Downworlders [IC] [M]

[Swolligator]

Dylan O'Connell aka Derek Hoechlin

"What the 'ell is goin on?"

Manhattan, New York, United States of America
June 25th, 2013

Dylan looked up from his sniffing in time to see two men walking swiftly towards then, breathing in, he could smell the fragrant oaky odour they exuded, setting them apart from the pollenated air around them. They were both Fey, making the hair on the back of Dylan's neck stand on edge. Baring his fangs he let out a low growl, knowing full well this had been a trap set up by the Fey to capture them both; and he would not go down without a fight. It wasn't until he heard one whisper to the other "He's a werewolf." that he realised it might not be a trap after all.

"Welas sent us, you're supposed to follow us." The smaller one spoke in a rather effeminate tone, piquing Dylan's interest. He knew that Fey came in many shapes and sizes, but a Fey like this with that kind of voice, Dylan was sure he should have been born female. Still, he stayed rigid, muscles contorted and ready to jump if either of them did anything. But the weird thing was, they didn't seem like they were here to capture them, rather he was supposed to follow them.

"Ignore him, and any hesitation you might have about following us. I'm Demetrius and The Queen would have our heads if we did anything bad to ya." The taller one added in, at this though, Grigori let out a sigh, placing a hand on Dylan's shoulder.

"Down, boy," he spoke gruffly, "He's an emissary from the Downworlder population here in New York, he's here to guide us," Grigori talked as if he had met the man before, but in reality, he only guessed from the title the man gave that that's who they were, "…apparently," He added cautiously.

"But… but… I told you we were going to be kidnapped," Dylan whined, his eyes growing larger into a similar puppy-dog fashion following his brief and one sided conversation with the one who introduced himself as 'Octavos'. The kid talked too much, and smelt horrendously of Fey, but Dylan thought the boy to be nice, a bit too nice for his liking, but nice none-the-less. "They're totally gonna kill us, Grigori!"

Rolling his eyes, Grigori grabbed the whining boy by his elbow, pulling him backwards through the reflection of the sunlight like it was something he did every day, and the two soon went from the brightly lit day of central park to what resembled someone's play dungeon. The stark contrast hurt Dylan's eyes for a bit as they struggled to readjust, but he could soon see a collection of other's around his age closer to him with four prominent members sitting up on seats like some sort of royalty.

"What the fook is goin on 'ere?" He said rather loudly following the rather aggressive conversation the four prominent members had amongst themselves, presumably about himself and the others that looked just as surprised to be here as him. "Hold up, what da hell is goin on? How the hell are we suppose to summon a demon?" He said rather loudly.

Girgori tried elbowing Dylan in the ribs to shut the boy up, but it didn't work. "I mean, I only flew in the otha day an' already I'm being kidnapped by fookin Fey, and who the hell are you guys? Sittin up there in ya seats, don' I get one?" Dylan was getting more lost widly by the second, overwhelmed even, he knew little about how the Downworlders were run in Ireland, much less the democracy here in New York, and Grigori wasn't surprised the pup hadn't been killed already.

"Dylan, heel!" Grigori growled, grabbing the back of the boys' shirt to restrain him from walking forward and getting his throat ripped out by the Prudent One.

"What the 'ell is goin on?!"​

 

[SV]

Agent

There were few Shadowhunters who have had the...privilege of spending a large quantity of time with the Inquisitor, and therefore very few who truly knew his tendencies and reasons for his actions and words. The nameless Shadowhunter would have liked to think he knew more than most, but even he could only guess as to the messages behind his words. In the present scenario, for example, the group was presented with choices for what missions they were to go on, and only after did the Inquisitor reveal that it was he who would decide for them. Even with him barely knowing the man, the Agent assumed this to be an assertion of his power, a reminder to the group of who was pulling the strings. Such an action might seem superfluous to some, such as the nameless Shadowhunter, who had known his place and had no intention of deviating from it. Yet there are those within the group itself who might not have been as devoted, and thus Agent assumed that if this was his purpose, this statement was made at specific people within the group, such as Thane.

Of course, there may have been other reasons for him doing so. Another assumption he had was simply to display to the group that their missions did not have maneuvering room. There were no options. There were no choices, benefits, or anomalies. There were only those who gave the orders, and those who had to carry them out. Because the Law is hard, but it is the Law.

Whatever the reasons for his actions, he knew there was purpose behind his words. The Agent didn't believe the Inquisitor was a man who wasted people's time with redundancies. So without much debate, the Agent picked up the file, read through it carefully, and placed it back down onto the table. With the knowledge of what to do at hand (what little information was provided), and with the Inquisitor's parting words, the meeting appeared to be wrapped up. And then the fiery Samara Ashtower decided to wrap it up in a fungal, murky bow. Throughout the meeting, the Shadowhunter was quite observant of most people's behavior, but perhaps most especially the Ashtower Shadowhunter. Her very first statement, in which she remarked on the group's expert level was the beginning of his inner concerns, but the post-meeting speech that followed almost confirmed them. The success or failure of the group would depend primarily on how well the group would be able to work together, or at its most minimal point, tolerate each other. The way one would bring themselves to the pinnacle of success is to adopt a model of maintaining the highest level of efficiency. Efficiency is reached when the least amount of flaws were persistent. And by his estimation, each member had their flaws.

