11/25/15
Alice
It was no shock that Alice was taking part in this operation. She was born and raised in Harper Rock and could tell stories, that could raise the hairs on the back of one’s neck. She had always been the wild type; while other girls were busy getting boyfriends and painting their nails, she was more interested in going hunting with her father. Sweet little Alice to her mom and tomboy Alice to her dad. It was everything that made her special in their eyes.
Alice was grown now however, a good job, great boyfriend and gave firearm lessons on the weekends at the gun range. Seemed the love of guns from her late father, had a lasting impression on her. She was a pro. Better than most any of the men that came through there, even better than some of the mounties in her area. It was a true gift of aim, perception and sight. She was thankful everyday that her parents were supportive of her, even sending her to archery lessons throughout her school years. This girl was a pint sized force to be reckoned with.
Derek she had always revered as a special sort of guy. He was full of ambition, a great leader and to be honest she was quite fond of him. They both had the same agenda, both were sick and tired of the crap that happened in this city with the “night freaks”, a term she often used. Of course at every turn the general public was being told that incidents and sightings were nothing more than hoax’s and pranks, but she knew different; and tonight after so many, she would be able to take back her city.
The meeting was brief enough and it was only a matter of minutes after their plan confirmations, did she find her way up to the roof. She had to admit, her hands were a little shaky surprisingly. Her adrenaline pumped hard as she situated herself comfortably on the corner. She was off to the right of the newspaper building, giving her a perfect aim at the girl at the front desk and if any luck at all, a nice head shot to this Abelle monster, should she try to escape out the front. She hoped no one would be that stupid, but who knew with these mutants.
Laying on her belly she made sure her hair was secure, then took a look up and down the streets, making sure the rest were in the clear. Putting her eye up against the scope and aiming, she tapped the earcomm and spoke firmly but softly.
“All clear,”
(Day of Broken Glass) Business as Usual
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Re: (Day of Broken Glass) Business as Usual
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Harper Rock News .True Broussard. Broussard Gun Shop
Harper Rock News .True Broussard. Broussard Gun Shop
- Deagan (DELETED 7215)
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Re: (Day of Broken Glass) Business as Usual
Margaret sat behind the front desk of the Harper Rock News, waiting for something to do. Only one call had come in so far this morning, someone asking for Deagan. The Margaret Atwood novel she had been working her way through had been hastily put away when she realized that Abelle Broussard would actually be in her office today. Though she had had minimal contact with Ms. Broussard previously, office gossip had been enough to warn her of the newspaper owner's sometimes temperamental and unpredictable moods.
Margaret was a fresh-faced college kid (currently attending journalism classes at Harper Rock University in fact) with short, curly brown hair and apple cheeks. She had been hired just last week when Abelle had come to realize that none of the current staffers, mostly shoe leather reporters and bookish copy editors, had the social graces necessary to make good receptionists. Margaret had heard about the unexpected firing of her predecessors, Liz and Ginger. It was part of the reason she was so on edge around Ms. Broussard. Otherwise, she had not had the chance to meet very many people at the paper. That old guy Tom seemed cheerful enough. He always greeted her with a hearty hello every time he saw her. And then there was that lech Barry. He had been hitting on her since day one, though he must have had at least ten years on her. Creep.
And then there was the chief editor, Deagan. He seemed kind, but always very distant. Almost as if he did not want to open up or get too close to anyone. Which was his right, she supposed. A man deserved his privacy. The lines on his face told a story of pain. The rumor mill had whispered that something terrible had happened to his wife, but Margaret tried to avoid participating in those sorts of tawdry conversations. Honestly, these reporters were worse than a bunch of housewives when it came to petty gossip.
