf had the decency to look at least a little sheepish about his earlier shouting match, and he scratched his stubbled cheek as the girl spoke.
“Yeah cheers, wouldn’t know where to look. Uh, sorry you had to be witness to that awful row on the phone. Telemarketers.” He shook his head as though the fact telemarketers were annoying made his reaction reasonable. “I’ve a temper,” he admitted. But she didn’t seem perturbed, and, by some miracle, she seemed to know what comic he was talking about. He looked around and put his hands into his pockets, then followed her retreating form through the comic bookshelves.

They reached the counter, and Rhys folded his arms, amazed at the number of strange things they sold in the shop. He had no idea what most of the things were, aside from the usual Superman and Batman stuff. There were obscure figurines and ornate swords, shirts with political slogans and interesting characters. Rhys picked out a lot of Japanese-styled cartoons. He knew nothing about manga, but he at least recognised the style.

Another figurine made him smirk. It snarled at him from the counter, its red eyes glaring. Rhys picked the werewolf figurine up gently and turned it over in his hands. At least it looked vaguely wolf-like. It crouched on all fours, though it was humanoid, and a dark mane rippled over its back and down to its brushy tail. Its snout was too short and its ears too small, but it was acceptable. Rhys always scoffed at B-grade werewolf representations. Real werewolves did not look like apes or tailless dogs or humans with tufts of fur on their hands and retractable cat claws. Real werewolves did not roar like lions and tigers. Rhys had never understood why so many films insisted on using cat sounds for wolves!

“Sorry,” Rhys said hastily, realising there was probably a ‘no touch’ policy on stuff in a store like this. He hastily put the werewolf back. “You’ve got a very eclectic store here,” he said, in way of conversation. “I don’t know what most of this stuff is, exactly, but it’s very interesting.” He didn’t know any other way of putting it. “So what can you tell me about this Pandora comic? I’ll be frank with you. I’m a journalist. Rhys Winters.” He offered a hand, and another whiff of honeysuckle perfume invaded his senses. He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the strong scent; he liked the smell, but perfumes always bothered him. And there was another smell which he detected underneath it. Ozone? He wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe it was coming from somewhere else. Not the girl, surely. “I was told by someone to search this comic out. I’m not sure why yet. I’m trying to track down every issue that’s out so far, and if you could sign me up to receive the latest editions, I’d be grateful.”

[kerasia4]

{OOC: *sigh* Be prepared for more Rachel madness in this post. My muse was, like, ‘I don’t give a crap your post has to be manageable. I’m a tempest and I do what I want.’ I was like ‘Are you Loki? … Nah, scratch that, you’re Tempest this time. At least now you have a name.’ … It went downhill from there.}

Rachel didn’t want to draw conclusions from the way one dressed; she drew conclusions from the way one acted and then justified said actions instead. So, even though Rhys was dressed plainly, the only though on Rachel’s mind connected to that was that he obviously cared about efficiency. Not that Rachel herself did not care about efficiency; she just used fashion – not trends, though, never trends – to conceal her weaponry and resources, because who could imagine earrings, bracelets, rings and necklaces were actually nanobots and weapon parts? It was hard not to care about your continued freedom when it had once been stripped away from you, Rachel always said as an explanation of her mania to always have at least one pre-assembled nanobot and at least ten parts of hardware that could do great damage close to her person. Anyway, from what Rach could tell, Rhys wasn’t so bad; he tried to apologize and provided a reasonable explanation for his behavior. Being honest and logical had always been a positive for Rachel, and she could tell Rhys was currently being honest due to the levels of electricity in specific areas of his brain; Horatio and Tyr had spent a month and a half training Rachel in doing this particular parlor trick.

