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Alyssa moved to the kitchen. She paid little attention to Zoidberg (accepting his presence on the premise that he didn't kill her and her mind wasn't being wrought with psychic energy) and sat to eat.

Her eyes rolled. It had been a long time since she had sausage. She drank from the glass of water (Zoidberg was kind enough to provide) and ate the sausage slowly, to savour it.

It probably was not rattata, but it had the slightest hint, probably more likely because her last "meal" was the jerky she had made. This made no difference. It was delicious all the same.

She paid no heed to the phone call going on, her manners would not allow eavesdropping if it was not necessary for survival, and came to a decision.

She'd go to this Glenville, and ask this man to let her get her stuff before she went. It would be up to him if he came along, and who or what he brought with him, but if she could get more sausage there, for just a little while before she moved on, it'd be worth every step and every moment of her paranoia.

Her lucidity was slipping...

((I think that at this junction there are very few responses that absolute require being made; if you are stuck because I need to move you, please let me know as soon as possible))

Commander Brighton heard the knock and at first, strongly considered not answering. This was a man who did not reflect often, and Ramsden's stormy reaction the night before had furrowed the creases over his bushy eyebrows and made the salt more prominent than the pepper in his half beard and mustache. If conflict could be avoided, if introspection could be avoided - Henry Brighton avoided it. For this reason, Ramsden had always grated on him, like sandpaper on sheet metal. Ryan enjoyed death. Henry stewed in a cold fury every time he watched a man breathe his last. Ryan had no qualms and took no time to consider what it was he did, something for which Henry envied him, but which gave the fifty-year-old commander pause - Brighton had always tried not to think very hard, and to run on instinct. It had kept him alive, it had gotten him a stunning wife (until she succumbed to ovarian cancer several years ago), it had put him in the position he was in, and it allowed him to remain a regret-free human being. But... was the consequence of letting it all go... this? A savage with a charming smile? Ryan made him think too much, and he didn't like it.

Henry had watched Ramsden order his scyther to dismember a man, limb by limb, and laugh while he watched. The victim hadn't been any more guilty than anyone in that particular raid who had died from a headshot; he had merely had the misfortune to catch the crest of Ryan's tide of bloodlust. It was true what Ryan had said - the man was loyal, effective, protective, and friendly. It made it all the more unsettling, to Brighton and the vast majority of the Minutemen, to watch him smile through a mask of gore. Sure, there were a few for whom the feeling of safety outweighed the feelings of nausea and unease, but Amaya had been giving reports of defectors for months now - people who had simply dropped out because seeing Ryan gave them chills. Her mission the previous night had been to allow Ryan to isolate himself and see what he did to his victims, and she had reported positive. He needed to be out of sight and out of mind.

So now, uncertain what would come of having then gone and given Ramsden a task, he stood up and barked a half-hearted "Come in!" Immediately, his day was improved as Juno wrapped her arms as far around his wine cask of a belly. "Hey, there, June," he said as he patted her on the back affectionately. Now this, this was a good girl. Blonde and usually helpful, she had lost her parents with as much grace as can be expected of a preteen and was now fully integrated as something of a daughter of the community. In short, Brighton liked her.

However, what she said made his gaze flatten immediately. "Ejected? I don't 'member ejecting anybody." The words he had said, he realized suddenly with a brief blink, puff of air, and widening of his eyes, had in fact been "out of the Minutemen." Whoops. He stared hard at Ryan, trying to make his point clear. "I ordered him over t' Paul's place, and then I changed my mind when those kooks up in Glenville said you and Toby needed an escort up there t' get some sort a pokémon and save the world or somethin'. Sounds like japanimé bullsh!t to me, but they've never been wrong an' I don't see a reason for 'em t' start now."

