Hellboy in Limbo

Summary:
September 6, 2014: Hellboy follows Jericho into Limbo and meets the locals.

Limbo

<Location Description>


Characters

NPCs


Mood Music:


Limbo is… Well, it's Limbo. Jericho's fairly familiar which makes perfect sense if one knows that he's here a lot. It's also perhaps a little unlike a hell realm. The part they've arrived at is green. Not like, green rock and such. There's grass and bushes and trees and a clear, wholesome looking stream running through it. In the distance, about a three or four hundred yards away it looks more… traditional. The greenery gives way to parched red earth and jagged rock. The dividing line is so sharp that it could have been drawn with a straight edge.

Jericho is at the moment holding his side and panting. He got winged by a shot but that's the worst of it and frankly that's not awful by his standards. When the big red demon comes through the closing disk he blinks and stares, then groans in a rather put upon fashion. "Oh boy. Hey look, buddy, I'm grateful for you jumping in there and helping cover me, but you really, really shouldn't have followed me in here."

-

"Stop changing the subject. Eggs. Bacon. You owe me, wing guy." Hellboy snaps as he lands in the grass. He stands up straighter, taking in his surroundings with a jaundiced (and, of course, literally yellow) eye. "And yeah, I'll definitely stay behind and deal with the snipers while you go for a friggin' picnic. That sounds fair." Taking his time, he retrieves a cigar, then a zippo from his coat pocket and goes about the process of lighting up. During that time, the locals are going to be keeping their distance, but peering at him with a mixture of fear and awe. Hellboy doesn't let this get around much, but he's a major figure of apocalyptic prophesy. He tends to have unwanted fans in crowds like these.

"Where are we?" he asks when he's finally got something to smoke.

-

"Limbo. And you were safer with the snipers." The hacker sighs. He'd been hoping for a chance to catch his breath, but with this guy here the number one priority just became exfiltration.

"K'nert, we gotta go." The diminutive demon hisses at him with an irritated look at Hellboy. Jericho can't understand him, but he can guess. "Yep, I know. Closest one back to New York. How far." The little lizard-imp points in a direction and holds his hands in a manner indicating the nearest desirable stepping disk isn't exactly close. "Oy… Okay, come one. And watch where you step. You're walking on a dear friend's soul and I'd rather not redo a lot of work here." He's already walking. "What's your name, by the way?"

-

"Name's Hellboy," the red creature answers. As one might guess from the name, he doesn't exactly look intimidated by the prospect of a walk through Limbo. Unlike Jericho, he's sauntering at a leisurely pace, taking his time to look around. It might even start irritating the hacker, not that Hellboy looks concerned. "Your friend's soul should get a 'keep off the grass' sign."

A little procession of limbo demons is starting to form behind the group. They make no aggressive moves, but the noise of dozens of whispered conversations is easily audible.

Hellboy doesn't seem to notice. "This friend — Russian girl? Illyana?" he asks conversationally. "I think I may have heard of her."

-

"Oh? Who from? Also, walk faster. You see the guys behind you? They're not the ones I'm worried about." He's worried about the renegades. Of which there are armies and the territoriality of Limbo demons, he's well aware, frequently outweighs their wit. "You may not be concerned about getting into a fight here, but I'm not up to dealing with a small army of rebels today, 'kay?" And he's not so fond of Hellboy that he won't simply decide he's not worth it, either.

-

You might as well tell a glacier to hurry up. Hellboy has exactly one speed: his own. "You've got wings," he answers pointedly, now meandering a little bit so that he can get a closer look at plants, rocks, and such. "Things get hairy, just fly out of range and I'll deal with it." He doesn't answer the question about his source, but he does explain: "I deal with this kind of thing for a living. Those guys behind us yours, or Illyana's? They aren't keeping off the grass, either."

The demons he just mentioned have started to get a theme to their sussurrus: the words "Anung un Rama." Some are quietly chanting, and those words keep coming up. "Hey, shut it," Hellboy barks over his shoulder. They don't.

-

"Probably mostly Illyana's. For the moment. That'll change soon because you're obvious and then some of them will be less friendly. And you'll pardon me if I'm less than confident in your ability to deal with an army." He seems serious about the army thing. Jericho is himself checking things as they go. He's just doing it quicker. "Mmmmmm. Have to come back here. Place could use a bit more love and attention." He eyes one of the water courses. "Could have sworn I dug that out more. Damn changing landscape."

