Black like powder (cheryl/open)

[glenn]

New york had two sides to it; clean and the dirty, the heads and the tails. Things that made someone realize how beautiful the world was, and things that sucked the hope and the joy from your very soul. Kaitlyn was not preferential to this kind of moral conundrum that would border on the philosophical, no, she was more simple in her goals and right now she was chewing over on something rather important as she walked her way through one of the seedier places in Brooklyn; East New York. It was pretty hot out, a line of sweat forming down the front and back of her white tank top, her long, raven black hair clinging to her face even her gym shorts, which were normally baggy, clung to the moisture that formed beads across her pale alabaster flesh.

The sun dipped low in the sky above as she ran and ran, her clean white shoes slapping roughly against weather beaten pavement. It was getting late out as her stomach rumbled with irrefutable hunger breaking her free from her thoughts as she slowed her pace, eyes gazing around her; it was dark out now, low light situation but in the distance there was a bar or a pub, still open; the sigh clearly read Dolan's pub and eatery and the place was rife with life of all types; drunk and unruly college kids, motor club members. But she didn't care at all right now, what she did care for, however, was food and a drink.

She got wolf whistles and cries of hey baby! as she strolled into the interior, hips swaying in a casual manner. The place was...nicer than what the clientele outside would have one believe; polished booths of dark cherry-wood and ebony, the distinct low hum of blues and soft rock giving the place a certain mellow ambiance. It was popular from the sounds outside, but popular and infamous are possibly two different words and it was certainly infamous in attracting drunken louts and tough burly bikers and as she took a seat and pulled up a menu that someone left there; she could see why.

The alcohol was cheap, the food was homestyle and the smell of hops and barley from the beer as it mixed in with the smell of greasy burgers, steaks, spicy buffalo wings and the numerous other culinary disasters/masterpieces was certainly an uplifting experience. One of the waiters came around, big guy arms like tree trunks a head full of white, short cropped hair and a smile that could put a smile on a babies face. Numerous tattoos lined his arms and two in particular struck her fancy; "semper fidelis" and "American by birth, Marine by choice" A retried veteran from the marine corps. He was easily in his sixties but the way he carried himself and acted, one would assume it was severe stress that gave him the lines that marred his face and that white hair.

The tag on his chest read Casey and apparently, he was going to take her order. "Hi there little lady, pretty brave coming round here with all th' idiots about ey? Anyways, what can I get cha for tonight?" His voice was rough and husky, yet soft like gravel and air, flicking her eyes up she could see a scar across his throat; damage to the vocal cords? But as she opened her mouth, she merely placed her order, trying her best to keep her attention on the food and not on someone else's business. "I'll take a forty piece party pack of buffalo wings, four large hamburgers, two large orders of onion rings, four large orders of your homestyle kettlecooked chips with extra cheese, a rack of barbeque ribs, four beers and a large coke."

The mans smile faded, leading to a shocked expression before it changed again and he laughed. "Expecting company ma'am?" Kaitlyn merely looked at him, blinked and shook her head. "I have a rather unique metabolism, some would say it's a blessing, but it's all for me. No company expected." There was no look of amusement on her face, rather it was stone like and cool, her indication of seriousness. "My doctor is rather amazed by my ability to pack it all away. Though I find it to be bothersome if I miss a single meal. I get...lethargic."

"I...see. Well there's gonna be a bit of a wait on all the big stuff, so I'll bring out the chips and beers while you wait for the rest of the food." She merely nodded as he turned his back and left her to her own devices, telling the cook her order.

Kaitlyn on the other hand, was at present, now bringing out her laptop and working on a criminal pathology project, involving several famous serial killers for her university project.

"Can I help you?"She never once lifted her head from the scrolling words of her essay as she addressed the unknown person that had approached her booth.

[Jones]

Alcohol is a chemical and most chemicals have a various effects on people. Death is a frequent effect from some chemicals, some burn... alcohol tends to decrease peoples abilities to make intelligent choices. Still despite this people tended to part as a irregular regular came into the bar. They knew him simply as Jones or more usually as Mister Jones. Not the short Mr. But the long drawn out as in "Mister step away from the ledge." It was a sign of respect, or perhaps fear. He radiated an intensity a restrained anger. Like a man constantly at that point just before he reaches for a wrench and bludgeons his neighbor to death for not returning his lawnmower. This anger burned within him but like mankind when he found fire he had harnessed this anger. It was killing him... slowly... but it was a good death. An acceptable death.

They stepped back a little faster as they saw Jones seemed in a less joyful mode then usual. His usual leather duster was looking a bit ragged, a burn mark here and there and rips in the back of it. His black tie usually impeccably pressed was missing in action and his right shoe was missing it's toes. His features weren't any better. There was medical tape wrapped around his back holding various pads to his neck and his knuckles were wrapped in bandages. Most of all the bags under his eyes seemed to darken his face even more then his usual dour expression. He looked like he had been through the wringer but his stride, the way he held his shoulders showed he had probably done more then a little damage to the wringer as he forced himself out the other side.

His throbbing pains and agonies pulsed with each step but not a lick of the pain crossed his features as he surveyed the room and found it packed. The tables taken with rowdy bikers, preppies arguing about golf loudly and some college kids drinking shots and shoving each other. He grunted and then a bit of calm in the storm caught his eye. Maybe... As he walked towards his eyebrow shot up when she asked if she could help him. He paused and decided to forge ahead. He looked a bit uncomfortable for the first time since he had come in.

