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Nodosaurus's Significant Otter

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                  ________________________________________________________________ L I K E _ S H A D O W S _ O N _ T H E __ W - W A L L , _ I _ C A N _ H E A R _ F O O T _ S T E P S__ I N _ T H E _ H - H A L L _ S O M E B O D Y __ I S _ C O M I N G _ T O _ G E T _ M E , _ A N D __ T A K E _ M E _ O U T _ T O _ T H E __ N - N I G H T M A R E _ W O O D S , _ W H E R E __ T H E _ D E A D _ C - C R Y _ A N D __ T H E I R _ R E M A I N S _ R - R O T. _ H E L P _ M E ,__ H E L P _ M E ,_ I - I _ D O N ' T _ W A N T _ T O __ D - D I E .
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                  __xWHAT MYSTERY SHALL WE xTAKE xON N E X T ?xx!xx
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                                  ◞x★ ▬ CHAPTER ONE !! XXXXXXXXXX

    Nodosaurus's Significant Otter

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                            Four am. There was no sudden sounds or movements, only the exhausted sighs escaping from the gang’s lungs. The golden girl was perched, back still straight, on a stool within the control room of the Drunk Tank. Cerulean optics gently scanned the condition of the home mobile. It was… unquestionably messy. From the piles of research files scattered on the floor to the rustling noises from the trash Zero rummaged through, there was no other word to describe it. It was expected however, they had just finished exterminating the pesky drop bears of the Pinnacles Desert. It was awfully sloppy, the job that they completed. Nonetheless, they got it done. Yet, there were so many ways they could’ve gone about it… It was just a matter of miscommunication. Tangled traps and jumbled up instructions. Not to mention that it was such a sloppy job, they haven’t had proper sleep in three days.

                            Drop bears. Pesky little buggers. The whole time Briar had been thinking they were just koalas who woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Regardless, she was happy to see, from all the mess, Owen and Jules pasting vegemite under their arms and behind their ears for the operation. Though it had to be warned, that scent does not leave the skin easy.

                            She rose delicately from the chair, meticulously avoiding anything that would rustle an echo. Briar’s fingers grasped the fridge, trailing it open as her vision waltzed. She really was not sure what specifically she was reaching for, only knowing that she was absolutely quenched. A vivid can was took by surprise as it met a stranger from it’s normal type. He shrieked silently as her fingers popped the aluminium lining open. She took an elegant gulp of the liquid before her lips puckered. “Sooooour…” She squeaked, her eyes automatically wincing. Her golden head lowered, approaching closer to the pitiful can before she read the label. Fast and Furious, the quick acting Energy drink. Her face sulked, her thoughts reminiscing about the ginger ale she could’ve had if she had just… tried to actually look for it.

                            Her fatigued steps lead her back into the control room, plopping next to Patrick again- who seemed normal. “So, this is how you stay awake. A hundred sixty milligrams of caffeine. Ha!” She chimed brightly before her eyes flickered like a desperate flame. “I’m oddly becoming more awake. I’m not sure if that’s the hundred sixty milligrams of caffeine or if it’s simply a psychological effect after I discovered I consumed an energy boosting beverage. It probably is a placebo effect, I mean, ha! After all, the half life of caffeine in humans are simply four to six hours, on average. And for the membranes to simply absorb approximately ninety nine percent of it, it would take, forty five minutes… Yet it hasn’t been forty five minutes has it? Ha!”

                            Golden strands coloured of angel’s halo tousled as her head whipped back and forth. “Wow, with the calculations, I’ll be hyped for five minutes! Ha! I mean hours! Hours, mate! Patrick! Ha!” Her angular fingers clasped together before her optics scanned the room again, this time rather viciously. It was still the same, but oddly a chuckle of uncontrollable laughter bellowed from her insides. “Well, there’s no point in just sitting here, Patrick! We should really be checking the news! Why Phil might’ve sent me an email- or something could’ve happened in the Himalayas, oh I hope its not another yeti! Ha! I’m sure blinking a lot!” Her hands speedily dashed across the keyboard, smashing away as multiple systematic commands were entered. Articles from everywhere popped up, she had beat her record tonight for processing data.

                            Instantly, Briar froze. Her finger less than point five of a centimeter away from the enter key, her eyes glued the screen before her head dropped to the side. How odd… disappearing children… dead children. Her right hand slid across the keyboard in a flash, opening up her private secret contacts of conspiracy theorists, hactivists, and UFO hunters. She continued researching, her hands pounding against the keyboard, she did not even have to process a thought on what to type or what to press.


                            Four thirty am. She came to an abrupt stop, her chin pointing up in alarm. “Guys!! Children are disappearing in Sydney, Australia! I’m providing a route for the Drunk Tank’s GPS right now! It’s not a normal case though! Children are disappearing from the head morgue. Ha! There’s something awfully paranormal about this, it’s bloody- ...guys?” She turned around, spinning in the stool. “Are you awake?”

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    ▌DEATH is a sweet slumber,
    ▌all the PAIN of life is gently swept away.
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    It was four AM. Most everyone was probably sleeping, but Pat and Briar had been very busy working in the control room. They were wrapping up the finishing details of their last mission where they ended a Drop Bear infestation. He shuddered at the thought of those things. While everyone else got to spread vegemite on themselves to keep the nasty little creatures at bay, Pat didn't get such a luxury. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be a considered luxury, but it had to better than being the bait.

    He could remember it vividly. Standing there, making various calls with a distinctly NON Austrailian accent in an attempt to lure them in, although he was probably a sorry enough sight just as he was. Probably why he was chosen to be the bait in the first place, much to his derision. It was taking longer than he thought so he started playing his gameboy. He heard them before he saw them--the sound of a dozens of little koala paws staping the sand beneath them as they charged, their viscious shrieks piercing the cold night air. "OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT! he yelled, looking up at the horde of viscious monsters rampaging towards him. Turning to a break neck sprint he was nearly overcome as he had to slow down to recover the gameboy he dropped out of fright...

    "So, this is how you stay awake. A hundred sixty milligrams of caffeine. Ha!” Patrick was snapped back to reality by the soothing voice of his one true love, Briar. There was something a bit off and he could tell it by how quickly she was talking.
    "Forty five minutes?! He raised his eyebrows in a quizzical gesture while he thought. "No way, it's been more like ten seconds. Sharp eyes darted towards the girl who had plopped down in the seat next to him, noting the can she had in her hands. "YOU'RE DRINKING ONE OF MY ENERGY DRINKS? AND YOU DIDN'T BRING ME ONE?!" While the tone of his voice was quite alarmed, he wasn't speaking loudly at all. He crushed the now empty can and tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin that was already so full it bounced out, but he couldn't be bothered to pick it up--the room was already a mess as it was.

    Jumping out of his seat he rushed to the fridge to go get a replacement. There was lots of stuff in the fridge, he noted. "Oh come on. Come on. There's gotta be another one! He started frantically rummaging around, tossing a bottle of mustard haphazardly behind him, the yellow condiment landing on the ground with a soft thud. Next came a jar of pickles that didn't quite meet as nice a fate, breaking open as it landed on the ground behind him--on the bright side, there was but one pickle remaining. Slouching his shoulders in defeat he slammed the door to the refrigerator before solemnly trudging back to the control room. Man will Briar be sorry... he mused silently to himself, thinking of ways that he would make his friend repay him. Simply buying him another one wouldn't suffice. In fact it wasn't even the fact that she took one--he's been trying to turn everyone onto them anyway--but the fact that she took the LAST one.