-

"So are you trying to free your buddy's soul from here or what?" Hellboy asks, still entirely conversational. Jericho's dire warnings of armies are definitely not getting through. He kicks a stone with a muted 'clop' noise. It flies a few yards toward the line of demarcation between sunny paradise and burnt-out wilderness. He would really like to get a better look at that, but wing-guy's cat demon doesn't seem to be headed that way. "I mean, you aren't acting like a guy who comes here to dig out creeks. You're kinda losing it. What's the deal?"

-

Jericho sighs, stops and turns to the - in his mind - incredibly dense demon following him. "I am tending my friends soul. Her situation is complicated and not something we need to go into now. I am also trying to avoid getting your big, tailed, hornless red ass embroiled in local politics if not killed, either of which would be bad for you, me and her. Secondary to that, I'm trying to avoid adding feedback burns to gunshot wounds, which is what will happen when the demons show up and I have to defend you." Note, not 'have to save you' because Hellboy does look like someone who can handle himself even if Jericho isn't really impressed by his bravado and doesn't really think he's up to handling three or four thousand of the damn things. He's seen first hand just how quickly 'a few' hostile demons becomes 'a metric sh— ton' of demons. No, clearly there's another reason he'd have to do that.

-

"We seem to be stuck together until your weird little buddy can find us another hole to jump in," Hellboy points out, gesturing at K'nert with his cigar. So he's at least picked up on how that works pretty quickly. "Seems to me like a pretty good time to talk."

The BPRD demon gives Jericho a long, evaluating look, quickly getting to the odd element in what he's saying. "No offense, wing guy, but you're kinda little. And I'm kinda hard to kill." Surely Jericho didn't think the snipers were missing a target Hellboy's size. "What the hell would make you dumb enough to jump into that fight?"

-

"As long as we talk and walk, that's fine. K'nert's already indicated that the place isn't close." Jericho starts moving again. "Okay, a few things, first, you can call me Jericho. Second, I haven't survived this place by being easy to kill, or easy on demons. Third, are you actually asking me that?" He glances over his shoulder, now sizing up Hellboy. The reasons he'd have to are hard coded into the local demons. The fact that Hellboy doesn't immediately understand is… odd. But then, Hellboy is clearly from another realm so perhaps it's not all that strange after all.

"Okay, let me give you the cliffs notes. Every demon here operates out of a perspective of dominance and strength, from the lowest imp to the biggest baddest stompiest guy around. If I back off from a fight and let you handle it alone, regardless of whether or not it's a good idea and regardless of whether or not you can in fact handle it - still not convinced you can do four to ten thousand of these guys by the way - it makes me appear weak and uncertain and makes it that much more dangerous for me the next time I come back."

-

"So, basically, you want to keep me out of the demon politics so you can have them all to yourself," Hellboy comments wryly. He does seem willing to walk and talk, and has even picked up the pace a bit as Jericho starts to reveal more. It's either positive reinforcement, or he's tired of looking at rocks. (Possibly 'ten thousand demons' made an impression, too.) "Demons I don't usually deal with on their own terms. Works great on fairies and ghosts, sucks with vampires, prophets, and anything from hell. Different strokes, I guess."

-

"In general that's wise, I guess." Jericho skirts a watercourse as they walk, following an increasingly nervous looking K'nert. "I'm here quite frequently though so not dealing with them on their terms is not an option for me. Presumably it will be for you since presumably you won't be making many more visits here… if any. It's kind of rude to drop in unannounced anyway. She tends to take exception to that kind of thing. To be fair, in Limbo it usually means trouble."

-

"She can take it up with your buddy, then," Hellboy says, waving his cigar at K'nert. "He's the one who opened the door." He glances back at the procession of demons behind him. "But these guys seem to like me. Maybe she will, too." He doesn't sound entirely delighted at the prospect. Demonic people who are really big fans spell bad news, in his experience. "But I'll be back, one way or the other. It always works out that way."

-

"She doesn't like many people." Jericho laughs. "But sure, maybe that'll work out. Though if you're this popular that could be a problem all its own. Politics here are a bit fragile. I don't really want to be putting down a rebellion of people who want to replace her with you. Anyway that's neither here nor there. The main thing right now is to… shit."