"Miss... I wanted to ask if I could sit with you."

He held up a hand to ward off the next comment.

"Before you say anything I am not hitting on you and no it is not because I find you unattractive. But I am old, tired, and the only other place left to sit in this place is the bar..."

He looked up as a group of college students head butted each other with bottles duct taped to their hands. Yelling out they were 'Edwards Fortyhands' Jones just shook his head.

"... and I am ninty percent sure that if I have to sit and eat and drink near them I will end up hitting them till the crunchy noises stop.. and while that would improve the gene pool I just really want to have a drink, get something to eat, and then head home. So once again. Do you mind if I sit?"

[glenn]

Kaitlyn had blinked when the old man began to speak, he wasn't interested in her, but he didn't find her unattractive? What a strange way of putting it, when she was merely asking a question. But still, she decided to humor him and let him finishing speaking his mind and his two cents, as she dipped into one order of her chips and a beer that had just arrived, dripping in heart clogging cheese and grease. Her favorite. It was refreshing really to find someone that wasn't all too serious, but still had an air of serious business about them, as if he was capable of switching on the fly from less than serious to super serious just by flipping a switch in that brain of his. Dipping into her chips again, her fingers deftly keeping a huge globule of cheese right in the center of the curry spiced chip she popped it into her mouth, taking note of the injuries across his body from the corner of her eye.

When he had finished speaking, it was her turn in the spot light, as she merely motioned to the seat across from her. He was interesting she had to admit as her eyes trailed to from his hand to the bar, witnessing two college kids...butt heads with glass bottles. Something you would never ever see a sensible person, like Kaitlyn, doing. In fact, she wouldn't be caught dead looking like that as a small twitch of a smile registered at the corners of her lips before dying, like a freshly snuffed candle. "I can certainly....see the appeal," she finally spoke up, her voice stern and flat. Definitely not like the preppy college kids, nor was she gruff and serious like the bikers. In fact, you could say she was her own genre of clique, whatever that genre was of course.

"Despite being in college I would assume by a process of elimination that some of these kids have family with friends in very high and low places. So resist the urge to....strike them till the crunchy noises give way to the gentle, soft squish of gore and tissue." She never once skipped a beat as she spoke, putting a rather stern emphasis on high and low. Despite their less than educated means of getting into university, some of them did, in fact, have rather powerful friends. Friends she was going to have to pay a visit to in the near future. Not as Kaitlyn, but rather, as the ghost of new jersey.

"You can sit down you know, it's a free table."

[Jones]

Jones eased down into the seat, his knees almost creaking audibly and his back screaming with the sudden motion. His only visible change of expression besides relief as he got off his aching feet was a slight wince as his back made contact with the back of the chair. His back was were most of the pain seemed to be today heck if the doctors at Icarus had their way he would be laid up for at least a week recovering but he couldn't take that much time off. Too much to do. So instead he raised a hand towards the bartender who raised his hands up, one holding a Guiness the other a bottle of whiskey. Jones pointed at the Guiness hand and raised up two fingers. While Jones was raising his arm and the bartender was shoving the bottles into the tray of a server and directing him to Jones, Jones didn't notice the motion had shoved aside some of his leather duster revealing a bit of the shoulder holster within it.

The shoulder holster was fairly none descript, brown leather, bullets slide into ammo holders along the straps through the gun contained within it wasn't normal and neither was the ammo displayed. The gun itself was a .45 magnum revolver that had been around the block more then a few times. It's finish was scratched and while clean wasn't shined. The wooden grip had over a period of twelve years had been handled so often a farther customized grip had been worn in the shape of Jone's grip on the gun from sheer wear. The butt of the gun was cracked and chipped as if it had been repeatedly used as a club on occasion but most unusual of all hanging from the butt of the gun pointed at the woman across him was a some inch long chain and hanging from the chain was a charm off a child's charm bracelet. A tiny prince and princess dances on the end of the tiny chain.

The ammo looked copper with a silver tip. A design like CorBon Pow'rBall ammo the harder silver tip would push back on the copper expanding it harder and faster. The tip would go farther in as the copper expanded leaving two holes within the foe. Plus getting the blessed silver within the creature he was facing. There weren't alot of things that could take a shot of that and like it. If they didn't mind it he had other things going for him...

But this glimpse of the gun ended in an instant as Casey wondered over waving at Jones as he handed him the beers one of which Jones opened by scrapping it off the table top the other he held to his neck letting the cold glass sooth an ache. Before Casey could open his mouth Jones ordered.

"Double layer cheeseburger extra cheese, done rare... I want to see horns and a tail here. Ignore the health department they know nothing. They see nothing. A large batch of fries and sprinkle some melted cheese on that... and some of that chilli... and some more cheese... and mix in some mozzarella sticks."

Casey shook his head at Jones.

"I swear you are the only man I have met that makes the sign of the cross in the presence of healthy food."

Jones glared a bit at this.

"Hey I like veggies just fine. Without them meat would starve."

Casey smiled and wondered off with Jones's order. While Jones mumbled while snorting loudly.

"Yeah... like it will be my heart that kills me."

