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"Yes. I spawned the caged not as part of the ground, but it does have a concrete floor with iron under that. I don't forsee a way for it to escape unless it can spaheshift do to a size smaller then the spaces between the bars. Even then it would be risky for someone who is that easily hurt by iron to slip between it," he explained with a smug little smile that irked her.

"So wait," Charlie said, dropping into her desk chair as she tried to work her head around all this new information about fae magic -- she'd have to write this down later, just in case she needed it again -- and still apply it to the current situation downtown, "are you saying you can transport the whole thing yourself? Or do I need to call the dispatch and tell them to get a moving truck and a fork-lift to get this thing here?"

"I stated 'train'," Keima pointed out, "in the same context as 'stray dog'." Marc winced at this, showing his teeth.

"I noticed."

"And yes," he continued, "I do believe I am aware that she is no kid, otherwise that would make me a *****, and I prefer my women a bit more experienced than some innocent little girl. No, I’m fairly sure she’s old enough to think and act for herself, and at the present moment she is thinking with a slightly cooler head than yours, so you needn’t act like a shepherd herding a little lost sheep to the bureau.”

Where Keima said 'shepherd,' Marc heard, in the back of his head, 'sheepdog'. "Oh, yes, of course," he shot back. "Because she is not blindly following along in the Bureau, is that right? I know you hate the BSPA. Of course you believe that. The point here is that I have to by law escort her back to the office."

“Frankly, you can keep that masochistic attitude, and continue degrading yourself for all I care, but that gives you no right to go pulling down others with you. They’re not so helpless that they need to be dragged around like uncouth characters. I only asked that you lay off and treat a lady more gently. God knows it might lighten you up a little.”

"I think you might be missing the point here. She shot at me, because she wanted to find out what was going on. With no provocation! Even now, she is holding a gun at my stomach. And," -- his attention returned to the woman, Aileen -- "For that reason, I have no intention off releasing your wrist just yet."

Now that he was paying her some heed, she went on, "Well you're here and I'm here do why not simply tell me now? I mean I'm not stupid, you might edit my memories."

He grit his teeth. Oh, damn head office. There was some clause about being allowed to give out neccessary information. He was trying to sort out in his head what to say, in the silence that ensued betweent he three.

"So my guess is right that you aren't human," she observed.

Before Marc could say anything, Keima replied for him. “Miss, that’s quite rude. Marc there is about as human as anyone could get. He’s just a fuzzier guy than most, that’s all. There are uncouth characters out there who are far more inhuman.”

Marc sighed. "I think Keima might be speaking figuratively, but last part of that's more or less literally true, as well.

"I'm a government representative and enforcer from the Bureau of Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs. I -- and my team members -- were in the process of bringing in a rogue fae when you so kindly opened fire. Because of our dear friend Keima's timely intervention, I am required to bring you back to the Bureau for debriefing. You also mentioned that you felt a blast of emotion, and for that reason, you may also need to be registered at the Bureau. In spite of Keima's paranoid bullshit, all that means in most cases is that you will have access to certain support services and suchlike, should you require them.

"I'm not exactly meant to say anything until we're back at the Bureau... but I can tell you for free that memory editing and erasure is illegal and considered a gross breach of human rights, except in certain limited circumstances -- which is basically strictly only minor magical disasters resulting in no injury or transformation where the process is completed within less than sixty secconds of the occurrance." That last part was stated as if well-rehearsed; something he had said plenty of times before.

“Technically, she shot at nothing, unless of course your skills have dwindled so much that the lot of you cannot work stealthily enough. That, and I must be blind too, because I for one did not see you until after the lady there opened fire. So in actuality she wasn’t aware of what she was shooting at all. And I don’t think you were so composed that you never freaked out when you had your first encounter with something out of the ordinary, hmm?”

He shot back icily. It was a testy subject to approach for himself; he, who had been born with something he wasn’t even aware of, something that had forced his very own parents to exile him to a country far across the ocean.

He understood why. And he hated the fact that he understood.