But some were more flawed than others.

As Samara began her own statement about being in charge, the man had already begun exiting the room. He had no interest in listening to the tirades of a co-worker, but neither did he wish to confront her about it and cause a public problem before one would truly develop. However, by now the Agent had already made up his mind on what he would do. He would perform his duty as he would always do. He would follow his orders and execute his orders with the highest levels of competence and productivity. In order to reach the highest possible efficiency, all flaws must be omitted. In this case, the largest flaws must be eradicated. If upon the battlefield a situation would present itself whereas the elimination of a flaw would present itself without the possibility of detection, he had decided that he would take that opportunity.

And perhaps it would be for the best. From what little he saw of her now, she did not fit into the schema of his ideal group. Thus, for the good of the mission, the good of the Clave, and the good of their world, Samara Ashtower would likely have to die.

 

[Skymin]

Oliver Wells/Lucas Pattinson (Werewolf)

Manhattan, New York, United States of America
June 25th, 2013

Oliver blinked at the arrival of the newcomers. He immediately smelt the wolf on them and felt a little more at ease. Hopefully, they were nice wolves. Plus, this meant they outnumbered the vampire, thank christ. Well, the vampire didn't seem to be a bad guy but... eugh yuck, Oliver couldn't believe what he was thinking.

He was soon distracted from his thoughts by the entrance of several other Downworlder types; first, two bats (which then turned out to be two vampires. Great, more of them), then werewolves (though Oliver wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scared. That beefy man seemed... a lot scarier than Rhett could be), a warlock (from what Oliver could tell. He hadn't met many at all) and... the fourth throne was empty, until someone told Suren to take her seat. A Seelie Queen? That sounded important.

Welas then introduced everyone, the vampire as Ingrid (the Prudent??), the werewolf as Gareth, the Warlock as Asgar and of course, Suren as Suren. When Welas introduced Oliver, the vampire, the other werewolf (who hadn't introduced himself yet) and Suren. The head vampire seemed pretty angry. And then...

"And you two, three entered my city without informing me. I should tear your throats out and feed them to my pups you ungrateful bast-"

"Eep," was the only sound Oliver could let out.

"Dad!"

"You, there boy or you." He pointed at Olvier, then at the other boy. "You like girls, eh? Guess what my pack legacy ends with my boy here. He should be standing behind her." Suren? "They're both fairies, get it?" Gareth exploded with a boom of laugher. Oliver cringed. Was that... Oliver wasn't too up to date with the whole 'politically correct' thing, but wasn't that a mean thing to say to your son? Oliver didn't dare to open his mouth in case Gareth bit his face off. "Did you not find my joke funny? Laugh pups, laugh."

"Hah-ha-heh... ha." The noises coming out of his mouth. Rhett rolled his eyes from behind.

There was a bit of formal mumbo jumbo, some shouting, mention of the Nephilim (Oliver felt a shiver up his spine. Man, those Shadowhunters could make him feel more awful than a Vampire could sometimes) and Welas began to mention his parents. Right, he didn't really remember his parents (what was there to remember? They died when he was so young) and the... Inferno Artifacts. That sounded important.

It all got a little tense when someone mentioned summoning a demon. The vampire was first to explode.

"...A demon? How the hell are we supposed to summon a demon? And why do we have to do it? I have important things to do, I can't waste my time playing Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of fairies, warlocks, vampires, or werewolves." He emphasised on the werewolf. Oliver made a face. He didn't really want to be around him either.

"What the fook is goin on 'ere?" Oliver blinked, the newcomer finally talking. So he was British? Scottish? Somewhere in the United Kingdom. Cool. International Downworlder. "Hold up, what da hell is goin on? How the hell are we suppose to summon a demon?" Oliver had to agree, but the guy didn't stop there. "I mean, I only flew in the otha day an' already I'm being kidnapped by fookin Fey, and who the hell are you guys? Sittin up there in ya seats, don' I get one?"

Well that didn't sound very... uh, humble. And his guardian didn't think so either.

"Dylan, heel!"

"What the 'ell is goin on?!"

Oliver looked back at Rhett, whose stern look had a tinge of worry. Oliver had never summoned a demon before, nor had he seen anything like it. Or at least knew somebody that knew about it. He knew about demons, but the fact people could summon them just sounded... well, either unbelievable or stupid. Demons were bad guys, right? Who wanted one in their living room? Or in this case, throne room.

"Rhett?" Oliver's tone matched his guardian's face. Rhett gave out a little sigh.

"Just... just do what you think is right."

