2022-04-05 - Gateway

(TXT to Deacon Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn) Ava : Okay. So today is not the bear hunt. Today is just scoping around the area, trying to figure out some clues on where it's hiding, and how it got here. What is it doing? All of that good stuff. Those of you who are still in for scouting, meet up outside my place, then we'll head up to where the last group got-- well, eaten. Then we'll try very hard not to be lunch. Go team! Leila, don't forget the tranqs just in case we need them, bring the gun for it, Deacon is a great shot!

(TXT to Deacon Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ava) Ravn : I'll leave the maple syrup at home then, no need to entice the bear to eat us.

(TXT to Deacon Itzhak Leila Ravn Ava) Mikaere : I am pro not being lunch. Be downstairs in a mo.

(TXT to Deacon Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn) Ava : Who is driving? I'm still down a hand.

(TXT to Deacon Leila Mikaere Ava Ravn) Itzhak : I can take two or three if you're friendly. Meet you there.

(TXT to Ravn) Itzhak : Get drunk after? Or before, I'm not picky

(TXT to Ava Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn) Deacon : I mean, I'm a decent shot. I can also take a few in my Jeep so that works. Also...syrup always welcome. Just saying.

(TXT to ) Leila : I'll need a ride, I think. I have a bunch of tranqs ready Ava, for juuuuuuuuust in case!

(TXT to Ava Itzhak Leila Mikaere Deacon) Ravn : I'll meet you in Humptulips, then. Near the salmon hatchery, yes?

(TXT to ) Leila : Sounds good, I just uh, need decent suspensions so it won't aggravate my ribs.

(TXT to Deacon Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn) Ava : Sounds like you and I need to do a mutual heal party! Okay, see everyone near the salmon hatchery.

(TXT to Ava Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn) Deacon : Send me your address Leila. I'll pick you up along the way. By the way, who do I get to shoot to test the tranqs on? Kidding! Mostly...

(TXT to ) Leila : sends address because thanks Deacon! As for the tranqs, there is no harm in a little target practice...

(TXT to Ava Itzhak Leila Mikaere Ravn Deacon) Garrett : I'll meet you folks there.

Fast forward to the point where everyone is meeting up in the tiny town of Humptulips. The salmon hatchery that Ravn mentioned appears to be the driving force that keeps the town thriving, though it's further outside of town to the point that the roads are more dirt than pavement. From there, it's not that long a trek to the spot of a semi recent accident. The cars are already gone, but the obvious damage is still left behind.

"The cars are still impounded with the police," Ava offers with a little head bob towards Deacon at the mention of police. "But there's still a lot of gaps. We know that the accident happened. That there's a house that they may have been looking to see in that direction. That a body was dragged off, and the only reason the police on the scene were able to come away with even a single shoe was because as the body was being dragged, it came off, a fox found it later and ran with it." Ava is dressed for traipsing through nature in yoga pants, a sweater, and a low ponytail. One hand is still firmly bandaged up, held loose at her side.

"Those who can get a picture of moments and things might be able to get something from the crash site, so I figured that might be a good place to start. Also, I brought whistles for everyone in case we got separated. It's faster than texting. And louder. I know it's dorky, but safety first. There is a Nightshade Bear out there, right?" Whistles are dangled for people to take, multi-colored strings for people to chose from.

Mikaere's been relatively quiet, on the trip out here, and now, too, as he takes his first few steps in to 'nature', and then the next few as well. These woods aren't the forests he's used to, and he's suitably cautious-- even if this is not (yet) the deepest of those woods. His cargo pants are heavy-weight, and so too is the canvas jacket he wears over his sweater, and the boots on his feet. He takes a whistle, looking only mildly rueful for it, but he's game: it gets hung around his neck for easier access (and no doubt, a show of good faith, too): ready for anything.

Ish. Maybe.

There's a number of unfamiliar faces in this group, but Mikaere doesn't offer immediate introductions; instead, nodding at Ava, he says, "I can give that a go-- the crash site, I mean. It's been an age since I even tried, but." He doesn't wait fur further discussion: he's said he'll do something, and so that is, indeed, exactly what he'll do.

He crouches, dark eyes considering the disturbed earth, tracking it forward to the place where-- it seems-- everything ended. He shuts his eyes, grimacing in a way that suggests he's not especially looking forward to this, then presses his palm flat upon one of the furrows.

During the car ride, Leila is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, upon discovering that Deacon's day job is being a cop, however, the woman becomes a bit more reserved; maybe its the idea that he has the power to arrest, maybe its something else. Still, she introduces herself to the group as 'Leila, the veterinarian' and listens intently to Ava and nods as she grabs a whistle, draping it around her neck. Stretchy jeggings and high boots keep her legs free from any thorns or brambles, while a long-sleeved shirt and puffy vest keeps her warm. Her dark hair has been pulled up in a messy bun, and she carries a small khaki colored rucksack that she swings forward with huge wince, and opens to pull out a thick, plastic gun case.

Opening it, Leila shows them a long-barreled handgun with a bunch of tranq darts ready to be loaded. The barrel is incredibly thin and needs to be screwed in, giving the weapon a rather funny look. "Be very careful with the darts, they are heavy-duty to take down a big bear..." She trails off a moment before shoving the whole case towards Deacon so he can grab the weapon, "I was told you're a good shot," she tries to flash him an wicked grin, though there is a bit of a tightness there. "You get dibs."

Itzhak shows up without any extra equipment at all. No weapons or armor, for her commands a thing that serves as both. He swings down out of a big glitter orange pickup, turning up the collar of his peacoat. Smirking in wired, tired amusement at Ava, he takes a whistle. He looks exhausted or possibly hung over or both.

"Love the pants. Point me in a direction." Glancing at Leila, he hesitates (at the dawn of time, he had three toes on each foot and he dug Shrew out from beneath a burning branch), not sure if he recognizes her. "... You treat reptiles?" he asks her.

