>>3170833
>”Alright, two of you are with us! We need three more teams four, so spread out in groups of four and sweep the orchard! The rest of you, secure the orchard and make sure it can’t get out!”

File: This place is kinda pretty.jpg (1.29 MB, 1200x900)

1.29 MB JPG

>>3170872

“Alright, two of you are with us! We need three more teams of four, so spread out in groups of four and sweep the orchard! The rest of you, secure the orchard and make sure it can’t get out!” You shout.

You point to two of the officers.

“You two,” You read their vests. “Ramirez! Carmichael! You’re with us!”

And with that, you’re off. Using the flashlights on your weapons, the trees around you are somewhat lit up, but not enough.

“Hudon, can we get a better light?” You ask.

“You got it.” He replies.

You hear what sounds like a candle being lit, before the surrounding area is lit up substantially better. From the look of these trees, this place must be an almond orchard. You see the little orb floating just out of your line of sight, and watch as it moves ahead a bit, adjusting it’s light so that it doesn’t blind you, becoming less of a patch of light and more like a cone.

“So what’s this thing look like?” One of the officers asks.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Hudon replies.

The four of you continue to sweep the trees for what feels like forever until you hear some rustling in some of the large bushes growing around the base of this particularly large tree.

>Fuck subtlety. Shoot into the bushes.
>”Cover my ass, I’m gonna go check those bushes.

>>3170921
>”Cover my ass, I’m gonna go check those bushes.

>>3170921
>throw a rock into the bushes.

Okay, writing now.

“Alright, cover my ass. I’m gonna check those bushes.” You say.

You take about three steps toward the bushes until your foot knocks against a rock that you didn’t notice. The gears in your head start turning, and so you pick up the rock and chuck it into the bushes.

Out runs a small raccoon. Now, after you got so worked up thinking that there was something there, you feel like a bit of a jackass. You relax a bit until you realize that you see something dripping from the trees. Something red.

You look up and notice this creature. It looks like some sort of an amalgamation of a hairless cat or something, at least in the head, mixed with the hairless body of what you would guess is somewhat humanoid in shape, albeit with stronger hind legs, more akin to those that belong to something much more aggressive predator.

It has spine all over its back. They look very sharp, and you know that they are. Chupacabras can shoot them out at prey and attackers alike.

Along with that, its eyes are cloudy, but you’re sure it can see you clearly as it bares it’s dagger-like teeth at you. It is grasping another raccoon in it’s left hand, and it looks about half-inflated.

“Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!” You hear one of the officers say behind you. The other one sounds like he is praying or something in Spanish.

The creature appears to not have attacked just yet. Maybe there’s a chance that you can still talk it down.

>Open fire on the chupacabra. (Roll a d10 for me.)
>Attempt to talk it down. (Roll a d8 for me, and give me some dialogue.)
>Any other ideas?

>>3171031
>Open fire on the chupacabra
roll before or after consensus

Since you (the MC) are ready, expecting it to just attack, I would say that you include the roll with your vote next time. No big deal right now tho.

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>3171080
in that case

>>3171106
nice...

Oh, boy. Writing.

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>3171031
>Open fire on the chupacabra. (Roll a d10 for me.)

This changes things. Making some adjustments now.

You quickly aim at the chupacabra and let loose with a burst from your M4, peppering the tree and the chupacabra. You don’t know exactly how many of your rounds connected, but the loud screech it lets out tells you that you did indeed injure it. The creature drops the half-drained raccoon and leaps to the nearest tree. Jesus, this thing is fast!

It jumps from one tree to another, with you all attempting to shoot it. Over your radio, you hear the panicked chatter from the rest of the posse. You think you can make out “-eading toward gunfire!”

At least you have some backup coming. The creature leads you on a small chase through the orchard, with it making massive leaps to trees that have to be at least ten meters away. This thing’s definitely making you work for it, but you’re not going to let it get away.

Hudon keeps attempting to freeze it to one of the trees so you can get a clearer shot at it, but every attempt has failed so far. When it makes it to the nearest tree, he is finally able to hit it. A mound of ice freezes the chupacabra’s foot to the tree, the creature stuck at an odd angle. Even with this odd angle, it is able to contort itself around to face it’s back toward you. You slide behind a tree, hearing the quills embed themselves in it with an audible thunk.