He stood staring hard uncharacteristically at Marc for a moment or two, before letting the tension in his body diffuse. With a careless shrug, he smiled once more at the young woman.

“But, in all honesty, he is right, miss. They won’t harm you back at the bureau. That kind of job stays out here, in the field.”

Because blood would not mingle well with our pristine bureau.

Charlie sighed, overwhelmed with it all. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, removing the pen that had originally been keeping her make-shift bun in place. Absently, she remade the knot, thinking about who to call and all the things she would need. She knew to edit out the source of the information when she did call her requests in, because Marduk, for all his immortal intelegence, had a bad habit of getting on people's bad side rather quickly. Several instances where fly swatters where concerned came to her mind.

"Okay, I'll call dispatch and let them know what's needed to pick this thing up. I just hope they haven't sent anyone out yet. Oh well," she bit her bottom lip again as she secured her hair with the pen once more. "And I'll need to inform security about getting iron ready to help contain a rogue that'll be coming in."

She picked up her rarely-used office phone and dialed dispatch, "Hi, this is Charlotte Green. I need to make a change to the request for transportation that came in from Marc Grey about a half-hour ago from the field."

"The unknown downtown?" came the voice of one of the female dispatchers.

"Yeah, that's it. We need to send one of the larger cargo vans out to pick it up, preferably with something to lift several tons of weight as well. We'll need to transport the unknown in the iron cage it's currently trapped in to avoid it escaping."

"Alright," the dispatcher said, and Charlie could hear the sound of typing on the other end, "it's all set up. Thanks for letting us know."

"No problem," Charlie replied and held the button down on the phone's cradle until she heard the dial tone once more, then she dialed security to tell them about the incomming unknown and the need for iron. "Anything made out of iron works," she told the current shift's head of security, "bars, guns -- no firing though -- anything with iron will help contain this unknown until we can get him safely tucked away up here."

After clearing everything with security, she replaced the phone back on it's cradle. Looking at the fae, she asked, "Is there anything else I should pass on? I'm totally out of my element here. I'm an herbalist, not a paranormalist."

Charlie watched the fae flutter closer and bat his magical puppy dog eyes at her, asking, "Just to me on who the greatest Fae you know is..." The sight of Marduk trying to be cute had something of the opposite effect on her, probably from having worked with him as long as she had. Frankly, the face he was pulling made her want to swat him -- a pastime around the Bureau that she'd never acutally taken part in -- but she settled for quirking a smug smile at him and replying:

"Well concidering that you're the only fae I know, I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

When the fae disappeared in a huff with a cloud of purple smoke in his wake, she did feel kind of bad. But he needed to learn how to take what he dished out sometimes. Marduk had the arrogance of an immortal and a superiority complex that liked to fiddle with the lives of humans, but didn't like it when the tables were turned. His little parting gift was clogging up her lungs, and having come in contact with this stagnant purple smoke, she knew that no waving or mint and rosemary air fresheners were going to get this stuff out of her office until the fae calmed down a little.

"Give me a curse anyday," she said to herself, grabbing her cell phone as she stood. "Or even a jinx, but I'll never understand these people I work with."

She stepped out of her office and closed the door behind her, hopefully to prevent the acrid purple fog from spreading to the hallway and disturbing others. She dialed Marc's number as she walked toward the lounge area that served as both a briefing room and a coffee cupboard, "I suppose Marc should know what's going on at this end."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, and here I thought we were friends, Keima. No matter how many social boundaries I crossed by asking that question, lying always crosses many more." Aileen smiled it was the same smile that she had used years ago, playful, seductive and most of all it hid anything she might of been thinking. Just by using it, it made her feelings take a bittersweet taste.

Then, she turned to Marc, "You're wrong, me not knowing was provocation. I wouldn't expect you to understand even if I bothered with explaining." Aileen paused for a second as her mind went on a tangent, That's right isn't it, because last time you didn't know ... she shook off the thought and continued with her speech, "I don't need to be registered. They already determined that."