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Realms: Guardians Logs

Background RP - Reynard - Part 3

More Than He Can Chew: Reynard’s Story

Part 3: Connections


Reynard retraces his path to the electrical refueling station he was at a moment ago to get directions to the 24th prescent, where his contact, Seargent David Jennings, was posted. As he recharges his bike, however, he has a thought. Pulling out his cellphone, he punches in a long distance number. "Come on, Dimmer, answer..."

Ring. Ring. Ring. "If he'd get off that damned machine..." "Hello?" The hunter smiles. "Dimmer! Hey, it's Reynard." "Oh..." The voice is slow, groggy. The hacker likely spent another night not leaving the terminal. "Get up, grab a pen. I need you to search out something for me. I'll pay you as always." Reynard quips.

"Hey, that last girl didn't appreciate you giving me her number..." Reynard winces. "Well, you sent me to the wrong address. What do you expect?" There's a sigh on the other end. "Whatever. What'm I looking up?"

The bounty hunter leans against the payphone, peering at the guy using it next to him. "I need you to find something on a... well, a name. 'Arachne'. I don't know what it means, I think it might be like a mafia, or somesuch. Snoop around, let me know if you find anything on it."

"Arachne? You gotta be shitting me. Tell me you're shitting me."

Reynard peers at the reciever as if it licked him. "No... I'm serious. What's the problem?"

Dimmer, on the other end of the line, seems much more alert now. "Arachne are bad juju man. There's talk about them on the web. They're some religious cult type thing...like something out of D+D 5th ed, man. Spider motif, ritual sacrifice....man haters, for the most part. They're not quite mafia, and they're not tremendous, but they are very, very nasty. I wouldn't cross one of them unless my life depended on it...

Reynard's brows raise. "Ah...hah. I see... Well, I had the misfortune of getting up close and personal, and not the flattering way, with several of them. Nearly ended up a stain." Noting the guy next to him turning at the words, "And I had to get rid of that jacket..." Clearing his throat, putting his back to the fellow, "That doesn't sound very good. But, I think I should do my homework. See what you can scrounge up about a 'Priestess Nya', unless you feel it's too dangerous to snoop. Don't want another hacktrap snapping on you again.

Reynard snaps his fingers."Oh. And, one more thing. I ran across something...interesting. Don't know what it is, surprised me. Have you ever heard of something called a... 'Ghoul'? Not a monster, but... a Person. Or, a reasonable faximily."

Dimmer sounds doubtful. "Dunno nothing about ghouls, man...and I seriously doubt that there are names of any Arachne priestesses just floating around, but I'll see what I can do. Unnerstand, I'm not promising anything...but, if I find anything, I'll want something good. None of this phone-number shit."

A sigh. "Yes, yes, I know. Seems I'll need to come back to Philly and find you something... Just poke around, and see if you can find anything useful on anything in relation to them, or...whatever a 'ghoul' is. I'm sure you want to go back to sleep; skin-flick downloads must be taxing."

"Hey, I'm not the one with the souped up body and the scent that drives women wild, Cat-boy. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. Be careful, huh? I don't want to see your name on a conspiracy theory website morgue." Click.

Reynard, as if to mock the hacker, licks the back of his hand and smooths out a bang. Hmph. He shrugs, and hangs up the phone, moving back to his bike. I may have really stepped in it... And, off to the police station. Moving through the traffic of Boston Common, he pulls in, and draws into the building, wallet in hand. Always helpful to have the licence out.

The place seems to be pretty busy, but that's normal for a police station. People are yelling back and forth, perps being escorted....the woman at the desk, with a look that says, 'I'll eat you for lunch if you waste my time,' asks, "Can I help you?"

Reynard holds up his badge, not wanting to waste the woman's time. No, he knows how hectic police life is, and respects that. "I'm looking for a Seargent Jennings, I have an apointment with him. Could you direct me to his office, please, ma'am?"

The desk seargent raises a brow. "Lieutenant!" she calls back, and a man looks up from where he was speaking with someone else. "You got a bounty hunter here says he knows you and wants to talk." she drawls. The man smiles briefly, recognizing Reynard, and jerking his head in the direction towards the back.