You can hear an anguished cry from one of the officers. A quick glance lets you see that there are some quills both embedded in his vest, and one in his arm, pinning him to the tree he had attempted to hide behind. The other officer is pulling on the quill, attempting to dislodge it from the tree.

You hear the sound of ice shattering, and your eyes are drawn to the chupacabra. It has broken free. It leaps toward you.

>Get out of the way! (d10)
>You might just be able to snap off a shot that’ll get it in the head. Just might. (d10)

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>3171194
>You might just be able to snap off a shot that’ll get it in the head. Just might. (d10)

Rolled 3 (1d10)

>>3171194
>You might just be able to snap off a shot that’ll get it in the head. Just might. (d10)

fingers crossed

Will be heading out soon for a few hours.

Someone try and roll better than a 2

Oof. Writing.

You tried to snap a shot off at the creature’s head, with an emphasis on tried. You were able to hit the creature again, but not in the head. The .556 round connects with the chupacabra’s shoulder and causes it to not connect with its claws, and just with its body, knocking you down with it.
You find your bearings quickly enough. The creature, on the other hand, was stunned momentarily. The creature notices you, and almost attempts to pounce on you, but is stopped by its arm being frozen to the ground, followed by a staccato of gunshots from Hudon’s MP5.

“Keep shooting it!.” He shouts.

You quickly grab your rifle and join in, riddling the chupacabra with bullets until it finally stops moving.

The two of you are left there, breathing heavily. Hudon walks over to you and helps you up. You realize at this point that you hurt all over and you’re pretty sure something is either very badly bruised or broken in the arm that the chupacabra collided with. God, does this hurt. Either way, the chupacabra is dead and you’re all hopefully still alive.

You look over and see that the officer that was skewered isn’t dead, but he sure did bleed a fair bit. That was probably caused by the quill itself and them yanking it out. His partner just finished bandaging the wound and is saying something into his radio.

"You alright buddy?" Hudon asks you.

>"I'm good. I think I can walk back."
>"Yeah, I'm not alright. I think I need some help."
>Shoot the chupacabra a few more times, just to make sure it's dead.

Alright, it's getting late where I live and I have to work early tomorrow. Apologies for the abrupt ending to this but I'll be continuing at roughly 5PM EST. Thank you all for coming so far and I hope you join me tomorrow.

>>3171343
>"I'm good. I think I can walk back."

>>3171343
>"Yeah, I'm not alright. I think I need some help."

>>3171343
>Shoot the chupacabra a few more times, just to make sure it's dead.

Apologies on the late start. Some stuff came up outside the quest.

“I think I’m good. I can walk back.” You say. You take about three steps and you think that you hear growling coming from the chupacabra. In response, you quickly raise your rifle up and shoot it a few more times, one of them hitting it in its head. The creature lets out a long, drawn-out noise, moves around a bit, and then lies still.

Yeah, that hurt. You’re pretty sure your shoulder is badly hurt, and shooting your rifle again didn’t help. Hudon and the sheriffs are looking at you like you, and aren’t saying anything.

“Thought I saw it move.” You said.

“... Alright. Here, let me help you man. You look like you sprained your ankle or something too, from the way you’re walking there.” Hudon says, giving you his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” You say, and the four of you begin to walk back to your cars.

On the way back, you meet up with the other sheriffs and tell them that the chupacabra is dead, and that they need to call emergency services as well. Time passes and you and Hudon have had a removal team called and he has taken a few pictures. He has left you to contact Hawthorne. You turn on your agency laptop and contact her. She is sitting in her lab, and she looks like she was just finishing something up.

She turns around on her swivel stool and faces the PC she is answering you from, and she looks at you with a surprised look on your face.

“Boy, do you look like hell.” She says.

>”Yeah, we decided to go bare-knuckle with it, run it through a cougar den, nothing too out of the ordinary.” [Comical]
>”The chupacabra’s been taken care of, we’ve notified a disposal team, and you need to get us on the horn with the Mexican Government.” [Dutiful]
>”Fucker’s put on ice. You need to tell the Mexicans that they need to up their game.” [Cold]

>>3173682
>”The chupacabra’s been taken care of, we’ve notified a disposal team, and you need to get us on the horn with the Mexican Government.” [Dutiful]

New here. This quest seems promising. I'm getting a little bit of a Shadowrun vibe here because of the elf.
>>3173682
>”The chupacabra’s been taken care of, we’ve notified a disposal team, and you need to get us on the horn with the Mexican Government.” [Dutiful]

>>3173682
>”The chupacabra’s been taken care of, we’ve notified a disposal team, and you need to get us on the horn with the Mexican Government.” [Dutiful]
We're in meheco?

