001 - The Agent in the Fox Hunt

[beltbucklerebel]

[Considering how foul his mood had been that morning, it had actually turned out to be a pretty nice Valentine’s Day. The time at the shooting range with Bones had calmed some of the hurt and anger aggravated by the holiday...enough that, for one of the first times since ending things with Hannah, he didn’t have to fight to fall asleep that night.

He didn’t even dream. It was as if no time passed at all. One minute, he’d closed his eyes on the red, digital glare of his alarm clock, and the next-

There’s no mistaking the deafening crack of a gunshot. It’s so close--so terrifyingly close--that Booth wakes convinced that he’s been hit.

There’s panic, but there’s no time to indulge. Instead, he is the instant soldier, hands flying to his hip for his gun...only to find it’s not there. It’s not there and everything is wrong and what the hell is going on? He knows he maybe only has seconds to figure it out as he scrambles to his feet (barefoot. Why is he in a battlefield, barefoot?), and moves for the nearest cover (trees? Why the hell are there trees?).

It’s only in the silence that follows, listening to the rapid pounding of his own heart, that he starts to realize that something is very, very wrong. He leans back, trying to stay close to the tree, and flinches as newly added wings protest against the pressure.]

What the-?!

[There might be quite a bit of swearing and arguing happening as soon as Moran catches up with him enough to explain what the hell is going on]

[Later, once he’s calmed down...relatively speaking]

[Moran had directed him towards the village and actual clothes, but that hadn’t made Booth feel any less furious. The voice that comes over the journal is clipped and almost wry, anger audible...but tightly controlled]

Okay. Whatever genius thought that kidnapping a federal agent and playing dressup was a good idea, I’m telling you right now. I’m not laughing. I’ve heard a lot of crazy things coming out of this book...thing...and I’ve had just about enough. No more fairy tales. No more crazy, hallucination-induced, looney-bin stories. I want the truth. Now. And one more thing:

I want my badge. I want my gun. And, if you tell me how to get these wings off, I might not even shoot you with it.

[The agent can be found pacing in front of the Welcome Center, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and fuming as he waits for responses]

[OOC: First tag, chronologically, goes to Sebastian Moran who was hunting in the forest. All other replies will come after Booth’s relocated into town]

Comments

[beltbucklerebel]

[it takes him a moment to actually move around to where he can see what Moran is gesturing at. A quick survey of the surrounding area had him carefully crouching to pick up a hefty sized rock before he made his way around the trunk of the tree. It wasn't a knife or a gun, but it would do in a pinch.

Things only get more confusing once he can see his "attacker," however. The gun is pointing up and away from him, no longer an immediate threat, and it's obviously not a modern rifle. And the man was in an outfit that Booth wouldn't even begin to describe as hunting gear. But the bullet had most definitely found a fox...quite neatly, too, from the look of things. And he seemed almost as surprised as Booth about the arrangements.

The agent's wings were folded tight against his back, a mark of the tension that was present in ever limb, but he was starting to wonder if the threat might not be coming from somewhere else.]

...Where am I?

[whether or not he believed the hunter would be determined later]

[easierdonethansaid]

Couple of theories on that.

[The hunter was calming down himself now, too. A good look at the other showed those signs of nervousness, which he could understand.

Whether his "theories" were joking or if he might be half serious in advancing them... he'd leave to the American.]

Could be a bad reaction to an opium den of questionable quality.
Could be a bizarre circle of Hell.

They claim we've been dragged to some little town by experimenting scientists.

Still think my theories are better.

[beltbucklerebel]

Who's "they?"

[it's short. Clipped. Right now, he's in no mood to deal with humor or snarking or hypotheticals. Right now he wants answers.]

[easierdonethansaid]

People saying it? Other folks in town. Due north, about a thirty minute walk.

People they're talking about? Called the Malnosso. There... [The clothes, the disorientation... Yeah, he knows those signs.] There should be a book 'round here. Everybody gets one. Helps to sort of read through it.

...Don' promise it'll make any more sense after that, but it tries to explain things.

[beltbucklerebel]

A book.

[his tone is dry. Skeptical. And he doesn't immediately look for it. He's not ready to take his eyes off the hunter, yet]

Alright. Fine. So we've supposedly been kidnapped by a bunch of squints. [it sounds utterly ridiculous to him, but it makes as much sense as anything else, at the moment] What are their demands?

