ihinka

The Sunday Group

By the way... Feel free to use the bastardized spelling for Sadhbh /Sive/. I'm certainly not gonna make you check everytime when you want to mention it. I, however, chose it, so I at least have to use it correctly

The Sunday Group

After Malone had said her peace she'd sat back in her chair, fitting her back snuggly into its cushioned back. Her face showed a barely registerable twinge of pain that she quickly erased, adjusting on the seat until she felt the snugly fitted lower back holster, housing her backup sidearm - her Walther P22. Her main sidearm - her P99, would go in its shoulder holster when they left for Maine.

Malone allowed the voices of her colleagues to wash over her, absorbing what they were saying in a sort of trance-like attention. It was a technique she was perfecting for years now. Allowing herself to detach her attention from a single point of focus so that she could view the picture in its entirety. All opinions took their rightful place in the bigger design. During the course of their investigation their places would shift and some would even be discarded with the accumulation of new information. If Malone needed it, she could zoom in on something to give it the focused attention it required. And after that was done with she would pan out again, readjusting the design to fit any new information she had discerned.

During her time in the Bureau she assumed most, if not all, of the investigators had similar systems to allow them to process the staggering, at times, amounts of information and evidence. And mostly they did, but she'd learned none came close to the elaborate design and functionality hers had. If asked to explain it, she probably wouldn't have been able to articulate adequately its full functionalities. Prior to her last case she always thought she just had a mind more attuned to processing this sort of peculiar information any investigator encountered during his or her work. But after staring literal evil in the eyes and discovering the existence of the supernatural, she wasn't so sure of that anymore. Now she wondered if what she could do could fall in the purview of the supernatural. Either way it was a useful tool and she intended to nurture it even more and use it to the best of her abilities if it allowed her to bag and tag the real baddies.

Her all-encompassing mind was abruptly pulled into focus when Morgan spoke. Malone couldn't help herself. The woman intrigued her like few had ever managed. If her mom was still alive she would probably make a silly remark about her being smitten by Morgan. The thought was painful and amusing at the same time. Painful, because the wound caused by her mum's death was still so very raw inside her sole, Malone feared it would never heal. And amusing, because her mum would be right on the money of course. If only Malone wasn't so battered and beaten emotionally that she could even entertain the possibility of being smitten by the mysterious Miss Blackwood.

The ex-FBI agent didn't even try to reenter the Zone, as she liked to call her personal little profiling brain app. She knew she couldn’t force her way in again. And even if she could, the connection would suck and no work would be done. Plus, Morgan's voice called for too much attention from her, so she succumbed. She listened carefully the information the other woman was relaying on the cult. Her attention firmly on her body language, micro-expressions, anything and everything that would give her an edge on unravelling the mystery that was Morgan Blackwood. But the woman was more guarded than anyone and anything Malone'd ever encountered. Which, of course, only made her more determined.

She remembered vaguely reading some summation about the cult known as the Lachallan Society, but nothing specific. She would have to remedy that, of course. Since she no longer had access to FBI case files she would have to request the information via the FOIA, and that would take entirely too long. She wondered if their newest addition, Kennedy Carter, the ex-lawyer, could help cut some of the red tape and shorten the standard at least twenty working days waiting period. She'd have to ask. Or you could just speak more in depth about it with Morgan. A tiny voice sounded in her head. Malone ignored it, but felt somewhat elated at hearing it at all. Her libido hadn't announced itself for far too long with falsely reasonable suggestions in an attempt to get her close to someone she found intriguing, but was too stubborn to admit to herself. No, she would ask Kennedy. Plus she wanted the official record.

When Morgan's voice released her from its spell, she almost flew back into the Zone, encompassing once again Ellie's final words to the team as well as how they were received by everyone present. She nodded when she received her instructions and fought tooth and nail to keep a satisfied grin from appearing on her mouth from being appointed to work closely with Morgan. She quickly excused herself when Ellie was done talking and walked slowly to the bathroom. Even with Ellie's directive to acquire the voicemails, she would have followed Madeline as she was actually more concerned with offering some moral support for the obviously suffering woman. Losing a relative was always hard on the surviving, even more so when under darker circumstances.

She knocked on the door. "Miss Holt?" The retching had stopped and now she could hear muffled sobbing from the inside as well as running water. "May I come in? It's Sadhbh Malone." She paused. "I'd like to... help. If I can." She heard a click, signaling the door had been unlocked and she took it as permission to enter. She did so quickly, closing the bathroom door behind her. She locked it again.

