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Mel Grimson's Achievements

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  1. "Might." The Grim Creeper emphasized, eyes flickering up from the book he'd been reading. "And that frankly," Mel went on with upfront brute honesty, "is a stretch at best. I only asked him because he happened to show up at the pier, and I didn't have any better ideas." All right, perhaps he wasn't quite as skeptical as he made it sound about the 'Theurge', but the ex-soldier wasn't ready to go all in on oracles either. Maya sighed, and went for the wine bottle. It had to make hearing this better, right? "Okay. Who is this guy?" "Deacon Knight," Mel answered. "My neighbor. Kid who goes all in on video games, has that kind of weekly game with dice, wizards, and whatnot. Agreed when I told him he'd be meeting college girls. He's that sort."
  2. Mel drank down his coffee, mentally glowering over the situation. So in other words, there was no easy way to identify any supernatural beings, meaning hostiles could come from anywhere. Another unpleasant fact for the mental notebook. Mel also decided as a rule, to not get in a fight with mages. The only sensible option, if it came to violent conflict against a reality warper, was a sniper bullet from far away or a bomb with you far away. "Assume you're regular until proven otherwise." Mel informed Amelia. He certainly was - anything else would result in a swift grave. A memory of the past day - gray skin and a long pointed nose - struck him, and he realized there was a hole in what Kestrel was saying. "The goblins. Are they fae? They certainly weren't passing for human."
  3. "Cyborgs." Mel darkly muttered, taking another swallow of coffee. So one werewolf, Ravi most likely one of these 'Lost' from the sound of his story... What was clear was that there were still plenty of battles going on behind the scenes. Would guns even be of any help against enemies like these? If you put a bullet in the brain then that would surely still work. Right? If decades-long military experience didn't transfer over to this kind of war, Mel didn't fancy his odds surviving long. "If you get shot or stabbed, someone did something wrong, generally you. Doing it in the name of 'testing' is just dumb and crazy." Mel disdainfully commented. "Also, we're guests in Ms. Flynn's apartment. She'd be upset at us shedding blood here without good reason." "Um," Amelia tentatively asked, "so then would you really have-" "Without good reason." Mel repeated without batting an eye.
  4. "Persuading Maya to come along?" Mel asked matter of factly, before sipping more of his coffee. Kestrel's story offered a great deal more information, and important context for Mel and the others. Namely, that they were all apparently picked by spirit gods to fulfill an unknown mission. Except no one had made it out of boot camp, the supernatural world considered them HVTs, and Mel's unofficial boss was a vampire with a second position of possible authority over him in this Chosen arrangement. "If you'd recall yesterday..." "We're in her apartment." Kestrel gestured around them, as if that answered the question. "So she's willing to consider." Mel observed. "I'd rather not take her agreement for granted."
  5. "Does it?" Mel asked rhetorically, gun and eyes not moving in the slightest. The dark-skinned man did seem vaguely familiar. Intuition suggested to Mel that the man might have been at that gala. If so, and if he was telling the truth, that meant D'Sombra was in fact, a vampire. Given his eerie experience with the woman in question, and Brent's descriptions of her, Mel found such a prospect shockingly plausible for such. It would explain how she knew about the dreams in his head, if she could pluck it right out of his mind. If their visitors were being truthful and on the level, of course. He didn't have the info to judge that. "Kestrel?" The calm voice of the man behind them only confirmed to Ravi and Amelia that their lives were in Kestrel's hands at this point. If she was unconvinced, they'd both die of bullets in less time than it would take to say it.
  6. "I won't Miss Flynn." Mel assented to her request. That could have gone far worse, so he counted that as a win. Mel observed the napkin address Kestrel passed to him. Obviously, he had no idea what a Theurge was or what she meant by 'reading the bones,' but that was the price of pretending to know more than he did. The ex-Ranger's best guess about that cryptic comment was: 'show up, and something will happen.' Well, given the general lack of information and Maya Flynn's prickly attitude right now, Mel was good as voluntold, really. "Hooah. I'm on it." He said, rising from his chair. "Kestrel, Ms. Flynn." He politely nodded to each before pushing his chair in, polishing off his coffee and returning the mug to the tray for used mugs before departing for his assigned destination.
  7. Mel took in Maya's indignation - understandable still - and prepared to deliver his response when Kestrel jumped in. Upon hearing the torrent of words she put out, Mel had to strongly clamp down on the urge to groan out loud. That definitely wasn't much of a plan, and trying to offer booze with that kind of pitch wasn't likely to work. So he took a deeper drink of his black coffee, trying to pick his words with care. Of course, that had never been a strength of his. "Ms. Flynn, I didn't warn or talk to you because when they told me you were in danger, that literally was it. They didn't know more. If I went to you with nothing, I doubt your reception would be that much better than this. So I had to perform reconnaissance so I could find out, and I didn't until I met Kestrel today. And I wouldn't have done all this if I thought this to be mere hallucinations." Mel took another sip of coffee. "Ultimately, we're talking to you now. If you want nothing more to do with this, then we'll figure out how to resolve your problem without intruding into your life further, now that we know what the problem is." He scowled at Kestrel. "With an actual plan, not this piece of crap with holes you can drive a tank through. Since I am certain that this is the 'weirdest friend request' that Ms. Flynn has gotten, and probably the second-most myself."