Rachel was always very economic when moving inside the shop; she did not strut too much, she did not swagger, she did not sway. The same could be said whether she was wearing combat boots, stilettoes, flip-flops, high-heels, converse, sandals or whatever she had wished to wear for a particular occasion; Rachel had efficient, effective movements in high heels down to an art. So, she had, as always, meandered among customers, bookshelves and showcases, sure that she was being followed by the cameras’ footage. There on the Wonder-Woman-themed bookcase were the feministic comics in order of publisher and author, there on the Superman-themed bookcase were the more traditional DC comics in order of issue number, multiverse and continuity, there on the Captain-America-themed bookcase were the more traditional Marvel comics by the same order as the more traditional DC comics, there on the Hulk-themed bookcases were the comicsof last year and this year by order of publisher and then alphabetically,there on the Zatanna-themed bookcase were the occult comics in order publication date, and there on the Sailor-Moon-themed bookcases were the manga in order of publisher and then alphabetically.

Rachel had a reason she had the most obscure, dangerous comics and paraphernalia close to the counter, apart from her borderline OCD and Horatio’s involvement in most of them. (Her H had always had a deep artistic vein, and he was behind many of the newer comics, using various aliases; it was fortunate his style was adaptive and gregarious, or else the snoopers would have already realized the illustrators for The Last Earth Of Men, Pandora’s Box, Silverstorm, New Order and L.I.-V.E., a.k.a. Last Interval-Vantage End, were the same person. Well, at least ‘Li was old enough to have developed several unique writing styles, and was practically non-existent, with no real papers except her masterpiece fake ones; not that Rachel was any better at leaving annoying past details well alone. After all, there was no surviving record of David John Emerson anywhere; no, Rach had hunted all relevant information and overwritten them with her own. Horatio had almost thrown a fit when she’d told him. Rachel believed his exact words were ‘Rachel Liv Emerson, it’s not enough your hacker alias is wanted in several States, you had to hack into FBI’s database to remove their records? Rachel! Rachel! Don’t you telecommunicate with our toaster while I’m talking to you, Rachel!’. That had been a fun conversation.) No. There were two chief reasons Rachel the order maniac had the most obscure and dangerous merchandise near the counter, along with the rarities and the various geek chic products.

First of all, Laurie had most of the attention she – because Laurie might be technically an A.I., but she had her own will, her own personality – spared to The Forged Sword focused on the cameras stationed near the counter, since the door to Rach’s First Laboratory and Workshop was behind said counter. Rachel did top secret work there. She designed and worked on Shimi’s suits, she built robots, she worked on new elements and materials, she practically lived there. Well, the underground tunnel to her skyscraper’s basement was a huge advantage, not to mention that the whole skyscraper – except the first and last floors, where Rachel actually lived – was her Second Laboratory and Workshop. It had the best security system Rachel could have invented, only unlocking when a specific amount of electricity was released towards the door’s electronic lock, the door itself made out of a new, wood-like-looking material that had the strength of steel. However, Rachel had had trust issues with everyone except H and her creations since straight camp, so Laurie kept an eye on Rach’s F.L.W.

And, second, either Rachel or Horatio were near the counter most of the time. They could, therefore, pay close attention to the people searching through their ‘semi-secret stash’ and discern if they were likely to need some of their more… special services. Rach could hardly believe the amount of people with powers that searched for kin in comics, or had heard of the Sword’s other specialty from friends, or just wanted to blend in and entered the Sword on Saturdays. Horatio had a knack for guessing correctly on their powers and later offering them tea on the café part of the Sword, along with confessions of their own, a widespread information network, and a support system for the ones in need of it. (Oh, those bean-bag pouffes had been sat on by many powerful creatures! How could Rachel forget the first time she’d met Tyr? Tyr’d been completely lecherous towards Rachel, and had stopped almost as soon as she touched her, saying that she had no urge to morph into a man that day, and that she had a job for Rach, since she knew what Rach could do. Tyr, oh, Tyr, she could be so completely nutters at times!) Therefore, Rach and Horatio needed their obscure stuff close to the counter.

