Log:Finding Grimm

2015/03/04 Grimm Malcolm Porter Mistress Adana

1

The intern that accidentally and unknowinging aided Eighth's escape comes running after Malcolm as he's about to leave Starguard HQ. "Agent Gibbs! Y-you told me to let you know as soon as your inquiry came through." He hands Malcolm some faxed pages. My god, do people still use faxes in this day in age? WHY?

There's a new article mentioning a dark force taking over a city district and unleashing monsters and demons upon the city. The siege ended when some heroes pulled together and stopped the villains responsible. The public news article doesn't mention the villain taken into custody. The police reports concerning the incident have more details. They mention Gabrielle being caught by the heroes and held in custody for the incident. No charges were made after she was cleared by a consulting mentalist who worked with the police department's meta crimes unit, who spent time freeing Gabrielle from long lasting mental control. Gabrielle's statements to the police was that a woman who called herself Mistress Adana had captured her, and then used spells and rituals to enslave her. Mistress Adana escaped capture.

Malcolm collects his faxes and patpats Jimmy the Intern on the head in the fashion of Superman patting Jimmy Olsen on the head. He spends the next two hours perusing faxes at a coffee shop, cross-checking information between reports, draining a pot of decaf, and building some kind of dossier of actionable intelligence. Somewhere along the way, Malcolm also does some cross-checking on his PDA to make sure "Mistress Adana" is not some kind of alias for Pelana Ardoi.

Research on the name don't connect her to Pelana Ardoi in anything more than its possible origins. It's the spanish feminine of Adam. There are reports of Mistress Adana operating in Seattle, which ended after the freeing of Gabrielle back then. Other unconfirmed reports say she's operated along the Northeast and Spain, mainly in conjunction with the stealing of rare books and artifacts.

Coffee Shop. The natural habitat of the North American Porter. And there he is, walking in... surprisingly alone. Could just be a gopher run following another inexplicable espresso extinction level event. He heads for the counter to order up one, then two coffees, with the second for his way out the door. He might as well try to drink his now, when there's fewer to spill and he isn't also trying to walk.

"Hey, Portman. What's going on?" calls Malcolm, abruptly aware of Porter's existence in the coffee shop. The tall man waves Porter over toward his table of dossier building, his other hand pouring a fresh cup of coffee from his nearly depleted pot.

Porter gets his coffee and sips it as he heads for Malcolm's table. But not too close to all the paperwork. "Hey, Mal." He shrugs. "Been... a pretty nice quiet day or two, now that I think of it..." Which is a little surprising. Then he eyes all the papers. "Taking work with you?"

"Background on Gabrielle's case," explains Malcolm. Rolling his shoulders once or twice, Malcolm taptaps at a header or two on the papers. Seattle PD? Malcolm takes a long swig of his coffee and eventually offers a tired sigh. "Seems Gabrielle got captured and mind controlled by someone called Mistress Adana back in Seattle."

Porter ohs and nods, then frowns. "Didn't know that... but I'm sure you know her way better than me... Wait, think that could be the whip lady that Bard posted about?" He moves a little closer to try and look. "Any leads?"

Outside, there's an outbreak of screaming from the citizenry. People are running east along the street, being chased by other citizens who have gone rabid. Just by the sidewalk outside the shop, an enraged middle-aged woman in a business suit tackles a young man in workout clothes to the ground. Someone else across the street has stopped running and is grabbing their head like they just suffered a migraine and begins tossing about violently before suddenly relaxing and running after someone else.

"She hadn't really... Told me about that, but some stuff you and Third and Rose said the other day got me thinking," comments Malcolm, tone quiet and borderline apologetic. Rubbing the back of his head, Malcolm seems about to say something else when the streets outside the window go straight to something out of Dawn of the Dead.

"... That's not you, man, is it?"

Malcolm helpfully chin-thrusts toward the scene outside of the window even as liquid metal starts to seep out of his pores. The tall, increasingly metal man slides out of his seat and casts a guilty look at all of his papers. He's going to regret this, he's sure, but... Well. Duty calls, right?

A glowing figure of a man wings his ways overhead and lands outside on the street by a suited man who has grabbed the younger guy in workout clothes. He puts his hand to the back of the older man's head and releases a blast of sunlight.

Porter blinks as the workout guy hits the ground. Sure, the neon lime yoga pants looked horrible with the orange legwarmers, but... "Ouch. Um, I don't think that's me?" He winces at more screaming and chasing. "I hope not?" Even if it's not, he starts to walk after Mal for the door. And gulps down what coffee he can on the way.

The heroes all see a mass of 6 things scuttling after the citizens. They look like large spiders mixed with crabs, but have huge, fanged mouths. They are tarantula sized. One managed to leap on the citizen who started grabbing the back of their head and suddenly made them into one of the Crazies.

"Get out of his mind, you Edomic parasite!" says Lightray after he gets done blasting the suited man in the back of the head. He glances over as spots Malcolm as he lowers the man to the ground. "They take over minds! Vulnerable to UV! Crush them before they get into more people!"

The person Lightray touches reacts much like someone who just got shot in the head. His expression goes blank and he topples over onto the pavement. He's alive, just unconscious.

Mind Thieves

They look like large spiders mixed with crabs, but have huge, fanged mouths. They are tarantula sized and hideous beyond comprehension.

Forge glances over his shoulder at Porter and offers a cheery smile as he earnestly declares, "Good. I'd hate to have to try to figure out how to disable your 'Create Rage Monster' functions, man."

Stepping outside, Forge casts a steely glance around. He immediately regrets it upon spotting the spider-crabs. Forge makes a face and comments to Porter, "You get all the ugly ones?"