>>3173726
No, you're not in Mexico, but you're close enough. You're, as of now, around the San Diego area, which is relatively close to the border.

>>3173719
Welcome to the quest, friend.

I'm going to give it about ten, maybe twelve minutes longer and then I'll lock in the votes.

“The chupacabra’s been taken care of, and we’ve notified a disposal team. You need to get on the horn with the Mexican Government. They’re supposed to keep these things from getting across the border.” You say.

“You know that the Mexicans couldn’t find their ass, even if we handed it to them with a big red bow on top, let alone locate and stop lone liminals from hopping the border for a snack.” She replies, not even taking a breath during.

She’s right. If the Mexican Government isn’t preoccupied with their wars against the cartels, they’re dealing with some sort of intrigue within their own ranks. They don’t have the time, technology, or manpower to keep this shit from happening.

She looks away from you for a moment and messes with some beaker with something floating in it. It twitches a bit, and she writes something down that you can’t make out. She looks much paler than usual. Her hair, which is usually messy, since she rarely leaves the lab, is tied up to keep it out of her face while she works.

“Then at least get someone to send out some instructors to teach the LEO’s around here how to deal with these things.” You reply.

“That’s on Remenach, not me, man. I just analyze the stuff you send my way.” She says, without even looking at you.

>”You know we appreciate it. Me and Hudon are lucky we got you as an analyst.” [Kind]
>”Seems like a lot of things are on him these days.” [Cynical]
>”You alright? You look a bit worse for wear yourself.” [Concerned]
>"Let's just get this over so I can go home." [Indifferent]
>Write in?

>>3173934
>”Seems like a lot of things are on him these days.” [Cynical]
>”You alright? You look a bit worse for wear yourself.” [Concerned]

>>3173934
>”You alright? You look a bit worse for wear yourself.” [Concerned]

Alright. Writing now.

“Seems like a lot of things are on him these days.” You say.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to mess with the thing in the beaker. It goes from twitching to wriggling.

“It’s his job. He runs the entire state’s department from his little office in LA. If he wasn’t good at his job he wouldn’t still be doing it, like, how many years has he been working with the FBI now? Forty?” She replies.

“About that much I think. Hey, you alright? You talk about me looking like hell, but you look a bit worse for wear yourself.”

This causes her to turn to look at you. She looks surprised that you asked.

“Well, yeah. I’m good, more or less. Keep in mind, ‘alright’s’ relative with me. I had to see the doctor about the pump in my heart.” She said.

Yeah. You forgot that Hawthorne’s technically, well, dead. They’ve studied her for years, apparently, and since she isn’t considered a threat to her coworkers and the general public, she was allowed to keep doing her job. The alchemists and techies figured something out to help her, and now she’s more-or-less a normal person, give or take a few extra quirks. You hear some sort of notification sound through her end, and she types away at the keyboard some more.

“Alright, I’ve let Remenach know that you’ve completed your assignment. He wants to meet with you and Hudon as soon as possible, but he said to take it slow. What happened, anyway? Did that thing tear you a new one or something?” She asks.

“The damn thing slammed into me when I shot it. My shoulder is hurting bad and I’m pretty sure I sprained my ankle.” You reply.

“Take the red tablet in your first aid kit when you get a chance. You know, the extra things from the alchemists. They’ll help you heal faster. They’ll make you hungrier, though.”

>”What, is that like the law of equivalent exchange or something?”
>”Fine by me. I don’t want to be moping around the house too long.”

>>3174109
>”Fine by me. I don’t want to be moping around the house too long.”

>>3174109
>”Fine by me. I don’t want to be moping around the house too long.”

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“Fine by me. I don’t want to be moping around the house too long.” You say.

You reach into the glove compartment and reach for the first aid kit you keep in it. It’s not too big, probably the right size for one you’d keep in the car. You have a bigger one, but that one’s more for emergencies, and if your shoulder was shattered or something, you probably wouldn’t have been able to stand without doubling over again.