Madeline Holt was more than obviously distraught. Her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy and dull with pain and grief. She looked at Malone, but without really seeing her. And then her eyes cleared, her hand shot to her mouth as a fresh wave of sobs surged forward and she found herself cushioned by Malone's arms. "I can't believe she's really gone." She mumbled against Malone's black t-shirt.

After a couple more minutes of crying and sobbing Madeline calmed herself enough to step back from Malone's arms. She looked at her gratefully. "Thank you." She whispered. "I... I can't seem to stop crying. I would think of her and I’d..." Her lower lip trembled threateningly and she bit it to stave off another bout of sobbing and sniffling.

Malone stepped forward and took her hand. "It will be like that for quite some time, I'm afraid." She stated. Her intention was not to discourage the woman. On the contrary. Lying to her in a moment like this would be far more detrimental to her mental state. Death, as painful as it was, especially under such circumstances, was a natural part of life. And people had learned to live with it since they'd existed. One way of another. And Madeline needed to be reminded of the fact that dealing with it was never a singular moment in time. It was a never ending process until the surviving relative themselves had to go through that particular experience firsthand.

Madeline looked up at her, appreciative. She was obviously a strong woman, despite her current vulnerability, and Malone's honesty had brought some lucidity to her demeanor. "Thank you. I appreciate your candor. I know I'll have to deal with her being gone for a long time. But right now we need to figure out what happened to her. And you need me to help you, right?" She looked expectantly at Malone.

The ex-FBI profiler nodded. "Yes. If you could tell me more about what your sister was like. As a person?" Malone allowed an encouraging smile to touch her lips. Madeline's eyes unfocused as she was obviously considering the question.

"She was such a vibrant person." She started slowly. "So full of life and the desire to live it, you know?" The question was obviously rhetorical so Malone did not interrupt to answer. "She wanted to experience everything to the fullest. That's why when they told me she'd... she'd..." Madeline could not force herself to say the words. "That's why I couldn't believe them." She finished in a strangled tone. "But then she moved to Maine with her boyfriend..." Madeline's tone of voice betrayed her opinion of her late sister's choice of companionship. "And then the breakup... But even after that she was fine. She was determined to make it work and not let it get her down." She fell silent.

Malone took the opportunity to interject. "Since we are all here it means we are at least willing to investigate the possibility that she did not take her own life." Madeline looked at her with hope in her eyes. "But you must understand, however..." Malone forged on before she lured the other woman into a false sense of hopefulness. "We may uncover things about your sister you may wish had remained hidden." Madeline's head hung to her chest at those words. "We all like to think we know our relatives well, but at times we keep secrets. Even from those closest to us." She placed her hand on Madeline's shoulder. "Just keep that in mind, okay." Madeline nodded a fresh mist of tears over her eyes. "If you need someone to talk to, call me." She handed the woman her card.

"Thank you... again." Madeline pocketed the card. "I... I'm sorry about your shirt." She sniffled and tried for a watery smile.

Malone smiled in response. "No biggie, plenty more where that one came from." She allowed a chuckle to escape her mouth. And then her blue eyes hardened a bit. "I'm sorry, but I'll need those voice mails your sister sent you." She planned on focusing on those inflight to Maine.

"Of course." Madeline whispered, her lower lip quivering.

After they transferred the files Malone left the other woman to clean up and exited the bathroom first. She looked about the meeting room and locating Kennedy approached her. "Hey, can I have a minute? I was wondering if you could help me with something. It's about that cult Morgan mentioned. I remember an FBI case file about it. But since I no longer have my Bureau access we'd have to go through the FOIA to obtain the records. We could talk to Morgan for details of course, but I think it would be best to have the hard copy of the information as well. But we'll need it now rather than later. I was wondering if you could cut some of the red tape. Help expedite the procedure a bit?"

The Sunday Group

I'll try to have a post up today or tomorrow. I'll be able to do shorter posts after that one once I'm overseas from the hotel on my phone. So feel free to include me for interactions. For this one I will type on my bloody teeny-tiny virtual phone keyboard

Mass Effect: Andromeda

@Burning Kitty Just to let you know... Since I'm not sure when you're going to be starting this off. I'll be out of the country from the 17th until the 24th with spotty net access.