And then there is Lightray, yelling about UV and Edom. Forge blinks several times. There is a lot of Schmitt going on around him and not a lot of time to make decisions, whoopee, or wisecracks. Drawing one arm back, Forge abruptly seems to be grasping a metal whip of his own before snapping it forward to wrap around a street lamp. Launching into the air, Forge swings about in a broad circle before launching himself toward at least one of the mind thieves, aiming to drive a big metal fist through the black terror.

Forge lands in a perfect three-point stance. His hardened Iron Fist may have also just splintered the pavement in addition to spraying him and the pavement with spider-crab ichor. Looking up and around, Forge calls, "They're uh. They're mighty squishy, aren't they?"

Lightray looks down the street at the scuttling little horrors as sunlight rises from his skin like armor. He raises an hand and sweeps a beam of sunlight across them trying to hit one. He shouts as he lets go with the blast of sunlight, "They are vulnerable to UV whether inside or outside a human body!"

Porter nods at Mal. "Sure, I'll.. Wait! They're ALL ugly!" He sighs and drops his coffe to grab the nearest hand thing. The briefcase the business woman dropped. As he flings it at the nearest spidercrab thingie, he sighs and sends Third a mental message. 

"Try to get them before they get into anyone! They are weak outsode a host!" Lightray yells.

Porter winces at the thing goes splat. All over somebody's Gucci genuine leather briefcase. Hopefully the owner's too busy chasing people naically to notice right now.

Porter gets a response ((That's okay, Sweetie. Don't worry about it.)).

At the death screeches of the other spiders, the enraged people run at the heroes. Two go for Malcolm, and one each goes after Porter and Lightray. The remaining unhosted mind thieves begin to turn around and skitter back the way they came.

Forge takes a recovery.

"Lightray, man, do I really look like I have laser powers?"

Forge may have intended to say more, but he is tackled by two mind controlled goons. Well, okay, one of them is a goon; the other one is a college co-ed with a glandular condition that actually bounces off of Forge while the metal man is taken to the floor by the actual goon. Blinking a few times, Forge cocks his head to one side as he stares at the goon beating him about the face and head.

"Are you... Are you trying to massage me? Because I think I should be rolled over the other way for that."

At which point a metal cable erupts from Forge's chest and attempts to de-crab the man atop him.

All of the crazed people have blood running down their backs from entry holes at the base of their skulls.

"Lightray, man, do I really look like I have laser powers?"

Forge may have intended to say more, but he is tackled by two mind controlled goons. Well, okay, one of them is a goon; the other one is a college co-ed with a glandular condition that actually bounces off of Forge while the metal man is taken to the floor by the actual goon. Blinking a few times, Forge cocks his head to one side as he stares at the goon beating him about the face and head.

"Are you... Are you trying to massage me? Because I think I should be rolled over the other way for that."

At which point a metal cable erupts from Forge's chest and attempts to heave the goon atop him in some other direction. Right seems like a good direction to heave him..

A crazed cyclist in bike shorts rains his fists down on Porter while Forge wrestles with his mind controlled citizen.

There's a meaty sound of impact as Forge's cable hits the goon in the chest and, like an impossibly strong arm, knocks the goon off to the right. Captain Goon hits the ground and rolls.

Lightray surveys the scene then takes to the air after the retreating mind thieves. "I am going to try top follow these creatures or lesat pick them off before they escape!" he shouts in his basso profundo. And true to his word, he does try to take out one of the mind thieves with a strafing blast of sunlight.

The beam of sunlight traces along the ground behind one of the mind thieves then overtakes it. With a hideous screech, it bursts into flames then withers to near ash.

Porter yelps. "Ow ow" Yes, crazy people smacking him hurts. And he really can't swing back. So he just puts his arms up to protect himself.

With Lightray up in the air, the enraged citizens twitch and focus on the citizens in front of them. Suddenly, all four of them swarm Malcolm and try to strike him down. Even the one he shoved back has gotten up and leapt back into the fray, but the others get there first.

The two remaining mind thieves skuttle faster and zig zag to try and avoid Lightray's blasts as they head westward.

Porter gets up now that he's not getting pummeled by a biker. "Hey! Get off him!" He still doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he's got to do something. Or have something happen. So... maybe the bloody hole blleds a little more, down onto a face?

A spray of blood from one of the attackers hits another in the eyes, blinding him and sending him stumbling back and wiping at his face.

Lightray continues his pursuit of the two remaining mind thieves. And yet again beings a strafing attack on one of them. The sunlight blasts along the ground after the mind thief.

And while the sunlight barely grazes the mind thief, it still screeches in pain and bursts into flame. Lightray thinks. o 0(I wish all Edomite creatures were this vulnerable. I hope the other two are doing alright. Perhaps I should not have left them alone.)

Porter did something! Without hurting someone he's trying to not to. "What were those things, anyway?! Besides squishy..." He tries to see if the one with all the scarves will get hung up on them. Instead of beating on Mal.

One enraged citizen's scarf wraps around her hands and tangles her up. She whirls about violently trying to unravel herself, to no avail. She just gets more tangled.

Lightray continues to follow the remaining mind thief but does not attack it. Yet. If it looks like its seeking a host, he will attack,but toherwise he follows it westward to see where it is going. But he resolves to detroy it if it tries to get into anything he cannot follow like a hole, cilvert, etc.

Lightray flies off in pursuit of a skittering mind thief that's traveling so fast that he can barely keep up. Meanwhile, one of the controlled civilians is blinded by blood in the eyes, and another tangled up in their own scarf with no hope of escape. The other two are ineffectually trying to smash Forge with their fists, which is...well, yes, ineffectual.

Forge lounges on the ground, being pummelled by people. He's content to be the focus of mind stolen aggro while Porter picks people off one by nonviolent one.