Oliver turned back, swallowing. Of course, he had no idea what was right. Summoning a demon? It did not sound easy. Then again, this was all to do with their parents and getting these... Inferno Artifacts. And that was what his parents... wanted him to do, right? He pulled the letter out of his pocket and gripped it tightly in his hands. He didn't object, letting the others sort out their quarrels before they 'summoned a demon'.​

 

[Legend]

Thane Everstorm- New York Shadowhunter Institute

Thane found himself rolling his eyes throughout most of the meeting. Whether it was people picking missions (or not picking them) or his father's insistence on exercising his authority, Thane was over it. He just wanted the meeting to end, his job to be assigned and the freedom to do whatever he wanted for the rest of the day. He had better things to do than fail unassigned tests or hear prolonged speeches from people who clearly fell upon some delusion that they were better than the person sitting next to them. What was with everyone in this room and having an inflated ego? Thane thought he was bad, but the pride in this room was overflowing.

As Thane tried to lose himself in his own fantasies, his father slid another file to the center of the table. Like the other files, it was relatively vague. Demons had apparently taken refuge in some abandoned buildings, which the Shadowhunter intel assumes acted as a nesting ground. It was a fair assumption. One that Thane would probably make at first as well. Of course, the intel was limited. Thane hated reconnaissance. That wasn't the reason he was invited to this team however. If this collection of Shadowhunters was truly because they were the best in their respective fields, it was because Thane could kill. He could kill better than any of them. He was among the top assassins for a reason. And it was because he made other assassins' deaths look like an accident, as much as he wanted to. And could.

Inquisitor Everstorm saw himself out, claiming that this meeting took up too much time before inviting everyone to talk amongst themselves. Good idea Father. Truly. Leave a group of strangers alone in a large room and hope they get along. Let's hope we can ignore the fact we may die on an ambiguous mission you are sending us on.

"Let's get one thing straight, no name, daddy's little boy, and whoever you are. You do not give me orders nor are any of you leaders of this group, that's me. Respect my space, do distance yourself whenever possible."

Thane rolled his eyes and much his satisfaction he wasn't the only one who thought Samara's initial "greeting" to the group was less than inviting. Agent was his name, if Thane bothered to remember it correctly, and he simply walked out of the room as he was avoiding the conflict completely. That, or he simply did not care to make friends. Maybe he lived up to his namesake and simply was an agent of the Shadowhunters. He valued the mission at hand and not the drama that came with serving on a team of clashing interests such as this one. Thane was curious what thought process went through Agent's head, and maybe at one point Thane would investigate. But now, Thane had bigger issues.

Thane slowly clapped his hands together a few times demanding the attention of the entire room. "Aren't you precious?" Thane said with his signature smirk as he rose from his seat. "With an attitude like that, I'm sure we are all jumping at the chance to listen to your every command. I feel so motivated all of sudden!" Thane walked over to Samara, leaning on the table avoiding eye contact until a mere moment before speaking. He had considered emulating his father in his glare, but he knew with a fiery spirit like Samara such attempts at intimidation would fall on deaf ears. "But let's get one thing straight, you may be leader but does not mean I will respect you. You do not demand respect. You earn it. You can lead us, but do realize the moment you fail, losing your position as leader of this little squad will be the least of your worries." Thane got up, tapping Samara on the shoulder as a gesture of "good luck" as he took a position near the entrance.

"With that being said, how about more formal introductions? My name is Thane Everstorm and I am arguably one of the Shadowhunters' top assassins. I obviously specialize in killing, well, everything and anything, but I can do some recon as well. I am especially good at detecting patterns. What are your stories?"

 

[Kikpanther]

Clarice Soraruki

[h2][/h2]
It had been a test. The missions were nothing to have a fit over, they didn't matter. Only what the Inquisitor decided would be worth anything. The missions were obscure and the one he provided for them was no better. She kept her emotion hidden, but she was irked just a tad. Clarice was not a fan of tests and pop quizzes. She took the mission silently, there was no point in arguing. Her eyes went over the bit of information in a flash. She took in what she could. She was ready with what she had.

The Inquisitor left. Samara spoke.

Rudely too. Clarice did not appreciate her tone and neither did the two others. They acted before her, the chair getting up and walking away, while the big-headed son spoke a few words before following. Neither of them seemed to take Samara seriously. Clarice wondered how she felt with a reaction like that, or better yet, what she expected. What was Kosti thinking? It was a shame to only know one set of thoughts.

Clarice got out of her chair. "Tough crowed tonight, huh?" She said to Samara, following behind both Thane and the Agent chair. Their mission would start soon and it seemed like a good half wanted to leave now. Would Samara come along or argue more? Maybe she would learn a lot about her new partners before they even left just on action, but it seemed Thane, the big-headed son, wanted something more direct. He asked for introductions.

"You all may call me Clarice. Clarice Soraruki." She bowed politely afterwards. "My father is the head of the Tokyo Institute and I will be taking his place in the future. Combat is my specialty and I will soon be the best."