He spots Ravn's motorcycle before he spots him. Itzhak blinks at him, looking him over. "Buddy, you look fantastic."

Ravn's already there on Kirkpatrick Road when the cars arrive. Leaning against his vintage motorcycle, crash helmet hanging off the handle, the tall Dane is in jeans, boots, a simple shirt, and the leather jacket with a bullet hole in one sleeve. He could be the poster boy for vintage motorcycles -- or a James Dean impersonator. (The plastic cigarette does detract a bit from the look but hey, can't blame a bloke for trying to quit).

He glances at the one unfamiliar face as the cars arrive, and does the math; this will be Deacon, the police officer friend, then. A nod goes towards the man, and everyone else, and then Ava is handing out whistles and laying down the outline for the job at hand. Ravn pockets his plastic cigarette and tucks his whistle into a pocket. He's no scout, and tracks will have washed out in the weeks since the disappearances -- but he did hear about them, the missing real estate agent and the four Fish & Wildlife officers who disappeared right off this road. The Gazette made quite a bit of that one shoe.

The real estate agent's family asked questions at HOPE. Of course they did; where to go but the community centre, when you're looking for a missing person? Couple of police investigators did too, and for the same reason: The homeless and the destitute that come into HOPE asking for help have eyes and ears.

He did not bring his own firearm. A 9mm Glock against what might be some enraged Veil monster? Might as well throw twigs and leaves at it. Nor does he possess talent like Mikaere's, to sense what went before. All he's got is a PhD in stories.

Just a little later than the rest, Garrett pulls up and hops out of his jeep. Sturdy, khaki cargo pants, dark brown canvas coat, and a small day bag with a drinking tube leading out of it make up his ensemble as he approaches. He glances around, recognizing about half the crowd, offering polite nods to folks as he reaches for a whistle. "Good call," he says, a quiet murmur of approval at the simple precaution. That's all he says, though, as he steps back and waits for the plan to be laid out.

Deacon is used to it. He accepts that his day job may get a few reactions and doesn't let it change how he talks to Leila. He may even let her pick the radio station, though that requires it not to be a Country station. That is his one veto power. The Jeep is newer, though not brand new. It has the back up camera though which is nice for when he's in a hurry. Hopping out of the car, he reaches over and opens the back. As people are getting ready, introducing themselves, saying hi, etc, Deacon goes ahead and slips to the back of the Jeep. He pulls out a jacket that says 'Police' on the back, a nice windbreaker type, just in case it gets wet out there. He also takes the time to slap on his protective vest that goes over his clothes, fastening it in place before pulling the jacket on. Last thing he does is slide his holster that's in a locked case into his belt before setting things right. He doesn't mind carrying his service weapon.

Taking the tranq gun he looks to it, loading up one of the darts before looking to the others. He closes it after loading up the one and keeps the dart gun pointed down. "I mean I was pretty good at Nintendo Duck Hunt growing up. Not too bad at carnivals either," he says in that way that is probably not nearly as reassuring as it should be coming from the police. He hops into step with everyone else though, content to have his role in this little adventure and fortunately it's not to lead unless he has to. Still, at least the group also gets a bit of authority if anyone tries to give them any grief while they're out. He hears Ava's mention of looking at maybe some of what happened in the past but as Mikaera leans down to handle that, Deacon contentedly lets someone else peek into the past.

"Thanks Mik. I have a vague direction of where we can venture. But if you're able to get a clearer picture, we can start from there. I know it sucks. I'm sorry." Still, he gets a thankful pat from Ava and her good hand, the other still bandaged. Whistles are passed out and Garrett gets a beaming smile for his murmur of approval. "Why thank you. I thought so. I know it's a little cheesy, but better cheesy than mauled to death by a bear, I always say." She never says that. Except just now.

It'z gets a smirk. "You would." Point him in a direction. She points up, smirk going wider. Then it's Ravn's turn for a whistle. "That's Deacon, by the way," she whispers to him, affirming his thoughts on the matter.

She's popping back over towards Leila and Deacon, Leila getting a squint. "Woman, why are you wincing so much? What happened to you?" A whistle is held out to her as Ava gives her a squinting, assessing look. Deacon is offered the last whistle with a brilliant smile. "I sucked at Duck Hunt. I always felt bad shooting those poor ducks. But I always wanted to shoot that stupid dog for laughing at me."

At the sight of Daw-er, Itzhak, Leila peers curiously at the man who stomped away in rage from her a few weeks ago, but now something else seems to tickle the back of her head. It takes her a moment before a slow smile curves her lips upwards as she gives him a look of gratitude as it 'dawns' on her. She begins to rub at her ribs instinctively as she reslings her rucksack, where (for the observant) her brace is wrapped tightly under her shirt and vest. As Ava catches on, Leila lets out a snort, "Would you believe me if I told you I had a pretty uh..fucked up Dream?" Of course Ava of all people would understand. "Pretty goddamn violent," she admits. "I'll be fine, just some bruises, maybe a hairline fracture."

The mention of Duck Hunt forces a chuckle out of the woman though she seems to be watching Mikaere curiously. Garrett gets a quick, "Hey," in greeting.

Itzhak is giving Deacon a side eye for all the cop gear. He knows it very well. But live and let live, am I right? He smiles back at Leila, tired and crooked. "We got beat the hell up in a Dream," he says, "it happens. You should see my scars."

He gives Ava a side eye, too, but this one is more amused. "Unless you expect ya bear to levitate, wrong direction." Delving into a pocket for smokes, he shakes a couple out and offers Ravn one. That's exactly what the asthmatic guy needs. A cigarette on a hike.

Mikaere is a nice guy: he doesn't object to either Ava's pat or her use of that nickname. Besides, it's probably enough to feel useful for once, pressing that hand in and frowning, his concentration focused much more on what he's feeling than on the gathered group. His hand jolts back uncomfortably after a few moments, and he frowns, deep and unhappy. "Not particularly helpful," he says. "In setting a direction. I mean, that's probably not surprising. But-- the blood was wrong. Blood-- well, no. Not blood. Shadow and fire. Deeply wrong."