Reynard gives a warm smile to the woman. "Muchly appreciated, miss." Always pays to be polite to the front people. He strolls down to the Lieutenant, grinning faintly. The officer had recently been promoted; good for him. Jennings guides Reynard to a back office, with a glass door reading 'David Jennings, Lieutenant.' The paint is fairly new, so the guess about him recently being promoted is probably correct. He walks around his desk and sits in his chair. "Reynard." he finally says, by means of greeting.

"Jennings." Reynard looks around, and then offers the officer a grin. "Nice. I imagine they gave you a shinier new badge, hm?" Jennings grins back, "Yeah, I'm really something now."

The bounty hunter grabs a small hair and flips it around, straddling it backwards. "Let me cut to the thickness. You have a stumper in a warehouse. I have answers... but some of it may be for your ears only."

Jennings sits forward. "The warehouse in C Square." he says. It's not a question.

Reynard nods once. "Yes. I was following a man named Kranston. An assassin. He was apparently meeting with a client. I showed up." His balled up fist expands, mimicing an explosion.

The lieutenant chuckles wryly. "It had your signature, in hindsight." He sighs. "So, what's the deal? You need fingerprints removed from the scene, or what?"

Reynard nods his head. "Maybe. I left a piece there, by accident. More importantly, Kranston's clients..." He clucks his tuck, shaking his head. "They meant business. Some...cult, by my thinking." He leans forward. "And there's more."

"Go on." the detective prompts, picking up a mug and sipping at the stale coffee inside it.

Reynard takes a breath, considering how he'll put the next statement. "Jennings, you know me. I'm pretty down to earth. I don't go chasing red herrings and ghost stories. But...there was something wrong with Kranston. I put three shells into him, and he shrugged it. He was holding a bloody grenade in his pocket when it went off. But the bobbies at the scene found no bodies."

Jennings takes this in stoically. "Some folk carry out their dead, slick." He pauses. And it's true, there were no bodies."

Reynard shrugs. "I put a slug into his skull, friend. He got up and cussed me out for it. People can keep going with a bullet or two in their torso, with enough drugs to get a rhino lit, but not when one swims in their mind." A shake of his head. "He just seemed... Unnatural." Not that he can compare, but at least he breathes.

Jennings smiles faintly. "As I ws saying, there were no 'bodies' found. But there were pieces of dead flesh everywhere. That's the part that wasn't told to the press." He leans forward. "Wanna know why?"

Reynard grins wolfishly. Gotcha. "Pieces, eh? So, perhaps that frag did slow him down a little." A nod to the question. "Let me guess: the DNA suggested that it'd been dead a long time?"

If the cop is surprised, he doesn't show it. "Twenty years dead, give or take." Jennings replies. "And no blood, Just dead skin and muscle."

Reynard once more nods. "Exactly. Like I said, he took three shells and kept walking." Shaking his head, "Say, the press release said there were other DNA samples... were there pieces of anyone else?" Maybe I got one of the gun-toting girls, too...

Jennings shakes his head. "There were some fiber samples from clothing, even some Spidersilk. But no blood, and no human remains but that belonging to your....'friend'...Kranston, was it?" "And you seems to be as surprised by all this as us, hmm?"

Reynard nods his head. "Yah. I expected flesh and blood, not something out of a Evan Barker film. And the women he was meeting up with were no less offsetting. They were professionals."

Jennings steeples his fingers. "Any names? Besides your man Kranston, of course."

Reynard nods. "Nya. Only thing I got. Some religious thing; one of her bodyguards called her 'Priestess'."

Jennings frowns. "Hmmmmm." He taps the bridge of his nose with his index fingers. "We've got a few files on religious cults that have given us trouble...the name doesn't seem familar right off the bat, but I can certain dig through them...anything else?"

Reynard chews on his lip. "Y'ever heard of one that's got a spider mascot?"

Jennings shakes his head. "I don't usually get the loonies. That's Hawks's department. He seems to have a knack for those kinda things. I'd steer you his way, but he's taking some time off..."

Glancing left and right, as if expecting eavesdroppers, the bounty hunter leans closer. "I also met some others. Nice gents. Helped me out. Don't want to get them in trouble, mind, but I do want to get ahold of 'em."

Jennings frowned. "Helped you out? Regarding this...warehouse mess?"