    Making his way back into the control room, Patrick began to speak, "BRI-" but stopped before he could even utter her name.

    It’s not a normal case though! Children are disappearing from the head morgue. Ha! There’s something awfully paranormal about this, it’s bloody- ...guys?" Just what they needed. Something not "normal." From the sounds of it, children were disappearing from Sydney. But not just any children. Children who worked in morgues. Or dead children, if you wanted to think more logicaly.

    "But then again, is anything we do normal, Bri? he pondered aloud before returning to his seat. Cracking his fingers he began to furiously type away on the keyboard. "I'll see what else I can find out about it. I'll try to get some contact information for the morgue. In all the commotion he had forgotten about the energy drink, but he'd be sure to bring it up when things had settled down again. Wheeling his chair over to a cabinet he pulled out a manila folder that had a few blank sheets of paper in it. Returning to the desk he slapped it down and pulled out a pen from his pocket. "Today will be a long day and it's just started... he yawned sleepily before pulling out his phone and dialing the number he found.

    "Hey, is this the morgue in Sydney? My name is Pat and I'm with the Clue Crew..."
    "Yes, we're A morgue in Sydney. But you have to realize there is more than one."
    "Oh come on, don't be a jack a**. What other morgue would the infamous paranormal investigators I just named be looking for?! The one with the disappearing children, of course!"


    ▌He was man who CRAVED power,
    ▌but he FEARED losing it.

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                                                      The drop bears had been significantly worse than Jules had expected, and from the moment he started smearing the actual droppings of Lucifer himself, Vegemite, in his armpits and behind his ears, his hopes had not been high. Pat had been the bait, and he'd certainly been charged; however Jules had been sneak-attacked at the same time. The first one dropped onto him, knocking him completely over, which as a six foor four man, weighing in at one hundred eighty five pounds, was not easily accomplished. He managed to knock it off, and spin himself back up to his feet, but it just went downhill from there, and the worst part was the mud and stains clinging to his clothing, and wedged into his shoes. Unforgivable. He'd tried washing it off, air drying it, but nothing worked. A $300 jacket, wasted. He'd be sure not to ever spend so much money on himself in one place ever again; he'd only just grown attached to the jacket a few days prior.

                                                      He'd been a bit disappointed in the mission as a whole; not to say they weren't successful. Communication could have been better, and getting jumped before anyone else was embarrassing to say the least. He considered himself better than that. The Pinnacles Desert hadn't been too happy to see them arrive, and he only hoped it was happy to see them getting the hell out of dodge; as an exhausted Jules dragged his rolling chair up to the front of Drunk Tank. He had a problem with carsickness, easily mended however if he could remain in sight of the road in front of him at all times. They were all tired for sure, but Owen had insisted on driving, sparing Jules from having to do it. They were usually in tune, somewhat synchronized most all times; Owen could most likely tell that he was simply beat. The drop bears had been more than anyone expected, and sustaining wind barriers for as long as he'd needed to, had sufficiently drained Jules.

                                                      It didn't take long, but Jules was feeling himself drifting off, head rolling around with the motions of the Drunk Tank. It took a moment, a moment he was of course completely unaware of; but he was soon dreaming. The last thing he remembered was looking at Owen, and whispering, "You're my favorite b***h right now." He dreamt, rather soundly he would add, of himself and Zero at the beach. The tide kept coming in, and the more the corgi tried to just skip along the shoreline, the more of his body that submerged with time. Jules kept trying to push it back, creating great sprays of foam around him, in his mouth, in his eyes, but no matter how strong his gusts, the water kept coming. Eventually, it licked about his ankles like the tongues of demons ushering in his self-assured destruction. They talked in Tara's voice, they spoke little nothings and dirty words until he couldn't hear them anymore: the water had plugged his ears. He could still faintly hear Zero barking, though he sounded awfully high pitched, and more paced and even, as if he were talking instead.

                                                      His eyes did not jerk open, but he regained consciously gradually. The sky had darkened dramatically, and at first he thought his eyes might have been faulty. Blinking sharply, Jules quickly discovered himself leaning gently against Owen, his head placed almost perfectly on his friend's shoulder. Not that this was uncharacteristic or unusual of the pair; Jules simply laughed, and pushed himself upright. "Thanks babe." He identified the voice that had belonged in his dream to Zero; to in fact be Briar. Children disappearing in Sydney? From a morgue? Curious. His first thought was in fact, zombies, though he immediately dismissed the childish notion. It wasn't impossible, but with the Clue Crew's luck, it was someone stitching together all the bodies into a giant supermassive gross behemoth of some kind. Or malevolent spirits. Or perhaps the bodies simply felt like taking a walk. He could be hopeful.

                                                      He could hear Pat attempting to call the morgue, and couldn't help but give himself away with a loud chuckle at his treatment of the person on the other end of the line. With visible effort, Jules rose from his rolling chair with near perfect balance; a nice little touch his abilities lent him. He moved with a dancer's grace, and it was almost entirely subconscious at this point; using the air around him to manipulate the placement of his body. Resting his knees on the rolling chair, Jules gave a gentle breeze behind himself enough force to push him to the back of the Drunk Tank, where he could find Pat and Briar. "Be right back!" He yelled in a sing-song voice to Owen as he glided down the center of the Drunk Tank, carefully avoiding sleeping friends.

                                                      "Hey Pat, you're calling a morgue at 4am; try not to be as scummy as the bodies dude. Also, good morning both of you!" He had a tendency to half-sing his words, as if everything he said were some part of a bigger show or performance. Usually, he only did this when he really felt like s**t, as he was a firm believer in fake-it-til-you-make-it, and also that the Clue Crew could always do with more enthusiasm. "You're right Bri, definitely sounds paranormal. Got any suspicions?" He was probably being too loud for Pat to hear the person on the other end of the line, though Jules distinctly thought he heard the phrase 'without a trace', that made him shudder at the cliche. "Just tell them we'll be there later today, and their problems are solved. Also, I hope these missing dead kids behave better than the drop bears; if I lose leather expensive jacket, I'm gonna be pissed." He sighed. Would they need holy hand grenades for this mission? He'd been dying to break some out... Maybe he'd finally get the chance.



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                  ι вeт yoυ dιdɴ'т ĸɴow ι wαѕ dαɴɢeroυѕ


    Drop Bears were the mission de jour that left every tired and smelly. Wil was the least bothered by the smelly factor. It wasn’t that vegemite didn’t smell to high heaven, because it did, it was merely that growing up on the streets she had smelled worse. The real ball sack factor to the mission was the drop part; training with her boxer boyfriend, Evan, hadn’t prepared her for being pounced on by something that was bigger than she was. She felt sorry for the witch in Wizard of Oz. More than anything she was just glad that it was over and they would be heading home sooner rather than later.

    Wil’s body ached. Over the last three days sleep had been in short supply; tea only offered so much energy and she would die before drinking a ‘Fast and Furious’. What the petit brunette needed was a hot bath with salts and a large, pillow topped bed with someone sexy between the sheets. Instead, she had the Drunk Tank with a shower stall and five other people dying to use it and a captain style chair. Being an infamous paranormal investigator was glamorous.