[glenn]

Her fingers worked hard and fast at the keyboard of her laptop, the sound of the keys clicking with intense speed. Her excuse would be school work and there was indeed, a word document open on her screen that was already several pages in size, detailing world famous criminals and their psyche profiles as well as several foot notes on how to identify this behavior in other people. But if one were quick enough to look, she had a rather peculiar web browser open as well. Designated as Blackwatch, it is the premier world wide information highway for criminals, mercenaries, assassins and even some branches of the government (Black ops in particular). She was currently whipping up a small storm, searching far and wide for information on local jobs and of course...clean ups, that would benefit from her particular talents.

Of course, it was empty. That was no big deal of course, most jobs got snatched up pretty fast on here, especially the big ones that paid off the most. As she sighed, saved her document and then her search for later, she caught a glimpse of metal under Jones' jacket. Hmm? The small chain was the first thing she saw, a children's....charm bracelet? How peculiar. But as her eyes darted up along it, she saw the cracked and quite heavily worn handle of a revolver. The weapon had apparently seen some rather utilitarian use, something it was most certainly not designed for. Either he couldn't find a hammer for those nails or, or he had been using it like your standard black jack.

Either way, that was practically a good way to ruin a firearm, even something as robust as a revolver. Though you wouldn't catch her using one. Too loud, even with suppressors and they left ballistic evidence everywhere. Gunshot residue, even trace elements such as the rifling in the firearm could be used, with some time and effort, to track down the perpetrator. The good thing about crossbow bolts was that they were reusable. Or rather the heads were.

But what caught her attention the most however, was the ammo on display in the holster. Copper jacket with a silver tip, some kind of expansive round like a hollow point. But from what she could see, it didn't look like any sort of hollow points she'd seen before, possibly a customized specialty, but why use a harder silver tip with soft copper? Wouldn't a steel tip work just as well and not only that, but wouldn't steel cut down on the cost of using a semi-precious metal? Her brain was working as she stuffed a handful of chips into her mouth. It was all too peculiar, too strange for her and her rationality.

It was all a tremendous waste....unless of course, he was one of those "monster hunters" she had caught whiff of on the Blackwatch channels. When Casey arrived again, her speculations were shut down as she closed her laptop slowly and downed a shot of her Alexander Keith's, pale ale. The only place in new york that practically sold a Canadian import ale that was as good, as it was strong.

"Hmm? Despite your skepticism about your heart, I believe your heart may give out first if you continue eating food like that. And do you have a permit for a concealed firearm...which, if I recall my laws is allowed by law, but detractors have claimed it takes a large degree of wealth, political influence, and/or celebrity status to obtain." And there she goes, rambling off on her law school knowledge again. But before he could reply, she shot in one more question. "Which means you must have considerable wealth, if you go and make hard point .45 Winchester magnum rounds with silver instead of steel. Which still isn't as useful as Steel."

Finishing her little tirade with another shot of her ale, she stuffed a few more kettle chips into her mouth, chewed and waited on his response. Wondering just what it could be, her mind ever active as a small trail of blue white electricity ran up her leg before disappearing into her shorts.

[Jones]

Jones just listened for a moment sipping on his beer letting the taste wash away the ash in his mouth and the chill of the beer on his forehead push back the headache. This combined with the aspirin he had popped before he had walked in would hopefully take the edge off. As she finished he put down his drinking beer and reaching into his wallet and pulling out his firearms permit and his concealed firearm permit and flashed them while looking at the young lady curiously. He pondered a slow clap but that would mean putting down his forehead beer and he decided he didn't wish to do that so instead he gestured at her lazily.

"Gotta admit. That is some good spotting. Most wouldn't have put all that together with a quick glimpse. Most people wouldn't have spotted it, fewer would have figured out it was silver, and fewer still would realized silver isn't cheap and it makes little sense in most circumstances but I will be honest because it is harder then the copper it does the job intended. Sure might not pierce a bullet proof vest but it does what I need, silver is hard enough..."

He leaned back in his chair, his long legs pushing his front chair legs just off the ground as he put his forehead beer down and picked up his drinking beer again. His mind was flying with the old deduction processes from his old job. He had been good at it... he just was better at his new one. He took his free hand and raised it holding up three fingers. The hand was as steady as a rock as he talked.

"There are three worlds. Three. Joe average is intimate with the first world. The daylight world. The world where joe plays golf, works nine to five in a box and prays for the strength of will not to go home and gargle a gun barrel on bad days. On really bad days he might have bullets in the gun. On the worst days... some is getting hired to clean up Joe the next day."

Slowly Jones folded down his middle finger. After some time overseas from time to time he no longer tended to leave his trigger finger and middle fingers extended while talking. Too many thought of this as an insult in other countries. In other territories.

"You... you notice things. You are calm talking to a man with a .45 magnum revolver, no fear, no panic, not even a blink. You belong to the second world I believe. The dirty world of human against human, dog eating down. The world of the setting sun. Where the worst of human nature is displayed and sometimes the best. Where people strive to either embrace the monster within or by addressing it and fighting others strive to reject it."

Jones looked at her, a bit of envy is his mind. She could go back, she could renter the daylight world, it wasn't easy but she could. She could go back to sleeping at night, to wondering the world, to smiling at sunsets. She was still where he once had walked on the edge of as a police man, he had walked the edge of night fighting that world... and then he fell. He fell so hard so fast. His voice became rougher and his gaze was not unkind. He folded down one more finger leaving his trigger finger pointing to the ceiling.