There were other reasons too, of course, like the fact that Horatio had helped Rach design a sliding wall in front of the Black-Widow-themed bookcase so that no government officials could practice their beloved tactic of censorship and embargo inside their shop, but those were only secondary. For whatever reason, Horatio had decided that the obscure stuff should be housed in the same place as the politically or even literally dangerous comics and merchandise. For instance, the sword replica at the left of the werewolf figurine Rhys had lifted up was a real, sharp sword, and the phaser was Rach’s design and actually operational.Rachel couldn’t help but smile at the thought of an ignorant trying to wield any of the weapons in the Sword. However, she quickly toned the self-satisfied smirk down when Rhys put the werewolf figurine back in its place, for fear it would be misinterpreted.

Polite shop assistant smile in place, Rachel listened to Rhys’ attempt at polite conversation with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t much in the matter of substance, but Rachel was willing to award him points for outstanding effort. When he cut to the heart of the matter, Rachel would have liked to smirk knowingly, but, due to the circumstances and her trust issues, she just shook his hand firmly instead. “Rachel Liv Emerson, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Winters. You could call me Rachel.” After that little introduction, Rachel released the man’s hand and smiled. Her smile morphed into something almost devilish at Rhys’ request, though. “You know what, Mr. Winters? What would you say if I told you I could introduce you to the Pandora’s Box story writer and illustrator?” There Rachel’s smiled turned conspiratorial and she lowered her voice a great deal, as she was passing on secret information. “The writer is kind of… rather odd, even by my standards, and she’s a real pain to persuade into going out of her damned Castle, so, what would you think about staying for a while here, so the illustrator could come back from his errand? He’s the shop owner, but don’t spread that around, now! We’ve worked hard to keep both their identities a secret from the public, and then maybe we could all hail a cab and visit Miss High-And-Positively-Catching-A-Chill-There?”

[rhys]

{OOC: It’s fine; sometimes characters have a life of their own, too, and it’s good to give the other writer context about that character; I like it when people do that}

Rhys had some across some strange stories and odd leads throughout his so-far short but rich career as a journalist and a Middle Eastern correspondent. He was also a werewolf and thus fairly knowledgeable about the ‘other’ world which humans did not seem to know about even in this age of social media. This meant he saw entirely new dimensions to things that human journalists might not even think of, and it made Rhys in some ways more effective at his job when it came to deciphering problems.

However, looking for leads in comics was something entirely new to him. Given, Rhys was not yet thirty, and despite ten years of extensive experience, older journalists scoffed at him and told him he knew nothing yet, that when had been at the job for twenty plus years, he could call himself a veteran journalist. They’d say, “You think you’ve seen everything, you young journo pups!” and slap Rhys on the back in a patronising manner. Rhys idly wondered if scrutinising obscure comics was a rite of passage in the journalism world. He would have smirked to himself, but he was in the company of someone who clearly had a passion for comic books, and he didn’t want to offend her. So far, she’d given him no reason to want to offend her.

The shop assistant had a firm hand-shake, Rhys thought. She seemed to be the sort of person who exuded confidence, and he was secretly grateful that she hadn’t turned him out of her shop. Some people didn’t take well to journalists. Rhys had been dragged away by security, thrown out onto the street, and he had been the subject of atrocious language and had even been spat at. Most of the time, it hadn’t been a personal thing. Journalists copped that sort of crap in their job. Rhys’s tenacity meant he got on the wrong side of the law and of people at times, though he tended to behave professionally. Unfortunately, just being a journalist in the Middle East had also meant instant suspicion by the ‘law’. He had been given, as he put it, “an unannounced, forced tour of the inside of an interrogation room,” and his tour guides had been generous enough to introduce him to ‘interrogation techniques’ after four days’ free accommodation in a dark room with no food. He’d saved on a hotel, at least. When he had been released, he had been ‘politely’ warned off the story. Rhys had reported on the story anyway, and then he’d gotten the fuck out of the country before it hit worldwide headlines.