Inside the kit, there are three different pill bottles that look like the kind you'd get from one of those supermarket pharmacies. The pills look small enough, you should be able to take one without a drink. You shake one of the red ones into your hand and force it down.

Lord, did that taste awful, like rancid ass wiped down with a wet, moldy gym sock. Still, if the alchemists say they’re good they should be good. They get a lot of things done. There is a little card in the kit too. It says “Red for if you’re hurt, green for if you’re tired, and white for if your partner is dying. Do not exceed more than three tablets in twenty-four hours.”

“Alright. You should be good now. Hudon’s sent me some data, so I’ve got to get to this now. See you when you get back to the office!” She says, then the video feed cuts out.

The driver’s side door opens, and Hudon gets in. He looks about as tired as you, and you bet that he is eager to get some sleep too. That comes second though, since work is more important.

“Alright. You got everything taken care of on your end?”

You nod, and so he shuts the driver’s side door, and fishes some keys out of his pocket.

“Then let’s get going. I’ll drive, you get some rest. We’ll be back in L.A. before we know it. Your shoulder alright?” He asks.

>”I should be good. I took one of those red pills.”
>”I think I need a doctor. And a priest. I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Hudon. Tell my mother I love her, and let Jess know to delete my browser history.”

>>3174331
>”I think I need a doctor. And a priest. I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Hudon. Tell my mother I love her, and let Jess know to delete my browser history.”

>>3174331
>”I think I need a doctor. And a priest. I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Hudon. Tell my mother I love her, and let Jess know to delete my browser history.”

>>3174331
>”I think I need a doctor. And a priest. I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Hudon. Tell my mother I love her, and let Jess know to delete my browser history.”

Writing now.

File: Garage.jpg (246 KB, 2122x1415)

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You grasp at your chest, like you’re having a heart attack. Then you lean back, with the back of your hand on your forehead.

”I think I need a doctor. And a priest. I don’t think I’m gonna make it, Hudon. Tell my mother I love her,” You place a hand on his shoulder. “And let Jess know to delete my browser history.” You say, trying not to smirk.

His cold, calculating professional facade breaks for a moment when you hear him snicker and his lips curve into a grin.

“Yeah, you’re fine, big guy. Just stay with me long enough to get home and you can tell her yourself.” He replies, a thin smile on his face.

He puts the car into gear and the two of you pull out, back on to the side road that took you to this orchard. The moon was covered by clouds earlier, but now you can see the road somewhat. It’s empty, just like you’d expect at two in the morning on a weeknight. You pull your cap over your eyes and try to get some sleep.

You’re shaken awake, and when you pull the cap up, you see that you’re in some concrete structure, lit by halogen lights. To your right, there are a set of metal shutters keeping people from getting in, and to your left is a bank of elevators, and a single, seemingly underused set of stairs. Hudon is sitting in the driver’s seat still. He turns off the car.

“We’re back.” He says.

The walk to the elevator is quiet, with your footsteps echoing throughout the parking garage. When the two of you get in the elevator, Hudon presses the button for the thirtieth floor, and the door closes and the elevator begins to rise.

>”Anything happen while I was out?”
>Check your phone.
>Keep your hands in your pockets and don’t say anything.

>>3174472
>Check your phone.

>>3174472
>Check your phone.

Writing now.

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You pull out your agency-issued encrypted smartphone to check a few things, since you won’t be in the elevator for too long. Since this is the phone that you use for work, it doesn’t have a whole lot of notifications, outside of a few emails and a message from the only person outside of work that you put on it.

Jess. You’ve got a message from her. You sent her a message before you took a nap to let her know you were probably on the way home.

Made some chicken for dinner. There should be enough left for you. It’s in the fridge.

You smile. Jess is a good friend, and you’re glad that she’s here with you, that she agreed to come with you to California.

You decide to send her back a text. She’s probably not asleep. That girl doesn’t have a sleep schedule, even though she should.

Good to know. I just got back now so I should be back in a little bit.

You put it back in your pocket when you hear the elevator ding. It’s not on the thirtieth floor though. It stopped on the thirteenth floor. Someone else gets in the elevator with you. It’s some human guy, you’d guess about in his early forties, carrying a laptop case in one hand and a briefcase in another. He looks overworked and sleep-deprived, but he’s cognizant enough to notice that you two are in the elevator with him.

