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Wizards vs. Muggles (Free-form):

 2851 Faramir, Sun, 23rd Sep '12 6:59:09 PM from Just before a Deadline. Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Loves me...loves me not
Tired
Lita tilted her head after a moment as the question about something very obvious yet completely ignored leapt to mind. She lifted her hand like in a classroom before asking.

"Wait— What are we actually doing in Spain?"
Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you can't sell him fish anymore.
 2852 Kino, Tue, 25th Sep '12 1:44:00 PM from NC/NYC Get RP Mod Relationship Status: 700 wives and 300 concubines
Connoisseur of redheads
Otis ANGB

Warren lit up another cigarette, and made his way to the wall where the unconscious truck driver was laying. Reaching into his pants pocket for a flashlight, he checked the mans pupils, and listened for any breathing. Taking note of what he found, he motioned one of the base personnel over and began to bring him up to speed. "He's got blunt force trauma, and the beginning of a mild concussion." Warren said as he pointed "Keep a man on him, we can't have him falling asleep in his condition; call up an ambulance."

Checking to make sure that the sergeant understood his instructions, Warren walked over to Wilkins.

"I haven't been back up here in years, but I don't rememeber seeing weather like this." Warren said to Wilkins. "How long have the winters been like this? "
ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ
The Man in Black
"You're dealing with a Muggle-repelling spell." Clark said. "I'd suggest sending some people in to the edge of it and having them wait a while, then advance a little further in. They'll acclimate slowly."
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
 2854 Sabre's Edge, Wed, 3rd Oct '12 3:13:10 PM from Her Majesty's Occult Service Get RP Mod
Otis
Wilkins was somewhat distracted as he continued to perform checks on the nonresponsive guardsman with a very worried expression and muttered under his breath, but he answered eventually. "I've never seen weather like this, not even in Alaska, and God knows that was bad enough. And to answer your question, Lieutenant Fields...not much recently." Wilkins frowned and listed off items slowly; around him, some of the mixed troops had begun heating MR Es. They were a motley of Air Force security, National Guard, and Massachusetts State Guard; the NCOs were busy taking roll of their respective units.

"There's the air contingent, a squadron of helis. The different battalions in transit. The Air Force intelligence people, the armory, the Army camp next door—"

From time to time the belt radios crackled; the winds seemed to be dying down in intensity, losing their feral howling quality, though still extremely fierce. Between the storm clouds and the darkening evening, visibility outside could not have been more than a generous ten yards. What news filtered through the clipped radio reports were bad: radars out, flightline out, men gone missing—the list went on.

"—eat sigs in the perimeter, " someone's voice announced, tinny from the radio speakers. In a moment the hangar had gone deathly silent. "Moving heat sigs on camera 23 north."

"Base, can you confirm it's not one of ours?" asked someone else on the same net.

"Possible but unlikely. Heading south on—just lost that camera. They're hostile."

Wilkins and Price grabbed for their weapons. "Heathrow, " they said simultaneously, Wilkins in surprise and shock, Price in grim certainty. Around them the mixed platoon came to life; there was surprisingly little shouting for the reservists, but the disorder was evident. About half had night-vision equipment ready, and their equipment was older but functional. The Occulus team was easily the most senior group present.
London
"Tourist cover, wizard group, " said Karla to Paxton. "New England looks lovely this time of year. As for you, Miss Szymanska—" keeping her mild tone "—I intend nothing radical. But neither caliber is obtainable commercially, and I would rather use our contacts in Russia for other business, so being able to manufacture new ammunition would be helpful. I need an original for that."