    Settling into the captain’s chair she pulled her BEATS on over her ears. The tiny alchemist settled on a playlist that would sooth filled with Cold War Kids, Beulah, Amy Winehouse and Nick Cave and Warren Ellis and let the music wash away the sounds of the Drunk Tank. As a smoker she often found herself in the passenger seat with the window cracked; it was her post. Making herself comfortable she laid with her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head to rest against the other padded arm. Knowing she had a case of cigarettes in the glove box she opened it and brought it and her Zippo to her with her telekinetic powers. Taking out a hand rolled cigarette she lit it and rolled the window down and inhaled. As she let the smoke roll in her lungs she rolled the window down and relished the cool breeze.

    Blowing the smoke up and out the window she felt something pass by her legs. Looking up she saw Jules settle in his chair. Wil felt an ache pass through her body; those inked arms around her and strong fingers tracing her curves. Taking another drag she chased the image from her mind. Evan, Evan was her boyfriend and Jules wasn’t even the same species as Wil. Jules was a walking, talking Prince Charming and Wil was a high school dropout. As he snuggled up to Owen, Wil narrowed her eyes; god she hated that smug a*****e. He had everything: Jules, Briar, the ability to reach the top shelf. Well screw it, Owen had Jules, Wil had Evan.

    Lifting her phone from the same place her cigarette case had been she swiped the phone awake. Ashing the cigarette she navigated to Evan’s conversation in her texts. ’I miss you.’ was waiting for her. ’I miss you too.’ she sent pulling Oscar Wilde out of her pocket. She hadn’t even managed to release the catch when his reply came ’When are you getting back?’. Wil bit into her lip; she wasn’t sure when they were returning ’IDK’ she replied. ’Will you be home to see my title match?’ he asked as she spun the knife absent mindedly. Wil didn’t even know when the title match was ’IDK’ she sent again. ’Damn Wil do you know ********] Wil read and reread the message as she killed her cigarette and immediately lit another. She had brought it on herself, but it still hurt. ’Hello Wilhelmina… anyone home?’ the text came a few seconds later. ’Whatever man’ she sent back. Tossing her phone away in anger she used her ability to set it nicely into the glove box to not smash her screen.

    Wil found herself angrily flipping her knife in one hand. Evan was a jerk with a bad temper. It wasn’t like he hit her or anything; he knew better. Still despite all of his faults he was always there for her even when he was being a jerk and not a lot of men would put up with Wil’s lifestyle; he was the best she could ever hope for.

    Soon enough Wil found herself sleeping, the comfortable weight of her knife on her chest. Jules, Briar, Ro, Pat, and Owen were seated at a table on a nice patio enjoying a lunch, only there wasn’t a seat for her. ”Where’s mine?” she asked. Jules turned to her a made a face ”Sorry, but we don’t feed the animals.” he told her. Wil felt as if she had been socked in the mouth with a brick. ”Honestly, did you think we would really keep letting someone like you be around us?” Briar asked sweetly batting her eyelashes. Wil nodded slowly ”You’re right. I’ll just, um I’ll just go.” she conceded. The scene shifted to a dirty bathroom where she was leaned against the wall, her legs splayed open. Looking down there was a burnt spoon with cotton in it between her legs and a needle sticking out of the crook of her elbow. Oblivion started to set in; her eyes were so heavy and her limbs so light.

    ”What?” Wil woke with a start. Ro was standing above her one hand on her shoulder. Wil pulled her headphones off and pushed herself up in the seat ”Thanks.” she said taking the steaming John Wayne mug. Pulling out her last pre-rolled cigarette she lit it and took a drag. After taking a careful sip the warmth spread through her body chasing the nightmarish feeling from her frame. Carefully maneuvering in her seat she turned backwards so she could still smoke and hear Pat and Briar chattering away about missing children’s corpses. Wil frowned ”My money is on organ heist. Do you know how much that s**t goes for on the black market?” she asked blowing on her hot tea. Taking a sip she nodded her head ”Perfect amount of honey, Ro. You’re a goddess.” she praised taking another sip.

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                            ROMAN ❝RO❞ SVENSSON
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.

                            → : ◝❝ IT'S . a ↷ little « MYSTERY ┊
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                                      They were so cute, yet so vicious at the same exact time, those drop bears. They were like giant....bloodthirsty Koala, and while they clawed and bit with vengeance, Ro couldn't help but find them still absolutely adorable at the same time. The whole vegemite thing was...extremely weird, but Ro just stuck with toothpaste under her arms instead of vegemite. Tingles a bit, but smells way better. She felt a little bad seeing them get sucked into a portal to the void, but after seeing one tackle Jules to the ground like a professional wrestler, it was only very, very little. It was an extremely....odd mission, to say the absolute least. Certainly far more vicious than Jackalopes, yet certainly not as terrifying as the Bunyip or Phantom Kangaroo. But, regardless, it was a mission they had to complete, no matter how much everybody whined and complained about the smells of vegemite and toothpaste, and how bad their Australian accents were. Ro had been reassuring everybody that, even though it was all bad, it was better than wetting ourselves or being attacked by drop bears. Definitely.

                                      And when they had got home, everybody ached and Ro's underarms stung from the menthol in the toothpaste. At that point, she felt like vegemite may have been a way better idea. She had washed the toothpaste from her body in the kitchen sink. It burned way less when she took it off, but it left a vaguely minty scent and a more tingly sensation. While the minty smell wasn't bad, per se, she was sick of it. She had grabbed her phone, and nosied on up onto the ground, holding a pillow in her arm while she slept to hold onto and provide a soft means for her head to rest on, while another hand wrapped around the pendant she wore. She fell asleep rather quickly, with one earbud in listening to the soft pitter patter of rain and the alive sounds of a forest. Birds softly chirping, echoing throughout the thick canopy of leaves overhead and soft rustling upon the forest floor. It was extremely calming and definitely helped Ro sleep when she hadn't done very much of that in the past few days.

                                      Her dream was simple, and as always, she remembered every excruciating detail of it. She watched Pat from afar, watching the way he looks at Briar and the way he looks at her with such longing and desire. She's so absolutely oblivious to it, Ro thinks, it's so obvious that it's almost palpable. Yet, while she watches, she holds her tongue as always. Even as that fire burns inside her, the copious amount of envy, greed and countless other sins swirl in her insides, she does not let it get to her. They're all such good friends to her, and she would rather damn herself to the mercy of Nidhogg* itself than ruin it. It's a delicate thing, friendships are. Ro knows this very well, and so she continues to stand on the side. She is the one everybody can rely on-- she's the one everybody can count on to have a smile and something to say to make everybody feel better. That's who she plays in the scheme of things, and she refuses to go differently.

                                      She woke up to the sound of Briar's voice resonating in her ear. "--children are disappearing from the head morgue. Ha! There’s something awfully paranormal about this, it’s bloody- ...guys?” Ro wrinkled her nose up, shaking her earbud out of her right ear, and sat up with a stretch, getting momentarily lightheaded before looking around the room. She glanced at Briar for a second, before speaking softly with a yawn, "Dead children? That almost sounds worse than drop bears.." She glanced around the room again, before her eyes settled on a sleeping Wil, who....would not be in a good mood to be woken up so early, so soon after the last mission. Ro picked herself up, and stepped gently over into the kitchen to prepare some boiling water for tea, and grabbed one cup that was specifically for Wil, and another for herself. She nibbled at her lip a little as she waited for the kettle to start whistling, dancing lightly on her own two feet. She still smelt a little like mint, she could tell. She was still sick of it.