“Morning fellas,” He sees that you and Hudon aren’t wearing a suit like him, instead wearing the clothes you would wear during a raid. “Back from kicking in doors?” He asks, trying to break the ice.

>Say nothing.
>”Classified.”
>Write in?

>>3174661
>Write in?
>Small talk
"Busy night for you too?"

>>3174661
>Write in?
Its a not quite morning just yet buddy.

Writing now.

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“It’s not quite morning yet, buddy,” You say. You look at his briefcase and laptop case. “Busy night for you too?”

He closes his eyes and nods.

“More or less. Got a lot of things I can’t tell you about, probably the same as you,” He places the briefcase on the floor, and pulls out a vibrating cell-phone. His accent sounds like he is from the Northeastern United States, probably from around the Boston area, if you had to guess.

“Sorry, important email.” The man says. He taps on his phone screen for a bit, then places the phone back in his pocket. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a pair of business cards.

“If the two of you ever need something with some oomph behind it, give us a call.” He says.

You look at the business card, One side reads John Thompson , and the other side reads Thompson Defense Industries. A phone number is listed in small font underneath John’s name.

“I’ll think about it.” Hudon says.

“We deal in a lot of different calibers and have gotten the rights to manufacture a lot of different firearms. Along with that, since the two of you are federal agents, you can get a discount at any of our outlets in the California area. To find out where they are just call the number underneath my name.”

The elevator dings once again as it reaches the thirtieth floor, and the two of you step out. “John Thompson” stays in the elevator.

“I hope the two of you can do business with us soon!” He says before the elevator doors close once more.

You're now standing on the thirtieth floor. This floor is almost entirely belonging to the California branch of the SLRD or Supernatural and Liminal Response Department. Since it's so early in the morning, there are only a few people on this floor right now, but not as many as there would be during the day, since most of the desk-workers had gone home for the night. The lights are somewhat dimmed to match the early morning and you can smell coffee emanating from further down the hall to your left, where the restrooms and break room are located on this floor.

>”Not what you’d expect at four A.M.”
>”The fuck was up with that guy?”
>Head to Remenach’s office without another word.

>>3174885
>Head to Remenach’s office without another word.

Alright. Writing. This will be the last one for tonight, since I have work again in the morning.

I will be running this again at 5:30 CST, and I will be able to run much longer than normal that night. I don't like leaving it on a cliffhanger, but I will have to tonight.

Instead of trying to make some small talk, you start walking to Remenach’s office without saying anything to Hudon, and he doesn’t say anything either. The two of you are probably too tired to make any more small talk. Remenach’s office is far enough from the Elevator that it’s not within earshot of just anyone, but it’s not far enough that it would be off the beaten path.

Hanging on his door is something written in the native tongue of the Elves from Europe, but you don’t know how to pronounce it, or even know how to read that language. On the wall to the right of it is a placard that says “Morgrend Remenach, SLRD Director, California branch.”

Before you can ask whether to knock, Hudon opens the door and walks in. You follow him. Remenach’s office is a lot smaller than you would expect the office of the statewide Department Director would be, but you got used to it after seeing it a few times before. The walls of his office are covered in framed pictures of liminals.

His bow tie is undone, and he has bags under his eyes that would make even an elf look unattractive, at least by elf standards. In the light of his computer monitor you can see just how pale his skin is, owing to the amount of time he spends indoors compared to Hudon, who is noticeably more tan than him. He rubs a hand over his bald head before he is drawn from his computer screen and to you.

“Morning, boys. It’s good to know that the two of you aren’t dead, or worse, half-dead. I’ll tell you, it’s pretty awful being only partly killed by a chupacabra. It’s like someone forgetting to watch you if you went to give blood, but a lot more painful, and with more teeth.” He says.

You can’t really place his accent anywhere. He sounds like he learned English as his second language and nearly mastered it, since he only talks with a slight accent at best.

“Everything’s good, save for a bit of bruising on Michael here. He took a healing tablet so he should be fine in a few days, maybe a bit longer.” Hudon replies.

Remenach smiles.

“That’s good to hear. I don’t need my agents being out of commission for too long because of injuries.” He says.

“So, are we getting an extended time off or something?” Hudon asks, cutting right to the chase.