Turning to Lita: "There are odd rumors at a site in Catalonia, near the French border. This group may have the most experience of anyone still active to deal with it. I can say no more for now."
Catalonia
"We thought that too, yes, " said Diaz. "The Army has approved infantry patrols to probe the borders of the spell, if it is there. But it is strange: if it were this should not have showed up." He pointed at the photographs of the second set of buildings. "I have put in a request to involve the French. The border is less than a kilometer away, and there is a gendarmerie detachment at La Vaill." He pointed to the relevant sections of the map. Indeed, the international border ran along the ridgeline; the castle lay just south, within a literal stone's throw of French territory.
I might be that one witch who decides to flood the barrier with dimethylmercury.
 2855 Kino, Wed, 3rd Oct '12 8:04:47 PM from NC/NYC Get RP Mod Relationship Status: 700 wives and 300 concubines
Connoisseur of redheads
Otis ANGB

"They're playing our song." Warren said with a smile, as be unlocked the plastic crate that contained his weapons and gear. "Get your kit sorted out, so we can set up a perimiter; link up with me when you're ready."

"Wilkins, I'm going to need access to your net; might need.to.take a look at whatever cameras you have remaining. "

Walking over to the group of assorted military personnell, he gave them a once over before speaking. "Have any of you gone up against the Whiskeys?"

ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ
 2856 Faramir, Wed, 3rd Oct '12 11:31:01 PM from Just before a Deadline. Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Loves me...loves me not
Tired
Lita shrugged.

"Ok" She accepted Karla's explanation and started to speculate on what was going on in Catalonia.
Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you can't sell him fish anymore.
 2857 Firock Finion, Thu, 4th Oct '12 12:55:16 AM from the Red Desert Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Wishfully thinking
THE SLORG!
Otis

Alex considered the different potential targets Wilkins had mentioned as he found his P90, also keeping in mind that the captain may not have finished listing before his interruption. The air contingent would make a good target for disabling tactical maneuvers, but the air force intelligence personnel sounded like a good target for acquiring information.

Alex made sure his weapon was loaded and ready, then set about getting his gear on and ready as fast as possible. As he did, he glanced over at Price and Wilkins since something else occurred to him. "If our enemy is responsible for the current weather pattern, then I'd say it's safe to assume that they might have some kind of countermeasures so it doesn't hinder them" Alex said, again trying to think about what he would do in the opponent's situation.

"If we can figure out what they're after, then our jobs would be a lot easier. Personally I'd guess the air contingent or the intelligence personnel" Alex added to finally voice his earlier thoughts.
The Man in Black
Clark paused and gave Diaz a look.

"So, why exactly do you want to involve the French? It's...not exactly on their side of the border yet. I'd prefer to keep the number of people involved as small as possible."
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
 2859 hotelkilo, Mon, 8th Oct '12 3:01:01 AM from Parkway Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Healthy, deeply-felt respect for this here Shotgun
Board Certified Sorcerer
Chessie holds up her hands in surrender, "Do not need to explain further ma'am."

Reaching into her coat on the chair next to her own Chessie easily draws out what looks like a miniature tank shell. The pistol cartridge beside it in her palm is practically lost.

edited 8th Oct '12 3:04:49 AM by hotelkilo

As the size of an explosion increases, the number of problems it is incapable of solving quickly approaches zero!
Amateur Biologist
Bar

Charming Brit? Grace-Ann filed the name away in her mind, deciding to ask about it later. Karen was more important right now. She smiled. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout bein’ out-gunned, Mister Alzey, ” she said, “Ain’t nothin’ I kin do ‘bout outmanned, but I got plenty a’ firepower ’n my truck. Le’s get movin’. Y’know her place? Or should I drive?”

She shook her keyring—the three keys on it jangling sadly against the heavy keychain and the carabiner clip she had on the ring. “Speak up, mister, or I'm leavin'.”
I added psychology to my biology.
 2861 Sabre's Edge, Thu, 11th Oct '12 12:07:39 AM from Her Majesty's Occult Service Get RP Mod
Otis
Wilkins nodded rapidly to Fields' remarks as he strapped on his gear: rifle, flashlight, helmet and a heavy scarf, which did not look Army-issue. Price, who was rather more practiced, adjusted his balaclava and tested his radio headset. Immediately a problem presented itself. The base security radios, carried by the Air Force police, used one frequency; the radios of the Occulus team used another. By sheer bad luck no Ratelo personnel from either the State or National Guards had made it into their hangar. That meant no radios to coordinate with the other Guard personnel.