He paused for a moment and considered what he had just said and shake his head. As he spoke, he moved back around behind his desk and sat heavily in his rolling chair. The room was small, but it was functional and it wasn't as though he was ordering around whole battalions from here. Three people were comfortable. Four would have been too many. "Oh, I 'pologize for the language. Been a rough night. Turns out ever'one got hit BUT Glenville which t' me sounds like somebody thinks they c'n pin it on them in the north, 'cept the one man with any sense in Woodmount and a guy outta Cliffshire both said th' attacks came from the south, and ours was a pincer. But you don' wanna hear me ramble. The short of the matter is that Ryan ain't outta the ranks an' it's dangerouser 'n usual t' be sendin' kids like yourself on the road alone, so I'd like it if Ryan could take you. I think the Oaks mentioned y' might be joined by a scientist of some kin' - a Miss Doctor Lacy Quark, if you know 'er." Leaning back in his chair, one hand mindlessly twirling a cheap pen, Brighton stared casually at the floor as he talked, then looked back up at the pair when he was finished.

---

The man bound by extension cords woke up groggily, his head pounding. One eye came open to catch a floating rag... no, no, it was a misdreavus, and it was bobbing merrily behind a young man in very black clothing. His target was right there, almost in reach... if he could reach his pokéballs... no, no chance; each tug dug into his neck. There was nothing he could do now but wait... so he just groaned at the phenomenal pain in his nose and the throbbing beat of the drum in his forehead. Who had hit him... he hadn't seen anything...

Tavish let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the girl, a smile crinkling his face. And then old instinct set in, as his expression changed to one of worry...this location was too exposed...too many good hiding places in the surrounding buildings, too many lines of sight to their location...and weapons were readily available nearby...even disregarding that, the weapons shop was an excellent target even for a mundane attack. It would likely be a good idea to get off the streets. "Ach, situation's changed...le's get oof dae street...Wae've got a lot to discuss. Yae get a phone call last night? From scientists-Dae Oak brothers?" He started walking slowly, towards her home-it was close, out of the way, and most importantly, free of potential threats...unless the situation was even more...complex than he'd judged it. He waved his pokemon on as he walked, his brow furrowing as he thought. He was probably just being paranoid.

Juno turned to stare at Ramsden. Ejected was not the same as being sent over to Paul. She supposed she was able to see how someone would think being with the self-isolating slightly paranoid man would equate to being kicked out of the Minutemen, but really, Paul wasn't that bad a guy. Nothing a little therapy for his paranoia couldn't cure, but it was that paranoia that helped keep the town safe.

In all honesty, she kind of liked Paul though she'd rather choke on dirt before ever admitting to that. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that she liked his pokemon. The teen was a little weird in that sense - the more dangerous or odd-looking the creature, the more adorable she found it. Whenever she helped send over food, she snuck in a rawhide bone for Oddjob (who liked to chew on legs if he had nothing else around) and lego pieces for Zoidberg (who also played chess with her...she suspected he let her win the occasional game just to keep her from giving up).

It was almost insulting to equate being with Paul to being ejected. "On Paul's behalf, ouch." She would deny ever defending Paul if he asked her about it. Otherwise, the man would hold it over her head and that was something she did not want to happen.

Juno waved aside the coarse language coming from the Commander. She'd heard worse from the other soldiers who usually forgot she was around and learned a fair share of inappropriate language. "Don't apologize - it does sound like bullcrap," she half-smiled. Save the world? Her and Toby? That didn't really inspire any confidence in the young girl. Oh well, not much to do but to head over to Glenville and find out what was going on there.

Lacy? The doctor? OH HER. "Yeah...kinda met her last night." It also reminded her of the dead man that the woman had killed in front of the teen. "She's a unique individual." The gun rested lightly in her jacket pocket as she remembered what she'd gotten out of the strange tattooed man's death. Rather than continue to think about it, she quickly asked more questions. "Anways, is this a day trip or do we need to pack some stuff? Do we even have time to pack stuff? And does my uncle have any knowledge of this?" She wanted to at least head home and pick up a bag of sling shot ammo. Maybe a small pack of jerky and a safety kit too. Juno wasn't sure if it had anything to do with growing up around the military, but she was a believer in being prepared.