Jericho cuts off, rounding a corner to find that K'nert has pulled up short. A group of about a dozen large demons is peering at him and Hellboy.

"So you're the big guy eh?" The largest of the lot say gruffly. Demons are filtering in behind and around them. The hacker doesn't look happy. At all.

"Back off." He tells the demon.

-

"Ugh. Like I want to retire to a Star Trek backlot," Hellboy grunts. No interest whatsoever in the throne of Limbo. When their way is blocked, he clamps his cigar between his teeth and walks forward at the same deliberate pace as before. He's going to bump into their little welcome wagon if they don't get out of his way. Through the corner of his mouth, he answers, "You makin' a crack about my weight?"

-

"Smartmouth eh? This ain't about you, pet human, so butt out. The Darkchilde ain't our queen anyway."

Jericho's eyes narrow. This isn't his favorite part about Limbo. There are some things he actually likes about the place, but having to treat all the demons like High School Seniors isn't high on that list. "Rebels. Figures." That's more to Hellboy than them though. His traces flush blue and start to him. The demons back off a couple steps and take up fighting stances. Some of them have just claws, but others have wicked looking blades, axes or clubs.

"More moving in behind us. We're about to get real popular…" He says quietly.

-

Hellboy doesn't move fast, so people often assume he can't think fast, either. That's not entirely true: there are a whole range of situations where he can be downright devious. One of his specialties is gaining an almost instinctive grasp of the psychology of supernatural beasties from just a few subtle cues. Jericho said the limbo demons are obsessed with hierarchy, and then this guy described Trent as 'pet human.' So…

"Can I kick his ass, boss?" Hellboy asks, turning to address Jericho directly. That should put him clearly below Jericho in the hierarchy. Now the hacker doesn't have to worry about his status being diminished; he can 'delegate' the beatdown to an 'underling.' Not that Hellboy would ever admit to giving a damn, but so far Jericho's been reasonably helpful. In his line of work, it pays to reciprocate helpfulness.

-

"Go for it." Jericho says flatly. He's smiling internally. Ah, Hellboy get it. At least a bit. The moment the fight kicks off it's still probably going to turn into a melee, but that was helpful beyond any reasonable expectation. "Don't spare the gruesome details either." If Red picks up on it, that's a subtle cue that these aren't Illyana's demons and no one's gonna cry if he has to kill them. Particularly not because Jericho most certainly will if the group behind them decides to get involved.

-

"Hooray," Hellboy says without mirth. He's too close to the chatty demon for a firearm to do him any good, so he just raises the Right Hand of Doom to bring it crashing down on the creature's skull. It's a slow, telegraphed move, easy to dodge but ludicrously effective if it connects — which is to say, it's just like any of Hellboy's fighting moves. With his left hand, he draws the Samaritan. Now it's a fight. Big Red grins around his cigar. He loves a good fight.

-

Then he's going to love this. The Right Hand of Doom does connect mostly because the thing he's hitting is too stupid to believe that Hellboy would dare. After all, they've already seen one harbinger of the Elder Gods and weren't impressed (Scared, maybe, not that they'd admit, but not 'impressed'. To be fair, no demon is ever 'impressed'. At least not visibly) so what's one more. The moment it's a fight though Hellboy is getting rushed by several armed demons who are both faster and smarter. And hells bells if they're not strong.

Behind him there's a sudden harmonic thrum and the sounds of more fighting. IF he bothers to look Trent is gone… wait not, he's floating inside some kind of werewolf shaped field of light. You have to squint to see him though and in the middle of a fight is a bad time for that kind of thing.

-

The Right Hand messily cleaves the lead demon's skull. As he crumples to the ground, dead, one of the other demons grabs Hellboy's left arm. Usefully, this moots the BPRD agent's usual difficulties with aiming: he blows a hole in the thing's chest. "Boom!" he yells, with a child's enthusiasm for providing his own superfluous sound effects. The two that grab his right arm are more of a problem. The Right Hand is devastating once he gets it swinging, but that's exactly what they are preventing. He starts hitting them with the butt of the Samaritan. A third and fourth are rushing him from dead ahead.

-

There's more. The crowd seems to have gone from about forty to somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred in the course of about thirty seconds. Not that they're all rushing in. Most of them aren't but there are plenty of big looking nasties to swing axes and… belch acid? That's absolutely what one of them is doing at Hellboy. The sounds of fighting behind him are starting to include wet tearing sounds. Something kind of goopy hits his tail. Ick.