Some rough shoehorning had gotten the personnel arranged: two improvised squads of National Guard and a squad of State Guard, five Air Force policemen. None had ever gone up against hostile magic, though a number were Afghan veterans. Few machine guns and rockets, no fancy gear; the best they had were personal smartphones. No thermal imaging, attempts at sending the feed from the base TASS thermal cameras to the smartphones having been dismissed out of hand, and there were no security stations in the hangar itself. Limited night-vision that was only barely better than the naked eye, so badly did the blowing snow obscure it. Worse, the uniforms were a mixture of forest and desert-pattern camouflage, hardly optimum against white snow. Most worryingly of all, there was no unified chain of command. That much was being demonstrated by the near-argument taking place between Wilkins and a Security Forces corporal.

"Look, sir, my orders are for us to take the lead. We know the terrain, " said the corporal insistently. "I mean, shit, maybe your people have orders from the snake eaters, but we don't, we have superseding orders. And right now—" patting the radio at his hip "—we've still got an intact commo link with the colonel. As long as we are on this base, Air Force orders take precedence."

"And what is your colonel saying?" asked Wilkins mildly.

"Let the ETS handle sweep duties and AFSF making a perimeter, sir, " said the corporal. "Army troops to not get in the way. No offense, sir, but it's gonna be hard enough without a hundred extra warm bodies confusing everyone."
Catalonia
"They may not yet have gotten over the border, but they may soon, and I want permission beforehand if they go north, " said Diaz. "And, missed shots will land on their ground. I want to start no firefight with frightened gendarmerie." He pointed out the relevant features on the map. "Loose scrub, old trails over the mountain, easy to cross country. Permission rather than forgiveness, as the yanquis put it, yes?"
Bar
Alzey smiled, but got up only languidly. "Lovely, lovely. But don't go anywhere yet, grasshopper, we've got us some planning to do first." He scratched at a lock of white hair, the continuation of a scar that ran down his temple and eyebrow. "David Xanatos I'm not. Closer to Wile E. Coyote, in fact, and this is what happens when you go in without any sort of planning beforehand: the roadrunner does a number on you and runs off, meep-meep." He pulled out a grimy-looking notebook and a chewed-looking pencil, writing as he talked and walked. "I'd rather catch my bird this time, and for that, I'd prefer my newest bestest friend not to go charging into a mousetrap. I'd hate to have to pay Karen for a whole new house."

He drummed his fingers on the frame of his blue VW Beetle for a moment. "Okay. Let's see, now...first stop, the British consulate. Ain't too far from here. ...what?"
England/Boston/Group US: Chessie & Paxton
The next hour went by quickly. Charmdrummer dropped by, his mood having improved from sulphurous to merely foul, and took command of the group; from there, a quick break to let his team take what they could, a re-brief on the communication coins, and an interminable wait at the Ministry before the Portkey away into the consulate.

They popped up in the Boston consulate with diplomatic tags, thereby preventing the disappointed and very suspicious-looking guard from rifling through bulky bags and overcoats. In the lounge, Alzey and Grace-Ann were waiting. Alzey at least was all smiles and cheer. That is to say, he handed a tote bag to the already-overloaded Charmdrummer and said, "Hi, Nigel. What kept you and who are your friends?"