It leaves the tall Kiwi with an expression of mild discomfort as he rises back to his feet, glancing around his companions with a shrug of her shoulders that is far less easy than the kind he's more used to offering. "I'm not sure that helps much. Hopefully we'll find something more useful, further, aye?"

Ask Ravn if he wants to trade a plastic cigarette for the real thing? Don't ask twice. Yes, he knows better. Bloody enabler, that Rosencrantz -- and they're outdoors anyhow, so what's the harm, anyway. "Getting your ass handed to you in a Dream happens on a kind of a regular basis around here," the Dane murmurs. "Or, well, it does to me, anyhow."

The area immediately surrounding the tree on Kirkpatrick Road is nothing much to look at. It looks a lot like the police report that at least some people present have had a chance to look at -- the first dandelions and spring flowers are starting to peek up and eventually grow over the tire tracks, but it is not difficult to see where real estate Denise Chatham's SUV skidded and eventually hit the tree. A few bits of glass from her windshield still sparkles amidst a couple of early triliums, bright white petals breaking up the shade.

There are other tracks. The police report mentioned two vehicles belonging to the Fish & Wildlife Officers; those are still impounded for further examinations. Other tracks were found -- and are still faintly visible in the undergrowth -- of vehicles presumably pulled over by those four missing F&W officers, looking for Denise Chatham. None of them have been identified. A Mr Jackson from Hoquiam called in to say he was stopped on his way home and asked if he had seen Mrs Chatham walking along the road somewhere; he had not, and he was waved on his way. At least one of those vehicles was a heavy truck; possibly belonging to some local craftsman or forester who sometimes needs to move a bit more weight than can be crammed into the back seat of a family car.

The single size six boot identified as belonging to missing officer Mike Rowlins was found a bit down the slope, towards the river, where apparently, a fox had dragged it. The fox presumably did not pull it off the man's foot; it must have come off while he was being carried or dragged. The incident report did mention tracks of bear or wolf. Neither have been spotted.

As far as everyone else is concerned, it's just a glade on Kirkpatrick Road, just off the salmon hatchery. There's nothing threatening or ominous about it save the obvious scars on the road tree that grew a surprise SUV. A few flowers die at its base; locals, possibly friends of Denise Chatham, perhaps assuming that she may not be seen again. Given that she disappeared on February 19 and all five missing people have been gone for more than a month, they may be right.

"Fire and shadow," Ravn murmurs, perhaps hoping to put that PhD to use now that he's boasted about it. He shakes his head. "That doesn't really give us anything much to go on. Dr Brennon said Hawthorne talked about nightshade bears. That's a cryptid -- unique to the Ozark Mountains which is pointedly not here."

The folklorist looks at Itzhak. "And so's your white moose from Maine. Bit weird they turn up here -- Washington State is sasquatch country, and half a dozen sea monsters. And, heh -- the agropelter. Basically, gorillas that hide in dead trees to murder lumberjacks. The boys at the lumber mill tell a lot of stories about those, to an out-of-towner like me."

Deacon isn't unaware of the glances and such but he doesn't let them phase his good humor or willingness to help. Everyone has a story to tell if they want to and he doesn't know everyone's here. He takes the whistle and puts it on. before listening to the information from Mikaere. Though the info and then Ravn's additional information makes for a bit of a conundrum to figure out. "Any idea the type of habitat nightshade bears prefer? Darker or lighter? Colder or warmer? Closer to water or further away? May give us at least some idea on where to start looking for a den or where it may be hunting for its meals."

It's a thought at least. Trying to get the idea of where to go other than right at the start of the clearing as a possible heading.

"You asked for a direction. You didn't say I had to be reasonable about it," Ava offers Itzhak with a nose scrunch. MIkaere's description seems to take the fun out the moment as a frown sweeps across her features. "So the bear was bleeding, then? Which means it's injured. Would that mean it would stay close or try to move further out? If it were a normal bear, anyway?" That question is for Leila, who Ava is moving up on again, that green in her aura already sparkling.

"Want me to give you a little spot of healing before we go? Just in case there has to be running for our lives?" Seems like something you want to be in top condition for.

Ravn's 'Dr. Brennon' instead of Ava earned him a frown and a verbal, "The hell?" before she moves on to, "That may work with the theory that someone is letting them loose? Or something is going wrong over There if we're getting numerous out of place Veil animals. How are they getting out if not being let out?"

She may be aware of the glances towards Deacon as well, because his arm gets a little squeeze and he gets a bright smile from the doctor before she grabs a backpack from the car and tugs it on, looking ready to roll.

"Nightshade bears," is something Mikaere has heard of, in recent days, but that doesn't mean the term means anything to him. He shakes his head, wiping his hand onto the fabric of his cargo pants, though there's nothing on it: emotionally, these things can linger, after all. "Something was bleeding," he agrees. "And since it definitely wasn't a normal animal-or-person, as far as I can see, I guess that makes sense. What makes a bear a nightshade bear?"

"Ozark Howler," Ravn murmurs in response to Mikaere's inquiry. The folklorist has an answer to that -- because of course he does, that's literally his academic field. "It's a cryptid, from the Ozarks mountain range -- Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma. A kind of gorilla bear monster of which the main characteristic is that it howls, hence the name. Nightshade bear is one of the terms for it. There's a couple of other names, some of them talk about panthers -- but the point is, this thing howls. And eats people."

Itzhak wrinkles his impressive nose. "Washington has lame cryptids, other places get dinosaurs and we get, what? Freaking Bigfoot."

He has an answer too. "Haggleford. He's bringing them over in some kinda quantum spin off. Applies to him too, so when you toasted him, the actual him didn't give a fuck. That white moose, it got killed by lightning, but then there were two of it. Alive and dead at the same time."

Sufficiently bored of not getting into trouble, he tucks his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and starts tromping towards ...clues, hopefully.