Porter can help with one. Mostly since they're not beating on him at the moment. Shoelaces, the bane of recklessly violent, brain-impaired creatures everywhere. Second only to escalators (and Porter has trouble with those, sometimes). Without being able to follow Mal, that one can be avoided, and can't hurt anyone else. "Hey, you Ok, Mal?"

The remaining citizens are effectively hung up on themselves. They snarl like savage deranged beasts and twist about, but aren't able to really go anywhere.

"I'm... Fine, Portman," replies Forge. He crawls out from under the civilians and glances around, rubbing the back of his metal noggin as he considers the proper course of action here. Looking over at Porter, Forge inquires, "How, uh, how do we remove brain crab-spider monsters?"

Porter gives the go-to Porter shrug. "No idea. Never seen one before

The man who Lightray seemed to blast in the back of the head with a searing light starts to regain consciousness with a dismal moan, clutching the back of his head.

Forge peers over at the guy coming back to consciousness. Making an unclear gesture that is equal parts 'check that out' and 'excuse me a sec', Forge abruptly *SPROING*s over to the blasted man, landing in a perfect two-point crouch. Leaning in close, Forge inquires, "You okay, man? You took a couple of bad hits there."

Porter can't sproing, but he can walk. Which means he doesn't even need to ask, because Forge beats him to the question.

The man nods slowly, then winces and holds the back of his head. "I feel...very dizzy....but the voice...the voice is gone..." he murmurs weakly as his head pans to the crazy people still thrashing about wildly.

"What was the voice saying?" inquires Forge, terribly conversational as he looks up and down the street. Maybe there's a TANNING SALON or some other Key Location where one can easily acquire UV equipment - a bong shop, perhaps, or a hydroponics supply store even.

"Yeah, I think they're still hearing the voices..." Porter frowns some at the ones still flailing. "But the cops'll help them. Oh, what was the voice saying?"

There is a spa across the street advertising massages, body wraps, waxing, and tanning. It's quite big and obvious.

Porter sees Mal looking around, so he looks around, too. "What're we lookin-...hey, is that..." No, wait. HE shouldn't say that, even if it does look like her. Even dark and shadowy. Not without knowing, first. He'd hate to get Malcom's hopes up on something stupid... So he steps away from Mal and the guy with the hole in his head to head for an alley a few stores down.

"Need some UV lights, Portman," comments Forge. Porter is probably not in earshot by that point, distracted as he is by the shadows in some alleyway. Forge growls to himself as he finds himself staring at the day spa. That's never going to work right, he's sure of it. Looking back to the man Lightray saved, Forge intones, "When you're feeling up to it, sir, head for cover. I will be right back to try to stop the voices in the others."

The man slowly crawls to his feet and half staggers as he tries to find someplace safe. He starts to fumble for his phone to call for medical help. He's murmuring to himself in a haunted tone, "...the voice...it said such dreadful things..."

Porter has had a bad feeling about things since the spiders showed up. That feeling hasn't abated any as he approaches a shadowy figure in the alley. It doesn't move, or run as Porter approaches. Its head just tracks him as he heads over. "Friend?" a familiar voice asks, but something in the cadence of it is off.

Porter often has bad feelings about things. At least it hasn't got any worse? "Gabrielle? Is that you?" The familiar voice has him more optimistic, though it's hard to see anything clearly in the shadows.

"Seems to me like voices in people's heads typically say horrible, terrible, no good, rotten things," mutters Forge as he jogs toward the day spa. Bursting in through the door, Forge produces his Starguard ID and intones, "Sorry to intrude, but I need to commandeer some equipment to save lives."

At which point Forge sprouts eight metal cables from various points on his body. The metal man goes around, looking for UV lighting (and light housing), electrical cords, and miscellaneous equipment he'll need for what he's got in mind. No doubt the cables come in handy for carrying all of this stuff.

Shadows in shadows can be hard to make out. The figure is semi-transparent. "She took her," the Gabrielle-looking figure warns as it steps forward, stopping at the edge of the building's shadow. It sounds like Gabrielle, and yet doesn't. She sounds a little simple minded.

The young front desk girl with the bleach blonde hair startles from reading her magazine while three other ladies are waiting for their service. "Y-you need a manicure to save lives?" she asks cluelessly. Forge manages to locate two empty tanning booths to commandeer.

Forge looks at the blonde. There is a long moment that is probably illustrated with a melodramatically drawn close up on Forge's intense gaze. He lets out a sigh and responds in his best dramatic voice, "Their lives hang in the tanning balance!"

Promptly Forge starts dragging his haul out of the day spa.

"Her? Wait! You're..." Most people would be freaked or weirded out. Porter is... more accustomed. And he knows a bit about Grimm. And her shadow. So this actually makes a bit of sense. Or the blow to the head he took earlier is catching up. "Where is she? Or the lady that took her? Can you tell us? Show us?"

"Can show. She took her to new...kingdom. She sent me away," Gabrielle's shadow struggles to use borrowed words its heard before.

With some twisting and angling, Forge drags the booths out of the spa, cables and all. Portable UV blasters!

Porter nods, and hears Mal clanking out with the booths. "Hey, Mal, you ..." He blinks. "...think those'll help? And when you can, you need to come here..."

"I'll be there in a sec, Porter," calls Forge, "The Light guy kept saying UV would help. I can wire these things for that, I think."

Forge looks over toward Porter and the alley. Not seeing the shadow over there, Forge knits his brows and helpfully calls, "Porter, I know it sounds like a good deal, but don't go buying organmods from a shady alley surgeon."

Advice dispensed, Forge turns to the real task. The task of turning the tanning beds into some kind of glorious UV Laser Dazzler.