"Alzey. Insouciant as ever, " growled Charmdrummer. And in response to the unanswered question: "No, don't ask me where he pulled 'Nigel' from. God knows where he gets those nicknames. Alzey, I hope you've got a good reason for pulling me across the pond this time. These two are Szymanska and Nott. Be so good to introduce me to your veela friend, will you?"
England/Group Spain/Barcelona: Lita
In contrast with the five-hour time difference between London and Boston, the move to Madrid and thence to Barcelona was done with a comparative lack of fuss. After that, a car rental, an old and unremarkable Peugeot that lacked all modern amenities that stray magic might wreck; north along the E15, through the hills of the Colserola and the coastal plains.

Karla was a steady, cautious driver, wearing the face of a middle-aged woman who could have been Lita's aunt, and who upbraided her teenaged niece in shrewish and provincial (not to say unnaturally fluent) Spanish when they had to pull over for gas or for food. Unusually for her Karla visibly enjoyed herself in putting on the role of the chattering, nosy relative; they made a welcome break, she told Lita in one such outburst of garrulity, slipped in between descriptions of untold relatives for the benefit of the bored gas-station clerk, from the deadly silence and terse questions of the game she had devised for Lita. She called it Kim's Game, and it involved counting and tracking cars and trucks ahead and behind in the great moving mosaic of Spanish traffic. There were plenty of opportunities to practice in the innumerable times she doubled back along winding twisting side roads or choked boulevards, alternating between law-abiding meekness and bursts of sudden boldness and dash to maneuver into gaps in the traffic. Lita, at least, could not see any obvious trails, while Karla stayed cryptically silent on the subject aside from the endless questions: was she certain of the truck? What color and make was the sedan? Was it driven by a man or a woman, and where did it exit? After each endless barrage of question and answer she nodded either in satisfaction or amusement and allowed Lita a break before she would start again.

Thus occupied it was early evening when Karla with an exhausted Lita in tow and supplying only cryptic answers to her questions knocked on the door of a modest house, ancient and battered, but with a front yard kept desperately neat and a lemon-tree bearing the remnants of an unseasonably late crop. It was out in the countryside, perhaps an hour north from Barcelona proper, much closer to the eastern arm of the Pyrenees and to France in the north. On the third knock its owner answered, swept the visitors with a well-practiced, too-innocent, disarmingly-open smile, forgot all pretense and swept up Lita in an embrace.

Karla stood silently with a rare unguarded half-smile, before she addressed him: "I am glad you retain such fondness for your granddaughter, Mr. Garza. As you see she is safe and well, as I have promised."

Still clutching Lita in his arms William Garza squeezed his eyes shut, and when he spoke in faultless English there was no heat, no anger, in his words, only a sigh of gratefulness: "And damn you, too, madam. Damn you and thank you for bringing my granddaughter here."

edited 11th Oct '12 1:53:09 AM by SabresEdge

I might be that one witch who decides to flood the barrier with dimethylmercury.
 2862 Faramir, Thu, 11th Oct '12 8:51:57 AM from Just before a Deadline. Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Loves me...loves me not
Tired
Lita had been grinning at the beginning of the day, though after Karla's weird games and confusing answers she'd been more tired than anything. Then her grandpa answered the door and her face lit up again.

"Abuelito!" She said and hugged him tight. Then the mile-a-minute speech started "Abuelito, no te vas a creer los ultimos dos meses! Me dispararon yendo a la escuela, conocí a Hermione Granger, me secuestraron unos Rumanos— Logre hacer un patronus sin varita! Y- y mi magia ha estado super loca, y tuve que leerme un libro horrible de Lockheart, y el ministerio es un desastre- y tuve que escribir una cosa para un tipo de la CIA que quiere ayudar a tener paz, y- y perdí mi varita—" This went on for a very short time as she went on to give him a summary of what had happened in the past two months as though she had a one-minute limit of time to talk in and wanted to use every nanosecond. It may have been a new personal record. It may or may not have dazed Karla who might or might not have been a native Spanish speaker, she didn't have an English accent, that was certain. Her grandpa, of course, could keep up with her perfectly.