"I live and fight and will die in the world of midnight and you haven't touched it. You have probably seen exactly as evil as humans can be and for that I am sorry... so sorry... But you ask why silver? If you have to ask you haven't seen the world of midnight and you should give thanks. Don't look it up, ignore the silver... and sleep at night without having to reach for a bottle. There are so much worse things then humans..."

Jones's gaze went from her as his eyes unfocused and landed on the horizon. He turned away and sipped on his beer again. It didn't taste as good anymore.

[cheryl]

Uniformed Marines were probably a oddity here at this Dolan's Pub And Eatery. After all, there was a perfectly good Marine Corps bar not too far from here. It was at this other bar that things could get much more rowdy than they could here -or be much calmer, depending on what ranks were present.

Cheryl, recently promoted Master Gunnery Sergeant, could probably bring a bar full of Marines to attention in no time at all. You simply didn't fuck with someone with the paygrade of E-9. It would take an act of congress to fire or demote her. And yet, with bigger paycheck she had now and the authority to rival most commissioned officers, Cheryl couldn't help but feel less free.

It happened with each promotion, a greater sense of feeling less free. Granted, she loved being a Marine and loved the authority and money that came with such a high rank, but was it worth it? Constantly having to put on this strict and disciplined act. Thankfully, with making Master Guns, she could relax a little and be more of her true self. After all, she was already at the top. No more use of acting all spit and polish in the hopes for another promotion.

She was lucky too. Normally, E-9s are twenty-year veterans in the military. Cheryl had been in for less than half that long. So why such a quick promotion? Because she was a goblin and goblins, second only to gnomes, had an innate knack for machinery, electronics and other gizmos. First it was tanks, then it was mechs, now it was power armor. Cheryl should've been a commissioned officer by now, except that she's not a native born citizen. Instead, they simply bumped her up the NCO ranks that much quicker.

Outsiders probably weren't that intimate with military doings though. Even those that were would stare awkwardly at her. Cheryl looked young, after all. Goblins aged differently than humans, but Cheryl looked to be in her mid to late teens. And here she was, wearing the service uniform, or blues, of the USMC. And it had all the trimmings, with the red bloodline going down the sides of the legs in her slacks. Her dark blue jacket was adorned with shiny brass buttons and it also had her rank insignia on both her sleeves. No one would probably noticed her nametag, McAllister, or her function badge and the various medals and awards on the front of her chest. After all, she slumped over her meal and drink at the bar counter -her back facing toward Stitch and Jones- and consequently hid such things from view.

Even without her uniform, Cheryl still was an oddity. As a goblin, she had those huge, pointed ears, unusually pale skin with an almost unnoticeable green hue to it. This was all topped off with green eyes and a black mohawk-like hairstyle that slumped to the right side of her head.

Cheryl's meal and beverage -which she'd been slowly scarfing down since before either Stitch or Jones entered the bar- were far less of an oddity as her. A deep dish pizza pie, already half eaten, sat in front of her, along with an ice cold orange soda. Not that she didn't like alcohol, but pop simply went better with pizza.

But why would she be here? Why here, in the wake of her promotion and assignment to a power armor division? Why here and not at the Marine Corps bar nearby? Because here, in the presence of civilians and strangers, she could be herself. No spit and polish, just goofy, sloppy, moody and giddy Cheryl. Not Master Gunnery Sergeant McAllister. And she could be alone without actually being alone. Preoccupied with their own doings, none of the bar patrons would bother her. And that....was just so refreshing.

Still, while drinking and dining, her superhuman hearing couldn't help but notice one conversation among the others. It's reasonable to say that Cheryl could've ease dropped on multiple conversations, but this one in particular got her attention. Her ears perked up with interest, the only sign of how intrigued she was that bled through her forced disinterested look.

Silver bullets.... Was the man a racist bigot that liked killing vampires and werewolves? Or did he need protection from them? After all, it probably wouldn't be too much longer before the police wouldn't be allowed to carry silver bullets. Racial profiling, they call it. She couldn't help but listen to more.

[glenn]

She waited, listened to his rant, his tirade on the three worlds; the day the sunset and the twilight. The mundane, the dog eat dog and the....inhuman perhaps. She digested this information, stored it away in that steel vault of a brain of hers as she took another casual sip of her drink, casually gazing from table to table; a facade of aloofness as she memorized everyone, but one in particular she noted was Cheryl. The women's ears were long and jagged, elven in appearance and were perked up almost like a dogs. She was aware of something, something that perhaps Kaitlyn had overlooked but what could that be? Or was she listening in on their conversation? If so, how was she achieving that?

Her mind was telling her not to dwell on it and instead, focus upon the one before her; Mister Jones. "Fascinating," she started off with that word. Why Fascinating? it got the point across, she was interested in what he knew of this third world more out of curiosity and a desire to be informed, than an actual desire to be immersed in it. "Though if you could give me any information relating to this third world," she let the sentence roll off her tongue, like a bittersweet elixir. Would she regret this, or would this bring her closer to finding out who she was at one point, to find out if she had family. But she slowly closed her eyes, forcing her emotions back into order, back into a single, neat manageable line.

"Ah, actually, I don't think I got your name. Mister....." She asked him what she should have first asked when he sat down, her voice smooth and fluid like a gentle stream as she took another handful of her chips and casually nibbled on them. "If I recall there is a certain order of doing this, to ask for ones name. Mine is Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn Leanne Stone and that information may be of use to me." She finished up as the first quarter of her order arrived at the table, carried by a rather worn out looking Casey. Rather it didn't look so much like an order of food, as it looked like a full five course buffet. At least the first half of it anyways.