  8. Mel regarded Kestrel, whom was quasi-panicking as she went on, and Maya, who very gingerly sipped her overheated chai, watching Kestrel while she talked. Given her initial reaction, Maya wasn't believing it still, and Kestrel desperately leaking her romantic history wasn't going to help, Mel figured. A moment passed, while he took a small sip of his black coffee, and thought. Mourne had gone down in his estimation, skipping off while giving the inexperienced - by her own description - Kestrel with naught by a nursery rhyme and a very difficult task. Sure, military intelligence was an oxymoron, but at these those things gave you something to start with, if only to be prepared for the complete opposite. And it did zilch to persuade Maya. So that begged the question, should he share his story? Obviously, Mel was not exactly comfortable doing so. Furthermore, Kestrel didn't know his story, beyond the carefully chosen (pun unintended, now that he considered it) words he'd given her. Mourne's 'Person' figured him to be closer to her end of the spectrum, rather than Maya's. Telling might well create an extra SNAFU. Fuck it, he'd rolled the dice enough times going into combat, he could do so once more. "Here's my story, Ms. Flynn. Not long ago, my wife died, and I haven't dealt well with it. Then one night, I had this dream or... vision of my wife." Mel grimaced, before deciding he didn't really want to go into the specifics. "Suffice to say, I didn't tell anyone about it. Then, I met D'Sombra at one of the security gigs. She wanted me to work for her. I was reluctant, until she described my 'dream' in detail. I changed my mind, if only to get answers." Which happened the same night as Maya meeting D'Sombra, but Kestrel didn't need to know that. "Now, after that event where we crossed paths, I was contacted in my dreams. By a hoodie-wearing rabbit-man with a Jersey accent named Jack, and a big guy with horns and teeth like tusks named Seth. They told me you were in danger and you needed my help. After that, I started investigating, I crossed paths with Kestrel, started talking with her and she pointed out one of those goblins - then it saw her and ran." "That's the sitrep, take it as you will." Mel raised his mug and sipped more coffee.
  9. "Works for me." Mel agreed simply. "Since I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Mel Grimson." He offered his hand out to shake... but Maya didn't go for it. Between her not-touchy-feely New Yorker spirit, plain distrust for the man, and simply being at the utmost strained limit for the week, she just didn't want to. End of story. Mel withdrew his arm back without comment. He'd take what he'd gotten. "For what it's worth, Ms. Flynn, I'm going through it too." He gave her a nod. "Two-thirds of this stuff she's going to tell you, I don't really understand any better." More like nearly all, but he wasn't going to disrupt the image Kestrel had of him in her mind. "But I've seen enough to convince me this isn't just crazy nonsense."
  10. Mel exhaled out briskly. Now he remembered that night, Mourne intimating to Maya that she didn't belong at the gallery, and Mel had been ready to escort her out, only for D'Sombra to intervene. Mel admitted to himself that in Maya's place, he'd be pissed too. No point in pussyfooting around, the Ranger had to handle this straight, honest and clean. "I recognize how it looks and sounds, Ms. Flynn, I'd be skeptical in your position too. But please, let me clarify something. I don't work for Mourne. He was just the client for the night, nothing more." "Now," the grizzled man met the eyes of the much younger woman levelly, "I was warned you were in danger, by another pair of mutual acquaintances. A rather rabbity fellow named Jack, and his trollish friend Seth. I apologize for following you, but they were short on details, so I had to investigate. In the process, I ran into Kestrel, and figured we should introduce ourselves to you. That is why I'm here."
  11. Mel breathed slowly through his nose, as he began to evaluate the woman in leather. Hostile, likely military training. Armed with KC9, Model 1911 variant with 9 round magazines. Objective... scare, assassinate, or kidnap Maya? Truthfully, Mel had no idea who or what had sent the lady, or why. That should teach him for rushing off into situations on the say-so of a talking rabbit and big ogre. Mel's own equipment: Glock 19 with concealed inside the waistband holster, and a combat knife in an ankle holster. Environment: in the middle of New York City and a whole ton of bystanders. Likely the hostile would wait until a more secluded location presented itself. The important question, did she was she aware of Mel's presence? It didn't look that way, but he couldn't be sure. The temptation existed to pick up speed, but that would likely twig her to his own tailing. Surprise might be his only edge. Still, as the USMC's famous rules for gunfighting pointed out: 'decide to be aggressive enough, quickly enough.' He rolled his shoulders as well, in his case to loosen up his body. Half a minute later... "Excuse me," the female stalker found a tall, stern carrot-haired man standing right behind her, "but can we talk?"
  12. Way, way back in basic training, Mel remembered, there was a fellow rainbow named Bradley Roberts. Lanky guy, had a guilty pleasure for romance novels, and seemed to always get into trouble or have the worst luck. Everyone called him 'Hex,' since he was black and came all the way from New Orleans, so obviously someone had laid the voodoo on him. Hex would occasionally complain about stereotyping, but in a good-nature fashion, since even he could not deny the odds of being put on punishment duty for stumbling onto the same pair of DIs fucking twice in the same week beggared reason. Maya, Mel had concluded, made Hex look like a symbol of auspicious fortune. Every bit of small but constant ill luck added up and up until it became a towering stack bearing down on her. But also simply it sounded like she was surrounded by people who seemed intent on using her. That former boyfriend whose academic-sounding blathering only showed he knew nothing of life. The sister who clearly sounded less of a sibling than his brothers-in-arms back in the Rangers. At least the kids didn't seem like brats. And he was pretty sure that one kid was crying because she was sick and not suddenly scared by seeing his face. He'd just been sitting there, reading. Nothing for the mother to give him the fish-eye over. So while nothing seemed to justify Jack and Seth's warnings yet, everything just gave Mel the instinct something was going to happen, right? Perhaps if the watcher in the biker jacket showed up again? Mel took a bite of the hot dog he'd picked up from a vendor along the way, wiping a spot of ketchup off his face with a paper napkin, frowning. After encountering that rude toad, Maya was ready to explode like a C4 bomb. The former Ranger held no pity for the fool who tripped the detonator.
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