Porter smirks at Mal, then realizes he has no idea how long the shadowy shadow can linger. "Mal, hurry up..." After a pause, he adds, "You need to hear and see this. It's about Gabrielle." Yeah, he's a little torn between Mal helping the people out, and helping out Gabrielle. But anyone can proabbly hot-wire tanning booths if they need to.

Forge fumbles when he hears Gabrielle's name. We have no idea what that fumble actually means because, within a few comic panels, Forge straigtens up from his work. The metal man drags the extension cords with him, plugging one into the next into the next into the next into a convenient exterior outlet disguised on a storefront.

Eyes narrowed, Forge steps up next to Porter whilst the tanning beds warm up in the "pre-heat" part of whatever electrical cycle Forge has wired them into. There is likely a semi-sinister blue-purple glow coming from their general direction behind Forge.

The tanning booths flicker on dimly. It'll take some time for them get to full brightness. The sinister cold light casts long shadows from Forge as he approaches Porter.

Standing in the shadows is...Gabrielle? But shadowy and transparent. She tilts her head to regards Malcolm. "Handsome," it addresses him with the name it hears Gabrielle using most. Then looks to Porter and addresses him as, "Friend. Help. She sent me away. Not safe to go back."

"Just show or tell us where, and we'll be there..." Porter wants to help, and now he can. "If it's not safe, get us as close as you can?"

Forge's metal flesh visibly pales - it turns into a chalky, white metal that sizzles angrily from mere contact with the cold winter air - as he stares at Gabrielle's eidolon. There's a crackly, sizzly sound as Forge's hands ball into fists and the metal man flakes chalky white metal that bursts into tiny, short-lived embers of rainbow-colored fire as he stares in abject silence.

It takes a few moments for Forge to regain his composure, his Colossus' Flesh returning to its usual brushed steel appearance an instant before a tear escapes his eyes. Heaving a heavy breath, Forge hoarsely inquires, "Where. Is. Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle's shadow turns to face the wall of the building, and draws a large, man-sized circle with its finger to create a dark portal. It's pitch black at first, then it starts to grow light-ish. While it's still dusk here and the sun is still setting, it's clearly night on the other side of the shadow gate. On the other side is an old two-lane road with snow-covered fields on either side, leading into a small, quaint town swallowed by pea-soup fog. Only the small houses on the furthest edges of town are visible. "Here," it answers, and steps through the gate to the other side.

Ok.... That was even easier than Porter expected. Or quicker, at least. He looks to Mal, blinking more at his ...flakiness. But they've got things to do. "We going?"

Forge looks at Porter, then at the portal. He reaches up to grind the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger before he nods. "You know you don't have to go, Port, right?"

Porter gives Forge a shrug. "I know. Don't have to do a lot of stuff..." Then he smirks. "but I do it anyhow. She's my friend, too, you know."

"Not anymore," the shadow informs mournfully. "Not her anymore."

"Then let's do this," comments Forge. He launches himself directly at the portal. Presumably Porter and Gabrielle's shadow will follow. Just as he passes through, Forge turns his head around, "Who's not her anymore?"

DAMN YOU, TIMING!

Gabrielle's shadow is already on the other side. It's colder and darker here, wherever here is. There's no signs of bodies of water. Wherever this is, it seems inland. "Gabrielle. She changed her. Using her. She won't know friends."

Porter steps in after Forge and frowns. "Great. So she's got somebody in her head. And not in the good way." Then he pushes the frown upside down. To stay positive. For Mal. "Lucky for us, I'm used to her trying to kill me, so we'll be fine."

Forge lands heavily. His gaze sweeps over to Shadow Gabrielle, but doesn't last long as he turns to look back at Porter. One eyebrow quirks as he inquires, "What do you mean you're used to her trying to kill you?"

"Eh, bad timing. Misunderstanding. Weird stuff..." Porter shrugs to Mal, then at Gabrielle's Shadow. "Well, no hard feeling's. I know you were just trying to protect her."

"My fault," the Shadow whispers. "Thought you were with them," it waves a hand to motion towards the fog-concealed township.

Forge senses more deflections. It bothers him at some deep level, but he brushes it off for now. The metal man looks around slowly, taking a deep breath of the local air. Apparently convinced that the local atmosphere isn't about to kill them, Forge's Colossus' Flesh retreats into his skin once more.

"Lead the way."

The shadow shakes its head. "Can't go any further. She sent me away, to not get caught," it sounds reluctant for something that Porter knows was so protective of Gabrielle before. It turns and points down the country road to where it disappears into the fog and the town. "She's in there. In the center of the fog. Careful. Monsters. She can see you once you enter."

"Great." Porter says that in the not great way. And he doesn't clarify whether it's because the shadow can't go, that there's monsters, or that SHE will know they're coming. Now he sighs. "Ok... Guess we'll take it from here." He looks to Malcolm. "What's the plan, Ace?"

Malcolm looks seriously at the shadow. Gabrielle's mentioned it was difficult to control, willful and protective. He knits his brows together as he studies the Shadow seriously. Only slowly does Malcolm's steely gaze shift away toward Porter.

"Ordinarily? Man, I'd love to scout it... But if we're going to be spotted just as soon as we enter? That ruins all of my usual tactics."

Porter nods. "Then we go in, get her, get her out. And get back in time for coffee, danishes, and diaper changes." What could possibly go wrong? Wait, don't aslk. No, seriously.

The shadow watches Porter back as he looks seriously at it, then turns his attention back to the fog and says, "Find her. In the black Castle." It must be speaking metaphor. It's grasp of language seems limited.

If only they had a Holocaust Cloak and a wheelbarrow... Porter looks to Mal. "You ready?" Since he already asked about a plan, this is the next logical question.

To Malcolm, the shadow says, "Cannot hide from her. But monsters cannot see like she sees."