And so it was that just as Margaret though she would go mad with boredom, everything that she thought she knew about the quiet chief editor seemed to be instantly called into question, when she saw him flushed and running like a madman past the reception desk and down the hall and straight towards the glass door of Abelle's office, where Ms. Broussard had been in the middle of a meeting with a distinguished looking man that Margaret had never seen before. This stranger had made Margaret slightly nervous, though she couldn't put her finger on why. It didn't help that though she knew that he was not an employee of the paper, he had blithely walked past her that morning from the interior of the building, and not through the front doors like any other typical visitor to the Harper Rock News.
Margaret stared wide eyed at Deagan as he whipped past her to Abelle's office and flung open the door. "Belle, we've got to get everyone out of here. There's-" However, he didn't get a chance to finish.
As Margaret had stared rapt at the strange proceeding before her, she hadn't noticed the young blonde man enter through the front to the paper's lobby. She hadn't noticed the way that he had eyed Deagan suspiciously as the older man ran past, nor really paid much attention to him as he followed Deagan down the hall. Perhaps it was because she herself had gotten out from behind the front desk and had been following Deagan as well, curious to see what the commotion was all about, that she didn't find it suspicious that another would be doing the same. Until she saw the blonde man walk up to Deagan and grab him roughly by the shoulder.
"Hey! I saw you with my wife last night man!"
Deagan stopped mid-sentence, taken aback by this man he had never seen before. "Look fella, I don't know what you're on about, but this is a really bad time. You need to get out of here-"
"I saw you with my wife, you asshole! Are you ******* her?"
The man's tone and his accusations were quickly getting on Deagan's nerves. His color began to rise. "Listen you little ****, I don't know you. I don't know your wife. Now get the hell out of here!"
"What did you call me?" the blonde man smirked. It was a rhetorical question, as became quickly evident when the younger man swung a surprise left hook. Margaret gasped at the sudden act of violence, as Deagan staggered back, blood flowing freely from a split lower lip. As the bloodied reporter was knocked away from the office doorway, the young man named John was able to see its occupants for the first time. The icy fingers of fear crept up his spine. "Oh ****!" he mumbled.
At that moment, two things happened. A horrifying sound made its way to the small group in and around Abelle Broussard's office. The sound was muffled by several walls on its way from the back of the building, but all assembled recognized it immediately. It was the sound of someone screaming.
Oh my god, thought Margaret. What is happening?
That was when the fire alarm went off.
Margaret was a fresh-faced college kid (currently attending journalism classes at Harper Rock University in fact) with short, curly brown hair and apple cheeks. She had been hired just last week when Abelle had come to realize that none of the current staffers, mostly shoe leather reporters and bookish copy editors, had the social graces necessary to make good receptionists. Margaret had heard about the unexpected firing of her predecessors, Liz and Ginger. It was part of the reason she was so on edge around Ms. Broussard. Otherwise, she had not had the chance to meet very many people at the paper. That old guy Tom seemed cheerful enough. He always greeted her with a hearty hello every time he saw her. And then there was that lech Barry. He had been hitting on her since day one, though he must have had at least ten years on her. Creep.
And then there was the chief editor, Deagan. He seemed kind, but always very distant. Almost as if he did not want to open up or get too close to anyone. Which was his right, she supposed. A man deserved his privacy. The lines on his face told a story of pain. The rumor mill had whispered that something terrible had happened to his wife, but Margaret tried to avoid participating in those sorts of tawdry conversations. Honestly, these reporters were worse than a bunch of housewives when it came to petty gossip.
And so it was that just as Margaret though she would go mad with boredom, everything that she thought she knew about the quiet chief editor seemed to be instantly called into question, when she saw him flushed and running like a madman past the reception desk and down the hall and straight towards the glass door of Abelle's office, where Ms. Broussard had been in the middle of a meeting with a distinguished looking man that Margaret had never seen before. This stranger had made Margaret slightly nervous, though she couldn't put her finger on why. It didn't help that though she knew that he was not an employee of the paper, he had blithely walked past her that morning from the interior of the building, and not through the front doors like any other typical visitor to the Harper Rock News.
Margaret stared wide eyed at Deagan as he whipped past her to Abelle's office and flung open the door. "Belle, we've got to get everyone out of here. There's-" However, he didn't get a chance to finish.