Ravn accepting a cigarette from Itzhak is enough for Leila to pull out her own pack from her back pocket. She pulls one out and places it between her lips before digging back into that pocket for a lighter. Her dark eyes flick towards Ava and the woman manages to mumble around the filter, "Injured bears can go pretty damn far. Their hide is incredibly thick. Would take a lot to make them bleed. So if it is the Veil Bear's blood then that may mean its got some significant damage. But...considering this isn't your average bear, fuck knows whats happening." She frowns before dipping her head into the lighter. Once her cigarette is lit, she takes a long drag then exhales the smoke out roughly. "Gorilla bear...fucking hell, that's another creature that sounds like it was bred in the bowels of Hell."

At Ava's offer, Leila shuffles closer to her with a little grin, "If you don't mind? Would make running away a helluva lot easier."

"Haggleford." There's so much venom in the way Ava says that name. "He's going to give a fuck if I ever see him for real. That man is a monster." The green aura flickers in hints of red. Fiery. But it's back to green as the warmth of healing floods from her fingertips and out towards Leila. She just rests a hand on the other woman's shoulder for a moment. Ava frowns as she feels how little oomph went through her. "Sorry. Hopefully that helped a bit, but it didn't have my usual power behind it. Still a little wiped from my own Dream issues the other night." She holds up her bandaged hand.

Her head pivots to Itz and Ravn. "You guys were talking about the quantum spin off at the saw mill, too. Can you catch me, and everyone else up on that? Cause... what? To me fair I was dealing with a Moth Man at the time. But also, the whole two of it thing doesn't make any sense."

"Gorilla bear. Naturally..." says Deacon with a little amusement. He looks to the tranq gun and then back to the others. "Are you all sure that this is what you want me to go with?" He seems a little amused at this point. Cause you know...tranq gun vs. gorilla bear. "I don't suppose they've invented the fully automatic tranq gun yet have they? No...awesome." And so he looks as Ava holds up the bandaged hand, and of course the little healing exchange.

"You know, I'm starting to understand Ghostbusters better. Whether gorilla bears are really a thing or not, the fact that someone came up with it and told the story means we get to deal with it. I'm not gonna lie - I'd much rather deal with a Stay Puff Marshmallow Man than a friggin' gorilla bear. And if it asks one of us to be George, I call not it."

"I-- huh." Mikaere may or may not have been expecting that explanation; may or may not be surprised. It's hard to tell, given the set of his jaw, though he certainly does seem thoughtful about it. "Okay. Howls and eats people. And shouldn't be here, so we'd better find it and do something about that, I guess."

'Haggleford' means nothing to the tall Kiwi, but this time he doesn't ask the question. Itzhak's already started walking, and having found as much as he can from his touch-the-ground trick, Mikaere begins walking too. "May as well get moving. Talk as we go?"

A glance back, however, as him focusing just briefly on Deacon. Americans and their guns.

"Wanna trade?" Leila offers Ava a wicked little grin as she nods towards her hand. The initial healing certainly seems to help as Leila immediately begins to release some tension. Her hand reaches up to rub at her brace yet again before rolling her shoulders. "Oh fuck yes, that helped," she murmurs in gratitude before taking another drag from her cigarette. She blows the smoke away from Ava (and hopefully the rest of the group). "So you guys are saying what is dead may never die?" She snorts at that thought but then falls quiet as she realizes that the idea is very much a real possibility now. Fuck. She awkwardly begins to shift towards Deacon, the one with the gun. Oh now she finds comfort in cops.

"I mean, you still have your sidearm don't you?" Leila asks Deacon, her eyebrows quirking upwards. "The tranq is all I had at hand, but I'm guessing we may need more than one type of firepower." She glances down at her fingers as she remembers something, but then shakes her hand and tucks it into her pocket as she focuses back on the trek. "Is there any information about how to deal with Veil creatures? I mean...there has to be someone who did this before and found out that garlic or wooden stakes or wolfsbane works against them..."

"Haggleford," Ravn murmurs and acknowledges Ava's request with a nod. "He's the Evil Santa we saw at the lumber mill. That you killed at the lumber mill. He's been seen around a couple of times now, and there's always some cryptid creature that shouldn't be there, too. Insofar I can make sense of what his goons were saying that night, and what Rosencrantz said, he uses their energy, somehow, to open doors. The asshole is shifting goods and people somewhere, we know that much. And apparently, taking him out doesn't stop him because he's not really here himself, either."

He glances at Leila. "There's no one set of rules that work on all Veil monsters. Trust me, I've done that research. I'm a folklorist, it's literally my job to know the stories. But the rules are different every time, in every Dream. Outside of Dreams? I'm guessing whatever is supposed to frighten the cryptid in question. Unfortunately, no one's gone on record for bagging an Ozark Howler -- that's why they're cryptids, like Bigfoot or Nessie. If we had a slightly perforated Howler hide on display in a natural history museum somewhere it would no longer be a cryptid. Veil doesn't play fair like that."

The forest floor is overgrown; largely coniferous woods, the ground is covered in patches of spring greens competing with a thick layer of old cones and the thin, narrow needles that pass for foliage when you're a pine or a spruce. An occasional maple or birch mingle, but largely, this is dark and sombre woodland, home to elk, deer, bear, and other large forest animals.

And possibly, Ozark Howlers. Ravn glances at Leila and Deacon. Maybe it's not such a bad idea to have tranquiliser darts and if those fail, a firearm. "My guess is that since the thing originates from mountains, it'll go uphill. But it's got a month's lead on us so it can be anywhere, if it's still here. Can any of you -- you know -- abra cadabra, sense presences or ask the trees if they saw an unusually ugly gorilla come by recently, or something along those lines?"