Malcolm looks grumpy. Or gassy. Perhaps he's deep in thought?

"Which direction is the black Castle?" inquires Malcolm after long moments of grumpy/gassy/pensive silence.

Ok, maybe Porter did skip a better question, now that Malcolm asks it. Knowing where to go is a tiny bit helpful. He just assumed she was in the town in the distance.

The shadow's finger is still pointing in a straight line into the heart of the fog. It looks down its arm. "That way."

"Lovely," replies Malcolm. He looks down at the ground under him then over at Porter. "You any good at keeping track of direction, man?"

"If there were landmarks we could see, maybe..." And, yes, Porter realizes that that probably isn't much help in this situation. "But I'll try. We can't just leave her here."

"Suppose it's only fair then," comments Malcolm. He looks over at the Shadow and smiles, "You've done everything you can. Leave the rest to us. Stay safe."

Metal envelopes Malcolm's fists, crackling as it hardens. The tall man shifts his weight and repositions himself as he starts swinging his fists... Into the ground. Wh-What's Malcolm doing? Trying to dig his way into town?

The shadows nods and finally lowers its arm. It walks backwards slowly towards the gate and watches Malcolm dig.

As Malcolm sinks below the surface of the ground, he pauses to turn and look over at the Shadow.

"Keep an eye out for Lightray or any other heroes. Lead 'em here, if you can, to give us a hand."

Message relayed, punching resumes.

The shadow nods and steps back through the gate. Shortly afterwards, the gate shrinks to a pinpoint and vanishes.

Porter watches Mal a few before opening his mouth to ask what the heck he's doing. "Um... what are you doing?"

"Making like a musician and rockin' it," is Malcolm's playful, irreverant reply.

"Ok..." Porter still seems confused, not that this is an uncommon thing. It could be a sign that all is well. He drops down into the hole to walk after him, staying clear of fists and rock chunks.

"I figure the best way to avoid monsters and all-seeing fog is to go under them both," explains Malcolm. He just relentlessly punches his way through the earth, trying to keep himself moving in as straight a line as possible. The black Castle and his girlfriend await, after all.

It's slow and steady progress as Forge punches through earth and rock. They were several good meters from the fog and city, and it's hard to tell exactly how far they've gone. For Porter, it's pitch black, but Forge can at least see the dirt and rocks before him. Minutes go by, until finally Forge's fist hits concrete. Which he puts a sizeable dent into as if it were dirt as well. It seems to be a wall. Perhaps the start of the sewer systems?

Maybe it's the reverberation, the loud reverberation, from hitting the concrete that jars Porter's memory. "Hey, Mal. You know Gabrielle can, like, see things coming... or maybe feel them coming? Maybe even all the way down here. Could just be getting ourselves stuck for no reason..."

"I remember," comments Malcolm. He pauses his beating on everything in front of him for the moment however. Turning around, Malcolm leans back against the concrete as he regards Porter seriously in the dark, his visor faintly glowing over his eyes. "I hadn't really thought of it before now, but I remember... You really think she has that kind of range though? I mean, we're pretty far down... Presumably pretty far away from her too."

Porter shrugs. "Don't know how far it goes... Just wasn't sure if we'd be sneaking up on her like this is all. And I know I can't see anything like this."

Malcolm taptaps at his tactical visor. "I can see. We've hit concrete, so we should be either under the city or, hopefully, the castle by now." Rolling his shoulders, Malcolm reaches out to clap Porter lightly on the shoulder. "I dunno if we're sneaking up on her or not, man, but it sure as hell beats fighting a horde of monsters, don't it?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, horde of monsters is bad." Porter nods. At least one of them can see, which is infinitely better than none of them. "Let's keep going, then."

Malcolm takes a moment more to look around. He sighs and shakes his head, slowly turning around to begin beating on the concrete again. Over his shoulder, Malcolm intones, "Thanks for being here, man. I appreciate it."

After a few more punches, there's suddenly no resistance as Malcolm breaks through into the city's sewers. Some pale moonlight and city lights still pierce the fog above enough to dimly illuminate the sewers through the overhead manhole grate and curb drains.

Malcolm punches his way into the sewers. Cautiously he steps in, looking around slowly whilst gesturing for Porter to follow him.

It smells down here, but not as awful as you'd think. More stale air, mold, and rotten garbage than anything else. Because the water down here is frozen from the cold with a thin layer of ice. The sewers sound empty, but above, you can hear slow scuffling and dragging of feet at street level.

Amelia has connected.

Porter steps on after. And wrinkles his nose. Sewers, how lovely. "Hey, no problem. Like I said, she's my friend, too. But if she gets knocked out or something, -you're- gonna be the one she sees when she wakes up. I'll get yelled at, or gutted, and then yelled at for getting gutted again..."

Malcolm takes a few steps, liquid metal oozing out from under his pants to coat his boots in a fashion not unlike climbers' krampons. He crunches a few steps before his eyes widen and he whirls to gesture at Porter. By and large, Malcolm is gesturing for Porter to zip it before he alerts one of those things shuffling along the streets above.

Porter is hushed, and zips it, wincing and offering an apologetic look. He was just answering Mal's question...

The scuffling continues undisturbed above. Nothing was noticed.

Terror allayed, Malcolm gestures for Porter to follow him. Malcolm promptly starts moving slowly and easily across the ice. He may be hoping that, if we don't mention it, Porter won't fall victim to the ice's inherent slippery nature.

For the moment, Porter secures a minor victory against his archnemesis, Gravity. He remains on his feet and vertical as he shuffles after Malcolm across the ice.While also trying to be quiet.

Malcolm surveys his surroundings steadily, eyes narrowing behind his visor. Pausing a moment to look back at Porter, Malcolm gestures for Porter to look at some of the insulated pipes overhead. He very specifically indicates a very specific cluster of larger utility lines that all appear to be headed in one direction before he starts marching thattaway.

