beltbucklerebel | 001 - The Agent in the Fox Hunt

[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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I think I'd prefer the gun.

[but it's said grudgingly. He knows he's not exactly making friends, at the moment, but it's kind of hard to calm down after being kidnapped and shot at. Being a grouch is coming easier.]

You wouldn't be the first. [ Be as grouchy as you need, Booth. ]

Detective Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard. Welcome to Luceti.

[that pulls him up short. He can be a grouch, but he has a great deal of respect for rank...even if it's not his organization]

Sorry, Inspector. Rough day.

[he's not any happier, but he's a great deal more polite when he continues] Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI.

No worries. First day's always a rough one. [ He knows, he's had two of them. ]

The thing to remember is, if someone bothers to answer you personally over the books, they're probably not anyone responsible for getting you here. Chances are they've been stuck a while themselves. Very helpful lot, for the most part. [ We are firmly in Civilian Territory, Booth. ]

You're telling me. Been awhile since I woke up to being shot at. [he's not looking for pity, but he can't help griping just a little at that one. At least Moran hadn't actually been aiming for him] These Malwhatsit freaks have a strange sense of humor.

And I was wondering about that. Where the hell is everyone getting this information from in the first place? Who's running this operation?

The Malnosso run the operation. Inside our particular little bubble, that is. There's supposed to be some complicated story where they're not responsible for us getting here and they're using us to figure out how to get back. Which, quite frankly, I suggest taking with a grain of salt. All the information comes from some of the poor bastards who've been sticking around for up on two years- someone's likely to point you to a bit of a guidebook before long, actually, it's very handy. [ He'll get back around to that "shot at" in a minute, don't doubt it. ]

Two years?!

[yeah...this conversation isn't going to go in any recognizable sort of order]

Sometimes three. You can ask after 'em, they're good about it.

Good about it? We've been kidnapped!

I think we've noticed, yes! Better to ask and answer questions where you can than spend a year and a half thinking that bit over.

001 - The Agent in the Fox Hunt

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