[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar[/color] & [color=darkgoldenrod]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img][/img][hr][b][color=dimgray]Location:[/color][/b] Grimm Indiana (Heading Towards Tinder's Place)
[b][color=ff4500]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A 
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	The difficulty with participating in an investigation was that, no matter how skilled an investigator one might be, nor how sharp one's eyes might be, nor even how amazing one's deductive reasoning might be, it made absolutely no matter in the slightest if the hypothetical Master Investigator couldn't get to the place the needed to investigate. Such it was with our intrepid, often anti-heroic protagonists, Caesar and Keystone. Perhaps the two got a little confused with the directions as they sat in their perspective seats, wondering about the odd nature of how they both tended to go by one name only; Caesar by his first without need to move along to his surname unless paperwork was in order, and Keystone almost exclusively by his last despite having the perfectly serviceable first name of Johnathon. Then again, he never really felt like a John. But that was beside the initial point, that being that they had only the vaguest idea as to where they might have turned up on the roads of Grimm, Indiana. 

	The good news was that, it being a smaller town, there were only a couple of main roads from which everything branched. Locating the proper address was inevitable, especially with the proper information at their disposal. The bad news was that their electronics were not quite as reliable in this place as they might have been in Chicago. Or any place between there and Chicago. It wasn't that huge of a leap for Caesar to make, seeing as more of his professional years were spent before the technological revolution of the 1990s than after it, and Keystone, well... for a confirmed urbanite, he really didn't give much of a rat's hindquarters about the sudden loss of wholly reliable GPS, being as he didn't really get to use any of the good, expensive stuff until he grew up a little. Of course, being in the more rural-ish parts of a strange country (and YES, this is a strange country to people who spent most of their life on the other side of an ocean), it still irked him not to have a clear technological advantage. 
	
	No matter. Getting turned around in an environment like this was inevitable, as was getting back on track. Even if it was a simple matter of "No, not this street, [i]this[/i] street". Once more firmly back on what they assumed was track, the mood elevated within the SUV. Not much, mind you, and it was not as if they were having a big party in the SUV in the first place, but every little bit helped in circumstances like this. Keeping to the tradition of both men grunting or growling during times of mild annoyance, it could be fairly said that such things lessened a bit once they laid eyes on new scenery. 

	Strangely enough, part of that new scenery was the hauntingly lonely sight of a single balloon, listlessly being pushed in the wind yet unable to really go anywhere due to being caught in a tree. It just hung there, powerless to do anything about its circumstance, at the mercy of the elements around it. Considering the generally pleasant weather, it might have actually been there a while. Might. And this pleasantness of course did not account for the huge plume of smoke in the distance, coupled with a resulting haze that gave the town of Grimm a rather ominous feel; the discarded floaty balloon did not assist in that matter in the least. However, viewing the whole picture as optimistically, they were back on track. They thought. Time would tell - hopefully it would tell soon. That much testosterone in an enclosed vehicle was potentially bad for one's health.