After what feels like a mile or so thataways, our heroic duo runs into a concrete dead end. But the powerline Malcolm was following runs beyond it.

Porter looks up when Malcolm gestures and sees... a slightly less dark splotchish line amidst the dark. But he can follow Mal, so that's what he does. Well, until they run into a concrete wall, that is. "Now what?" he whispers.

Eyes narrowed, Malcolm runs his hands over the wall. The tall man is careful, cautious as he considers the situation, there's really only one good way of getting past the wall... And yet, it's such a dangerous option. Malcolm looks back at Porter and shrugs, "We got two options. I punch through the wall, consequences be damned... Or we go top side and try our luck at what I'm hoping is the entrance to the black Castle."

Try their luck. Porter knows that could either work out really, amazingly well... or excruciatingly not. "Well, we could always just try to jump topside, or to the other side of the wall..." And hopefully not recombobulate inside a solid object.

"Let's shoot for the other side of the wall," intones Malcolm, jerking his thumb toward the wall itself. He promptly reaches out and plants one hand securely on Porter's shoulder. "Let's do this thing, man."

Porter nods, eyes the wall, does some quick math in his add, adds Kentucky Windage... and smacks a button. They discombobulate with a FLASHTHWUMP then recombobbulate with another on the other side. And not inside a wall, pipe, sewer rat, monster or anything else unpleasant.

There is some squeaking of rats scattering from the sudden noise, and cockroaches skittering away from the bright flash of light. The basement, cobwebs, storage boxes, and stair case, are all briefly illuminated before becoming pitch black again. But Forge's nightvision still lets him see the way up and out to the Castle proper.

"/NICE/," enthuses Malcolm, voice daring get louder than a hissed whisper to reinforce his enthusiasm. Malcolm gives Porter's shoulder a firm squeeze and he looks around, making a face at the plethora of cockroaches. Reminds him of a couple of his apartments when he was fresh out of high school. The tall man sweeps his gaze around until he finds the stairwell and he starts leading the way, a metal cable snaking back to snare Porter if necessary.

Porter will follow Mal, since his glowing eyes are the only semi-source of illumination for Porter. But getting tugged along so he doesn't walk into something solid isn't a bad idea, either.

The wooden stairwell leads up along one side wall of the basement up twelve feet, then along the next wall another twelve feet to a second landing with a heavy wooden door. There's a few cobwebs to go through on the way up, and the stairs groan menacingly. Just as the pair are about to reach the second landing, the stairs starts to give way.

And what are the odds that the steps to give way have Porter standing on them? Very high, tonight (today?). He startles, then yelps as he falls. It's gravity getting him back for the ice.

Malcolm hears the failing wood more or less in tandem with the sensation of his cable around Porter going taut. The tall man's eyes widen and he takes a step forward, bracing against the sudden back/down force even as his cable tightens its grip upon his friend, hauling him to a stop just short of impact with the floor. Porter may yet be in an unusual, uncomfortable position.

Actually, dangling semi-balanced, horizontal above the floor without imact is pretty unusual; usually Porter is just horizontal on the floor after impacting it. This is uncomfortable, but the norm is usually much more so.

As Porter dangles, both can hear footsteps walking past the door above and stopping for a moment. There's a pregnant pause, and then the footsteps start to grow louder as the owner heads back towards the door. There's still time to get Porter up to the landing before the footsteps arrive!

Malcolm looks up the steps toward the door, then back down into the hole. He promptly starts trying to haul Porter all the way up to the landing, using both of his hands to haul in the extended cable.

Porter can't see well, but he can hear just fine. And wave his arms! And point at the direction the sounds are coming from! Hopefully Mal can see that and/or hear the steps.

The footsteps are just about at the door. The door handle jiggles.

Having hauled Porter up to the landing, Malcolm launches himself upward. Twisting in air, the metal man extends a set of metal claws from hands and boots to hook himself into the cailing. Scuttling along as quickly and quietly as he can, Malcolm nears the door in preparation of pouncing upon his prey.

The door slowly opens and...a stick pokes out! More accurately, a wand with a glowing green tip that provides some light. And with the wand, a figure wearing brown robes with black chasubles trimmed in scarlet silk with a goat's head embroidered on the breast in silver thread gradually emerges, leading with the wand. The hooded figure looks around and down the stairs, pointing at the broken wooden stairwell after a dangling piece of wood creaks and gets his attention. He does not look up.

Porter gets back to solid ground...er, well, hopefully-solid landing, just in time for Mal to leap up, and the door handle to jiggle. Which leaves Porter to wonder  And then he's YOINK!ed up by Mal just before the door opens. Oh, wand waving evil mages. Those are the ones.

Malcolm clings to the ceiling, he has since wrapped two more cables around Porter to keep him suspended well out of the normal line of sight of EVIL MAGES. The tall man narrows his eyes, if that guy isn't the definition of 'DEMON mage', Malcolm doesn't know what is.

Twisting cables - and Porter! - as he moves, Malcolm steps into position directly above the door and unfurls himself so he's simply standing upside down, Porter held out to one side and near the ceiling. Reaching out, a sledgehammer extrudes itself from Malcolm's palm. Using a moment to build up his own strength, Malcolm eventually swings down and around for the mage's face with his sledgehammer.

The DEMON Brother's face versus Forge's Sledgehammer. Was anyone betting on on the brother's face? No? You have chosen...wisely.

The Brother will wake up a few teeth short of a smile. Once the doctor's fix his broken nose and take a look at the concussion he probably has. The hooded cultist's head snapes back and he goes flying into the stonewall hallway, crunching into the wall and sliding to the ground unconscious. The brass wand clatters on the red runner carpet that covers the entire hallway. There's old fashioned lamps fastened to the walls providing normal lighting, but instead of flame, these torches are just old fashioned looking light fixtures with lightbulbs.