Could a comic book series get him into trouble here? He didn’t imagine an American government would take too kindly to his digging. He knew what the yanks did. They sent people to countries where torture was legal, and they threw people into holes and named them terrorists. Of course, most of those people probably were terrorists, but some weren’t. But all of this seemed distant in his mind at the moment, though he did think about the consequences a lot, because he had experienced negative consequences before. But a comic book? Really. Rhys didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It seemed so ridiculous that this lead could go anywhere, even to a person whose knowledge of the supernatural world led him to believe that any lead was worth checking. Maybe it was a magic book? What if he got sucked into another world?
Rubbish, Rhys thought. He smiled, pleased at Rachel’s suggestion. Rhys didn’t smile very often; in fact, he smirked and scowled more than he genuinely smiled, and his whole face lit up. Rachel’s knowledge of the comic book’s author was more than he’d hoped for. Secret identities? The shop owner? It was the recipe for a great story.

Unless she was pulling his leg.

Rhys scratched his neck. He decided to bite for now. He could always leave if he wanted, and she didn’t seem to be lying. Rhys could often tell when people were lying. Being a werewolf helped in that, but he could also read facial expressions incredibly well. Of course, he wasn’t always right, so he never took things for granted. Being driven somewhere he didn’t know also made him raise his guard slightly, but he shrugged the feeling off. He didn’t think she was going to knock him out, throw him in a van and chain him to a chair for ‘questioning’. He shuddered at the memory and fidgeted a little.

Fuck I need to sleep more, Rhys thought sourly. He was feeling jumpier than usual this week, but moving to a new country did that to people. His editor was a right bitch keeping him up until late and demanding he go to work at 4am to keep him off the government story. Rhys had to work on his freelance story in his own time, and it was killing him, but he refused to give up.
“If you don’t mind me waiting, I will,” he agreed. He wanted to ask her if she was teasing him, but he decided to just wait it out. “We have some stores like this. In England.” Back to the casual conversation. “Though nothing quite as interesting as this. Do people buy those swords and those um, is that a gun?” He made the incorrect assumption that the sci-fi gun was fake. He turned back to face her, his hands in his jacket pockets again. “So you know the author of the comic. That’s a real coincidence. I’d gone to the Bibliophile book shop at the south mall entrance. Good thing I saw this place. It’s like a treasure trove in here.”
Of nerd stuff, Rhys thought, looking around. Not that there was anything wrong with people liking this stuff. Rhys had been an enormous Doctor Who fan when he was a kid. He had pretended to be The Doctor and he had even built a TARDIS with his brother. Rhys cringed at the memory.
He continued, “Have you read Pandora’s Box?”

[Deleted]

(hi I'm gonna jump in ;D)

Inara hated riding the bus absolutely hated it. It was always loud and filled with all sorts of annoying assholes. Drug dealers, bums, murders, and other bla de bla de fucking bla ones imagination could fill in the blanks. It's not like public transportation attracted billionaires and her car was unfortunately still at her foster-parents house. One would think that would be the first place you would go after being gone for 6 months but lil Miss Inara Shimiku had a about 3 different layers to her life that all needed to be fixed. Unfortunately the normal life of 'Shimi' came last behind Rabbits and her love. She had already done what she could with Lia she knows about her secret and she knows that her mate is still alive and home. Her comrades however had no idea. She informed Rach and H about her departure but, it wasn't in person it was through Laurie so who knows how accurate message was. Plus the last bit of contact Laurie had with her was through her suit. More accurately through her suits life support which she was more than confidant told Laurie that she probably expired. The only thing she about to say to the A.I before the plane crash was "Mayday Mayday my plane just got hit with an RP--------*static*". She wasn't sure if it caught anything else Khaine was pretty thorough with the whole destruction of her plane and things. It was a miracle she was able to survive it at all but, she knew there would be questions. So Rach could learn all the juicy details when she arrived at the Forged Sword. Her main priority was getting her gear repaired or replaced most likely the latter. All she had left of her suit was a bookbag of tattered cloth and wires. She had also brought the Mizo no Muramasa with her so Rach could study it. The sword was cursed like all Muramasa's are and she wanted to make sure she could safely wield it.