-

"Gross!" Hellboy yells as the acid sprays all over him. It starts eating away at his coat, but either his skin is too damned tough or he's regenerating faster than it can dissolve him. When he wipes the stuff off on the demons who are gnawing on his stone arm, they start to scream. Guess their regenerative abilities aren't quite as keen as his own. The two ahead seem less keen on rushing him, now that he's covered in agony sauce, and he takes advantage of that moment of hesitation to raise the Samaritan and squeeze the trigger.

It jams. Figures.

He casts it aside, then raises his stone hand just in time to block an axe swung directly at his head. He grabs the weapon with his left hand and kicks its wielder with a powerful hoof. Now he has an axe! His coat finally falls apart and flops off his back, and he bellows an Earth-shaking challenge at the onrushing horde.

-

Right about that time a spear passes over his left shoulder and impales a goat headed monstrosity in the throat. There's about twenty or so dead demons now, all of them fairly large. "Hit 'em. They'll lose their nerve. This isn't going like they planned." Jericho's voice can barely be heard over the fighting, but it can, at least, be heard as the horde rushes them yet again, shrill battle cries piercing the air.

-

"Hit 'em" is about the most unnecessary advice Hellboy has ever gotten. He's already swinging his borrowed axe in wide arcs, felling rank after rank of demons like so many saplings. There are a half-dozen halberds sticking out of his torso at odd angles, as well as a javelin and even a couple of swords that were wielded by opportunists taking advantage of the long windups between strokes. He slices the projectile vomiter in half, causing it to explode. Burning acid flies in all directions, sowing chaos and misery among the horde. The front ranks are trying to flee, the back ones pressing forward; the attackers are in total disarray, and many are being trampled or crushed by their own allies.

Hellboy's eyes are alight with fire. His breath has become smoke. He stands at his full height, the slouch he wears to seem human forgotten. He hasn't gone full-on demon prince quite yet, but saying so is only a testament to what a horror he would be if he had.

-

To this Jericho adds a final touch. His wolf-field switches off, being replaced with wings. Turning he tosses a handful of pennies into the air and flaps both wings hard. The copper coins turn into copper projectiles, pelting the demons with all manner of painful wounds. The uncertain crowd becomes a rout. In less than a minute they've all found bolt holes.

The hacker steps up next to the now coatless Hellboy. "Rebels." He snorts.

-

The stumps of Hellboy's horns are glowing golden as the monsters flee. His axe hangs limply at his side, his stone hand rising slowly to clutch at his head. He stoops, stumbles, and kneels, his weapon clattering as it falls to the ground. His shoulders heave, his breaths ragged and deep. There's a rosary dangling from his belt; it's steaming.

After about half a minute, he turns to look back at Jericho. It wouldn't have seemed believable a few moments ago, to see the destruction he wrought, but now his expression is vulnerable and downright fearful. His demonic aura is gone, his fragile humanity back in place.

-

The look on Jericho's face is not unkind as he regards the reeling demon. He gives Hellboy a chance to get himself under control though. It seems that he… knows something of how this works though how that could be is an excellent question. "You okay?" He finally asks quietly when Red seems to have himself back and all the demons but K'nert are gone.

-

Slowly, Hellboy gets himself upright again. "Fine," he answers, in the worst imaginable imitation of a casual tone of voice. "Dropped my gun, though. And my cigar." Remember, kids: only you can prevent Limbo fires.

He starts yanking bladed weapons out of his body, wincing in considerable pain each time. He's bleeding, too, although a slight sheen is the only way to pick out the bloody spots from his normal skin color. "Will that keep them off our backs?" he asks as he tosses aside a rusty scimitar covered in his own blood.

It's very likely that K'nert is going to be completely awed by Hellboy's display of power. Demons are really into that sort of thing.

-

K'nert hops up onto Jericho's shoulder and hisses something that, for once, doesn't sound angry and derogatory. Jericho looks over. "Oh you liked that did you?" The hacker's tone is dry as he lets his traces fade.

"That'll keep them off us for now yes. But we shouldn't dawdle. They'll just come back. Or someone else will take notice of you. There are plenty of pretty potent lords out there on the periphery, including this place's former master. I'm not eager for a run in and you seem to be a bit unique."