"Como vas tu?" She asked at the end— then something clicked in her mind and she frowned, loosening her side of the hug slightly."Tiempo—Como conoces a Karla?"

edited 11th Oct '12 6:31:19 PM by Faramir

Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you can't sell him fish anymore.
 2863 Deadbeatloser 22, Thu, 11th Oct '12 9:10:08 AM from A cat basket over there. Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Hoping Senpai notices me
This is all Decade's fault.
"There's always a COC headache, isn't there?"
"Momo-Ura-Kin-Ryuu! Climax Form!"
The Man in Black
"I believe the phrase is "Better to ask forgiveness than permission." Clark said. "But the call is yours."
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
 2865 Firock Finion, Mon, 15th Oct '12 8:47:27 PM from the Red Desert Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Wishfully thinking
THE SLORG!
Otis

Alex, after overhearing the discussion between the two COs, decided to walk over and speak his mind about it. He hoped that at least the fact that he was in the unit experienced with fighting Whiskeys could give him some leverage here.

"Hold on a second" Alex started to get attention, "we've got a communications problem here, sure, but that doesn't mean these guys shouldn't get the chance to help. If we split a couple security guys with a few army personnel in each unit, we can maintain contact between the units anyway." Then, he looked at the Air Force Corporal specifically.

"And no disrespect meant to your Colonel, but I think his orders are kind of shit. Again, we may have to assume that the enemy forces are not hindered by the weather, including their effective visibility. If that's the case, then any patrols sent out by us to sweep the area are one-sided ambushes to reduce our numbers just waiting to happen. I'd recommend we focus on securing key locations and waiting for either the enemy to come to us or for the weather to clear" Alex said to him, thinking back to King's Cross. We couldn't wait for them to come to us then, but we were on offense that time. Now we're on defense Alex thought to himself.

edited 3rd Nov '12 4:37:52 PM by FirockFinion

 2866 hotelkilo, Tue, 16th Oct '12 2:48:23 PM from Parkway Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Healthy, deeply-felt respect for this here Shotgun
Board Certified Sorcerer
Standing back, Chessie remembered Karla's instructions and.... other words to her. Charmdrummer was more then capable of negotiating with his own contacts no matter how surly that invovled being, so she merely stood with her arms folded and nodded when mentioned, "Hello."
As the size of an explosion increases, the number of problems it is incapable of solving quickly approaches zero!
Nodding at Charmdrummer; Paxton stepped back to see what it was that Charmdrummer did.
No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.
Amateur Biologist
Grace-Ann glanced sideways at "Nigel" and the others, suspicious, though her eyes did dart over the various bags they was carrying. Wonder if'n they got any firepower in there...

Still, she held her hand out. "Grace-Ann May, " she said with a smile, "Glad to meet you."

edited 27th Oct '12 1:46:11 PM by Windee

I added psychology to my biology.
 2869 Sabre's Edge, Sun, 28th Oct '12 3:27:56 AM from Her Majesty's Occult Service Get RP Mod
Otis
The corporal protested, but he did forward the recommendations up the chain. The commands came back down after a short delay, with much protesting but the acknowledgment that the Army troops might be useful if they stuck close to the hangars and the other buildings; no straying out and getting lost.

"If we babysit each squad with a team we wouldn't have enough people to guard the flightline, sir, " said the corporal.

"That's AF's job, " came the reply. "Sweep close to the hangar and flightline, and keep the Army troops close to wherever they're bunkered down. That will free up people. Don't worry about the runway or the tarmac, you will not be sweeping that far out."
Catalonia/Commandos
Diaz nodded. "I do want to keep this as secret as I can, " he said. "But the French will know anyway if anyone escapes north, and that I am afraid of." He reached for his phone.

In the next room the inquisitors prepared their translation, typing slowly but surely; Colom had retired to a bunk prepared for him. When he walked through the corridor he still appeared wild-eyed and disheveled, twitching occasionally like a man newly awakened, and watched in some wonder by the other policemen.

