(Untitled)

[brandedjustice]

Who: Commodore Smoker [ brandedjustice], Agent Shi-Long Lang [ justicefangs ], OPEN
What: Task Force sign ups and interviews.
Where: Task Force HQ, warehouse on the docks.
When: Yesterday, uwah.
Notes: It might be easiest if everyone makes a separate post so that either Smoker or Lang can speak to candidates on a solo basis. Think of it like a waiting room and each is being

Comments

[justicefangs]

The collision was narrowly avoided- Lang side-stepped the door as it swung outward. Lowered his raised fist.

Wonder of wonders, he had actually planned to knock.

He made a canine-noise of surprise, and composed himself in record time. Really, the nonstop onslaught of dissatisfied Nuadoria hostages had him coming down from his angry high. He didn't feel like starting anything.

"Mr. Task Force. Long time no see." Taller than he remembered.

Lang waved away the ever-present cigar smoke. The wolf familiar wagged its tail.

[brandedjustice]

Smoker paused at the door, eyes leering as he towered over Lang. He closed them and gave a huff out of his nose. "Good dodge, Agent Lang." The Commodore propped himself up in that door frame, plucked his cigars from his mouth, and promptly ashed them in the street.

"Can't say it's a joy, but that has nothing to do with you. Though it looks like you've gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, Lang. Making friends with everyone, aren't you?" Was that a hint of a smile? Maybe. It was gone as Smoker placed his cigars back into the corner of his mouth.

"I see the wolf followed you - I got my own." Smoker threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing out the Irish Wolf Hound that was padding about behind him. "Can't fight it."

Anyway.

"You all set to interview some potentials?"

[justicefangs]

"Tch... look, Commodore. I wasn't looking to tick anyone off- I still don't want to be here, and I'm not gonna take this lying down." His eyes cut to the side, and then rolled back to Smoker. "But I was bluffing about staying put."

The wolf whined softly, wagged its tail once and sat down. Lang absently swatted at its head. "Go on. Krrr."

"I'd feel better grilling a bunch of random cubs if I could get a background check or two..." He bowed his head into a pair of delicately held sunglasses. Beat.

"Let's do this."

Cue montage.

Because I know you guys are dying for teenagers amirite

[lolwhatfuture]

Teamwork wasn't necessarily Max's forte, but neither was sitting around and waiting for something to happen. She'd seen the Task Force mentioned more than once around the network. It sounded...productive. Maybe even worthwhile.

She landed at what she assumed to be the warehouse base and tucked in her rather large wingspan, tossing her jacket on to cover the feathered appendages for the time being. Her hawk familiar perched itself on her shoulder and squawked as Max made her way towards what she hoped would be the best way to find an escape from Nuadoria.

"Hellooo?"

[brandedjustice]

First round; Smoker pulled himself from his seat and padded over to the open door. Gripping onto the frame, he hoisted himself upright and straightened his spine. "Task Force sign ups," he grumbled gruffly, "-if you're looking for us, you found the place."

The Commodore's cigars glow with another deep inhale. "Sorry if this isn't up to par; we're fixing the place up." He gestured inside with mild contempt. "I haven't been here for almost a year, so the place has kind of gone to shit."

He paused; a growing line in his forehead was telling of his current mood. "Come on in and have yourself a seat in my office. We'll talk shop there, if that's fine with you."

[lolwhatfuture]

Max surveyed the warehouse conditions without much expression. She'd seen and lived in worse. If Smoker was embarrassed about what may have once brought him purpose and pride, she didn't notice, and didn't particularly care. His base could have been an alleyway and she wouldn't complain. Much.

"No problem," Max said simply. "It's got four walls and a roof, that's more than enough for me."

The mention of his "office" caused the slightest frown. An enclosed space wasn't her preference, but she would deal for the time being. "Sure thing."

[brandedjustice]

Smoker brought his fingers up in a "follow me" kind of gesture before trudging back into his office. Well, what remained of his office. Of course, he couldn't complain too much - most of it was left intact, save of course the desk, which he had thrown out a window last time he was here. That was still sitting where he had placed it, pieces missing. A pile of boxes were stacked at the other side of it, making up a seat.

"Glad you're not picky."

He rounded his desk and sat in his chair. Leaned back there and rolled his fingers across the surface. "Start with your name and your former occupation - we'll make this quick and simple. Then, we'll discuss where you'll be placed, or where you would prefer to be placed."

An ashtray sat on the edge; Smoker nestled his cigars there, allowing them to burn a bit as he awaited the start of the interview.

[8bitcopycat]

Across from the warehouse, Mitsuo hid among a pile of weather worn crates. They offered just enough camouflage, without blocking his view of the front door of what seemed to be the 'Task Force HQ'.

The Plan, originally, had been to stay the hell away from Ground Zero. There were too many authority figures, and it wouldn't take long for Adachi to out him... if he hadn't already. And anyway, there was a whole city to explore.

But... then he'd started to get hungry. So now he was using his super stealth abilities to spy on the situation.

The five foot tall robot behind him, however, was extremely visible.

[justicefangs]

Was that a robot?

Lang hesitated. Looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else saw... the robot. It was almost out of sight, motionless in a stack of disused shipping crates.

"...." He mulled over his next action for a spell. Chewed on the corner of his lip. Approached the robotic interloper with chin held high, and canines bared. Growl.

"Look, I don't think we're taking artificial applicants..." He said cautiously. He stopped several paces from the figure. A step forward. Leaned back, craning to see what this thing was up to.

[8bitcopycat]

Oh, crap.

Mitsuo made himself as small as possible, but there was nothing he could do about the robot. He didn't even know the extent of it's AI, if it had any... in retrospect, that would have been a good thing to establish.