It's odd, the expression on Jericho's face. On the one hand his body language is closed. Untrusting. On the other hand he looks… almost sympathetic. That display of human fragility reminded him of someone.

"You said you were investigating Illyana. For whom?"

-

Hellboy has turned his bare, bloody back and is stomping in the direction K'nert was headed before the fracas. He doesn't want to make eye contact with Jericho after that moment of vulnerability, and he definitely doesn't want to see the pile of demon corpses he's leaving behind.

"I work for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. I'm assigned to New York to keep the demons and witches and trickster gods from getting out of hand," he explains. "If you're thinking I'm political again, you're wrong. I'm not pushing anybody's agenda."

-

"Alright. So you're looking into Illyana on behalf of the Bureau then?" Jericho is well familiar with black ops operations, but this sounds a bit more like paranormal law enforcement. Which by his tone, can really go eff off. Perhaps it's not the most politic tack to take, nor the most understanding but his dealings with SHIELD have, with one notable exception, left a bad taste in his mouth for the whole thing.

"She's not hurting anyone. Believe me if she wanted to she'd spend a lot more time here and a lot less time on Earth." Really, to truly screw people, she wouldn't have to even leave Limbo.

Just give up what's left of her soul."

-

"Yeah. When the local PD or the FBI or even SHIELD get in over their heads, somebody like me gets sent in to take over before their dumb asses start messing around with stuff they don't understand and make everything worse," Hellboy explains. His tone is no less terse than Jericho's. If his mood was bad before he got stabbed a bunch of times, you can imagine what it's like now.

That doesn't hold back a short, smug snort of a laugh. "That's what I told them. It's when your magician starts spending too much time OFF Earth that you have to start worrying," he agrees.

His tone darkens again as he continues: "But 'not hurting anyone' and 'never going to hurt anyone' aren't the same thing. Maybe she just needs to put down a demon rebellion. Maybe she needs protection or help. Maybe she's plotting to murder us all." He circles one stone finger in the air, indicating their current activities. "I'm investigating."

-

"Never going to hurt anyone isn't something even the regular cops can be sure of. I might go on a murderous rampage tomorrow, crash every network on the planet and steer satellites into every major capital in the world. Might. That doesn't give anyone any more call to investigate me than it does you to investigate her. If we locked up people for might we'd have full prisons and empty cities. Try another line. Not buying it." Jericho's familiar with the concept of preemptive defense. He even thinks its a good one, properly applied. As a matter of law enforcement though? Not so much. This is something you do to enemies. And of course if you're on the receiving end of it, that means…

-

Hellboy whirls, staring at Jericho with a hard look in his eyes. "You seem confused about what 'investigating' means," he snaps, prodding at the hacker with a stone finger. "It means I'm learning. Not that I've made up my mind. I sure as hell don't lock people up because they have powers." His mouth curls in a snarl, then he turns away and continues to march, his tail thrashing behind him. Something Jericho said there really hit a nerve.

-

"Oh I know what 'investigating' means." Jericho's tone is even, but his eyes have gone hard. "But you should listen to yourself sometime. You're investigating her because she has powers. You just told me that's what your people do. If that's not what you meant, you should have said something else. I've had a lot of run ins lately with people who think they have the right to 'investigate' and 'make up their minds' about people just because they can do things others can't. In SHIELD, actually, since you mentioned them. So if you don't like the look I'm giving you, you can thank them." Implied, clearly, is that right now Jericho can't see any difference between the two.

-

"I deal with problems," Hellboy says, his voice weary. "If I investigate and there's no problem, that's it. If I investigate and find a goddamn demon rebellion about to boil over, I get that dealt with." He shoots a golden glare at Jericho over his shoulder. "No matter how much bitching I have to sit through in the meantime." He clambers easily over a boulder that's in their way. "You think I'm being unfair, you're welcome to take it to a court and see how open minded your typical judge will be with a Russian demon queen."

-

"I'm wouldn't take it to court. I'd just start killing people." Jericho says matter of factly as K'nert sniffs around. The stepping discs in Limbo shift around from time to time. Okay, a lot actually.

"Besides we both know that your remit isn't technically legal. I dug around on you. You're Stormwatch which is black ops which, need I remind you, isn't legal on US Soil. We both know that your organization would never survive in open court, for which reason they'd never allow themselves to be taken to court. But that's neither here nor there."