"if you can eat all this ma'am, I will personally tip my hat to you and buy you a fresh round of beers." Casey spoke up as he stretched his back with a grunt, the interruption causing Kaitlyn to look up at him with a tilt of her head. After he placed the food before her and headed back to the kitchen, most likely to fetch the rest of it and Jones' order.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, she had a thought. A simple little thought as she looked at him leave. She was going to have to give him a nice big tip for such great service.

(Blah short.)

[Jones]

Jones sighed loudly and reaching into a pocket of his coat pulled free a cigarette and caught the eye of the bartender who was glaring at him. Jones held up empty hands showing he didn't have a lighter out and put the cigarette in his mouth and sucked loudly on it a couple of times. He looked mournfully at a nearby no smoking sign and then snarled at it. Truthfully most of the time he ignored those signs but... bartenders had the power to cut you off. You don't mess with your bartender. So he sat sucking on the unlit cigarette getting the barest hint of the flavor contained within. He knew he looked a bit on the ridiculous side but he was far too tired, far too old, and far too sober to care. Later he just plain wouldn't care. He waved his hand generally in the way of nicety.

"They call me Mister Jones, Pleasure to meet you ma'am."

He rubbed the back of his head as he realized she would not go away. He met them from time to time. Those that had to know what laid in the dark. You tried to warn them off. You tried to let them know there was bad things out there that was the purpose of the whole 'three worlds' speech. It worked sometimes but feisty women like this... seldom. He held up his bandaged fingers on his empty hand and wiggled them and then putting down his beer rolled up the sleeve of his jacket revealing a mass of scar tissue on his forearm. Some were stitch marks from old scars, some from burns, some from healed over stabs, and some undoubtedly tooth marks from something not remotely human. He looked at her with tired eyes.

"Right now I have two cracked ribs, bandages fingers from using my hands to break through a wall, and cuts on my neck from a booby trap that launched nails at me because this morning I was three state away ripping my way through a booby trapped house to get to a evil possessed doll with a very creepy face that had been possessing engineers and making them designed death traps and worst case scenario survival scenarios for their enemies. It called itself... puzzle?... Crossword?... I don't know.... but I ripped through it's nest, took out it's servant because he was so far down the insanity road that anything else would have been cruelty and then I burned the doll, mixed it's ashes with salt and buried it at a cross road."

Rolling back up the sleeve he looked her in the eye and picked up his beer and took a sip before continuing.

"This was an average day at the office for me. I am only going to ask this once. Are you sure you want to go down the rabbit hole. If you are not going to back down then I will give you some info if just so you don't wind up in a ditch because you decided to take on an Pre Cambrian life form with a pocket knife... okay I am lying... they will never find your body. But the point is we could change the subject, talk about sports, music, Your generations music sucks by the way, anything else.. Your choice. Free country. It's a good country, one willing to give just about anyone a chance."

He looked at her. Hoping she would just walk away. It would be a longer life. A better life.

[cheryl]

Cheryl eased dropped on a few of the conversations at the bar. Mostly it was just frat boys living it up, discussing the adventures and accomplishments they'd had and planned to have. Not academic accomplishments of course. Rather it was how many beers such-and-such can down, or how many women so-and-so can fuck.

Then they would talk about how many of the girls at the bar were hot, a couple of them referencing Kaitlyn. None were aimed at Cheryl though. Not surprising, since her uniform probably made her look intimidating. That and her hairstyle made her look like a lesbian. Facial wise though, she looked a bit like Kristen Stewart, except with emotions and without the Jay Leno chin.

Her focus on ease dropping inevitably wondered back to Kaitlyn and Jones. For all the college boy attention she'd garnered, she didn't seem to contribute to the conversation nearly as much as Jones did. Then again, it was hard to outdo the wild tales of some demon hunter or vampire slayer or paranormal investigator, or whatever he wanted to be called.

Jones seemed to take a very melodramatic tone when he told his story though. A pop culture nerd like Cheryl couldn't help snicker fit at the description of the possessed doll, how it reminded her so much of the movie SAW. Then came the pre-Cambrian reference, causing Cheryl to think back to the Tremor lore.

She reached her arm up to wipe her mouth on her sleeve...only to catch herself in the nick of time. It wouldn't do at all to stain her uniform, after all. Wiping her mouth on a napkin, she rotated herself on her bar stool toward Jones and Kaitlyn.

Cheryl didn't sit that far away from the two of them, although given the noise of the bar, it's possible the two of them wouldn't notice her turning to face them. In fact, there's a slim chance they wouldn't even hear her.

After taking a quick sip of her orange soda, Cheryl said "Did that possessed doll say..." before lowering her voice and doing her best Jigsaw killer impression, saying "Most people are so ungrateful to be alive, Mr. Jones. I want to play a game."

Her tone and demeanor wasn't malevolent, but it wasn't benevolent either. She wasn't looking for a fight, but she was mocking Jones' situation. Not the man himself, just the idea of the things he suggested. Not that she didn't doubt he was telling the truth. It's just.....SAW and Tremor...