Diaz had ended his call. "The full translation should be ready in a few hours, but the basics are as you heard. Many, many questions without answers." He leaned back in his chair. "Now...the army company will draw a loose perimeter around the castle, but none of the soldiers have experience dealing with magic. Your advice would be appreciated—the Major has requested your presence, but so has the Police team with Colom."
Catalonia/Lita
William Garza released his granddaughter, looking unsurprised but disturbed, and turned to Karla with an anxious frown. "Have you honestly not told her?"

"I had thought that would be your prerogative, " said Karla. "Would you mind if we stepped in?"

The dining room: a rough scatter of books and odd handiwork (Lita recognized some past pieces she hd done), flower vases lining the walls with fresh petals, and a centre bowl of oversized cherries the size of apples, all kept unnaturally neat and ordered. An ancient black typewriter perched on the far end, with finished sheets in a neat stack and a paper halfway through. Beside it lay a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses. William offered a cherry to his granddaughter, looking more pensive than Lita had ever seen him, and invited Karla to sit on a couch facing him.

"The Maturin report is nearly finished. I had not expected you until the evening, " said William. Absentmindedly he reached sideways to ruffle Lita's hair; they were all speaking Spanish, William with his odd halfway accent between Catalan and English. "That will keep. You said, on your last visit, that you would do your best to limit Lita's involvement."

"As best as I could, " said Karla. "I do not fully control events. The domestic competition had recruited her first: I had only one chance to catch her. After that...my instructions were explicit."

"You mean to draw her into the old Q network, " said William. His eyes were focused and accusatory, and Karla met his gaze only after a heartbeat's hesitation.

"Yes, " she admitted. "She and her group had the most exposure to the neighbors of anyone comparable, and my predecessor had arranged for the relevant strings to be immediately pulled upon the recruitment of anyone like her. She has also demonstrated remarkable talent—"

"I did not spend twenty years looking for moles behind every rock and bush and wondering if every nighttime knock on my door would be a wetwork squad so that my granddaughter would have to do the same!" William had raised his voice only minutely, but there was real anger that flared in his voice. "Your predecessor had put an end to all that after Voldemort fell; the Q networks were to be permanently wound down! You are undoing the promise that he made to—"

William sustained a hot pitch of anger, but already it was clear it could not last; his voice trembled and faded, and now Karla had regained her mental balance, sitting with granite impassivity. "Made to whom, Mr. Garza? To whom? Certainly not to me. Not to himself, either, not after he read through the old reports—many of which were drafted by you. You know the founding circumstances in 1940 as well as I do. You know that this war will be even more terrible than the Great European Conflict unless we somehow prevent its escalation and stop the djinni from coming out of the bottle—or have you forgotten that? 'Look to dogs, camels don't react?' My predecessor was explicit on that score, because he had the precedent of his predecessor to draw upon—a man you knew very well."

"Don't pull this 'we' business on me. I was there before you, " said William, but ashen resignation had replaced anger. "But for God's sake. My granddaughter. What's this about the American CIA?"

"You knew the first Irregulars: pickpockets, thieves, smugglers, " said Karla. "Playing cowboys and Indians with the Baker Street boys and C's people. Lita has survived the opposition through no small talent of her own. She is easily one of the most suitable candidates I have, and the competition will be happy to reclaim her as one of their own. Would you want that for her?"

There was a long pause. "No, " said William, closing his eyes. To Lita he seemed very old. "But how I wish..."
Everyone in Boston, you get a round or two of talking to each other. Make friends and the like. I know that I've gotten three of the least garrulous players, but it's good practice, and totally not because I'm out of ideas for a 3AM post, no sirree.

edited 28th Oct '12 3:28:15 AM by SabresEdge

I might be that one witch who decides to flood the barrier with dimethylmercury.
 2870 Faramir, Sun, 28th Oct '12 1:34:57 PM from Just before a Deadline. Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Loves me...loves me not
Tired
Lita watched with uncharacteristic silence, leaning back and nibbling on one of her grandfather's apple-sized cherries. She kept looking back and forth, and her expression betrayed nothing except pensiveness.

