Gabe Boudreaux, nature lover and resident expert on supernatural animals...or, what a normal person would call monsters. The first thing he did was look at that warehouse, in the darkness, with its rows of barrels and tight confines and said to himself, [i]hell no I won't go.[/i]

"Look, no offense, but let's try not to agitate the man-eater, okay? We need it to feel comfortable and potentially hungry, because we want it to come out, not stay in there and hunker down. Because I'm not volunteering to go in there."

The first instincts were usually best. He wasn't in love with the idea of tangling with a giant spider inside its domain, where it had webs, food, eggs, if female. He didn't get a good enough look yet to determine sex. Instead, the hairy man of the group, a flannel-wearing shit-kicker with a Mainer accent, which was a lot like a Canadian accent, was advising caution from a position of expertise on supernatural wildlife. He wasn't Steve Irwin, who got himself speared by a manta ray trying to shove a finger up its quacker and he sure as Hell wasn't Jonah, who got himself into the belly of the beast. 

Beyond that, Priest and Hawthorne could be liable for damages to all this expensive-looking whiskey, in addition to human lives lost. So guns blazing didn't make a lot of sense here.

"Look, spiders usually aren't aggressive unless provoked, but they are predators and usually they eat things that eat sugar. They'll go after likely prey. That's us," he pronounced, "so stop provoking it." It probably picked the whiskey distillery for a number of reasons. It was cool, dark and there was a doughnut bakery with a retail space called "Devilish Donuts." There was a coffee roaster there too, Kahuna Coffee Roasters. And they had a shop right across from Devilish Donuts, so people could sugar up even more. While both of these had sweets, it didn't have the ideal conditions for a spider...but it was in proximity to the sort of prey a spider would eat at that size. It needed something that consumed enough sugar to satisfy the carbohydrate requirements, since a spider wasn't just going to raid the donut bakery. But it was going to find a lair close to the Diabeetus Den so it didn't have to go far to pick off some sugar-coated protein.

The smaller cousins of this spider evolved to eat ants and pollinating insects, so it made a certain twisted sense that this spider made a lair near a prime food source. There were spaces between the slab-sided warehouses with their metal doors, which were tall enough, but there were plenty of things where a spider might string up its webbing. Sure enough, he drew a flashlight out of a leather holster on a worn leather belt, clicked it on and shined LED's on the points where there were webs, thicker than the usual kind, but still the iridescent lines that were familiar to everyone. They were strung up all over the place, strategically, but there was plenty of open parking lot/loading yard space where the spider couldn't strike easily.

Unless of course, it decided to charge. But spiders didn't work that way, usually.

"Let's stay clear of those for now," he noted to his colleagues.

He caught a whiff of something sweet and groaned; it had been a long day of sitting in that fucking van with Blackwood, rubbing Vicks under his nose and trying not to turn into a drooling, sex-starved caveman. He'd done as much as he could to open windows, spray Fabreeze and otherwise disrupt the charm. He'd probably pissed off everyone else and offended Morgan multiple times. The Fabreeze made him sneeze, chemicals and a sensitive nose, so he switched to Vicks. In fact, he was moving to keep her down-fucking-wind when the plan clicked and he stopped in mid-stride on those scuffed work boots like lightning hit him.

"Guys, I have a plan," he told the group, "We need to get our beasty to get comfortable, so let's try not to be too loud or bright with lights. And I'm gonna need some help on a couple wish list items. We need to make that warehouse kind of warm and the air out here a little more humid while keeping it cool. We also need a way to create something really sticky on the ground. We're all professionals here, so I'm just listing our needs."

Then he turned to Morgan and, quite conversationally, addressed her, while rubbing his nose a bit to disrupt the more overt tones. In the course of the spider punching through a wall with one hairy, frighteningly spiny leg, the adrenaline must have kicked up her scent production or something. He thought he was used to it and then she blasted him with this whammy. It was their first time really working a case together, so there was a learning curve. He kept the tone very conversational, all things considered, though his voice was a bit muffled by his hand on his face.

"Blackwood, if I may respectfully suggest, you look like you're famished. It's time to go get some donuts."