Despite her morbid giddiness, her gaze was focused, conveying that her demeanor wasn't alcohol fueled. The look in her eye might also convey something else. She'd killed a person before. They say killers had a certain expression about them, and Cheryl, being a Marine, would fall into the category. What about Jones? Would he have the look of a killer? Not the killer of monsters or ghosts or demons, but the taker of very human or human-like lives? Would Kaitlyn have this look?

[glenn]

Sam in turn listened, steely gaze locked onto Jones with resolve. She was in business mode now and there was nothing right now that could draw her attention away from what he was saying. It was fascinating really Precambrian lifeforms and possessed evil dolls, another spark of electricity ran up her leg from ankle to inner thigh as she took another bite of her side dish; spiced kettle chips and nodded softly, all attention focused on his words. While a bit melodramatic, she had a feeling he could help her. Piece together part of her memories, fractured and broken like a hall of mirrors, a profound sense of loss when she slept and like a kaleidoscopic toy it was a flow of colors and sounds swirling around becoming one with the other and never a whole piece, just fractured chunks that sped by, combined in an irregular pattern with other memories.

For once she frowned, but it was not a frown of defeat or worry but rather it was a frown of sorrow, a frown of want that quickly faded back into a steely, blank, expressionless gaze. The kind of gaze one had when they've killed and killed again. But her's was more commonplace as if she never had the time to smile or laugh, it was like someone had stripped something from her and she wanted it back come hell or high water. Only then would she allow herself a real smile or a true love filled laugh and not the cold, distanced laugh of someone who has not a single care in the world.

Though her attention did falter, but not because of disinterest from Jones' story, rather, it was because a women decided to chip in with her own commentary her own two cents if you will. Kaitlyn's eyes hooked into hers, cool and steely and she listened to her attempt to come off as pop-culturally chic. Kaitlyn had heard of Saw and had to chuckle that cold, amused chuckle of hers before digging into her chips and taking a hearty bite. "I do not think I got your name miss," she looked at her again, her gaze matching Cheryl's tit for tat but with a certain intensity to it that speaks not of one death or two, but handfuls upon handfuls. It was not deranged, but it was certainly cold, like a mortuary's freezer.

"I am still interested in hearing this Mister Jones, it may help me piece together something or other about myself." She stated, her eyes still locked onto Cheryl's for another moment before breaking away at the sight and smell of her food being delivered on one large tray.

"Here ya go Ma'am, forty piece party pack of buffalo wings, four large hamburgers, two large orders of onion rings, four large orders of homestyle kettlecooked chips with extra cheese, a rack of barbeque ribs and four beers and a large coke." Casey shook his head in disbelief, thinking it impossible for a single person to eat all this in one go. But then again, stranger things have happened before. Then he placed Jones' heartattack on a bun before him. "Here ya go boss, one greasy double layer cheeseburger extra cheese, rare, with a large batch of chilli cheese fries and mozza sticks."

All that reserved nature did nothing for Kaitlyn's appetite as she dug in, literally letting her inner glutton out at the food. Food disappeared as quick as she put her hands on it, as she consumed all within her field of vision to satiate her hunger, to restore her lost stores of caloric energy. If there was one thing she could definitely show disgust towards, it was her inhuman metabolism. But she showed no signs of that, instead she showed a ravenous hunger that would put an entire village of malnourished, destitute third world aboriginals to shame. And she left not a single thing on her plates. Except the bones.

[Jones]

Jones didn't jump, he didn't flinch at the intrusion of a new player at the table. He had noticed the goblin in marine dress uniform... how could you not if you were paying attention. Plus Icarus had quite a file on her but he just hadn't wanted to bother her. If she had wanted company she would have been with her men is what he had figured. But with her approach he could talk to her. He had been meaning to. Thus he slowly turned to look at her with a steady look. A slight it of confusion as he merely told her. The pop culture reference was lost on him and it showed.

"No ma'am. He mostly told me I would die in there."

He clutched his jaw at the memory and relaxed. His steel gray eyes were those of a man drowning in pain and rage. Pain from a sorrow so deep within him he shouldn't be able to stand, to breath, to fight. Any sane person would have died from this pain, would have laid down. This dull gray was suffused through with a burning rage, a rage so bright it burned like a stare. Rage at the world, Rage at life, Rage at the pain itself. His eyes were the eyes of a man who hang glided through hell and kept aloft for no reason other then to kick Satan in the teeth so hard he would choke to death on them. The rage was his fire, his fuel, his reason for living. This was a man who wouldn't die no matter what. He would have to be killed.

Looking down he pushed his second beer over to the Marine as the food came and held up two more fingers up the bartender who nodded as Jones looked back at the Marine and then pointed at his new friend.

"Miss Stone this is Master Gunnery Sargent Mcallister of the U.S. Marines. Recently promoted and for a job well done. Congrats on that by the way Ma'am."

Jones raised his beer at the marine and started to reach for his burger when he looked at them. Taking a hold of it he started taise it to his lips and sighed lowering it at their expressions.

"No I don't personally know you ma'am before you ask but I hunt monsters of the supernatural bent and am funded by someone who can afford the best. They keep track of various... 'resources' as they call you... I hate that phrase by the way since I myself am on that list... and being the highest ranking supernatural Marine they keep me informed about your progress. Truth be told I told them to. I would say I asked them too but that would imply I was polite about it. You are one of a handful of supernatural entities who have chosen to make a positive impact through channels that don't involve capes or spandex or plotting underneath bad lighting. Refreshing really."