Deacon wiggles his fingers as Ravn asks about abra cadabra. "I'm afraid my skills are limited to hocus pocus and bippity boppity boo. No talking to plants here," he says with a wry grin as he nods. At least he hasn't gone all Doc Holiday yet with the tranq gun. Give him a tea cup though and he's pretty badass. "Yeah...then. Up is probably not the worst idea but yeah that much time. If we can't talk to the flora and such there's always reverse tracking. Look for the places where there are no recent animal tracks because the smaller prey is staying the hell away from there. That'd probably take multiple trips to map out though and I don't know how many times we're going to be able to come out here like this without people getting suspicious."

He looks over at Ava. "Sus." He lets the word hang, "That's what the cool kids say now. Read it on Urban Dictionary." Cause you do have to keep up with the lingo when doing investigations to know what the hell people are texting about. Still...he smiles to Leila but doesn't say more about the possible change in demeanor.

"I did not kill him. He was still breathing when he went into that door to the other side. We don't know if he died over there. Besides it was just a copy. So it wouldn't really be death, right?" Right? That seems to be a big deal to Ava from the hint of panic in her eyes. Not killing people is kind of a big deal. "He was just roasted, a lot. Itzhak managed to put him out." She chews on her bottom lip for a moment and frowns at the ground. As Deacon glances towards her, she looks up, trying for a smile at his joke. "If you ever say that again, I'm calling you Deac for a whole day," is warned.

To Leila, "That's something Conner and I actually want to try to put together. A set of Bestiaries for the Historical Society. Assuming they don't get rewritten by the Veil a thousand times over. But, it'd be neat to put them together, see what information we can gather. That's why it'd be great if the tranqs work. We can actually get a good look." Her eyes move to the tranq, then to Deacon's sidearm. "I'm not sure the service weapon will be quite enough. If it is, yay, that's Plan B. But if not, Plan C? Leila and I shoot fireballs near it, try to herd it in a direction. Itz opens a door back to the Veil, and we try to shoo it in?"

As they pass a few pines, Leila couldn't help but kick one of them with a bit of a sneer curling her lips. Stupid pine. Good thing she is wearing a heavy duty boot or that might have hurt her toes. "Who knew you could make a living as a folklorist? With a whole city depending on you to save them. I knew I picked the wrong major," she flashes Ravn a grin. "So uh, anyone know how to talk to plants? Or animals?"

At the mention of fireballs, Leila's eyes widen as she suddenly bursts out with, "So I CAN shoot fireballs!" She pauses briefly as she realizes her outburst seems out of nowhere before she quickly adds, "I uh, had a Dream where I did and I wasn't sure if it was an actual possibility. I thought it was really cool though..." she trails off before taking another drag from her cigarette to counter-act her awkwardness as she moves on. "I do know I can break bones though, that's always fun," her lips curl up at the corners in a wicked grin.

Mikaere presses his hand to one of the tree trunks (a nice solid spruce, though he probably wouldn't be able to identify it as such), though not, this time, with the implication that he's trying to read anything from it: it's simply a gesture of physical touch, and of acknowledging this forest, so different from the ones he is more familiar with.

"Fire seems like a pretty bad idea, even if there's a reasonable amount of moisture around. You get forest fires here, don't you? Or is that just further south? But I can try and sense his presence, if he's in my range. I can speak to animals, too, sort of-- but I'm pretty sure cryptids don't actually count as animals."

His, "Hang on," is an after-thought, given the way he abruptly steps out of the path of others to lean up against a different tree (a pine, this time), and extend those mental feelers. What's wandering out in the woods today, hmm?

"My bad," Ravn murmurs to Ava; it's obvious he hit a sore point, and that was not the intention. He did not realise that the man they call 'evil Santa' was in fact still alive when returned to the Veil. Maybe he's played enough video games to assume that when somebody goes down in a wall of flame and then are buried under a roof's worth of snow, they rarely get back up. Maybe he's just happier thinking about that day at the old abandoned lumber mill as a game, somehow. He latches on to something else instead. "If you just plain write a bestiary it likely will get revised. Fiction is the way to go. Write a LARP. Write the monster sheets for a LARP -- anyone who matters will know the truth, and the rest will just think you're geeks. If no one believes you, the Veil has no reason to censor it."

Then Leila makes that comment and the Dane has to chuckle and shake his head. "I do make a living as a folklorist but it's not what you think. I'm a history teacher. I tutor veterans trying to get a Bachelor's from Copenhagen U. And honestly, if Gray Harbor depends on me to save anybody we're royally screwed."

Boreal forest proper is to the north. This is coniferous country, with rich undergrowth and the coastal climate drying out the air. Forest fires? With National Parks on three sides, this part of Washington State is not 'we get forest fires'. It's Only you can prevent forest fires, and by God, Smokey the Bear will slash your tires if you even think of dropping that cigarette in the woods country.

But not this time of year. Spring is wet and misty, and the most fire-like thing to make an appearance are the yellow backs of newts making their ways towards ponds and streams to mate (it's quite a sight and some other time, Ravn at least would have enjoyed watching the displays).

A nice, solid spruce leans into Mikaere's touch; growth-friend, walking-sapling, fast one.

Redwood? No, just an old spruce. The redwoods are nearly gone, thanks to the lumber industry and their slow growth.

Images of elk; roaming through the forest, grazing on the ferns and spring shoots, stripping the saplings of bark and fresh leaves. Fleeing from the walker-sounds, the human things, the lightning and blood-fire that the tree does not understand; it has no words, merely sensations of fire and blood and darkness. Right. WRONG.

Something came into existence; tall, white, but not a bear, it did not walk or smell like a bear. It ran towards the lights. And then, later, in the moonlight, it was carried back by walker-saplings, by men; it bled shadow and fire and cried in agony. Dead-saplings, down the hill, into the earth.

Humptulips River winds its way past nearby, through creeks and dells of the woodland. There are places, so many places, for a wounded animal to crawl to hide.