[easierdonethansaid]

[Squints. He doesn't know what to make of that, but he can answer that last question.]

They do experiments, I'm told. An' some sort of off-on war or somethin'. Other than that, though? Haven't made any, especially far as release goes.

[beltbucklerebel]

Great.

[so many details...none of which he was really ready to deal with, though he put them aside for later. He might not have Brennan's intellect, but he was perfectly capable of sorting through important information in a situation like this]

So who're you?

[easierdonethansaid]

[Moran shifted the rifle he held to his other hand and offered his right.]

Colonel Sebastian Moran, retired from service in Her Majesty's British Army.

[beltbucklerebel]

[a military man? And a Colonel? Booth's attitude shifts almost immediately, his stance widening into something more formal as he solemnly accepts Moran's hand and gives it a brief, firm shake] Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. I used to be in the Army Special Forces, myself. Sergeant Major.

[an army affiliation doesn't mean they're on the same side...but it doesn't hurt.]

[easierdonethansaid]

[...Nope, no idea what you're talking about with the "FBI." Some American institute he's never heard of, which... well. He has to doubt its importance, then.

Still. Army counts for something.]

Sorry circumstances to meet in, 'm afraid.

[beltbucklerebel]

[that got a dry, short laugh] I'll say.

I know it's a long shot, Colonel, but I'm really hoping you can tell me there's a way back to D.C.

[easierdonethansaid]

Y' find one, let me know. Wouldn' mind gettin' back to London m'self.

[beltbucklerebel]

[muttering] Figures.

[he sighed, the initial rush of adrenaline fading into something more manageable. The whole situation still had him tense, but it was beginning to feel more surreal than critical.

...God. He really hoped he wasn't hallucinating.

The sudden doubt registers as he squints and Moran a bit more critically. Hallucination would certainly fit...though this didn't really fit the pattern from before. He couldn't think why he'd imagine an old fashioned British colonel.

...Then again, he couldn't think why an old fashioned British colonel would be there for any other reason. Damn]

Just wondering...You aren't planning on giving me any extra insightful advice, are you?

[easierdonethansaid]

Could tell you where the pub is. [He's almost joking.]

[beltbucklerebel]

Now that's advice I can deal with.

[he had the feeling he was going to need it]

[easierdonethansaid]

Like I said-- due north, thirty minutes or so. Not a big place. Pub called Good Spirits, damn fittin' name, too.

Course, if whiskey's your poison... [And out comes the flask from inside the jacket.

God bless Victorian sensibilities?]

[beltbucklerebel]

[he hesitates...but one drink won't get him drunk, and the man could have shot him as easy as poison him.

No. More likely this was a hallucination, or genuine. So, after a second of deliberation, he accepts the flask with a grateful nod and takes a drink.

The fire of the alcohol against the back of his throat feels real enough, smooth heat grounding him a bit more in the moment. It makes him grimace. Not at the taste or the strength, but at the reality of it. As if to chase even that off, he takes one more sip before passing it back.]

What the hell kind of freaks kidnap people to experiment on them?

[easierdonethansaid]

Have to say I don' know if I want to find out. They don' seem to make themselves known too much.

[He took a drink from his flask bfeore putting it away in his jacket again.

He has more than enough sympathy for the man's plight.]

Folks 'round here are plenty helpful. Stores in town where you can get food an' clothes. No charge for any of it. [He knows what's coming.] Swear it on my life.

Didn' believe it m'self at first.

[beltbucklerebel]

So...what? We've been kidnapped into some kind of hippie commune?

[easierdonethansaid]

[... ... ...
Nope. No idea.]

Beggin' your pardon, of course, but I'm afraid I don' quite understand wot it is you're askin'.

[beltbucklerebel]

[must be a British thing]

The 60s? Peace and love? We're all one big, happy family?

[easierdonethansaid]

Eighteen-ninety-one, I'm afraid.

[beltbucklerebel]

...Say what?

[easierdonethansaid]

Last I knew, the year was eighteen-ninety-one.

[beltbucklerebel]

....

Right. Okay then.

[why, oh why, did he have to be without a gun right now?]

Which way did you way this village was?