                                      She could hear Pat talking-- presumably on the phone, and Jules as well. Pat was talking to a morgue, she guessed. She chuckled a little at the conversation she heard as she was pouring the boiling water into the teapot for it to brew and sit. She thought about if she was hungry, but didn't exactly feel like it. She didn't really feel any sort of an appetite at the very moment-- maybe it was the vegemite and toothpaste smell that still clung to the air around her. All she wanted was some tea to wake her up. After brewing the tea, she filled up both cups and added the right sized dollop of honey to each one. She added a shake of cinnamon to her own, and mixed them both up, before heading back into the rest of the RV and making a bee line to the captain's chair where Wil was stationed.

                                      Placing a hand on her shoulder, Ro shook Wil gently. "Wil?" she murmured, looking down at the woman. She smiled as Wil woke up, and she handed her her own cup of tea. "You're very welcome." Ro said, in a quiet, tired voice before settling down on the floor and leaning against the wall. She sipped at her own cup of tea, shivering at the pleasurable warmth and the feeling of it sliding down her throat, the sweetness of the honey and subtlety of the cinnamon making her smile and feel satisfied. She glanced up at mentionings of an organ heist, and shrugged her shoulders. "But, why just children? Are child organs more expensive than adult ones?" she asked, displeased with not knowing the answer but not exactly willing to find out. "Maybe somebody wants to have a undead child army. Everybody is less willing to kill zombie children than zombie adults. Like....zombie puppies or kittens, you still don't want to hurt them." Ro dwelled on the thought for a while, before hearing Wil compliment her tea-making abilities. She beamed as much as her tired self could, "I'm glad." she said, before taking one more sip of her tea. Turning her head back towards everybody else, she frowns, murmuring to herself. "I really hope we're not dealing with super creepy ghost children like in all the horror movies.....no thanks."

                                      *1.) Nidhogg is a dragon in Norse mythology that lives in Hel that chews upon the bodies of people who are damned there for all eternity. This includes oathbreakers, the unhonorable, murderers and adulterers.

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                                                                            ```

                                                                            Eye bags sunken a near foot (possibly an exaggeration) more in depth than usual, surprisingly, his droning rhythmic stabilization of the steering wheel ahead of his torso wasn't presenting itself like sheep similar in appearance hopping across a low fence. He was severely drained. The pain was almost excruciating. His left eye twitched a little, but he paid it no attention. Twitching was the sign of insanity, he believed. Except for in Briar. That twitching was just adorably amusingly sad, but beautiful.

                                                                            The male did his best to keep from swaying his head side to side as he heard a whisper from Julian, "You're my favorite b***h right now." Taken aback momentarily, the male contorted his face—a very confused, questioning look. One eyebrow raised, and lips pursed slightly off-center. As a response, he simply chuckled lightly, "Okay?" The relationship he had with Julian was a very...unique one to say the least. Totally disregarding the more questionable encounters he has had with the male, Owen concluded that the bromance was just ridiculously strong because, honestly, he did not want to think about their more...suggestive encounters.

                                                                            His buddy Julian proceeded to use him as a head rest, forcing him to become slightly more alert.

                                                                            The front of the RV felt very secluded from the rest of it—ignoring Wilhelmina, of course. She was irrelevant. It was a surprise she even managed to deal with the soft cologne of Vegemite that hadn't entirely extinguished from the bodies of the decently built males lingering in the air. It was utterly repulsive, at best. He could have easily regurgitated along with the shaky motions of the Drunk Tank, but Owen was a little too prissy to give in. So he managed to keep his pride along with his stomach. And as each minute passed by, he could swear he felt the bags under his eyes sink a bit more.

                                                                            His eyelids became weights, but at least his face become more chiseled.

                                                                            As his eyelids attempted to lower, he hallucinated—a static flash of a drop bear. The creatures were like rabid koalas. Of course. What else could you expect out of Australia? They seemed to have more than their fair share of poisonous, extraordinary, nightmare-inducing beings. He had half of the expectation for a giant spider to shoot out of the void and onto their windshield without warning. Either that or it would just be sitting along the side of the road and shoot some sort of titanium web they would collide with.

                                                                            Owen sat up a little more. He pushed his shoulders down for better posture.

                                                                            In the background, he heard Briar rambling about something in a rather induced tone. She seemed like she couldn't very easily get her point across, or rather, she was reiterating her point twelve fold.

                                                                            "Thanks babe," erupted after a bit of shifting. Although he was severely exhausted, he found enough solace to c**k his head, face once again contorting with a single brow raised and mouth pursed to the side. He responded, "Sure," huffing out a light laugh, what he could muster of a smile accompanying it.

                                                                            He heard Pat's voice—whining and complaining like the annoying kid he was. And once again, Briar trailed off enthusiastically. The two were commonly together in the Drunk Tank (especially since usually it was either Owen or Julian driving) and Owen wasn't worried that Briar would give into anything romantic, but he was insanely jealous of their closeness. They spoke to each other effortlessly and about everything under the sun. It was very natural and, he was definitely lacking in his knowledge of Briar at this point. If it were he and Pat facing off in Jeopardy, and every category was Briar, he knew he'd probably walk away the less fortunate of the two. However, that being said, the kid was almost like some sort of creepy stalker. He had half of a mind to do something brash at how obsessive Pat seemed to be. Owen honestly had no issue with Pat until he realized he simply hated him for being Briar's significant other. That's something he'd expect from a crazy ex-girlfriend.

                                                                            Jules released a little melody and darted away to retrieve the details as the destination on the GPS changed abruptly. Eyes shifting to scan the new route, Owen obediently followed it--knowing that he wouldn't be at his best, but hey, sometimes mediocre is okay.

                                                                            With the change of course, and now, lack of Julian using him as a pillow, Owen sat up a bit more and wiggled a lot in his chair to keep himself awake.

                                                                            Then a sweet aroma of tea filled the air—something that just couldn't go unnoticed. Although Owen wasn't too fond of tea, he perked up at the scent. The simple smell of what should be caffeinated gave him a slight ounce of life. He noted that Roman was presenting a cup to Wilhelmina. The gesture was so sweet, honestly. Maybe a bit of compassion was all Wil needed. He noted a slam of her phone a good distance from her earlier which led him to think that, maybe, she was just someone that needed patience.

                                                                            He killed the sympathetic thoughts by telling himself she shouldn't be allowed to overreact and become so brash. No one who is able deserves a crutch, he thought...huh. What a contradictory thought. Owen's always concerned with the problems of others inwardly.

                                                                            The vibrations of the vehicle eventually came to a stop as he arrived at the location specified by the GPS. The hospital parking lot seemed rather abandoned. If he had to make assumptions, he'd say the only cars there were those of workers that had to be there. The business of the location didn't seem to be well—people weren't coming here and patients were probably being checked out for some reason (since they're there for some sort of investigation). Vehicle entirely parked, Owen lied his forehead on the steering wheel momentarily to get some sort of retirement from driving for so long. He figured he'd wait for everyone else to exit before exiting himself; a nap time for champions.