At this point, Deacon is more on guard duty than of any actual use to the investigation. His powers have mostly been limited to the case, and his knowledge of forestry outside of cooking a mean chili over an open fire is that he knows the number for Fish and Wildlife. So he's doing the next best thing he can and that's using the power of his miiiiind....to keep an eye out on things by being observant - listening, looking for signs of smoke or movement in the brush - that sort of thing.

"It's alright," Ava murmurs to Ravn. "I just... I didn't kill him. I hope. I didn't try to. Though, I'd say if anyone does deserve capital punishment for crimes against humanity, it's probably that man. But, we need information from him first. Lots of information. Because the things he's doing needs to be stopped. Permanently. To do that, we need intel." She heaves a heavy sigh deep through her chest as they walk along as a group.

The only thing that she can really do is keep her eyes peeled, searching out one direction as the rest search others, staying within a certain distance from each other as they move.

"I like that idea, Ravn. Writing it as a LARP, or a game, or a story. Make it fake, even if it's real. There's no need to rewrite it then." Clever.

"Tall and white," says Mikaere, pitching his voice low, but clearly audible. "It ran towards the lights, and then it was carried back. By... men, I think. It cried out in agony." He's uncomfortable in the recitation, his frown one of uncertainty, as if using this skill is no longer-- or perhaps never was-- a comfortable part of his life.

"Down the hill, into the earth. Ah, fuck. I don't know what someone did, but it was a shitty, shitty thing, and no creature deserves it. But it's out there, I think. Hurt, and hiding. I can try and feel for his presence out there, but I don't know-- I don't think my range is that far."

Still. It's always worth a try, even if the Kiwi is already rubbing at his temples in a way that suggests an incipient headache.

How is it every time things start to get Weird, Garrett up and mentally checks out? Blinking and shaking his head, he comes back from whatever thoughts he was losing himself in. "Wait, you lot just say the fuck with the moose is behind all this?" Behind the conversation a bit, Garrett? The way he shakes his head suggests he's more thinking out loud than looking for repeated answers.

"Guess now's as good a time as any to get the pistol out," he grumbles, not overly excited as he slips his pack off a shoulder so he can join Team Service Sidearm, clipping the rigid plastic holster at his hip and fixing his backpack. "I'm not stellar at tracking, but should be able to keep us from getting lost in the woods," he offers up. "You know. Provided the woods stay these woods the whole time." Pause. "Or I guess mind hoodoo with the bear, if it follows animal rules. Which....." He doesn't sound super optimistic about that thought.

"The fuck with the moose seems to be using cryptids for something, yes." Ravn nods his agreement with Garrett -- he knows very well how that feels, that moment when you connect the dots because somebody just said something that made it all so obvious and now you feel like, why the hell did this not dawn on me three hours ago. It happens to him on a fairly regular basis. "His name is Haggleford, or so he says. And he's behind some kind of -- body trade, we're not sure. Abductions. Five missing people here matches the description, I guess."

He doesn't sound too certain. Ravn may be an expert on cryptids and folktales, but definitely not on criminal method or intent. Abductions are firmly Somebody Else's domain. Sorry, Deacon. Comes with the badge.

Minds sweep the area, looking into places where human eyes cannot go. The woods are nothing if not abundant with life; small furry things going about their business, and even more, millions kabillions more things with feelers, carapaces and mandibles, doing the same. Ants feast with flies and beetles on the carcass of a dead badger. Woodpeckers fight over first rights to a rotting tree trunk particularly rife with worms just under the bark. A couple of black-tailed deer hide in the next thicket over, hoping that these humans are not hunters. In the river, a couple of otters play.

Otter thoughts are playful thoughts; slinky bodies that cut through shallow water with as much grace and speed as any of the fish they hunt. Minds intelligent enough to appreciate the sparkle in a shiny pebble on the river floor, curious enough to investigate anything that is different.

Intelligent enough to know that the place on the river bank is not quite right, and they should avoid it.

Mikaere and Deacon's minds sweep towards the same part along the river bank that Garrett's experienced eye fasten on; something there is not quite as it should be. The area has been disturbed. The otters and Garrett the park ranger will surely agree that humans tend to leave a mark -- whether it's throwing their trash from a car window or setting camp and leaving all kinds of debris behind. They know this. They expect this. This is different.

It's nothing but a few shoe prints. A vaguely circular pattern, around a small circle, maybe two metres wide, where the grass seems -- odd. It looks right -- almost. A little too green, a little too verdant, for spring, perhaps?

The otters know why. It's because it's not there. The ground there is barren and dead, and the grass is a picture that somebody painted in the air, to keep other men from looking.

Leila falls silent as she simply follows along, keeping close to those with nice, big weaponry, and Ava of course. Her eyes are peeled open in search of something, anything, that could help them, but in truth she is more at home in a surgery room than the outdoors. Moving a bit more easily thanks to Ava, she keeps quiet for the most part so as to not distract those that seem to know what they're doing.

Deacon focuses. It's a bit new still, not that he hasn't always had this ability but his particular use for it has always been fairly specific. This is different, and while he doesn't actually have to use the restroom, there's a look on his face that seems to hint that maybe he does and can't - that sort of constipated look as his face crunches up a bit. It's...really not a good look. But then he glances towards that area and the contrast between the lack of activity and everything looking just so perfect.

"I remember that once. In at least like 8 different movies I've seen on Netflix. When you're in the woods and everything goes quiet that's not good cause the bugs and animals really aren't all that scared of us. But they get scared of something, and you probably should be concerned too." So far Mikaere's been doing all the heavy mental lifting but he glances over, as if to check if he's right. "That...seems a bit airbrushed doesn't it? Someone hiding their tracks? May be worth a closer look assuming I'm even in the ballpark."

"Haggleford," Ava growls again. "I thought we made it pretty fucking clear that he was to keep his evil-santa-hands out of our area for his stupid human experiments and flesh trading." Apparently people being eaten by something getting loose on accident is one thing. But people get capture by evil-santa is another. One is nature, the other deserves pay back. Her jaw is tight, lips stretched thin, eyes flaring with anger.