“Something like that. You just spent the last week and a half hunting that chupacabra down, so you deserve at least a few days off before you come back to help with other things.” Remenach answers.

“That seems a bit much, sir.” Hudon replies.

“No, it doesn’t. Injustice never sleeps, but there are other agents who can handle it for now, so go home and get some rest. I’ve already authorized it. Just sign right here and the two of you will have a week off compared to the normal three days.” He says.

>Sign the paper.
>”Sir, I think three days are enough for me.

>>3175021
>read the paper

>>3175032
This

>>3175021
>>Sign the paper.

Might as well. Interesting quest premise.

>>3175275
nevermind changing my vote to this. The sooner we get home, the sooner we some rest.

>>3175021
>Sign the paper.

I probably don't need more than 5 days sir, the boredom might get to me.

5 days and we go check out the guns the guy with the card gave to us.

>>3175281
>>3175032
>>3175060
>>3175021
and read it too!

>>3175281
I thought the department was supposed to supply their officers their equipment while on duty, and everything else is either for sport and recreation.

OP how gun control work in worl?

>>3175290
The guy in the elevator basically gave us a card and said we could shop around for discounts on exotic weapons to deal with the supernatural/paranormal for our job as a FEDERAL AGENT OF THE FBI.

>>3175301
You make a perfectly valid point, but I also hope ok could confirm that. Any idea as to what we should get? Silver bullets? Silver coated knife? Staff of Fire? A gun that shoots swords?

Alright, I'm writing now. Apologies on the late continuation. I had some issues getting home, along with some other issues involving my stomach. I should be fine now though.

Before signing, you decide to read the paper first. Surprisingly, it comes from higher up the chain of command, granting Agents Michael Angier and Hudon Malinor II a week’s recuperation, along with a small raise to your salaries for “outstanding service to the SLRD and to the United States as a whole.”

“Why the raise?” You ask.

Remenach adjusts his glasses and chuckles.

“Well, that chupacabra had killed a lot of people before you got to it. I was hoping you wouldn’t read it, since I thought it would’ve been a nice surprise. You’ve done good work since you were transferred here, Michael, and I appreciate agents that do good work,”

Hudon says nothing at that, and you can hear him shift around.

“And I’m sure everyone could say the same.” Remenach says, looking at Hudon.

“Sure, if you can call getting floored ‘good work’.” Hudon retorts.

You roll your eyes at that.

“Sir, I’m sure that five days will enough. The boredom might get to-”

Remenach holds up his hand to stop you.

“Come on Michael, just take this. I’m not talking to you as a superior, I’m talking to you as a fellow agent. Even if you’re a workaholic, there has to be something, anything, for you to do at home.” Remenach says to you, his voice dripping with annoyance.

You know that it’s been a while since you just went to the range. Maybe Jess could have an idea for something to do? She lives there more than you do, after all.

“Look at me, I’ve got some people I need to visit, I bet you’ve got something to do.” Hudon says.
“Fine. I’ll sign the damn paper. It’s on you if I go stir-crazy, Remenach.” You say.

“Man, it’s not mandatory. You can come back earlier if you want, you’ve just gotta let me know and stop by the doctors first, let them make sure that you’re all in one piece before I find something for you to do.” Remenach says, visibly annoyed at your tenacity.

You sign the paper and slide across the desk to him, and he takes it and stores it in a manila envelope, which he puts in the filing cabinet to his right.

“Alright agents, the two of you are dismissed,” He says, without looking at you. As the two of you start to leave, he turns around and looks you in the eye. “And try to enjoy your time off. I mean it.”

>Head back home.
>Stop by the break room for a cup of coffee. You might need it for the drive home.
>Write in?

>>3177377
>Head back home.

>>3177377
>Stop by the break room for a cup of coffee. You might need it for the drive home.

Alright, writing now.

File: Break Room.jpg (95 KB, 1068x601)

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Apologies for the slow updates. Some stuff happened in my house and I needed to assist.

You decide that before heading back home, you should get a cup of coffee before you leave. It might help, since you feel a bit sluggish. When you reach the break room, you see that it’s empty, save for one person, who appears to be asleep at one of the tables. You head over to the coffee pot to see that it’s empty.