Unlike most of the events that had happened over the past few months— or even over the past few weeks— this was a situation that was somewhat familiar to her. It was almost amusingly like the custody court hearings and meetings that she'd been to so very often in her formative years. She knew her part— they would keep on talking, halfway as if she wasn't there, and she would sit there quietly until her opinion was requested. She would eat at whatever snack provided, or possibly read a book or draw on something as she was meant to be distracted throughout most of the conversation. Until she was eventually addressed, if only for the older people to acknowledge that yes, of course they were aware of her continued presence, they just chose not to act on it.

Being the subject of a conversation and being a participant in it at the same time was a rare occurrence, after all.

Her grandfather, was apparently a spy. And had been for some twenty years or so—No, that was wrong. If he went back to the first Wizarding War in Britain, it meant over forty. Though he said twenty years, so he was probably retired for some time. He didn't spy for a particular government, so much as a group, apparently.

A lot of pieces fell into place in Lita's head. Why he was a travelling businessman who also owned a magic objects and crafts shop. Why he travelled so much. A lot of the things that he had in the store's storage room, which he never sold. Why he'd taken her to places all over Europe for summer vacations. Some of the people who visited sometimes that he never introduced to Lita, and with whom he never met when she could listen in. It was surprising, certainly, but she wasn't all that shocked. She was too busy thinking to be shocked.

She thought of everything she'd known about her grandfather— things that were probably lies such as that lecture about dragon blood uses that he wouldn't let her go to when she'd been nine. Things that were probably truth. Things that she'd never really thought much of like his remarkable fluency in several languages— they lived in Europe, most people were polyglots anyway. Or all that time he spent in the back room talking on the phone, after telling her he was going to be busy for sometime, when he often multi-tasked when talking to her parents on the phone.

Some deduction about Karla's place in the ministry— and her apparent place in a network of people that she imagined might have answered to Shacklebolt— let Lita realize that the predecessor they referred to was probably no other than Mr. Harry Potter himself, vanquisher of the dark lord and famous maker of promises that often times can't be kept. Who was now in jail... because he wanted to be. It wasn't as though he couldn't have disapparated the moment other aurors arrived. The mention of "1940" made her eyes grow large when it implied that the predecessor's predecessor was Albus Dumbledore (After all, who else had the resources, the ability, was heavily involved in the war with Grindelwald, and would have had Mr. Potter as an immediate successor while also having been involved in the past two Wizarding wars in Britain?). Or he would count as Shacklebolt's predecessor?

The lack of tangible fact as the two older people decided to not actually give her any context, as well as the names she thought of somehow really put into perspective for her what was happening. Also explaining both of their behaviours, and making her wonder how on earth she'd gotten into a mess that insurmountably large.

Then Karla brought up the Djinni, or Djinn, or just Jinn, as they were also called, and Lita's curiosity was piqued. She'd read about them, once or twice— in off-hand mentions that may or may not have been referring to something the author thought non-existent. She'd heard stories of the way they worked, and she'd seen a lot of mentions of similar yet differently named creatures in her Earth Magic class. Still... Lita didn't know anything about the Djinn. A great deal of the knowledge that people had collected over decades upon decades of discovery had been lost thanks to the library of Alexandria's destruction. After that, knowledge had resurfaced again, through trial and error and experimentation over hundreds of years, but was once more smacked down by the deaths and destruction the Crusades provided. And after that, Arabic wizards had said "screw you" to any and every European wanting to look into them, and that had been that.

Nowadays many thought they were a myth but... well, there were few actual myths in the world. They were often just stories that had been recounted to the point they seemed fantastical and amazing, but they usually had some real-life event inspire them. Or the authors were on drugs, which was the popular theory held by most magical scholars about how the Greeks came up with a sizeable portion of their stories.