    Nodosaurus's Significant Otter

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                            "Oh show silly of them! You're right, mate, Patrick, Patrick! What other morgue could we simply be looking for! ...Well, I mean, if we did murder someone and forgotten where we left the body, then we'd be looking for a completely different morgue- ha! I'm getting offtrack! Good morning, Cedric! How lovely to see yo- Oh, no, you're Jules. Jules, you know, you look awfully like a Cedric. Ha! Oh what on earth am I on about? Suspicions? Well... I reckon that someone is pickpocketting us in the Drun- oooooooooh! Ha! You mean the case, the case we're, uhm, uhm, with the... uhm... dead children, yes. Let me... What's the word... research. Yes. Research. I'll get into it, I'll really get into it! Ransack every corner of the we- oh! Right, right, right. Focus." The forty five minute timer finally went off, knocking straight on the more than usual eccentric brain of Briar Quail Bloodworth. Her pupils scurried from left to right, cornering every bit of the luminescent screen. The Dead. Spirits. Evil. "Ah... Search results! ...Ha! Why Cedr- Jules, and Roman, you aren't entirely off. I think... I think the spirits are rounding up the dead in order to use them as some type of host. So, uhm, yes, zombie children- Ha! Wow, and to think zombies would actually surface to existence, it's quite impressive. Patrick, remember our analysis thesis on the scientific procedures of developing zombies, well... I guess we were wrong, all you really need is spir- oh! Ha! We weren't entirely off. The dependency on the electromagnetic energy is still very, very strong. After all, energy cannot be created or destroyed, Albert Einstein. Why, ha! Maybe later we can figure out a way to develop some sort of device which could alter a ghost's electromagnetic energy, that way we might be able to contain it for further study- oh! Right, right, right. Focus! Yes, uhm, zombies..." She paused, lifting her hands up elegantly to gesture.

                            "Zombie, chiiildren, zombie children to be exact. Uhm, I'm not quite sure what the goal is however if I am correct, the amount of energy shown by the satellite, it's really overbearing, almost absolutely ridiculous. Uhm, see," she stopped before pointing at the screen, indicating a large mass of neon emerald surrounding the Hospital on the map. "Saint Callum Hospital, it... it makes sense, you see, uhm... This is where the people who will most likely pass reside. No surgeries or anything that requires attention, really. Just, it's... It's a graveyard for the living... Ha! No wonder the measurements are going absolutely mental!- Oh, we've stopped, we're here?" Briar spun around effortlessly, as if she was actually not affected by the lack of sleep- which... blatantly, is not the case.

                            "Well, simply Patrick and I can't sit this out, much to our distaste. There's awfully too much research to do, and quite frankly..." Her eyebrows narrowed, a worried expression becoming her. "You'd scare the children," she whispered, smiling weakly. "Well... Plus, uhm... minor detail, really, that I've left out. These, uhm, 'zombies', child 'zombies', they're not like what movies portray them- I mean, I'm sure everyone has gathered that from our previous encounters with all the terrifying, and I mean ter- creatures, yes uhm... These are intelligent, they know, they learn, they can communicate. Still they'll be slow however... anything with this amount of electromagnetic energy and static- human brain- waves- uhm... yeah. So, we ought to make a plan. Patrick and I will volunteer as bait."

                            Briar rose from the stool, walking other to the Armory before tilting her head. "Uhm, Patrick, what would we need to counter this? Well, I suppose rock salt shotguns wouldn't hurt, however it would leave a terrible mess... Hmm... Ah- maybe... we haven't tested this yet... but... Our newly weaponised stun gun... It surely must work well in this situation... I mean, the off chance that it does...n't... I suggest everyone bring an extra load of rock salt bullets." It was a long time she took, fiddling with the pass code on the Armory. They had simply designed it to be safe, and it was... Maybe too safe. Looking around inside, her hands trembled, grasping tightly the bag scented of gun powder, and another bag firmly made of rubber. She waltzed over to the main table, placing them down. "Uhm, well, the stun guns, haven't been tested. So, it's slightly possible that, they'll... uhm, backfire. So... Uhm, try not to... electrocute yourself. It would be uhm... tragic... But Patrick and I think that the possibilities of being electrocuted is very slight. Uhm, twenty percent. Roughly... Or fifty. Well, it's slightly possible that... it's seventy percent."

    Brainy Bookworm

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    ▌all the PAIN of life is gently swept away.
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    "... You're gonna think I'm crazy for saying this... and I was told not to tell anyone. But it's not like anyone is taking the bodies. I work the graveyard shift and I saw one of them walk away by themselves!"
    "No ma'am. I don't think you're crazy. We deal with weirder stuff all the time. Thanks for your time."
    "Ma'am? But I'm not a girl, I don't even-" click. Pat hung up the phone. He got the information he wanted and everything else was pretty irrelevant.

    Zombies. Zombie Children. Pat thought for a minute tapping his head. "Well, the obvious answer would be to cut off their heads." Pat winced as Briar looked at him in horror, raising a hand as if to strike him. "J-just hear me out..." he stammered trowing his hands up as a sign of innocence. "Think about it. Imagine a computer. You rip out the CPU and then... kaput. It's useless." His hands mimicked an explosion as he spoke. She scowled at him and he shrugged his shoulders in submission. "Okay. You're right. Nobody would be too happy about us mutilating the bodies of their loved ones... even if they are dead."

    Walking over to the table that Briar had placed the weapons on he surveyed them. Rock salt weapons. Too messy. Way too messy. Plus it probably wouldn't be too effective in actually stopping them. Slow them down, sure. But they needed to stop them. Stun guns. That was it. "Yeah, Briar, you're right. We gotta use the stun guns. Assuming they are coming back to life because their brains are reactivating--if only even a small portion, then our best bet is to counteract the electrical transmissions with more electricity. Cause a short circuit so to speak.' Picking one of the guns up off the table he pointed it at his temple.

    "I'll test them, make sure they work." He winced as he was about to pull the trigger and then stopped. "Okay, I might have electrical powers but I'm not batshit crazy." He lowered the weapon and pointed it at his left thigh instead. Taking a deep breath and exhaling he began to count. "1... 2... 3!" When the trigger was pulled the weapon fired, the prongs piercing his jeans and digging into his skin. His leg began to convulse rather violently for a few seconds before he redirected the electrical current into the air, creating what might have been a scary, but otherwise harmless light show. He was pretty adept at the use of his powers and knew that the chance of it arcing off and hitting anyone was very small--and even if it did, he was fairly certain he could stop that before it actually hit anyone. While he was able to stop the electrical current after the first few seconds, that did little to stop the pain of his torn flesh. "Dammit!" he cursed rather loudly. "I didn't expect that to hurt so much." Seeing Briar's eyes grow wide with fright he quickly spoke again, "Don't worry, I'm fine. I didn't actually let the electrical current run through me as you clearly witnessed. And even if it had, its relatively harmless, you see. The effects only last as long as the current run troughs the body. It goes from one to prong to the other and it's done.I didn't even let it run that far, that's why you only saw my leg twitch." Rubbing the wound on his leg he stood up, "Don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. That being said, we need to test the range of these babies. I mean, if you have to get close range it's going to be risky to use them against a large group of the uh... the Zombie children."