Reynard nods. "Pulled my ass out of the fire, basicly."

"I see. And then dissapeared without a trace?"

Reynard clucks his tongue, pointing at the man. "Aye. I have a few names; I'd like to find them, but, they helped me out. Not fair for me to bring an entourage of police."

Jennings seems to consider this. "Well, this isn't my case...but if you can keep the amount of paperwork we'll have to file to a minimum, I suppose I could see my way around jurisdictions and police procedure, here. You do seem to have a talent for that..."

Reynard nods. "Sure. Let's see... Holmes, Mr. Kiro...Lillian, Tyco..." He frowns. "The driver had...white eyes. That was Holmes. And there was a rabbi, but I didn't get his name. And a furred woman. Didn't catch hers, either."

The lieutenant's eyes widen slightly as the bounty hunter talks. He purses his lips, as if measuring his response. "Most of those names mean nothing to me....but Holmes...with the white eyes? I know him. Or, I know of him."

Reynard nods his head curiously. "Really? Know a number? A place of business, or somesuch?

Jennings rocks back and forth in his chair, his eyes looking like he has an amusing secret. Then he leans forward and whispers. "He's a math teacher."

Reynard snickers. He can't help it. "A...math teacher. Well, they always say geometry will save your life, one day..."

Jennings smiles. "And yet, interestingly enough, he figures heavily into the cases of one Lieutenant Kevin Hawks. The guy who does the wacko cases. Hawks is bringing him over all the time, or was for a while. Haven't seen the fellow in a while. His real name is Jason Burke. He's got a room above a shop in Harvard Square....his roomate runs an occult bookstore, of all things. Caters like a religious supply house and scifi-fantasy bookstore rolled into one."

Reynard chews on that. "Can I get an address to his school?"

Jennings waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, he works at Harvard University, I think it was. Math department, obviously. Spitting distance from his home."

Reynard rubs his chin. "Ah hah... Hey, y'know, I think I seen the place. Across the street from a nice little dellie. Cute latino..." A dismissive wave. "Anyways, thanks. I'll have to check there for him." A smile. "Anything I can help you with, with that case, then?"

Jennings shakes his head. "I'll talk to some folks down at the C Square prescinct and tell them they can just Black Folder the warehouse stuff...presuming I'm not going to hear any more about this on the news. I'm not, am I?"

Reynard shakes his head. "No. You found the guy decorating the walls? I don't think you'll hear from him again."

Jennings smiles, and then stands. "Here, wait a second..." he dissapears out the door, but comes back in a few minutes with a slip of paper. "Here's the address of the store, just in case you need it."

Reynard takes the address, and nods. "Keep up the good work, lieutenant." He quickly slips out as he ponders his options. Figuring that he should tie the loose ends before unspooling the string, he drives first to Harvard Square. Parking appropriately, and feeding the meter, he crosses the street, sizing up the storefront. The bookstore is called "The Third Eye." It seems a modest enough place, on one of the main streets of Harvard Square, close to the residential district. As Reynard walks in the door, there is the ring of door chimes, and a youngish blond with glasses at the counter. "Can I help you?" he asks cheerfully, looking over the bounty hunter.

Reynard smiles helpfully. "Actually, yes..." Slipping hands into his pockets, casual like, he wanders over toward the counter. "Actually, I went by the University, looking for Professor Burke, but he wasn't there. While I was poking around outside his class, one of his students pointed me here. Is he in?"

Before the blond can speak, there is a familiar voice from somewhere in back. "Tell Mr. McCarter to use the back stairs, Eric." The blond blinks bemusedly, and then shrugs and point Reynard towards a red curtain towards the back of the store.

Reynard flinches, visibly. Damnit. Caught. He shrugs helplessly, smiling disarmingly to the clerk, before he lifts a hand, parting the curtain to step behind. "Professor Burke, I presume?"

Behind the curtain, there is a flight of stairs, leading to an open door. "Do come up, Mr. McCarter." the voice says, farther away this time.

Reynard, absently, wonders where the white rabbit is, as he ascends the stairs. He pauses, only a moment, fingers brushing the door knob. Yes, it should be safe; they had him unconcious, and nothing funny happened. With another shrug, he steps through the open portal, glancing about.