Waiting a tick or two before he dares move again, Malcolm's sledgehammer slowly recedes into the dark flesh of his hand. Malcolm walks down the wall and into the doorway, though he hesitates again, looking to and fro furtively in full expectation of some horrible fate to befall him (and Porter) should he dare enter the hallway without checking.

What's the old adage? Best chiggity check yo'self before you wriggity wreck yo'self?

Safety third! The hallway seems clear, save for the crumpled DEMON brother who will be napping for a very, very long time.

Malcolm scoots out into the hallway, collects Brother Blood(face), and returns to the stairwell. Placing him in the corner of the landing, Malcolm makes his way back up and into the hall to collect that wand too. Just in case. Returning to their hiding place, Malcolm closes the door and sets his gaze on Porter, one eyebrow quirked.

Porter blinks and winces in mild comisseration with Brother Blood(yface). But he's sure he deserved it. When Mal comes back and looks his way, he gives a shrug. If they don't have anywhere to go but the door and the hall, that's the way they go.

I don't see that here.

No one has been alerted to the encounter with Brother Blood(yface) by the sound of it.

"Disguise, you think?" inquires Malcolm, rolling his shoulder toward the unconscious mage and, more particularly, his robes.

The mage does seem to be about Porter's build. Scrawny, small, unimpressive. He must be a new initiate.

Porter looks at the robes and shrugs. "Sure, I can try." Emulate a scrawny weakling? He can probably do that without too much trouble. So he'll see about divesting the crumpled lump from his robes.

The clothes are easy enough to remove from the ragdoll brother. Beneath the robe is just plain clothes t-shirt and jeans and hiking boots. He doesn't SEEM like who you'd expect to be a cultist. Though you suppose anyone could just decide to worship Satan. Aside from the robes and the bronze wand, the brother has a domino mask that Porter can take and wear. What do you know! The robes are a perfect fit! And beneath the robes, the brother was wearing an amulet with brass settings and an inexpensive red gem stone. There are crudely etched runes and glyphs decorating the brass setting.

Whilst Porter busies himself with the task of impersonating a cultist, Malcolm turns aside and puts his hands out in front of himself. Pressing his wrists together, a pair of metal cables extend out of Malcolm's sleeves and neatly wrap themselves around his wrists. For all intents and purposes, Malcolm hopes, he appears to have been securely bound with metal and taken prisoner.

Malcolm really hopes DEMON takes prisoners other than Grimms.

Porter manages to get the robes over his head the right way, the mask in place, and the magical doodads on and in place. He looks over to see Malcolm- what is he.. Oh! Porter figures it out after a second and nods. While trying not to grin. Because DEMON Stan worshippers probably don't do that. Porter nods to Mal, then getures up the hall.

"Remind me to ask Regan to teach me real ninja BS, if we make it out of this, Port," comments Malcolm as he climbs the last couple of steps to the door into the hall. Shouldering it open, Malcolm steps out into the hallway and waits patiently for Porter to step up behind him. It wouldn't do to have the captive wandering about without the captor, don'cha know?

Porter steps up, and he has the wand out. While he's mostly sure he probably won't accidentally zap Mal with it, he should probably try to look menacing.ish. "Deal. any idea where we're going?" Since Malcolm is still technically leading the way.

There's still no one else in the hallway. It stretches left and right in equal distances before turning. There are several shut room doors lining the hall. About three on the side opposite the basement.

Both hallways end and turn away from the basement's direction.

Malcolm offers a noncommittal grunt as his response to the question. A cable snakes out from under his jacket to close the basement door before it retreats back under his jacket. Where in the world does he keep those things?! Looking one way and then the other, Malcolm shrugs and starts moving in the direction most consistent with the last direction he saw the electrical power lines running. Fun stuff's gotta be that way, right?

Atop the castle sits a large open room where the attachments for an air docking sit. A large iron door sits in the north wall.

Forge's intuition takes them right, down the hallway, then left to a door at the end of the hallway. This was where the powerlines were probably leading. The door is closed.

And so the mock magus escorts his pretend prisoner, occassionally leaning over to look around and past Malcolm to see what's ahead. Like monsters, or DEMON warlocks, or DEMONS, or, hey, even Gabrielle.

Malcolm stops in front of the door. He looks left, he looks right, he looks over his shoulder at Porter and arches an eyebrow inquisitively. Clearly this is a case of 'Bro, what do you think?' in its most basic form.

Porter can't help but glance left and right. Even if Mal JUST did that. Then he points at the door with the wand and nods firmly.

Stepping forward, Malcolm tries the door. It is open. He steps backward, hauling the door bodily open though he uses the toe of one boot to keep it from slamming against any walls. That would ruin the surprise of prisoner invasion!

Past the door is an old lab, since converted to a chapel of sorts. The room still has equipment on the side with dials, switches and large machines with a purpose only known to their creator or someone else just as mad. That must be where the power lines were going to. Most of the equipment is now just broken junk. Half finished projects, long forgotten, broken and rusted.

To the left are a set of double doors that seem to be the main entrance to the room, and the faux-prisoner and faux-cultist just came in through the side door. To the right, there's what was probably once a workbench table, now with a pentagram etched into it, and a large black alter. A banner with a goat's head lies behind that.

Black wax candles with green flame are set up around the room, dirtying the equipment and shelving they rest on and leaving the room eerily lit, and pews have been dragged in and set in rows. This must be where they hold their rituals and black masses. There's no service being held right now, but two brothers chat to each other.

"...those shadow things creep me out. But not as much as those floating tentacle monsters."