    Pat twirled the gun around his finger as a means to impress Briar, but it only ended up backfiring because he dropped the gun and bounced off the ground with a clack clack before it slid across the floor, ending up at Owen's feet. Briar let out of a soft giggle that she tried to stifle. "I meant to do that!" he blurted out, his face growing red with embarrassment. He sheepishly went over to recover the gun, but much to his dismay, Owen had snatched it up before he got a chance to. Looking him in the eyes he knew what Owen had intended. Looking at Briar for help, he quickly shook the idea out of his head. Come on Pat. Time to be a man. I can't wuss out now... what would Briar think?! Heh. Besides I could just stop the current before it hits me. At that point it'd be proven that they could shoot a great enough distance. I have no doubts that they can, but it's one of the better safe than sorry situations. "Alright Owen... do your worst, he spat, "but just remember who you're messing with here. Walking towards the exit he stopped and called back, "It'd probably be best to do this outside. Don't want Owen to miss and hit any of the equipment. He trudged down the steps, letting the door slam carelessly behind him. Crossing a few parking spaces he stopped, and turned around. He just wanted to the whole thing to be over with already.


    ▌He was man who CRAVED power,
    ▌but he FEARED losing it.

    Hygienic Prophet

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    awrinkleinairnonethelessintime loose ends.
    Ｏ.Ａ.



                                                                            ```

                                                                            A scrapping akin to nails on a chalkboard increased in dynamic. A slight tap to Owen's foot caused his eyes to open abruptly.

                                                                            "I meant to do that!"

                                                                            A stun gun?

                                                                            Owen reached down to pick up the weapon. Like a walking dead man, he slung his head back into a some-what (lazy) upright position. Holding the stun gun in the air, he studied it momentarily and fiddled with its casing and whatever sorts of movable mechanics he discovered on it.

                                                                            Without moving his head, he stared at Pat through the corner of his eye—his mouth creating a slight frown, mouth opening—creating a very disgusted look when looked at as a whole. Owen shifted his jaw and bit the corner of his lip. Like a deer in headlights, Pat knew.

                                                                            "Alright Owen... do your worst but, just remember who you're messing with here."

                                                                            "What? A nerd? I'm soooo afraid," he droned monotonically.

                                                                            He wasn't the best at comebacks. "It'd probably be best to do this outside. Don't want Owen to miss and hit any of the equipment."

                                                                            Owen shrugged, "Okay." At this point, he didn't care. He was just happy to shoot Pat. If he wasn't already over-satisfied with that, he'd have complained about Pat's lack of faith in his aim. He walked out after the male, followed him, and then positioned himself about 30 meters in distance. For a while, Owen simply fiddled with the instrument—admiring it and playing with whatever he could find in it. A part of him figured that it would make Pat nervous, the other part was just ludicrously exhausted and wanted to familiarize himself with the tool he might be using momentarily.

                                                                            "Alright," he called in a loud volume, "are you ready?" After receiving some sort of clearing from Pat, he held up the gun. Although he was exhausted, his aim couldn't have been more dead on. The only explanation was his drive—a keen...dislike of Pat. He knew, though, that Pat would redirect the current before it had the chance to meet him. And Owen knew exactly what to do; call him out. What if the range ended a simple inch before it reached him? It would be important to know, wouldn't it?

                                                                            "Three," he called, "Tw-" Owen pulled the trigger and let his arm fall to his side afterwards. The electrodes shot across the parking lot like darts. And, as he predicted, upon reaching Pat, the current was redirected. He didn't predict, however, that it would be redirected towards him. Owen, exhausted out of his mind, and a bit of a macho man, didn't relocate or flinch. That is, until he was hit. With a hiss of pain, Owen caught his left cheek in his right hand—torso lowering and knees bending as a natural response to such a sudden bolt of energy. Without saying a word, and wishing for no sympathy, the male stood up.

                                                                            Pat said something about Owen just being hit by a stray line of the primary current. Owen simply glared at him. He removed his hand from his cheek, an irregular shape of blood emerged from pressure, a good lump-some of skin underneath it suffering from burns.

                                                                            He said nothing in response to Pat. Briar was probably already infuriated with Owen for shooting at Pat. There was no need to make it worse by initiating an argument. He simply stared to his nemesis with a look of displacement. Owen was exhausted, defeated, and simply wanted to get this over with. He was truly defeated.

    Nodosaurus's Significant Otter

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                            "Patrick!" Briar's expression sunk as he made the intellectual decision to aim it at his temple. After a moment of realisation, the brunette fixed his input. Bang. Then comes the output. "Damn it! I didn't expect that to hurt that much." So suddenly, her heart had stopped and all time had seemed to freeze for an eternity. Her mind was clouded with a tint of each persons' emotions, brewing together to form an apprehension only describable by the painting, the Scream by Edvard Munch. Patrick caught on far too quickly yet it was already too late. She had determined herself guilty of involuntary manslaughter. The golden haired child was soon brought back to reality as Patrick's words passed through her ear. "Don't worry, it's only a flesh wound." Briar... She had specifically designed for extreme emergencies. It's only a flesh wound? Sure, he was a walking bolt of lightning however it should have been much worse than a minuscule flesh wound. It was absolutely outrageous. Her guilt had vanished and the life drained from her eyes. It didn't take long to bring her back to earth again though. The gun slammed down onto the floor, sliding pass Patrick. She laughed. Of course, he always knows when to cheer her up. How relieved she was that he was not harmed, a flesh wound though, it might leave a scar.

                            From a blink to another, the stun gun had been fired again, this time Owen held the gun. It be logical to conclude that Briar had given herself a few thirty seconds of sleep, which of course, was just a blink in her own mentality. Bam. It just grazed Owen's left cheek.

                            It was real complication. Her knight in shining armour just got wounded yet... she knew if she had tried to lend a hand, he would not prefer it. He didn't like the attention in public, or rather, he preferred to keep his soft side hidden. With that, Briar just focused on how she should lecture him whenever they were alone. Shooting Patrick? Why that was outrageous. Her feet dragged behind her as she came to tend of Patrick's wounds. "Stop being so careless, how could you let Owen shoot you? That is too much. Look, you're bleeding. What if it hit you, you know? He has really excellent aim."



                            ooc: reaction post so it's tiny

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                            ROMAN ❝RO❞ SVENSSON
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.
                            DEEP INSIDE, I'M ALIVEXXXXWITH MY LOVE, I'LL SURVIVE XXXX ALTHOUGH ALL I REGRET XXXX IS USING MY OWN HEART AS A SHEATH.

                            → : ◝❝ IT'S . a ↷ little « MYSTERY ┊
                            ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂




                                      Ro sipped on her tea with her eyes closed, her other hand twisting and turning her necklace between her fingers. She heard Briar go off in a slowly accelerating river of banter. She smiled a little to herself, knowing it had to be a surefire case of Briar on caffiene-- presumable Pat's energy drinks. She did listen, however, to the constant drawling on of Briar's words, all the things she was talking about and how she was describing the next mission. A hospital and missing children-- well, dead children. Now in zombie form. Excellent, Ro thought to herself sarcastically. She continued to sip at her tea, contemplating what sort of potions she should prep and take with her for the mission. Perhaps elixirs of iron skin, cure disease....definitely a few healing potions. She nibbled on her lip in thought, swirling her tea around in her cup.