A small and somewhat odd sense of pride filled her every time Karla called her talented. Lita had felt consistently out of place as the youngest, least experienced member in the group, so it was somewhat uplifting to think that she wasn't doing so bad. It was also troubling, but mostly the uplifting part.

Her grandfather's voice faded and he seemed to age a few decades in nanoseconds. Lita looked down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and sighed after a moment. She put the oversized cherry's seed on the table, on top of a napkin, having eaten it all in the time of the conversation. Then she just sat there, quietly. After what seemed like an eternity, she grabbed another cherry while she waited for them to come to some sort of conclusion, and began nibbling on it while she listened on.

She wasn't mad, or angry, or sad, or anything. She was too busy trying to process what it all meant— what it all implied, what would come next— to really have an emotional reaction to it, much less an opinion.

edited 2nd Nov '12 8:46:28 AM by Faramir

Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you can't sell him fish anymore.
The Man in Black
Clark looked at Browning. "I trust you can organize a defense against any magical nasties that might go after the Major's men?" He asked.
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
 2872 Firock Finion, Sat, 3rd Nov '12 4:41:49 PM from the Red Desert Get RP Mod Relationship Status: Wishfully thinking
THE SLORG!
Alex nodded, still not completely sure if he agreed with these commands, but it did seem better than before. He turned and headed over to Price, doing one last check of his gear along the way. "What about us then? Are we sticking together or should we split up and support other squads?" Alex asked Price, now at least confident that he was ready to go.
Actually, it's Euphinatrix.
"Err, " Olivia began. It was a rather eloquent beginning, 'Err'. It held so much potential in just one little sound.

"Err, " she repeated, trying to think of something to say. "Right, well. Um. Magical defense. I guess I could, " she stumbled, "but, err, purely magical defenses aren't exactly my department. I can heal up the damage, maybe blow a wizard or two into oblivion, but I'm not exactly a witch. I have a trench gun and medic supplies, not a magic hat."

She nodded when she was done. Nodding made everything better, gave the illusion of confidence, and served as an excellent unspoken punctuation mark.
"Have you been to Canada? We all work 9 hours a metric week in the socialism mines." -Fauxlosophe
 2874 Sabre's Edge, Tue, 6th Nov '12 11:55:34 PM from Her Majesty's Occult Service Get RP Mod
Otis
For lack of anything better, the engagement plan saw the various State and National Guard troops stay close to their hangars and the nearby flightlines, the better to avoid getting lost in the snowstorm, while Air Force troops swept the more distant locations; buildings and parked aircraft were, by consensus, the obvious targets. Price was back to his perpetual pre-combat scowl.

"Stay with this platoon, " he said. "They're right about getting lost in the snow. Your decision to form up with the different squads or keep our own unit integrity."

Inconspicuously and almost without explicit orders, Captain Wilkins had gotten Air Force and Guard personnel organized, matching up radiomen to maneuver squads. "Remember: there are many more American troops wandering out there, " he said. "Don't shoot them by accident." At a last exchange of instructions with the senior NCO, Wilkins joined the "command group" of the Unicorn personnel. Quietly, to Price: "Should you warn them about the runways or shou—"

He was interrupted by the chatter of rifle fire outside the hangar, followed by the whump of a recoilless rifle, familiar to Fields from his own Guard days. Instantly the sergeant of the National Guard squad threw open the door and filed out with his men, helmeted heads and clicked safeties, one by one disappearing into the whirling snow.
I might be that one witch who decides to flood the barrier with dimethylmercury.
The Man in Black
Clark nodded. "As long as you're familiar with our counter-Whiskey tactics and can advise the local forces on them, you'll be fine." He assured her. "If not, then I'll go with the Major, but I'd prefer it if we could cover both options."
"Your mission is not to nuke the squid god." —Faramir
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