She pauses as the others do, looking towards the spot where the others gesture. "Nobody move in that direction. Let's let nature do the job for us in case it's a trap." There's a little twist of her fingers as she uses a nearby, living vine to start, quite literally, sweep over that area first. Not touching the ground, because that would disturb the tracks if there are any. But just checking the whole area around it just to make sure that it's clear, first.

"... airbrushed," repeats Mikaere, blinking away the higher level vision, such as it is, to focus on Deacon's question. "Yeah, no, that's exactly the right way to put it. It's an illusion."

He is absolutely not in a rush to step forward, his expression not constipated the way Deacon's was, but troubled, as if he can't quite shake the 'off' feelings in this forest-- both the sounds that are unfamiliar to him, the minds that have no immediate identification, the remembrance of the bear-that-isn't, and yes, that patch of illusion too. Ava's vine may certainly take point: Mikaere won't interfere.

"And there I was," he murmurs, "hoping it was just the town that was fucked up."

'Airbrushed' is a pretty descriptive term. Looking at the circular area it does bear some strange resemblance to one of those historical photographs of politicians -- only, ten years after it was taken that guy in the middle was arrested for tax evasion, pedophilia, speaking ill of the Great Leader, whatever, and he was carefully airbrushed out; only his left shoe is still in the picture, weirdly, like those footprints that have not been quite properly erased. It seems strange to compare a circle of grass on a riverbank to an old picture of Stalin and friends, but it's the same kind of feeling, and Deacon has managed to nail it pretty well.

"If I have my dates right," Ravn murmurs to Ava, "whatever happened here technically predates that conversation at the lumber mill. Not that it really matters." Human experiments and flesh trading really ought to ring up as no-nos even without the helpful 'fuck off and keep fucking off' speech that Haggleford (and more so, his hirelings) got from several people on several occasions.

A vine creeps towards the circle on Ava's command. It grows where directed, at a speed that would make Vietnamese bamboo feel like a slacker, and -- grows.

Then it wilts.

Not dramatically, not like the ground is toxic or otherwise causing it to die. It just loses its energy, like life becomes too hard. It just kind of flops, like the distance to healthy soil became too long. Maybe this is what you'd get if you were to somehow try to encourage a vine to grow out the window of a space shuttle. It's too cold here, too dark, too far. I'm just going to lie down and die now, thanks.

The vine does not disappear. If this is some kind of gateway between realities, it is no longer open. Maybe in time, nature will recover and the soil will grow new life. For now, 'airbrushed' grass that looks and feels like a cover-up is all there is. And when the wind ripples in the grass around it, the false grass does not move, because it's not actually there. Scars fade, even scars on the skin of the Earth.

The ground itself feels tired. So much energy was pulled from this spot. So much energy went away from here. Enough to create a cryptid -- an embodiment of a folktale. Like the spirit moose in Firefly Forest, created for the occasion, and opening a gateway as it died. If the same thing happened here -- and those footprints do seem to hint it -- then a similar gateway happened here, when the Ozark Howler, the Nightshade Bear, the Devil Cat died.

This, then, was the time Haggleford got away with it.

Eyes fixed on the spot in question, Garrett doesn't bother pointing out that the spot in question is, in fact, neither normal nor natural. The vine display gets several slow blinks from the park ranger, a small shake of his head, and he hooks a thumb on his belt Certainly not on his pistol, but close enough to provide just a touch of comfort.

"So... now what?" It's the question everyone else is probably wondering, right? Might as well give it voice. Garrett moves a bit closer to the dead, airbrushed spot, crouching down but still definitely not touching, or even letting any of himself move directly over it, as he inspects it and the non-airbrushed area around it.

Deacon nods, then watches Ava's little talent as the vine steps into that area. Of course he's curious if it would do the same thing to a person, not that he has any desire to find out himself. "I have no idea how you repair a place like that but once we're done looking for whatever we're looking for, we need to make sure that some kids or hikers or a couple looking for a private place to pitch a tent and make some magic happen don't end up walking into that area. I'm open to ideas on how to burea...bureaucra...burate? Whatever...how to make that happen."

He does still step clos-er though. Not that he'd want to go anywhere near the place that would cause danger but he's curious just how...it all compares and looks. If there's any other visible marks or signs. It doesn't seem like it given the description above but he steps close enough to confirm that expectation for his cop brain. There's a grin at Mikaere's comment about the town however, and he looks over to Ravn. "So strange creature happened, strange creature carried off and tortured if not killed here. Presumably if what I've picked up about this guy is true, there's a change that flesh trade may now include experiments between people and things...and now we have a decent idea of where your 'friend' nabbed the beast that it now has as a plaything. Am I on the right track? "

"Ah fuck," says Mikaere, on a sharp exhale. No one likes a hunt to end like this; not those who are hunting to kill, and just as much, those hunting to protect.

They're too late, and it sucks.

"What. The. Fuck," mutters Leila as she tries to register what exactly she is seeing. When Ava moves the vine, she slowly blinks at the plant, taking note as well before approaching a step closer, not as close as Garrett however. "Someone forgot to remove the filter from their AR. Wonder what happens if we throw something inorganic? Like a rock?" She offers, but definitely doesn't seem ready to volunteer. "Wait, you're serious? This is it? The bear was grabbed by a bigger, meaner bad?"

Ava is watching, listening. Her good hand is pressed to lips as she watches the vine just give up. The others offer their theories and her head is bobbing along as she circles the area and gazes down at the grass, feeling it's emptiness like a hollow shell. That inner druid is just screaming right now. She hates this. There's a moment where her eyes catch on something. Blood? She leans down and pulls out her bag, taking scrapings of it and slipping it into a test tube before pocketing it carefully back in the bag to check out later.

Then it's right back to pacing.