"If there were a demon rebellion brewing here and she didn't ask you for help, frankly, and I say this with respect to a man who just helped me out a lot and kicked a lot of ass, you'd have no right to interfere. Nor would I under the same circumstances, for that matter. This isn't Earth. This isn't the US. Limbo is Illyana's. Hell, even I'm only here because she lets me be. Were she ever to tell me to get out, I'd leave."

-

"Well, a killing spree would sure give you the moral high ground. My mistake," Hellboy answers with a derisive snort. He doesn't seem to be taking the threat seriously, although he does turn with a look of irritated disbelief when Jericho brings up Stormwatch. "Christ — let me get this straight: I'm not allowed to take a look around your private demon-infested hell dimension to see if it's a danger to the city, but you can 'dig around' on me because, what, I'm red?" His chin juts forward and he points to his temple: think about that.

"The BPRD is a legitimate government agency; goes back to World War II. Wasn't my idea to put it under Stormwatch, and I may not have liked it, but that doesn't make us black op whatever you just said." He watches K'nert impatiently. "Not that you have a right to even ask, you dirty bad investigating person."

-

"You're mistaking me for a good guy. I'm not." Jericho smiles thinly. "I'm someone who a lot of very bad people want dead. They tend to send unusual people at me. You, my red not-quite-friend, qualify as unusual. So yes, I looked. It's not nice. It's not polite. It's a survival skill from a world that is its own version of hell."

Jericho sighs and looks around "And Limbo not my hell. That's the point. Nor yours. It's hers. And she's got trouble enough without the added hassle of people looking squinty eyed at her for things she might do. I'm not going to tell you that you can't look around here, but if you insist on doing so, I'll be on my way because I'm not going to stick around until something bigger than you finds you."

-

"Yeah, well, I've had some witches and demons and sorcerers try to kill me over the years," Hellboy says. He leaves out 'recruit' — he hates that part. "So if you want, there's my reason for getting to know any of those in my neighborhood." Two can play at that game. He taps one hoof as he watches for K'nert to spot a portal and pull it open. "Anyway, I think I've learned all I can from just running around. I'll just talk to her directly and figure out if there's something I can do to help."

-

"Mmmmm. That's the other thing that's got me a bit confused. You know she has a public dossier and contact info right?" Because if you know that why the hell dive into Limbo after him, Jericho wonders. "If you didn't… now you do. I'd leave a message at the DaCosta building with X-men Red. She'll get back to you eventually I'm sure." He'd consider giving out her actual address… but he's not sure she'd appreciate that and given that it's his address too, he's not sure he'd appreciate it either.

-

"I've got her contact info," Hellboy replies — so much for keeping Jericho's address secret. "She seemed to be doing okay on her own, so I haven't really looked in on her until now. But then snipers, and a demon, and a magic portal, and you yelled her name. Funny how you learn things when you follow life's subtle cues." The dry little joke seems to have spent what little social grace Hellboy has left: he turns to peer at K'nert. "We gonna stand here while that guy sniffs around all day, or is he actually gonna deliver?"

-

Now here's info Jericho doesn't actually mind giving out. "Stepping disks from Limbo appear and disappear at random, sometimes pretty quickly. K'nert can kind of anticipate them, but he doesn't have the same mastery over them that Illyana does. The snipers are not related to Illyana, they're related to me. And I usually require a second date before I give out that kind of information. Though if it helps, I'm relatively certain you weren't sent by them to kill me." Not like it really needs saying but at least he's acknowledging it. "Anyway, if K'nert is hanging around it means he expects…" As he's talking a stepping disc opens. "There we are."

-

Hellboy snorts. "That lady stabbing me was kind of a clue," he agrees. "Be seeing you." He steps through the disk without another word. If it seems rude that he's less than inquisitive about Jericho's sniper issues, well, it is. Snipers aren't really his department, and he has been more talkative than usual for the past few minutes. It might have been the lingering effects of whatever eldritch version of adrenaline pushed him through that fight, or wooziness due to blood loss. Now he's healed and calm, and also very eager to get back to a diner and chow down.

As he steps back into the mundane world, he reflects that at least Bill of Rights concerns are a novel objection to his investigations. Usually people see the hooves and don't bother getting into the heady philosophical stuff.


Back to: RP Logs

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License