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On the bright side at least she didn't look like a cosplay girl like she normaly did when coming into the store. Not that she minded really she thought Rach’s taste in her suits fashion was stylish just a little loud sometimes. But since her suit was totaled she was dressed in normal people garb. A simple pair of boot-cut jeans ending in a pair of black combat boots with a olive green flight jacket and a black tank-top underneath.

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She sat on the bus idly clicking her teeth much like Lia did when she grew impatient with her. She couldn't help but chuckle once she realized it. Shimi found it amazing how much of Lia's habits where starting to come in her she was alone. It lead her to wonder if she had the same effect on her mate. The thought quickly left her mind once the bus came to a screeching halt at the corner. Shimi wasted no time exiting the filth filled bus making a B-line straight towards the Forged Sword. As she drew closer she could hear the random bits of tech in what was left in her suit attempt to come to life in the backpack it was being kept it. That must be either Laurie or Rach recognizing something of something she never knew what was going through that woman’s head. Either way the noise while annoying was a comfort. It just one more reassurance that she was really home and not still stuck in the middle of nowhere Japan. Also it probably would make it a lot easier for Rach to recognize Shimi through her new look. She didn't think she looked that different but, the short hair cut was drastic enough that it threw her foster-mom off guard when she Skyped them. So who knew either way it was good to be back and she desperately wanted to get another suit so she could get back to her work.

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As Shimi casually strolled in the familiar shop she quickly noticed a few things where moved around nothing major it would appear just small mercantile and such. What was odd is she didn't immediately see H or hear Rach's loud mouth. She quickly glanced around the store and soon found Rach talking to some other customer a taller male who very clearly didn't fit in here. So it was obvious to Shimi that he wasn't here for pleasure. The real question was is he here for help or to start a little trouble. Either way she readied herself her hand instinctively grasping the hilt of her blade. Because of the nature of Rach's power there typically wasn't an abundance of water in the store so if things where about to go down her only defense would be the blade. Which she really hoped it wasn't going to have to come to just touching the hilt of the blade sent waves of murderous rage into her. If her will had not been built up from her encounters with demon's she knew that the blade could have easily taken her body. Thankfully that wasn't the case and so far he appeared friendly. Shimi mildly cleared her throat so she could speak up. "Hey excuse me" She quickly nodded and smiled at the stranger in a gesture of politeness. "Sorry bud not to be rude and cut you off. Umm Rach yeah when you get free time like soon we need to 'talk'...alot unfortunately."

(yeah sorry about the for all the ambiguity about the trip sword and such going sticking with a side story that i made up to explain my absence from the site )

[kerasia4]

Rachel had always been unique, even for a technopath. She had always been sure of her gender, of her identity, of her character. Horatio said it had been due to her extremely high technopathy level, even before the Change brought upon her by the straight camp’s “lovely scientists’ very safe processes”. Rach was sure it had to do with that, too, since H was a real genius. She could vaguely remember running her chubby fingers over electrical appliances and laughing at what a stapler whispered to her. She could recall silver sparks dancing on her palms and thunder following her commands. However, she was not sure if it was something that had really happened or if it had been part of the illusions she had experienced after being electroshocked so many times she would have been brain-dead had she not been a technopath; and she had been close to brain-dead, too, when the people playing-God with her life were finished with her. Horatio had been the one tobring her back online, so to speak. Rachel owed Horatio her life, but that wasn’t why she was his friend. No, that honor would have to belong to her H’s sharp sense of humor, or his ability to multitask, or maybe his natural chivalry, or his easily excitable nature. Or maybe it was because, as Tyr had observed, Horatio did not seem to count Rachel’s rescue as something for which Rachel owed him.