The Sunday Group

@Naril Yup, definitely well worth the wait I don't think Malone would be privy to the un-redacted information though, or the particulars of the case with the cult, since cults weren't really in her purview. She was more focused on solitary serial offenders. She might have heard of the case in passing though or from professional interest into the psyche of people.

The Sunday Group

Hello, people I'm here to tell you I'll be leaving on a trip to Ireland this Thursday and will be returning the next Thursday /from 17th to 24th/. My net access'll probably be spotty and mainly at evenings in the hotel. I'm not sure if I'll be able to post, but I can try

Ink On Your Soul - Reboot (Members Needed!)

A head's up here as well... I'll be out of the country on a trip from the 17th until the 24th with spotty net access. I'll have stable net access mainly in the evenings from the hotel. So I'll at least be able to check up on things and stuff

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

@Erklings25 Hi, just a head's up. I'll be going on a trip from the 17th until the 24th and will probably have spotty net access. I'll leave it up to you to decide if we include Dillon in the action before I leave, or after I return

Humanity's Last Army

@Roughdragon1 I'm not sure when your next post will be, but I have to warn you I'll be out of the country from the 17th until the 24th with spotty wi-fi and net access. I'm guessing mainly evenings in the hotel. If you need me to I'll try to post, but if I can't just skip me

Humanity's Last Army

Mo was exhausted from the prolonged campaign. Her left arm, supporting the rifle, was fatigued and shaking ever so slightly. The Grik kept flooding them and the Brumak was decimating soldiers left and right without so much as an effort. She and her companions were barely holding on. Fighting with salvaged rifles, sidearms, ammunition. At this point there were more weapons laying unused on the ground then there were soldiers to wield them.

The air was thick with the banana bred scent and Mo was sure none who had survived an encounter with the Grik could ever walk in a pastry shop without heaving in disgust. Mo looked about the battlefield. Small pockets of soldiers were left alive here and there from the original numerous army stationed on Pluto. And now it seemed like it was all for naught. Mo kept shooting out of pure spite more then out of hope they would survive this. If her right arm was not bionic, her trigger finger would have cramped by now from fatigue. She began missing shots because of her left arm shaking more and more.

No, gods damn it! This can't be it! Mo thought desperately, just as she squeezed the trigger to produce a shot and the rifle emitted a quiet and at the same time ominously loud 'click' announcing she'd expended her magazine. Mo looked angrily at her useless, shitty-ass rifle. "Skanky-ass piece of trash!" Mo exploded in a curse, throwing her feeble rifle on the ground and balling her hands into fists as if that would do her any good against the Grik.

And when all hope seemed lost and every single soldier and officer was fighting for dear life, a hail of bullets from above the ground cut into the lines of Grik, shredding the pale aliens and saturating the air with more of their banana pastry scent. Mo looked up just in time to see squadrons of troop drop ships above them and four bulky figures jumping out to land with no effort what so ever among the huddled survivors of the plutonian forces.

"What the bloody hell!" Mo muttered as she witnessed the newcomers finishing off the Grik without even working up a sweat. Their state of the art battle rigs and weapons no match for the cleave wielding pale foot soldiers of the Bulwark. And then the bulkiest of the foursome placed his fancy-ass electric weapon or something on the ground, aimed at the Brumak and fired. And splat went the behemoth without so much as a peep, when the five grenades she'd tossed at him hadn't managed to even scratch him.

"What the bloody, actual, hell are those things!" Mo cursed. "Why send us here to die when you've got these motherfuckers that can decimate a Grik platoon with just a sneeze. What were we? Bait?!? Appetizers?!?" Mo heard similar expletives spilling from the mouth of her milky white giant partner. "I hear you, buddy." She answered grimly. The rest of the soldiers however cheered enthusiastically the arrival of their apparent saviors, not bothering to actually consider what it meant. The existence of these ubersoldiers and their late deployment.

Just then, however, amongst the cheerers and excited shouts, the leader of the foursome got tapped by a mighty blast and went hurtling towards one of the landed transport ships. “Go tell the pilot that the Argon are here.” One of the foursome, a female, instructed a sniper wielding ubersoldier as she went to tend to their wounded companion.

Mo hardly realized when the remaining plutonian forces were loaded onto the ships, but before she knew it they were flying away from the place of their utter and abysmal defeat.