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

[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?

[easierdonethansaid]

North. Maybe a half hour.

Shouldn' run into too much trouble, I imagine.

[He's not going to offer an escort. Man like this? He can either ask for one or make the trip himself.]

[beltbucklerebel]

[Even Booth wouldn't normally cut off a conversation so abruptly, especially with someone who was actually being helpful. But hearing that the guy who shot at him was from the 1800s was enough to make him want to be somewhere else. Now.

He gives a short nod, and takes a few steps in the direction Sebastian had indicated, but stops short when his bare foot steps on something that is most definitely not the forest floor. Frowning, he gives the hunter a brief, cautious look, before reaching down to pick up the journal]

[easierdonethansaid]

[Moran sees the book Booth picks up.

That'll go over even better.]

It's yours. They give us each one when we show up.

[He'll save the queer link between the journals for Booth to find out for himself.]

[beltbucklerebel]

So...what? They kidnap us, give us wings, and expect us to keep a diary? In what world does that make sense?

[easierdonethansaid]

...Sort of.

I don' much know how to explain it. Fgiure someone else may say it better, so y' may want to ask 'round the town.

You... write in it. Can talk to it, too, but that feels even more unnatural, so I mostly stick to writin'. Then other people 'round here can read it.

[For a man from 1891, it makes little sense. Someone from the computer age may not find it so strange.]

[beltbucklerebel]

Talk. To a book.

...this has got to be the stupidest design for a cellphone I've ever seen.