The point was, Rachel was one of the most powerful technopaths in existence. Her conscience had several layers and cores, like a computer with four CPUs. One was used for communicating with electrical appliances at a 500 mile radius and L.A.U.R.I.E., another for human interactions, another for puzzling out problems/running her support system and another for machinations/information gathering. So, while Rach’s second CPU observed that Rhys was smiling, as if pleased by her suggestion, her first was recognizing Inara’s suit pieces and that GPS tracker Rachel had embedded between two of ‘Nara’s left toes. While Rachel’s second CPU was ordering her smile to tone down, her third one was ordering her first to commandeer a car so a young man could be saved by a gang of bullies two kilometers from The Forged Sword and her fourth observed that almost none of Rhys’ photographs showed him smiling quite the way he did at that moment.

Rach couldn’t guess what was going through the journalist’s brain right then. She was getting better at deciphering electrical discharges inside people’s brains, but she wasn’t that good at it. Yet. The most she could do was make an educated guess. Rhys had been a journalist for… ten years? Surely that long a carrier had seen many impolite reactions to his profession. Rachel had a code, though: Never show bad behavior due to a label. It was a code of conduct, that code. That way, Rachel treated everyone the same way, like vaguely disturbing prototypes. Whatever someone’s label was, Rach would view him the same way as she’d view any other person, like a mild annoyance/security risk/resource.

Rachel’s mind was as multifaceted as her personality; at first, she seemed flat and easy to understand and predict, but slowly but surely one realized she was just toying with them, acting just the way she was sure was expected of her simply for wont of anything else interesting to do. She was quite like Tyr that way, only Tyr had been playing that game for a much, much longer time than Rachel; of course, the thing with Tyr was that she had been doing everything much, much longer than anyone else but her parents. Pretending to be mortal? Check. Passing off as God? Check. Screwing with people? Check. Sleeping with everyone? Check. Being proud of one’s self? Check. Destroying kingdoms? Check. Honestly, it was not surprising Tyr had taken young Rachel – because, when you’re older than the universe, everybody is young – under her wing; Tyr had always been a sucker for dynamic females, and Rachel was nothing if not a dynamic female.

No, Rachel was many things; she was bright, she was vicious with her adversaries, she was controlling, she was proud, she was a vigilante for the LGBTA people, she was a moving lie detector, she was Rabbit Snow’s Quartermaster, she was Horatio’s manager, she was a strategist, she was many things in one package. And she was Edge. So, almost nothing got past her, and when Rhys scratched his neck a little bit, she was able to make a good guess on what it meant. Same with his minute shudder and fidget. Rachel, who was not a betting woman, was almost willing to bet Rhys was cautious and a bit jumpy. There she almost tilted her head inquisitively to the right, searching for Rhys’ travel logs; there! So, dear Mr. Winters hadn’t been in America for long. That almost explained it; almost. Rach decided to postpone digging deeper, for now. After all, the man was probably about to speak. She could always unearth his secrets later.

Rachel listened to Rhys’ agreement carefully, amused that her tactics were working. She wanted to figure him out, that journalist with the insanely high electricity. After all, he did not seem a man who would purposefully harm her H, and Horatio had spelled it out loud and clear after she had almost attacked Blake with her phasers drawn, Rach needed to stop being that controlling. She just smiled at Rhys’ second try at small-talk; it always amused her when people made false assumptions about her merchandise, which was a rather usual phenomenon. She brought her fourth CPU online for the conversation, too, as she would need it. “Yes, well, I’ve read the first six issues, and rough drafts of issue number seven…” There Rach couldn’t help but smirk knowingly. Rhys Winters, such a determined and tenacious individual that he appeared to be – Laurie was becoming a huge fan of his articles about the Middle East, and was chattering happily at Rachel’s first CPU, would surely catch that. “It’s a story about the futility of war, about destruction, about fierceness and retribution and the nature of justice… It’s rather philosophical under its veneer of action and drama. One might say it even speaks of oppression and its results.” Rachel’s smirk morphed into a delighted smile then.