The black-haired, dirtied, and somewhat bloodied man scowled at Ulysses, fighting the urge to spit as his eyes continually drifted, like magnets, over to Stetson. "I am an Inquisitor for the One True God and for the good of all souls it is my mission to deliver the Seeds of the End out of the clutches of sinfulness to the bosom of forgiveness and salvation so release me that your own souls do not suffer the full penalty of oblivion when the Deepest Dream cleanses the slate of the earth!" He heaved as the words came out in the breathless rush. "I swear I will not hurt him; I will only deliver him into the hands of the Reverend that we may all see salvation and glory!" He struggled a little bit, causing his last word to come out somewhat strangled.

---

"Oh, y'know Miss Quark? Tha's a start. I dunno, they di'n't say how long y'd be there, but it didn't sound like y'd be there long. Even so, I'd take a change of drawers with me - always do." He grinned and winked like he'd made a joke. "No huge rush; pack a li'l an' be off. I called yer uncle this mornin', so he's at least got a li'l warnin'. I see ya got a gun; if'n y' need ammo, ask our stockroom. Same to you, Ryan, but don't go crazy; we need a little left over." He winked again, trying to be more pleasant to encourage Ramsden not to flip a second sh!t.

Lexi just shrugged when Dirk said her house was the safest place he could think of. “I don’t know why it wouldn’t be…safest place I can think of too.” Home was Home, her hidey-hole from the rest of the world, no two ways about it. She didn’t bother going too far back inside though. For one, she was worried if she did, she wouldn’t leave, as she was starting to get worried she might not come back. It was just one of those sinking feelings, but it kinda stunk. The second reason she didn’t bother with most of the house had to do with she had put her pack in the garage with her motorbike. She just beelined for there instead, opened the rolling door by hand, and started messing with the last-minute things. “Yeah, I’m packed…Food, water, first-aid kit, clothes, my computer… and Dad helped, so it should be good. Dad’s probably the only one I trust who would also want to come with, but he got called out to work like the rest of my family…” It bothered her that her only way to say goodbye to her mom and sister was a letter in the kitchen, but she knew they were both busy like nothing else with work, and their bosses wouldn’t appreciate a kid like her busting in on that work. Her frustration went into getting her pack on her shoulders.

Well... that was unexpected. Ulysses could only seem to say, "Hm," in response. A religion around the mew? Interesting, but clearly antithetical to his agenda- and Beatrice's. And from the sounds of it, there would be no reasoning with him/them either. Unfortunate. No time to wait for an answer to Schraeder's question.

"Sounds interesting, I suppose, but I'll have to decline." He glanced at the house, then sighed. "And I suppose I'll have to leave you here because I can't very well have you wandering around, harassing more people. Hopefully someone with more generosity than myself will find you."

He looked at Schraeder and Grace. "Alright boys, it's time to go. Unless either of you has a faster way, we're walking." He sighed. All this seriousness was going to wear on him quick, but he couldn't help it. He was stressed and this was how he handled stress- by kicking its a** quickly and efficiently.

Plus he really needed to focus on taking the current situation one step at a time. There were far too many things going on to think about all at once: Ulysses in all his years as a recluse had never had an intruder. Nor had he ever been: startled from slumber by an intruder; nearly assaulted at dawn; approached by an old colleague who appeared to have harnessed the human potential for willful ether manipulation; received a letter from a long-dead and very dear friend informing him of very grievous and dire goings-on of the past and present. Throw it all together, and you have quite a hectic scenario.

Now he was embarking upon a journey to deliver a handful of youngsters to a town a few days away because of said letter. To top it all off, a cult was out to directly oppose whatever it was the Oaks had planned. Oh, and not to be forgotten was the fact that the world had ended once, and according to the calendar, the Apocalypse Mark II was coming soon.

So things weren't looking so great and Ulysses had reason to be as cold, mechanical and standoffish as he was.