[center][h1]Abigail Cho[/h1]
[h2]Lost Haven, ME[/h2]
[h3]13:12, July 1st[/h3][/center]

Abigail let out an expansive sigh as she got off the plane. The break from large populations had been nice, but as they had approached Lost Haven's airport, she could feel the pressure of an urban population's multitude of busy minds pressing on her again. At least is wasn't quite as bad as Boston. She shouldered her back-pack, the only luggage she had brought with her, and slid her sunglasses out from her denim jacket's breast pocket. Placing the cheap little things across her eyes, she made her way through Sherman Airport as quickly as she could. The rest of the team had stayed behind, coordinating with her through Courtney but unwilling to come to Lost Haven due to the rather higher than average chance of getting caught up in some sort of heroing.

Abigail scoffed at the thought. After all, just last month they had helped her fight a damned [i]demon[/i]. Then again, the seemingly endless numbers of fights between metas in the city [i]did[/i] give her some pause, but when Hannelore herself says go, someone in Abigail's position didn't exactly have much of a choice. So she had booked the ticket and hotel room, left instructions for the company while she was gone, and headed out, despite not knowing what the hell she was supposed to do here.

Once out of the front doors of the airport, she flagged down a taxi and took a ride to the hotel. It wasn't a rand affair, more one of those business traveller places where you weren't expecting to stay in the room except to sleep and shower and neither did the hotel. Even though the rates were fairly reasonable, she winced as she signed in. She'd have to do something about money while she was here, though gambling was going to be tricky. Maybe the old bar tricks would work?

There was definitely a queer tang to the signature of the city, she mused as she set her bags down in her room. She thought about changing for a moment, but it hadn't been a long flight and the white blouse and khaki shorts were probably fine, though she ditched the jacket in favour of an oversized maroon hoodie she'd had so long the logo on the front was worn off, not that she remembered what it had been to begin with.. She'd definitely need to snuggle into it later on when the noise got worse. As it was she desperately wanted a drink, but it was far too early in the day. And the amount she felt she'd probably need to drink was going to kill what budget she had. 

[i]Right,[/i] she thought to herself. [i]Money, then drink, then find out why I'm here. As long as nothing horrible hap-[/i]

A shiver ran down her arms as she opened her room door. [i]Something[/i] in this city was rotten, and not in a normal, oh-that's-how-cities-are sort of way. It had taken her a while to nail down, but something felt completely off kilter, like she was standing on an ice flow with no balance point. Something in this city wasn't working right in her mind. Or, now that she had noticed, lots of little somethings. Individuals?

This process continued as she got on the elevator, rode it down, and exited the building. She was still near to the airport, and let her feet carry her forward, not paying attention to where she was going. Her surface reading, always working, let her avoid walking into traffic or pedestrians, allowing her time to analyse what she was feeling. It wasn't spirits, angry or otherwise. She knew those were around, could feel where some of them were concentrated, but these new things were like holes in her psychic map of the area. Little tears, maybe?

The giggle dragged her out of her thoughts. She looked to her side and saw a tall black man- [i]scratch that, he's a black as night[/i]- walking next to her. The top hat was bad enough, but the smell of whiskey and the white facepaint gave the game away. And then he spoke, and her brain nearly twisted itself inside out, because that was the little girl's voice that had been in her kitchen just a few days ago.

“So you noticed them, huh? They bother me. You need to get rid of them.”

“Are you seriously dressed as Samedi right now?”

“Well he's not around here, so I won't be upsetting him. And besides, it's not like he can [i]stop me[/i] from using it.”

Abigail's eyes goggled. “What if someone says something?”

Hannelore shrugged. “No one will notice.”

Abigail looked at the people she was walking past. It was true. Their eyes seemed to slide over the area the psychopomp was occupying without noticing anything there, even though they seemed to make the subconscious decision to not occupy that same space. And it seemed that same field of...not invisibility, but [i]disinterest[/i] had moved over her as well.

“I figured it'd be easier than having everyone think you were crazy. At least to begin with.”

Oka-ay.

“So what,” she asked, “am I supposed to do about these holes. Hell, what [i]are[/i] they?”

“Oh, someone's being very naughty in this city. They're undead.”

“Give me a break. Undead arent-” She stopped herself. Of course Hannelore [i]would[/i] know more about it than she did. And she [i]had[/i] just gotten rid of a demon.

“Okay, so what? I just need to stake them or something? I'm not exactly much of a fighter, you know.”

“Oh no,” the skull paint widened as she grinned. “Not vampires. I'm [i]fine[/i] with vampires. They're not really under my purview until they get careless.” The grin dropped.

“No, these are [i]creations[/i]. And they use a bit of the soul to make. Which means the person can't move on. Normally I'd dispatch someone a bit more influential to do this sort of thing, but we've got our hands full dealing with some of the rest of the mess people made. Plagues are one thing, but wiping out a modern urban center means even [i]we've[/i] gotten more than we can handle in one go.”

“Wait.” Abigail shook her head. “You mean these are [i]zombies?[/i]”

“Hmmm.” The figure flickered, becoming the little girl again, sporting a tattered and stained black velvet Victorian dress. Bits of her hand were missing as she raised it to tap her chin with one bony index finger. “If I had to use a word in order to get you to understand it on a basic level, then yes, zombies is what I would say. Even though that is a very overly simplistic and completely erroneous description. [i]Golem[/i] might be better, but only a little.”

“And how do I destroy these....whatever it is you call them?”

“Well, I'm not actually sure. I've not really seen these before.” The psychopomp hopskotched forward now instead of walking. Abigail was horrified to see bits falling off and regrowing in various places. “I would suppose your first step is to find who made them and stop them from making more, though.”

“These don.t [i]urp[/i], scuse me. They don't just happen like normal spirits?”

“Oh, no, these are definitely man-made. Probably literally. It's never the ladies who make the rotting bits thing, they always end up with demons or being witches or something. Only the men seem to want to mess with the rotty toys.”

And with that and a final hop, Hannelore turned to dust and Abigail was left standing on the corner, staring. And when someone actually bumped into her, she knew she was alone again. Well, as alone as she ever was. [i]To hell with this, drink[/i] then[i] money woes,[/i] she thought, and left at half a run to find the nearest bar as the surface thoughts of the city, held at bay by her guide's presence, came crashing back into her head mercilessly.