As Margaret had stared rapt at the strange proceeding before her, she hadn't noticed the young blonde man enter through the front to the paper's lobby. She hadn't noticed the way that he had eyed Deagan suspiciously as the older man ran past, nor really paid much attention to him as he followed Deagan down the hall. Perhaps it was because she herself had gotten out from behind the front desk and had been following Deagan as well, curious to see what the commotion was all about, that she didn't find it suspicious that another would be doing the same. Until she saw the blonde man walk up to Deagan and grab him roughly by the shoulder.
"Hey! I saw you with my wife last night man!"
Deagan stopped mid-sentence, taken aback by this man he had never seen before. "Look fella, I don't know what you're on about, but this is a really bad time. You need to get out of here-"
"I saw you with my wife, you asshole! Are you ******* her?"
The man's tone and his accusations were quickly getting on Deagan's nerves. His color began to rise. "Listen you little ****, I don't know you. I don't know your wife. Now get the hell out of here!"
"What did you call me?" the blonde man smirked. It was a rhetorical question, as became quickly evident when the younger man swung a surprise left hook. Margaret gasped at the sudden act of violence, as Deagan staggered back, blood flowing freely from a split lower lip. As the bloodied reporter was knocked away from the office doorway, the young man named John was able to see its occupants for the first time. The icy fingers of fear crept up his spine. "Oh ****!" he mumbled.
At that moment, two things happened. A horrifying sound made its way to the small group in and around Abelle Broussard's office. The sound was muffled by several walls on its way from the back of the building, but all assembled recognized it immediately. It was the sound of someone screaming.
Oh my god, thought Margaret. What is happening?
That was when the fire alarm went off.
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Re: (Day of Broken Glass) Business as Usual
Margaret stared wide eyed at Deagan as he whipped past her to Abelle's office and flung open the door. "Belle, we've got to get everyone out of here. There's-" However, he didn't get a chance to finish.
Doc was about to let the check go, when the door opened and a man unknown to him, blurted, something about getting out, when at almost the same time, another unknown man startled hassling the first man. Doc was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment to Bella, about there never being a dull moment in the newspaper world, when the building's fire alarm went off.Reaching into the briefcase, Doc withdrew a cashier’s check, and slid it across the desk. “I believe this is the amount we agreed upon.”
The amusement was wiped off his face immediately. Taking the cashier’s check back, he shoved it in his breast coat pocket. Snapping the briefcase shut, he got to his feet and moved to the office door, and watching the two men, while trying to get a look down the hallway. He was also trying to get a wiff of any smoke. But he couldn’t smell any smoke. Yes, he had better senses than humans, but that didn’t mean anything. It could be that the fire was contained, and therefore not enough smoke had escaped.
From his position at the door, he looked at Bella, “Sounds like there is a fire. If it’s in anywhere close to where the paper is stored.. “ Doc grimaced, “This place could go up and hit flashover, fast. Do you have an evacuation plan?” The look he gave her indicated, that running out of the building into the sunlight, was not going to the be the option open to them and that she needed to think quick.
His gaze switched between Bella and the men in the hallway. One of the men, seemed intent on getting people out, while the other man seemed to be intent on stalling the first man. Doc took charge, and looked at the angry man, “Shut the **** up.. hear the alarm? There is a fire. Get your asses out of the building.” Doc gestured to himself and Bella, “We’ll make sure everyone else is out. GO!”
Doc knew the building, he used to work there. But if the building was about to up, it would go up like a tinderbox; and he and Bella needed to make an exit, that did not involve the sun. Which they needed privacy to be able to teleport out. The ‘excuse’ of clearing out the building fit the bill. He was also being careful to block the view of the men in the hallway. It was in Bella’s best interests that her employees, did not see that she was missing an appendage. Missing an appendage one week, only to have to miraculously reappear the next week, would surely raise questions.
“We need to hurry, this place could go up fast..”
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