                                      She glanced up when she overheard mentions of a new form of stun gun, and how it should be tested-- of course, and that it had a rather...high estimation of failure she drank the rest of her tea in one fell gulp, and stood up to make sure nothing went wrong in the silly test and demonstration. They should really get dummies for this, she thought, watching as Pat used it on his own leg but redirect most of it away. He still ended up with a rather nasty burn on his leg, and it made Ro cringe a little. "I'll go make something for you to put on that, Pat." she said with a smile, turning on her heel before seeing Owen pick up the gun after it clattered the floor.

                                      She waltzed into the kitchen where a makeshift chemistry set was placed on the opposite side of the kitchen. There were cabinets filled to the brim with oils and herbs, reagents and ingredients, all labeled and organized. Even though the things she made were magic, she still needed to brew them chemically before imbuing them with the magic they need to properly function as such. Sorting through the counter, she whispered to herself the names of things she needed. "Mmm...Aloe Vera.......some Balm of Gilead, Primrose leaves, a little bit of Chaaamomile," she said, in a soft yet singsong voice. "And Sea Buckthorn, and last but not least, St. John's Wort and Coconut Oil." She set all the ingredients, in various jars and vials, onto the counter before her.

                                      She grinded up the Chamomile, the Primrose leaves, St. John's Wort and Balm of Gilead with a mortal and pestle. After that, she added the Sea Buckthorn oil, and the Aloe Vera gel, finishing off with the Coconut oil. She heated it over a bunsen burner, before closing her eyes and holding her hand over it. She whispered a few words of incantations to herself, before the mixture glowed and shimmered a soft mint green, before dulling into a faint seaform green. She took it from the burner and poured it into a small jar that she placed a cap on, and took it outside where she had heard everybody go out. She walked out just in time to see Owen pointing the stun gun at Pat, and the count down until he pulled the trigger. She almost dropped the salve she was holding, watching as Pat redirected the electrical current to zip past and singe Owen's cheek. Ro sighed to herself, frustrated.

                                      "Owen, Patrick. Both of you come here now, and stop being silly. No more aiming dangerous things at each other, please?" She asked, in a stern yet her same quiet tone. "I made a burn salve, it should fix up those wounds."


    Brainy Bookworm

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    Pat stood there, unflinching as the prongs launched toward him. He knew exactly what to do and so he did it. With a wave of his hand he sent the current back towards Owen, the prongs falling harmlessly to the ground as the current went reeling back in the opposite direction. He had intended to send it harmlessly past his head, but a bit of the current arced and hit him on the cheek. Normally he could have prevented it, but just the thought of Owen agitated him beyond belief so he wasn't exactly exercising his power with the utmost care.

    "Stop being so careless, how could you let Owen shoot you? That is too much. Look, you're bleeding. What if it hit you, you know? He has really excellent aim." Pat stomped past the rest of group, briefly stopping to respond to Briar.

    "We had to see the range of the stun guns." And that was all he said to her before he marched back onto the Drunk Tank, passing Ro as she had just exited. Without even really paying attention to what she said he muttered, mostly under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, "Yeah, yeah whatever. I don't need any of it. I'll just use a band-aid." Making his way back to the control room--his essential house for all things Drunk Tank related--he slumped down in his chair and crossed his arms in a huff. Only when the mischievous ghost dog they had all come to love sat his feet chewing his playtoy did Pat manage to break his sullen demeanor, reaching down to give the little guy a scratch. "I'll always love ya little guy. As long as you don't turn into Owen, anyway..." And with that, his sour mood returned, only to be worsened by the gas the dog had begun to pass. "Just leave me alone, alright?" Pat tried to say as unmenacingly as possible while he threw the ball out the door.


    ▌He was man who CRAVED power,
    ▌but he FEARED losing it.

    ooc: reaction post 4 shortness

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                                                      It struck him immediately how perversely incapacitated Briar's brain must have been, as she babbled senselessly before him. Jules' eyebrows did a quick jig atop his forehead, unable to hide his startled state. Was this what cocaine did to people? It certainly seemed like more than coffee. She even got his name wrong, though he hardly cared. She talked too quickly for Jules to follow, so he mostly just nodded, rather than interjecting anything into the conversation. His presence was clearly unnecessary; if Briar were always like this, they'd do their work and leave in a matter of minutes. The Drunk Tank came to a complete stop, and Jules' chair, with him on it, naturally slid a few inches forward towards the front of the vehicle; he put his hands on either side of the walls to keep from continuing in motion.

                                                      His eyes lit up at one of the comments Briar made. "Scare the children? Was that directed at me?" He asked with a smirk, though Bri hardly seemed to pause long enough to give an answer. She continued to ramble about things in the armory, and Jules' felt his ears begin to scream in protest. Pat was oblivious naturally, staring intently at Briar as per usual. He could smell something wonderful however; someone had made tea. He personally hated the taste, but the aroma was palatable enough; especially when Vegemite and sweat had predominated the Drunk Tank for a while. He turned to see Ro and Wil conversely briefly, while Owen seemed to be preparing to nap at the steering wheel; the thought struck Jules that perhaps now was the best moment in time for them to begin a search for zombie children. Sleep deprivation would conversely affect their investigation... Not to mention their abilities.

                                                      The conversation topic switched to stun guns. Jules leaned back in his chair, content to let Pat handle it... Despite the way he nearly blasted himself in temple with one. The thigh was hardly better, and Jules winced repeatedly in the throngs of secondhand embarrassment. Owen held the stun gun now, though Jules had not actually witnessed the transferal of it, and was a tad confused. Most of the Clue Crew migrated outside; Jules remained in the Drunk Tank for a bit, stretching his limbs to combat exhaustion. He stood up slowly, laboriously, and began to rummage through the storage space where they kept their clothes and other important personal belongings. A leather jacket would do, along with a v-neck, and khaki jeans. Setting his clothes down, Jules adjusted the temperature of the water in the shower briefly; he needed to rid himself of the Vegemite remnants clinging to his body like bad memories. He had thought himself alone in the van, though as he stood in nothing but a towel, emerging from the bathroom to grab his clean clothes, he noticed Wil still in the front of the vehicle. A strong blush hit his cheeks, and he awkwardly nodded, before ducking quickly back into the bathroom.

                                                      Officially clean, Jules adjusted the leather jacket on his shoulders, and combed his fingers through his hair, wondering how to style it. Combed back? Floppy and natural? Did it even matter? He grabbed a tiny drop of product, just enough to hold it together, and swept his hair back without style or shape, just enough so that he wouldn't have to worry about his appearance should he be recognized. After this mission, they'd all go to the spa or something. They'd earned it for sure. Emerging from the bathroom once more, finally dressed and ready to go, Jules kept his eyes straight forward ensuring he never noticed if Wil was even still in the Drunk Tank or not, before heading out, just in time to hear Briar berating Pat, and seemingly Owen, about something that he'd missed. Ro seemed also fairly upset by it, whatever it was; though Pat and Owen themselves seemed less so affected.