Great. Just great. You put one of those little cups in the top of the machine and lean against the counter, waiting impatiently for the damn coffee to be made. You drum your fingers on the counter while you wait, and in the meantime you start to watch the person whose seemingly asleep.

The person, who looks to be a man, since not a lot of women you know have five o'clock shadow, appears to be more-or-less unconscious. He's wearing a blue suit that looks to be just a bit large for him, and his hair is a mess.

>Not my problem the guy's tired. Head home and let him sleep.
>Wake the guy up.

>>3177505
>Wake the guy up.

wait for the coffee to brew so we can hand him a cup.

Alright, writing now.

>>3177505
Wait for the coffee then put it infront of him THEN wake him up.

It would be rude otherwise.

>>3177505
>Wake the guy up.
Dude you want a cup too?

>>3177588
sure. this.

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Your coffee’s done, but you feel for the poor guy. He must’ve been here a while, so you place it down on the table in front of him, which must have woke him up.

“Wha? Whozat?” You hear.

“Made you some coffee.” You say to him.

“Oh. Thank you.” He says, his voice monotone, almost creepily so. He looks up to look at you and then you notice it.

The guy has one eye. Not as in he is missing an eye and he’s sporting a cool-looking eyepatch, but that he literally only has one eye. Like, in the middle of his head, where there would usually be a space between your own eyes. If you weren’t used to being around people like him you might’ve jumped a bit.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“About four in the morning.” You reply.

His eye widens when he realizes what you said. He quickly gets up, grabs the coffee, and hurries off, leaving you alone in the break room.

“Thanks for waking me, man!” he exclaims to you from the hallway. You hear his footsteps getting fainter until you don't hear them anymore.

You turn around and make yourself a cup of coffee, then head down to the garage to get your car. People are finally starting to funnel into the office now, with people passively-aggressively attempting to get the best spaces. You hurry to the back where you park, and get into your big-ass SUV.

The streets of Los Angeles are exactly what you expect at four in the morning. The traffic is just as bad as it is during any other time of the day, and before long you’re stuck in a traffic jam. You turn on the radio to keep you awake. It sounds like you just missed the morning DJ, and they’ve started playing music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tuhfkDfmIPk

It takes you forever to get back home, but thanks to your tendency to drive aggressively, along with the fact that the interstate 405 makes getting home a breeze, you’re able to get back home just before the sun is up. You’re lucky that you found such a good deal on this rental home, since it’s big enough for both you and your roommate, and it’s close enough to the office that you can get there in no time if the traffic’s not too thick.

You turn off the car and walk up to the front door. You can see that there is a lamp on in the living room, so Jess might be awake.

>This is MY house. Open the door without being quiet.
>Attempt to be as quiet as you can coming in.

>>3177675
>This is MY house. Open the door without being quiet.

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>3177675
Looks like we might have made ourselves a buddy. Nice.
>Attempt to be as quiet as you can coming in.
>Silently microwave food
>silently eat
>silently wash dishes
>everything is silent. Gonna roll to see just how silent.

I'll give it a little bit longer to see if there will be any more votes cast, and then I'll lock it and start writing.

Alright, writing now.

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>>3177695
>>3177690

You decide to attempt to be quiet, since you’re such a considerate guy and all. Maybe she’s asleep, and you’d like to make sure she stays asleep. You slowly insert the key into the lock and turn it, since she might have fallen asleep at her work station again. You slowly and quietly attempt to open the door, and peer into the living room. Nope, she’s not there, and the PC’s not on, so she must be asleep in her room. You creep into the living room and shut the door behind you.

As you take off your shoes and place them on the ground, you turn around and head into the kitchen. You know what Hawthorne meant now by “being hungrier than normal”. You’re starving, and you bet you could eat at least two horses, maybe three and a half. You open the fridge and there is indeed some leftover chicken in the fridge in a plastic container.

You slowly open the microwave and wince every time it beeps with each press of its buttons. The microwave’s slow hum isn’t as bad, though, so you get some silverware out of the drawer and get a glass out for some water. The smell of the chicken is becoming harder to ignore, and when the microwave beeps, you pull the plate out of it and dig in with gusto.

Well, it tastes better than you thought it would. It’s so-so, but you wouldn’t let her know that. You sit in the dark kitchen and eat for a good long while before you hear the door open upstairs.

“Huh? Whose cooking?” You hear a familiar, feminine voice ask.