To 'Miss Stone' he said as he hovered from taking his first bite of his dripping cheese burger.

"Miss Stone yes, I said goblin. You see the Sargent here is a goblin. That means she can see in the dark, has faster speed and reflexes then most humans and she can use her full abilities longer then a normal human. I suggest you wipe the notion of short ugly green creatures from your mind when thinking about goblins... Lesson one about the world of twilight. Most of the stories get it wrong."

With that he took his first bite of food since a ill advised chicken sandwich on the plane that morning and as the cheese and grease ran down the corners of his mouth he waited to see how Miss Stone would react to this new knowledge much less how Sargent Mcalister would react to her career being followed. Just in case he planted one foot firmly on the ground ready to kick back out of range. Normally she would be faster... but Jones cheated pretty well.

[cheryl]

"I do not think I got your name miss," said Kaitlyn. Before Cheryl could answer, Jones piped in, answering the question. And then some. In fact, he gave a good account of Cheryl's name and rank while one of the bar employees sat down Kaitlyn's food.

That may've impressed Cheryl, in fact, had he mentioned her first name. She assumed he merely read it on her uniform. After all, her rank insignia and name tag were displayed on her uniform. The fact he was able to accurately guess her name and rank only hinted to Cheryl that he too was military, or at least ex. military. But he called her Sergeant, not Master Guns, as was appropriate. Maybe he wasn't an ex. Marine, but ex. Army? Navy? Air Force? Or maybe Master Gunnery Sergeants were addressed as Sergeant back then?

Jones continued, explaining that Cheryl had recently been promoted. That part did surprise Cheryl, although he could've just easily seen her on TV as a Master Sergeant. That was her rank during the ordeal with the dragon, the ordeal that partly led to her promotion and getting some TV air time on the news. Some people were like that, following the careers of military personnel they thought were heroes. Former Navy SEAL sniper Chief Petty Officer Chris Kyle was a good example, what with his many fans and whatnot.

Then Jones started to explain how apparently someone had a whole file on her cause she was a goblin. In fact, he went so far as to explain to Kaitlyn that she was a goblin, something that struck her as odd. She cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. Jones meant no harm, of course, but he may not have known that this could've struck Cheryl as....well, as racist as introducing a human ethnic minority this way. Something along the lines of introducing someone as a black person, and then saying they're black because they come from Africa. Or introducing someone was a Jew.

Jones went so far as to say she was the highest ranking Marine of her....ethnic persuasion, which indicated to Cheryl that whoever was giving Jones his info wasn't that accurate. Cheryl had met other Marines who were monsters, as Jones here seem to call them. And monsters who were very open about it. When Cheryl joined the Marine Corps, her Drill Instructor was a vampiress, although to be fair to Jones, Cheryl may not outrank her old instructor. But she'd also served with one USMC Captain, who was also a Goblin. So called supernaturals in the military weren't that uncommon, or that secretive.

Cheryl finished off her orange soda and put it on the bar counter as she got up from her stool. She then casually walked over to Jones and Kaitlyn's table, covering what little distance lay between it and the bar stool. Her stride wasn't angry, but it wasn't entirely relaxed either. She would've been angry, however, if Jones hadn't tried to defend her from what he looked like he believed were misconceptions Kaitlyn had about goblins. But did Kaitlyn harbor such misconceptions?

Once she reached the table, Cheryl leaned over it slightly, eying Jones. She didn't look angry, but she didn't look too happy either. Thankfully, she didn't flip out and cause a scene. Not yet, anyway.

"Am I supernatural to you, Mister? Maybe you aren't so natural to me."

Jones didn't strike Cheryl as a bigot. Maybe he was, but she doubted it. He didn't seem to carry the aura, the demeanor of a bigot. And Cheryl wasn't that quick to play the race card. Still, she felt she needed to set Jones straight on some racial misconceptions.

[glenn]

Kaitlyn looked up at the approaching women, Gunnery Sergeant, Cheryl Mcallister and gave her a curt nod, a small spark fizzling across her eyes, for Cheryl to see and Cheryl alone. "A pleasure to meet you Ma'am," Kaitlyn's visage never registered so much as a raised eyebrow at her approach and instead she turned her attention back to Jones who had not finished his words, his tirade on the twilight and it's inhabitants and frankly, she never got her little cultural jab either, more for the fact of amnesia than pop cultural retardation. But killing things, that's what Kaitlyn knew and understood and as long as something had a pulse, a soul, a heart beat or any kind of function that allows sustained and continued life. She'd figure out how to kill it, sooner or later. It's what she did best.

Supernatural creatures, inhuman monsters, Kaitlyn's brain digested his words quickly and precisely, like a laser guided warhead. If it was not in the waking day or the sunset eve, then perhaps the ink black twilight that could shine the brightest light upon her past, give her the clues and shoves needed to take back her life, to discover what or who she was at one point. She maintained her silence for a moment then looked up at Jones, features as hard as stone but the eyes, they had a certain lackluster shine to them, not one that lacked in vitality, force, or conviction but one that seemed to lack in a certain aspect of humanity. The eyes of a killer inescapable, like a ghosts; distant. They seemed to bore clean through Jones like a high powered drill as she nibbled away at one of the chicken wings, the pungently sweet smell of honey and the bitterness of garlic, wafting from the basket.