Inara was approaching! Of course, Rachel had known Inara was still alive. How couldn’t she, since she’d ordered her nanobots to embed a GPS locator/life readings transmitter in her while Inara was sleeping? It was standard policy for her, and maybe, just maybe, Horatio was right and Rachel was a total control freak. Not that Horatio didn’t truly love and accept her; just because he loved and accepted her, he could affectionately critique the way she operated. What Rachel had meant was that Inara, her wrecked suit along, was inside the Sword. Of course, she’d been in town for longer, and, yes, Rach had waited for dear Rabbit to come by the Forged Sword, and, yes, Rachel’s fourth CPU might have noticed Inara at many secret cameras’ footage. However, since Inara had entered their shop, what should she do? Well, pretend she hadn’t seen her, of course! After all, Rachel might have been worried if she’d been anyone but herself. Horatio certainly had been when he heard news of what had happened to Inara’s plane.

(OOC: I’m letting you confront Shimi, dear… It fit better with the way Rachel deals with the world… Which is why I explained part of it there…)

[rhys]

The smell of ozone wafting from Rachel was beginning to make Rhys curious. The werewolf’s excellent sense of smell was a useful tool at times. However, it had its serious downsides; Rhys had learned early in life that people clearly didn’t wash themselves or their clothes as often as they should. Rachel on the other hand smelled pleasant enough, but he had determined that the ozone smell was definitely coming from her. He filed away this little piece of information as he listened to her description of the comic.

It was an intriguing way to describe a comic. Rhys tilted his head slightly as he often did when he was listening intently. He folded his arms, focusing his blue eyes on her, trying to read what she truly thought of the comic beyond her words. She seemed pleased. With herself or with the comic? Rhys wasn’t sure. What he knew was that he wanted to talk to this woman more.
“You sound like a media and context major,” Rhys said, giving her a half smile. He considered the description a little further. It described what he often tried to portray in his stories and photos about the war in the Middle East. He had also covered parts of Africa, though that had only been one six month trip. “I’m very eager to read it.”

Rhys paused and coughed lightly. The ozone smell was so strong to his wolf senses that it was irritating his lungs and his nose. He wished he had bought a bottle of water with him, and he coughed again into the crook of his arm, then sneezed.
“Sorry,” Rhys muttered. “Must be hay fever.”
She smells like a bloody machine, Rhys thought. It hadn’t bothered him much at first, but he had been standing here talking to her for about five minutes, and that was enough. He doubted a human would have had as much of a problem. It was another reminder that having a wolf’s sense of smell was not always a good thing.

Somebody else entered the store. Rhys also had a wolf’s hearing, and he had been listening carefully. His editor and people from his newsroom had a habit of appearing everywhere, and he had begun to grow paranoid that the wise old bat had set spies on him. His paranoia was nothing new; he had been sent to a psychologist after returning from the Middle East. After all, he had been detained and tortured, and he had been on the front line of several battles. Many journalists came back from warzones f*cked in the head. Rhys’s old employers had made him see a psychologist once a week for some time. It had been torturous for the werewolf, who was private by nature, an ironic thing considering he dug into other people’s lives for a living. So it was natural that Rhys thought he was being watched.

It wasn’t the editor. For all Rhys knew, though, it could have been somebody from the government. He smiled mirthlessly at the thought, then turned around as the newcomer’s footsteps approached Rachel and himself.
A girl stood there. Young, of Asian descent, pretty, seemingly normal as opposed to the cosplayers he had seen earlier in the store. Although Rhys couldn’t help but wonder at the sword she had. Rhys liked historical weapons. He probably would have collected them if he stayed in one place long enough. But he politely didn’t stare.

Her scent was interesting. Like a forest after it had rained. He turned to face her, though he stood sideways so he wasn’t turning his back on Rachel, either. He was a little annoyed at her interruption, though; the journalist didn’t have a lot of time to stand around and wait. However, he assumed the situation might be urgent judging by the tone of the newcomer’s voice, so he shrugged and leaned against the counter. When he had a moment, he would have to ask Rachel if they could continue their conversation. Rhys wasn’t about to let go of this lead.
“No worries,” he said, though secretly he wasn’t too impressed. Why did people think they could just interrupt someone else’s conversation? Rhys didn’t understand people. What if he had been a customer? He turned back to see if Rachel was still there. “I’ll wait until you two are done. Shall I wait outside if it's private? I can come back.” Rhys thought it might be a good time to get some fresh air. The ozone was making his throat tickle again, and he started coughing.