>”It’s me, Jess!”
>Say nothing
>Write in?

>>3177833
>Write in?
Didn't think I'd wake you.

>>3177833
>”It’s me, Jess!”

>>3177505
>>Not my problem the guy's tired. Head home and let him sleep.

>>3177833
>>”It’s me, Jess!”

Forgot to say that I was writing. I'm writing.

“It’s me, Jess!” You say, not looking away from your food. You don’t hear her until she’s made it down the stairs, where she’s closer to you. You can hear her as she slithers across the tile floor and stretches around to get to the cabinet where she keeps her french press and tea pot. At least this morning she’s cognizant, so you don’t have to deal with her being clingy. She looks like she just woke up, with her brown hair a mess, and some of it being caught on the small scales on her face.

She doesn’t have to move around too much as she gets her breakfast ready. The fluidity with which she moves is almost graceful, if you weren’t sure that she is still somewhat asleep. She gets her breakfast ready, and when she finally joins you at the table she has a basic breakfast of some scrambled eggs, some orange juice, and some coffee with some sugar and milk.

To a lot of people, she'd be an obvious oddity, a lamia outside of Greece, and something to take a video of, but to you she's just Jessica Henderson, your childhood friend.

“Didn’t think I’d wake you.” You say.

“I’m glad you did. I needed to wake up early anyway, so thanks for waking me up,” She takes a bite of her eggs and then follows it with a sip of her orange juice. “So did you have fun, G-man?”

She takes another drink of her orange juice, her green eyes watching you as you pick at your chicken.

>”Eh, same old same old.”
>”That’s classified, Ma’am.”
>”The government denies any knowledge of the concept of ‘fun’.”
>Write in?

>>3178036
>”The government denies any knowledge of the concept of ‘fun’.”

also
>lamia
guess who's staying as a childhood friend

>>3178036
Woah. She's a Lamia? Fucking neato my dudes.
>”Eh, same old same old.”
More bruises this time. Got a week of time to recuperate.

Alright, writing.

“The Government denies any knowledge of the concept of ‘fun’. We’re all just a bunch of no-fun sticks in the mud and all we do is not have any fun at all. Ever.” You say, attempting to channel your inner middle-manager.

She smirks at that.

“Ohhhhh, so that explains why you never had any luck with women.” She replies.

You point at her to make sure she understands what kind of dangerous territory she’s stepped in.

“Okay, you can’t prove that.”

“You know I’m kidding. Either way, I’m betting that you’re pretty tired, and so you should go and get some sleep. I’ll wake you up if anything important happens.”

You nod and head upstairs, toward your room. It’s the furthest down the hall, and is the second-biggest, since you were considerate enough to give Jess the master bedroom, what with her special needs and all.

You take off your clothes, save for your boxers, and promptly fall face-first into your bed. In your state of being dead-ass tired and running on fumes, you find that sleep comes very easily to you, even with the sun starting to shine through your curtains. As your eyelids start to get heavy, and your arms start to get harder to move, you pull the comforter over your head and attempt to hide away so that you can sleep without any interruptions.

-

This is where I'll be ending the thread for now. I'm now going to attempt to figure out how to archive. Thank you all for coming to this newfag's most recent attempt at questing. I'll answer any questions you guys might have for me if you do have any.

>>3178162
you don't have to if you don't want. It's automatic for archive sites like archived.moe assuming they don't die.

For Suptg you need to input the thread number, a title, and throw in a few tags. Then write a short summary or description of the quest.

I recommend you think carefully about what tags you put in, and throw in things like you QM name as a tag. and a few genra tags too

>>3178162
What's the setting? There's magic and mystical creatures and shit.

>>3179164

Well, at some point in the fifties, mythical creatures started to appear on Earth. This event (which is still happening, just slowing down gradually) did a lot of shaking up to the order of things. It's been a hot minute since then, and you're a part of the FBI, specifically the Supernatural and Liminal Response Department, who investigate things that could be considered "supernatural".

Due to these supernatural events, certain people died before they would have in this timeline, and that would have changed the future in certain ways. I'm not an expert of geopolitics or history but I hope when they are brought up, they don't seem like they couldn't happen.

I don't have a set time when my next thread will be up, since my work schedule is somewhat volatile as of now, but I hope for it to be soon.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/HandlerQuests