On the other hand... he was awfully hungry. And, even if he was only dimly aware of it, terrified.

"I--- ah--- I don't think it can talk," he said, and swallowed. Still crouched among the crates, he had one hand thrust into his pocket, his fingers clamped painfully around the grip of his mother's gun.

[justicefangs]

Lang was impulsive, and often shortsighted, but he actually did know a thing or two about apprehending criminals.

It was like the boy had materialized out of thin air. Lang had been so focused on the damn robot, that he nearly missed the kid with the gun in his pocket. He didn't act like he knew.

"I take it, this thing's supposed to be your 'Gestalt'...?" He spoke brusquely but with little aggression. This was the charismatic Lang- he worked in hostage situations, too.

He hooked his hands in the belt loops of his pants, and arched an eyebrow. "Does it do anything?"

[fogfiend]

Adachi probably wasn't at home here. He tottered towards the dock warehouse on unsure legs. Caught his foot in a loop of disused mooring rope, and mumbled something under his breath as he regained his awkward gait.

"Excuse me?" He rapped on the warehouse door. Tap tap.

"Tell me I have the right docks..."

He grimaced to himself, palmed his chin in a chilled hand. The fog here was colder than in Inaba.

"I mean, if there were more than one 'docks', you'd think he would have been more specific..."

He tentatively turned the doorknob.

[brandedjustice]

The warehouse seemed rather empty, what with both Lang and Smoker taking on the brunt of the interviews. Smoker had tried to set up Lang with some of the more normal individuals that walked through that door, but it seemed as though the young Interpol Agent was busy at the moment. So when a timid voice sounded from downstairs, Smoker made a sigh and pulled himself from his seat.

Down the steps he went, hand in his back pocket. The other went to his neck, smoothing out the knots that were already starting to develop; Nuadoria was nothing but added stress in the end. Same protocols, different scenario - Smoker just wished that this time, things would be a little more organized.

The wood panels creaked as he finally made it down. He went to usher in the new candidate, but the door opened first. Logia acted instinctively, and as the edges of the entrance made contact, half of the Commodore's face broke off into small wisps of smoke. He frowned and rolled his cigars to the side that was still tangible.

[fogfiend]

Adachi registered that someone was there a moment too late- he retracted his hand and readied an apology for assaulting Smoker with the door.

And then realized half of the man's face was gone.

"Holy crap!" He reached for his holster- fumbled the clasp on his revolver, and staggered backwards through the door. His feet missed the stoop, came down on air. Crash!

He skittered back on the ground, kicking up dust and displacing fog. Sputtered: "I am so sorry- what happened to your- are you okay? Ah, wow."

[brandedjustice]

Smoker arched a brow as his logia bent back on itself, forming the rest of his face. Should have guessed that would have happened; most people here were new, and thus probably had never heard of something like him. The poor bastard.

"It's normal," he boomed, then extended a hand, "-you're going to have to get used to this kind of shit if you want to work with us. Most of the people here don't fit the bill for being 'normal'." The Commodore hoisted Adachi to his feet without much of an effort; the man was tiny in comparison. But at least he had the guts to show his face.

Most people wouldn't take on the job.

"Smoker." He didn't need to greet himself formally; there really wasn't a point now. All cordial nonsense aside, the meeting had already started off with a bang. "That you just saw will happen a lot; it's nothing special." He rolled his cigars a bit, clamping down on the ends with his teeth. "If that's something you can handle, get your ass upstairs and we'll have ourselves a chat."

[blonde_neophyte]

Elena came in through the front door, making herself as obvious as humanely possible. Sure, she hadn't been specifically invited, but she could vaguely remember that Reno had been involved with this guy. If he wasn't coming back, the least she could do was take care of his unfinished business.

Besides, she was curious. Could a a Task Force really work? She hoped so. She missed the rule of law, and her part in upholding it.

[justicefangs]

Lang could take this one.

"Can I help you, sis?"

He glanced up from the water-damaged calendar he was flipping through. Well, okay. He only had the vaguest certainty that it was a calendar. It had blurred pictures, and a grid-like organization. But no legible numbers, not a single date.

"Not even month names--" He said to himself. Straightened up and gestured with the calendar. "--I don't like throwing out time pieces. A calendar is a sad thing; a one-use year. A little sobering if you think about it."

He stomped on the floor, sending up a gentle cloud of dust. "'A man with a watch knows what time it is. A man with two watches is never sure!"

[blonde_neophyte]

She stood there awkwardly, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"I'm here about the Task Force. I'm a Turk, just like Reno".

She rose up on her toes to peer curiously over his shoulder. "Anything useful? I tried checking the library once, it was nothing but data on various monsters."

Settling back down on her heels, she discreetly coughed into her hand. The dust in the room was tickling the back of her throat.

"A map of the area outside the city would sure be handy, but I doubt we'd be that lucky."

[justicefangs]

Lang didn't know a Reno, and for that matter what a Turk was. But he didn't like starting off an interrogation interview with his own ignorance.

A Turk, huh? She was dressed sharp, like a Fed. He'd go from there.

He tossed the calendar into a waste-bin. "Luck has nothing to do with it. If you want my opinion-" You're getting it anyway. "-the puppetmasters behind this situation really don't want us getting our bearings."

He harrumphed, showing sharp canines in a fangy grimace. "I can't stand not knowing where I am. Tch."

Anyway! He flipped a hand towards her. "I'm Agent Shi-Long Lang. The good Commodore asked me to handle some of the new cubs rolling in. I'm not exactly a Task Force veteran, but I know my way around recruitment and profiling... What's your story, Miss Turk?" Big smile. You may speak now.