((OOC: I had to assume the sword was visible? Correct me if I’m wrong. And did Rachel physically disappear from the conversation? I wasn’t sure – I assumed Inara had seen Rachel since she directly addressed her, but did Rachel turn her back and leave? I figured the ozone might bother Rhys, him having such sharp senses.))

[kerasia3]

{Horatio: "Nah, Rachel just didn't speak. She's rude like that, always tests people by letting them handle her problems... ... ... ... *backtracks* Not that she's not positively lovely!"
Rachel: "Oh, H! I know you love me, but you don't have to be so vocal! *playful flirting*"}

[Deleted]

Shimi blinked a couple a times at the awards pause that came after she had asked Rach her question. During so Shimi instinctively loosened her grip on the sword on her hip. The man who was here obviously wasn't a threat to her at least. It would appear that he was just looking for a few answers which of course wasn't going to be the easiest of thing to prey from Rach's mind. Thankfully memory kicked in and Shimi simply passed Rach off rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I'm sorry sir she....does this is cute tho isn't? She is kinda like a robotic kitten." Dropping her previous guard completely Shimi did a polite bow to the man. “Excuse me where were my manners. My names Inara sorry for interrupting ya I will let you get back to.." Her eyes shifted to Rach for a second. "Your attempt at conversation." With that said she slowly back away from them and turned her focus towards the back part of the store.

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She knew what that look on Rach's face meant. Somehow Rach knew what had been going on in her little world to some extent. Shimi almost forgot about Rach's funny little way about dealing with things. It almost made her fell like she wasn't missed but, she was pretty sure that wasn't the case. When H returned she probably would get the more emotional welcome home her subconscious desired for now it was better just to get to work. First of all she knew there no longer any need for her carry any of her things. It all would be taken from her and scanned for various things so she simply dropped them to the floor. No sooner before they could hit ground sure enough mini machines and tid-bits where taking them away towards the lab. Like the good little lemming she become when going through the motions of dealing with her initial check in at Rabbit's HQ; Shimi followed the tiny little mites. As she stepped forward she could feel her entire body tingle she hated feeling. It was caused by the minor electric current created naturally by the nanobots that Shimi assumed where now entering her body. The average person wouldn’t even be able to feel it but, her hyper conducive body wasn’t exactly average. At first she was extremely opposed to Rach invading her body with the machines for that exact reason. The first time they did the current they had was too strong and nearly stopped her heart. Every other time however, Shimi noticed the buzz got lower until it became the light tingling that it was now.

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She understood now that those where mostly likely always in her body and she could only feel them being active while the store for some reason. On the bright side it allowed Shimi to communicate with L.A.U.R.E in her head which at times admittedly can be annoying. Thinking to speak felt..odd to put it simply. 'Laurie? Laurie? I know you can hear me..I think…could you give an update on my gear? Do I have any suits ready for use and I really need you to do another mental stability check on me. Also Rabbit will be investigating Axium so could you find a good sleuth to help?’ The latter was a more pressing matter on her hands. She was getting tired of waiting to move. She had questions about them and their relationship with her parent’s murder. The thought was driving her even more so insane. Between that, the normal stresses of life and Khaine Shimi was starting to feel like she was getting closer to full on losing it. Her tragic past already still messed with her and all of that mixed this new sensation of bloodlust she has been feeling when around Khaine was becoming too much. She was starting blackout now during fights and training exercises which left her waking up to a mess of destruction she wouldn’t remember causing. Plus the sword she was now wielding was a cursed demon blade of Muramasa which have a history for driving their wielder insane. Now that she was back her plans for finally making a move on the Axium Corp could come to fruit. But if she could control her emotions she could easily end up a slave to some greater force.