The door leads into a hallway. To the right, there are a number of doors, all of them closed. To the left, an archway that leads into what looks, from the angle he's at, to be the kitchen. And at the far end, the hallway leads to a living room. There is a man sitting on the couch, his legs crossed. He wears black like it was an addiction. Black buttondown shirt, black slack, black shoes, and black wraparound sunglasses. "Or do you prefer Reynard?" says the man, apparently owning the voice that was speaking a moment ago.

Reynard moves inside. As casual as a housecat, he slides into a chair across from the black-afflicted man. "Reynard works,' He offers politely, "Though you've got me at a disadvantage. Mr. Holmes, then?"

The man smiles, and takes off his sunglasses. Sure enough, his eyes are the purest white, with no pupils to be seen. "A moniker that I have grown to prefer." he agrees. "You found us quicker than I expected, Reynard. A tribute, I'm sure, to your superior talent, and perhaps a piqued curiosity." The smile widens, but it seems to be an expression that doesn't penetrate far beyond the surface. "You'll hear no cat jokes from me, however."

"As you can see, I'm still alive." Reynard quips, waggling his eyebrows. "Obviously, there's some canine in there somewhere..." He sits up a little bit. "Yes, well, you didn't make it entirely easy for me to find you either. Didn't even leave a name at the hotel." A glance around him. "For some reason, I'm expecting undead warriors at any moment..."

Holmes chuckles mildly. "Tyco and Mr. Hiro are out, at the moment. Although I am expecting..." There is a tap at the window. "Reynard, open that would you please?"

"Let me guess. Your crow." He reaches back, to unsnap the windowclasp, before sliding it up. There is, in fact, a crow at the window. As the window is opened and Reynard moves away, however, dozens of crows suddenly comes through the window. "A murder, actually." Holmes says mildly, as the room is suddenly chaotic with flapping crows. "A murder of crows. And she's definitely not mine. She's her own murder." he says, his eyes affecting amusement.

Reynard simply watches the roll of birds, letting hands cross in his lap as he sits back down. "Well, I certainly hope she is mindful of the carpet and furniture."

Suddenly, all the crows seem to fly into the same space....and then all the crows dissapear, and instead there is a woman standing in their place. She is wearing a Victorian-style black dress, and has a cloak around her neck. She seems demure, but at the same time, her posture and the set of her face bespeak of inner strength. "Reynard...this is Lillian." says Holmes. Lillian cursteys in response.

Reynard is silent, for a long pause, just staring. Finally, he finds his voice again. "I'll have to thank you, most of all, lady. Your distraction was well-timed." Yes, that accent just kicked up a more civil knotch. The bounty hunter swivels his head back to Holmes. "So, what's next on the agenda? Got a vampire's coffin in the coffee table?"

Lillian barely stiffles a giggle. Holmes only smiles that not-smile. "Tyco is a ghoul, Reynard. A human spirit bound to a dead body, much like your Mr. Kranston. To be honest, I've yet to meet a vampire myself. Though I'm told they do exist."

Lillian makes a gesture towards the kitchen, and Holmes nods. "Would you like something to eat or drink, Reynard?"

Reynard stares again, taken aback by the casualness that Holmes affects when speaking of such things. "Eh...heh." He leans back into the chair, steepling his fingers. He tries to affect a similarly casual air. "Yes...if you happen to have any soda? A Coca-Cola would truly hit the spot; I've not eaten lunch yet." Or a good breakfast. "But I wouldn't want to be a bother. So, Holmes... Y'can understand I'm a little...well, no, a lot out of the loop here. What's going on?"

Lillian dissapears into the kitchen. "Mr. Reynard...have you ever heard of Echelon? Majestic-12? The Argentum Astrum?" Holmes murmurs.

Reynard shakes his head. "Can't say that I have," He replies, though mentally writes the names down.

Holmes's eyes glitter. "Well, they don't know who we are." Lillian reappears with a glass of Coke and crushed ice."

Reynard detests ice, as it tends to hurt when it comes into contact with his teeth. Putting a lip over the glass to filter freezes his lip. However, he's not one to appear ungraitful. Infact, he offers a smile, and, despite the ice, he's needing a little caffine. "Thank you." Taking it, lightly sipping, he watches the ivory eyed man. "And, 'they' would be..."