It takes a couple of minutes, honestly, before her eyes suddenly go wide. "That fucker. He may actually make me give up my oath of do no harm. I may actually kill him. I might..." Ava shudders. "Step back, please." Once everyone is clear, she starts to weave one of the nearby bushes into a pattern of overgrowth that circles around the area, far enough outside of it that it doesn't just give up and die like the vine did, but wide and tall enough to keep nosy people and animals away from the spot for the moment. "That should do it," she offers with a tired sigh once it finishes weaving.

"He's killing them here. Right here. I think he's using them to open something. I think whatever it is is still kind of open and that's what we're seeing. We have a chance to follow him. But that means we have to be willing to hunt down a cryptid sacrifice, too, and hope that this is still active in time. If I'm right."

"How likely is that someone walks along here with a fishing rod?" Ravn glances at Garrett, the park ranger and Deacon the police officer. "Can you -- I don't know, put a ban on fishing this stretch of river for a few months, vulnerable otter population, something something?"

Then he nods at Deacon. "This guy named Haggleford abducts people. He uses these cryptids to create doors to somewhere else, somehow, and transport the taken people. We don't know what he wants them for. Should try to get word out to others like us, though -- smooth bloke who looks like Evil Santa and calls himself Haggleford is Bad News. The more shiny people know to not try to reason with this bloke, kick his ass on sight, the harder it becomes for him at least, to do whatever it is he does."

Hidden in sudden undergrowth: A portal to heaven only knows where. Activated, presumably, by sacrifice. How long before it fades out of existence? Can it be safely traversed? Both ways?

So many questions. Surely there is nothing on the other side that might find its way into this reality, lured by the light, the sound, and the scent of the power that Ava used to cover the site in impassable vines and undergrowth.

Right?

"If he keeps bringing them here, can't we just set up some cameras or something to catch him in time? Maybe motion sensors or...I don't know, somethin'?" Leila murmurs, not willing to give up just yet. She watches Ava with wide eyes as the woman controls the bushes like she might heal wounds. Goddamn that woman is impressive. "If we set up the camera and sensors a bit further out, we may be alerted soon enough to get here in time? I mean, how long can it take to transport-...teleport? Creatures out of here?"

"Are you completely insane?"

Mikaere's voice is flat, and though he's looking at Ava, first, has gaze flicks away pretty promptly, resting on Deacon for a few long seconds before it hurries on again. Okay, no: he seems to have realised that appealing to the man friend might be a bad, sexist plan, and he's not, he's just-- he's just.

"You have no idea where it goes. If it goes anywhere. And you'd kill a cryptid, just to follow? That's insane."

The Kiwi looks like he's more or less about to stomp off. But he manages not to, and just crosses his arms and glowers, instead.

"For the record, you and I have very different meanings of 'a good time," he says, looking at Ava with a bit of a wry expression before he unloads the dart gun and puts the dart and the tranq away. Sure he'll still carry the case as it were. "Well, these are going to be fucking useless in there." Deacon doesn't curse a lot. I mean - he /does/ but usually it's in the course of chasing someone or when they're working on a case break thru. Still though. He sees the other folks glancing and doesn't pick up on the intent, as he looks like he's on board with the 'put the bad guy to rest' idea.

"Who knows. Maybe some of them are still alive, right? Not that I want to go through the crazy door to somewhere that may or may not stay open for us where we may or may not find him and the missing people and will definitely have to fight him in the place HE likes. Which is pretty much the complete opposite of strategy 101. But the alternative isn't much better and, as much as I like your idea Leila, he's been at this for a while. Whatever his plan is, which we don't know...we don't know how close he is to finishing it. So as much as I actually suck at this game, I think we need to go through."

Here lies Deacon: Idiot. That's what it'll say.

"We can set up some kind of surveillance, probably. If he comes back through here, then we'd know about it. The problem is if he doesn't and the gate closes, we lose our way to him." Ava glances towards Leila, nodding. "But that is a great idea in the meantime. Just in case. Garrett, do you know anyone that can set something up out here, subtly? Do the Park Rangers use trail cameras or anything like that?"

Mikaere's being upset is justified, but it only seems to trigger Ava's own upset. Her voice is steady, but the tone betrays the heartbreak. "You think I want to kill cryptid? Of course not. I want to study them, not harm them. If I can find a way to open it without killing one, then I would damn well do it. But you haven't seen what he does to these creatures. Haggleford tried to take me, and Itzhak, and Ravn for his little flesh farm. You didn't hear the cries of the Mothman they were torturing. Now I know what they were going to use him for. A fucking door. He was a door." Ava's jaw clenches, a shaky breath taken in.

She glances back towards Deacon and nods slowly after his words. "He's taken countless people, killing countless crytids. He has to be stopped. -Somehow-. I'm just giving the facts as I see them. It doesn't mean that I like them. Or that I agree with them. Okay?"

"This bloke needs to stop." Ravn's assessment is simple. He may not agree with Ava all the way, and Mikaere certainly has a point -- and then there's the whole issue of vigilantism, but much as Deacon is a police officer, the law fails hard when it comes to extradimensional kidnapping."Whatever it is Haggleford thinks he's doing, the price is too high."

Can you face legal charges for murdering a cryptid? The very definition of a cryptid is that its existence cannot be proved; if you manage to kill one you've proved that it exists, and it's no longer a cryptid. Like the coelacanth, it's gone from local folks' legends about strange blue fish to living fossil, specimens exist, some of them live in captivity.

Probably still going to be red-listed, though.

Olympic National Park -- a stone's throw from here -- is home to endangered (non-cryptid) species such as wild salmon, northern spotted owls, and marbled murrelets. A trail camera, motion sensitive, is an easy thing to rig in the underbrush by the river. A phone call to Humptulips Salmon Hatchery, easy; making up a story about the otters, breeding, need a little peace and quiet, can you fellas run off any tourists and anglers from that particular river bank for a bit? Also easy. The people who make their living from the wilds, protect the wilds. No one out here likes city folks much anyhow, let them stay on their glittering Casino Island down in North Bay.

How to use that portal. Whether to use that portal. That's going to be the next big decision.