It had a certain dissonant tone to it, a contrast between those eyes and the casualness of her consumption of that chicken. She was not insane, quite the opposite and how anyone could keep their sanity after staining their hands in so much blood, so much violence and strife. It was not the insane one had to fear that came out of that chaotic soup stock, no, the ones to fear were those capable of making calm, rational judgement as they broke necks and gouged bellies.

Then she perked up ever so slightly, at the word goblin. It was as unfamiliar to her as a stranger was to a small child. Slowly she opened her mouth, the last remnants of her food gone down her gullet. "Hmm? What stories are you talking about? From what I see here, she is quite beautiful." Kaitlyn had no idea what goblins were and even now with the help of Jones' explanation, she was still unsure as to what they were. Cheryl's ears were pointed like an elves and Kaitlyn's gaze was diverted to them again for a brief moment before she blinked and once again, her gaze was back onto Jones. Those lackluster eyes still gleaming with that unfinished, faint glow. "Nor do I know what stories you speak of."

"I am sorry for any inconveniences he may have caused you Miss Cheryl Mcallister, so on my behalf I would like to apologize. He seems to have been through quite a bit tonight" her words hinting to his injuries and possibly, a level of weariness that not even Kaitlyn completely knew of. From his stories and what he told her, it seemed like he wasn't the type of person that could....get a good nights sleep. But looking back for a moment, Kaitlyn had said the Gunnery sergeants first name, most people would probably miss this, but to say that she had her own sources. Well, that would be a horrific understatement. Government contracts, contracts for the underworld, contracts from the wealthy and informed.let us say that is has led her to a vast...undernet of information that no self-respecting mercenary or assassin should be without and if anything, Kaitlyn was quite the self-respecting assassin.

[Jones]

Jones enjoyed himself a bit. He had to admit he didn't get to sit down and talk with women alot. In the process of doing his job sure it happened but that was during the heat of the moment, getting information, getting directions, or possible making or receiving threats. Tends to put a damper on the conversation as it was he had a Guiness in one hand and a burger that would make a cardiologist scream in fury at the sight of in the other while two woman talked with him. One curious and one challenging. It was a nice change of pace from sobbing, screaming or about to rip out his throat. Today had to be a Thursday. He had lost track but the weirder stuff tended to happen to him on Thursdays.

As it was he had one woman apologizing for him and another questioning his normality. He was polite. He didn't laugh in her face while he had his burger in his mouth. Instead he chewed it enjoying the flavors of the meat and cheese and then flashed a smile at the two of them... if you considered a smile the corners of his mouth becoming less of a frown. First he looked to Miss Stone. His face didn't reveal anything but he had noticed the slip of the use of Cheryl's first name. He had been a cop and trained to noticed little slips in conversations like that. Training like that had come quite in handy over the years. That combined with her eyes had him thinking a few thoughts but while she was dangerous, his instincts told him so his ESP didn't ring her as currently dangerous to him. Sure she probably had the ability to cut him but not the current intent. He could work with that. As it was it seems he had some misconceptions to fix.

Looking at Cheryl he nodded at her.

"Ma'am, the only reason I am not laughing out loud right now is because I am too tired and too sore to do that. I would make do with a half hearted chuckle but that seems insulting to you and whatever your thoughts about me are I do respect you and the fact you fight for our country."

He said 'our' it was a deliberate choice of words. Most might have said mine when dealing with the supernatural but Jones had... a different perception on things. The corners of his mouth lifted a bit farther and holding his beer in his hand up he spared a bit of mental power and just slowly rotated it in his hand with only the powers that he had gained, however that had happened. He watched it spin in his hand holding his fingers still, his arm without motion and his other hand occupied with his cheeseburger and held that position for a few seconds to drive it him before turning back to the marine.

"Normal... normal is a foreign country whose borders I am not familiar with anymore. I used to know it well. Paperwork, white picket fences, the old worlds I used to straddle. I fell past them both and all... all I remember well now is the fall. My entrance to twilight. That I remember well."

He paused looking at the burger for a moment. Seeing the meat within, seeing into a past that bleed raw. Pain and rage in equal parts screamed in his eyes but like a switch the turned down as he looked back at the marine. Was he crazy?... it was possible. More then possible. But he was crazy on his own terms.

"As for supernatural. I can't give you a definition. I can't give you facts or slides. I just know that to most of the world normal, natural, isn't something people like us represent. ICARUS tries to teach me words to be 'PC' like 'Metaphysically Enabled' or 'Life Impaired' but all I know is ghosts, ghouls, and well... goblins are real. Some are much better then humanity ever dreamed of in the corner of the night."

He nodded at the marine and nodded at Miss Stone.

"You are right she is lovely by the way."

Turning back to the marine he continued.

"My job is dealing with the other side of things. The things that lie in twilight that are more horrible then humanity thinks about in their worst nightmares. The stuff that drove H.P. Lovecraft to write... fairly accurate books. The things that make mankind whistle when they walk past a graveyard. My job... is to make sure humanity can sleep at night in their own beds without something laying eggs in their chest. So no. I am not normal. I haven't been normal for twelve years, and became less normal..."

The beer stopped turning.

"Three years ago. So yes. I consider you supernatural whatever that mean. But that doesn't mean anything good or bad. 'By their fruits you will recognize them'. For the bountiful such as yourself I give cheers and offer to buy a beer. For those that bring forth rot and decay..."

He looked away to look into the distance.

"Then I get paid to do a job I used to do for free."