The man called Holmes pulls a cane that's lying on the arm of the couch into his grip. It is made of wood, and topped with a crystal sphere clutched by a metal 'claw'. Reynard notes, at this point, that there are in fact, lots of crystals everywhere in the room. "They are groups, Reynard. Groups that are very different: some are affliated with goverments...some used to be afilliated with goverments. Some are religious, and some are not." He pauses, and then adds. "The Arachne are one of 'them', in case you didn't already guess. But there is one thing that all these groups have in common."

"That they're obviously not helpful to society. Or, that you're mad enough to try and bugger them." Reynard tips his head curiously, as if to prompt the man on.

Holmes laughs, and there is real emotion present now. "A little of both actually." His eyes meet the Brit's eyes intently then. "They seek Power, Reynard." He says this in a way that the capital 'P' is somehow well evident. "Power at the expense of the innocent. Power over the innocent. And they often come into conflict with each other...and the public is most often the loser in such games as they play."

Reynard nods, a little. "Ok, so we have cloak and dagger going on behind the public's eye. Like mafia on the larger scale... What does this have to do with Mr. Kiro, and corpses walking?"

"In some cases, the undead are the enemy. It's more than just organized crime or conspiracies, Reynard. It's also about the creatures that are supposedly only the stuff of myth. Mages. Demons. Vampires. Ghosts. The stuff that people read about all the time, but believe in their hearts that these things couldn't possibly exist...except that they do." He pauses again. "And some of them...they work with us." Holmes fingers the crystal pommel of his cane. "We're firemen, Reynard. We put out fires, and sometimes even stop them from happening, in order to protect the innocent."

Reynard rubs his eyes a moment. "Hard to take in at once." He shakes his head. "So...then...the priestess? She blew the transformer?" A shake of his head. "And, who is 'we'? Do you work for one of said groups, or is this a vigilante type deal?"

Holmes shakes his head. "One question at a time. First...she didn't simply 'blow' the transformer. Apparently, she had it in mind to electrocute you....and the transformer had the energy to do the job the easiest. Magic takes the simplest path, Reynard. It's easier to call lightning from a source of electricity than it is to shoot it from ones hand, out of nowhere. And no, we are not vigilantes....though we try hard to seem so to those groups. We are also a group. We are...the Unnatural Alliance."

Reynard nods, slowly. He relaxes, and takes a firmer drink of the glass, the numbing feeling against his teeth and lips ignored. "I see..." He rubs his forehead. "And, this Unnatural Alliance looks to stomp on problems. Such as our spider mistresses."

Holmes nods. "We got a tip through the grapevine that the Arachne were planning something...they're not strong here, so it immediately caught our attention. We found out where they were meeting...and in so doing, found you, caught in the middle."

Reynard spreads his hands. "Oops." A wryly grin. "Not that I intended to end up like that, mind you. Not a good spot for me. Caught in the web, y'know."

Holmes nods. Lillian just stands watching the exchange intently. The man in black leans forward then. "Reynard, I'll cut to the chase. We could have just dissapeared completely, if we needed to. The only reason we didn't leave a name and number, as you said, was to see what you'd do. How far you'd go. To be honest, you did better than we expected. On the one hand, we could have decided to deal with this ourselves and let you go on your merry way. On the other, you came away from your first encounter with the....Unnatural, shall we say....and could still speak coherantly. And you also seem interested in following this through. So we'd like to offer you the opportunity to...join us."

Reynard grins absently. "What are you, a recruiter?" But he considers Holmes's words. "That depends on a lot of factors. What's 'this' that you're dealing with? What does being a member require? Is there a union?" A light smile. "Seriously, what're you asking me to do?"

Holmes chuckles. "Questions, questions....you are curious as a cat. But that's not a bad thing. I like that. One should never do anything blindly." He waves a finger at his pupilless eyes. "No pun intended. You know, I'm hungry. I think we need to get some food. Are you hungry?"

"Certainly. There's a Dellie across the way...." Reynard offers suggestively...

Holmes picks up a phone on an endtable. "We'll get some subs then. I'd offer you raw hamburger, but only Tyco tends to like that stuff. And then, we'll talk..."

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