                                                      Owen's cheek was bleeding, and Pat seemed... Guilty, somehow. Jules narrowed his eyes at the pair, stepping out of the Drunk Tank, and out of Pat's way as he stormed back onto it. He sighed, wondering how it was that the six of them could be so interconnected and still manage to act like the sun and the moon revolved around their every whim or smallest pain. It seemed insignificant to him; could it ever seem that way to the others as well? He shot a look in Ro's direction, along with a smile; she was, naturally, the mature one in this situation, scolding both of the boys for even testing the stun guns on eachother in the first place. Briar seemed calculated in her efforts; Jules was relieved he could count on Ro. He mouthed a 'thank you' her way, and closed the distance between himself and Owen.

                                                      "Let Ro take care of that; we've got to get moving. I'd rather get this done as soon as possible," Jules cleared his throat. "We'll have a spa day or something after this. Maybe the movies? Something relaxing, anyhow. But for now, let's get you patched up so we can deal with the zombie children." He looked to Briar and Ro, before tapping his wrist with one finger, to signify time. Pat would surely be in a shitty mood now, and Wil seemed too enveloped in her tea, not that Jules blamed her. He'd be the group mom, and get them all moving. "I'll get Pat and Wil; then let's head out. No more testing stun guns on eachother; hell, you didn't even invite me." He boarded the Drunk Tank once more, wondering whether or not he'd have to work hard to motivate Pat.

                                                      Finding Wil still in her chair, Jules winked at her and took her empty cup of tea from her. "I'll drop this in the sink; just grab whatever you need and get ready, we're heading out. Don't comment on the stun guns, or Owen's face, by the way." True to his word, he dropped the empty cup off in the sink, and made his way to the back of the Drunk Tank looking for Pat. A ball came bouncing between his feet, and Zero gave chase, eyes bugging out with excitement, and letting out a flatulent noise with every little step. How precious. Jules grabbed the ball, gave the ghost corgi a quick pat, and tossed it towards the front of the vehicle, making sure to step over Zero carefully. They really needed to outfit him with some armor or something, and let the corgi lead them to battle. Yes... He'd love to see that fever dream brought into realization.

                                                      He found Pat seething in the control room, as expected. "So I get that you're mad at all, but now's really not the time." What an opening line. Jules silently cursed himself. He was a real winner in terms of sympathy and compassionate understanding. Jeez. "I mean, I get it... I think. Anyway, we're heading out now, and we need to get this done, and then we'll all take a day at the spa or something else relaxing and nice." Better, but not quite right yet. "Like uh... We need you. Not like, just to be bait or anything, you're better than that, but also really good at it. Yeah... I suck at this. Just cheer up man. We're heading out now. You've got two minutes after I leave to get off the bus, or I'm gonna blow all Zero's farts into this room in one giant gust." He gave the pissed off boy a friendly pat on the shoulder, and made his way back outside to the rest of the Clue Crew. "So... Everyone ready to go? Let's put the zombie children back in bed and get the ******** out of here, and into a hot tub."



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              ᴡɪʟʜᴇʟᴍɪɴᴀ ᴄᴏsᴛɪɢᴀɴ
                  ι вeт yoυ dιdɴ'т ĸɴow ι wαѕ dαɴɢeroυѕ


    Wil shrugged and sipped her tea ”Zombies; ghosts; ghouls whatever, it still bumps in the night and it’s our job to send it from wince it came or whatthehellever it is we do.” she said. It didn’t bother her that the idea of the organ black market had been swept away; after all she was an ape compared to everyone else in the Drunk Tank. Taking a drag of her cigarette Wil watched as Briar became more and more animated. At first she thought that she just wasn’t smart enough to follow Briar’s line of thinking, it happened, but then she realized that Briar was on one.

    Sinking slowly down in her seat Wil then turned. That amount of energy made Wil’s anxiety bubble in her chest; a cacophony that gave her unease . Nestling the mug between her knees Wil opened the glove box and brought her cigarette case, tobacco, and rolling papers to her. The woman was on her last hand rolled cigarette, she needed to pre-roll some more to get through what was about to come. Listening to the others theorize about the newest threat. The familiar and repetitive task brought her comfort.

    Hearing the phrase ‘stun gun’ Wil’s brows piqued, this was not going to end well. Leaning over the arm of the captain style chair she looked behind her. Patrick was holding a stun gun to the temple ”I swear to god Patrick…” she said with a sigh. After her comment he lowered the gun to his thigh claiming he wasn’t bat s**t crazy. Wil rolled her eyes; that wasn’t much better of a plan ”Whatever, I don’t want any part of this.” she said. The crackle of electricity and scent of bacon in the air was all the confirmation that she needed that she in fact really didn’t want any part of what was going on in the back of the Drunk Tank.

    Clank… clank ”I meant to do that.” Wil rolled her eyes once more; if it weren’t for his electrokinesis he would be helpless. As the weapon slid to Owen, she shook her head and just started to roll another one. The only person that Owen hated more than Wil was Patrick; this was not going to end well. ”Yes by all means, let’s not wreck the Tank in a d**k measuring contest.” the woman muttered before her tongue flitted against the gum strip of the rolling papers. Wil had zero interest in getting up and watching the drama unfold. If one or both of them were hurt in this little match then maybe they could set it aside for the remainder of the trip.

    Wil figured that everyone had gone out to watch the showdown when she heard something behind her; Zero. ”Zero… oh.” she said peering over the seat. Instead of the ghost corgi there should tall, muscled, and inked Jules framed in steam. Instantly, Wil’s heart was racing and she was hot; in the event she was ever alone that was going to have to be an image she revisited. For now it was mortifying. Turning back around Wil found herself rolling more cigarettes; paying extra care to each one: perfect amount of tobacco roll tightly, but not so tight that she could not get a hit from it.

    With twenty perfect cigarettes rolled up Wil started to line her case with them so they would be ready when she needed to indulge. Hearing the bathroom door she turned ”Jules…” he just walked through the door as if she wasn’t there, invisible. She was so beneath him. Sinking back into her seat she sipped her tea and slipped her BEATS back on. Her hands no longer busy they found Oscar Wilde and brought the blade to life.

    Tea gone, cigarettes rolled, and knife slicing through the air Wil was isolating. ’I wonder if they even notice that I’m not there?’ she thought. A shadow fell on her causing the woman to pull her headphones off and look up; Jules. ”I’ve killed people for less than taking my tea mug.” she deadpanned as he plucked the empty mug from her ”But I’ll let it slid because you’re so damn cute.” she finished with a grin.

    The short alchemist stretched until she felt her body pop pleasantly. It was time to get her act together. Slipping the cigarette case into her back pocket and Oscar Wilde in his holster she moved to her storage bin, marked ‘DANGER EXPLOSIVE’. First and foremost she picked up her deodorant and applied a layer to each underarm and dropped it back in the bin. Wil then began selecting different colored and sized envelops and vials and slipping them into her custom belt with different compartments. Picking up her leather jacket she slipped it on and closed her eyes. Armed to the teeth, she felt different: powerful, useful, and in control. She was Wil Costigan: bad a**.

    Leaning against the sink she waited for the others to come together. As Jules commented Wil’s face wrinkled ”Pretty, but not too bright and that’s coming from the dropout.” she snarked. ”Did you not learn from Snuggles the Drop Bear going balls deep on you? Clearly shooting from the hip is not working. We need a plan guys; preferably one that does not involve making asses of ourselves. But, you know that’s just a thought.”
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