"Maybe DEMON isn't the place for you if you let some shades and a co-ed creep you out."

"Have you looked at her? It's like she looks right through you with those dead eyes..."

A third brother is kneeling in one of the pews and hisses at them angrily. "I'm trying to pray here. Can you talk somewhere else?" The two brothers fall silent, and the brother who scolded them suddenly stares beyond them to Malcolm and Porter. The other two brothers turn to look their way as well.

Porter awaits whatever terrors, wonders, and/or weird stuff awaits behind Door Number- Oh, great. A chapel. With black candles, goat's heads, and pretty much everything else he'd expect in a dark church. Except for the talkers. Do they get smote for talking in church?

And now all eyes are staring at them. Even better. Porter swallows, hopefully covering by jabbing at Malcolm's back with the wand. "Move." Another pause to swallow before he announces, "Caught this one trying to sneak around the halls. Where do we want him?"

Malcolm rolls with the jab in the small of his back, bending his midsection forward with a grunt. He steps forward into the chapel, steel eyes shifting about the room slowly before settling on the trio of "brothers". Silently Malcolm fixes them with A Meaningful Look.

One of the chatty ones, the one who seemed more green and scared about the shadows, sounds rather surprised. "Whoa-ho, you caught one on your own?" He sizes up the tall and muscular Malcolm. And then...there's Porter. Significantly shorter and not at all muscular. "...."

"Good job. Hail Satan!" he cheers.

The more veteran sounding of the pair says, "Mistress Adana will want to question him." He squints at Malcolm and draws his wand out as backup. "So you're with the others that are sneaking around town? Tell us who you're working with! How many of them are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," growls Malcolm, "I'm just here to steal the copper wires and pipes."

"Past the Vulshoth spawn, controlled townspeople, and the shadow hounds?" the 'veteran' brother, who is really only one step above a new recruit, asks skeptically for a moment. Maybe he's on to them. "Sheesh, this economy, huh? Thieves everywhere. Get a real job!"

"Thanks," is practically just mouthed to the one complimenting him, so that Porter doesn't interrupt the one who sounds like he knows what he's doing. Or Malcolm. He smirks at the answer and the veteran's reply. It does almost sound like a joke. Then he sombers up.

"It's a **** economy," agrees Malcolm. He almost looks hurt at the demand he "Get a real job", head cocking to one side as he stares at the 'veteran' DEMON. "You said it yourself, man, hard enough gettin' in here. Harder than a real job."

The 'veteran' is about to say something when the iniatiate kneeling at the pew observes coldly, "He had some nerve braving all that for some copper wiring. Perhaps Mistress Adana will want to see him. She might even have a job for him that pays better. Now get out of here and give me some peace and quiet." His tone is biting at the end, aimed not just at the prisoner, but his two compatriots.

"Yuh-yes, Brother McDowell," the novice of the three answers. The pair of DEMON brothers that were standing begin to shuffle their way down the side all towards Malcolm and Porter, but their attention is on the double doors leading out.

Porter joins the novice in nodding low and with some trepidation. "Yes, Brother McDowell..." He waits for the other two to pass before nudging the captured thief towards the big double doors. When in Rome...

Malcolm would have made another smart remark, but he gets jabbed in the lower back again. He grunts instead and grumbles as he starts moving toward the big double doors as indicated.

The leading brothers open the door, which leads to a huge foyer with vaulted ceilings up to the second floor. Straight ahead is the castle's main entrance. To the right is a grand staircase several meters wide that lead up to the second floor. There are balconies lining the foyer with doors all around. A second huge set of double doors are at the top of the staircase.

There's some scrambling activity out here. There aren't many DEMON agents, it seems. But there are several creatures that do not belong on this plane. Creatures made of shadow and nightmare, and demonlings that scamper about, most heading for the main entrance to bolster defenses against something going on out in the town apparently. A pair of shadow hounds sit atop the staircase standing guard. A number of three foot tall Darklings, which Porter may recognize, are busy hefting a giant piece of wood to help bar the door. They look miserable in their work.

Porter frowns at all the activity. Mostly because of the demonling things. But there's also the Darklings, that are a little familiar. And not a good sign. "Up the stairs," he directs Malcolm the Prisoner. Because they did all that work to get in here. Porter's not going to just walk them outside.

A DEMON Initiate is ushering the demonlings and shadow monsters as he orders, "Stop the heroes. Kill them if you have to." The great hall is starting to empty out as the darklings wait to be able to bar the door.

Malcolm tries not to saunter through the grand entryway toward the grand staircase. He keeps his steely eyes shifting around the area, taking note of the placement of chandeliers, balconies, railings, buttresses, railings, and, honestly, anything else he can use later. Just in case.

No one moves to stop Porter and his prisoner. As they ascent the staircase, the shadow hounds that were sitting on their haunches to guard get up onto their feet and watch the pair closely as they approach.

Porter tries to look more menacing, or at least comfortable, than unnerved. Lucky for them, all the things are moving for the front entrance. While they're moving for the stairs. And hopefully up them, away from all that. On the way, he lowers the non-wanded hand to hit a button or three on his doohickey, through the robes if he can manage it. Inconspicuosity is a good thing. Assuming he hits the right button, there's a gentle nudge at Malcolm's brain, rather than his back. ((Hey, Mal, you there?)) Where else would he be?

The duo hear a gibbering sound near the front door. Something akin to the Tazmanian Devil in manners of speech. "Reee, REEE, rabblrrahh. Pllltt."

Porter may recognize the sound as the darklings trying to communicate. One of the darklings holding the bar for the door is nudging another darkling and pointing at Malcolm in recognition. The other darkling squints and shrugs. "Brraggle waawwghh."

Malcolm notes the shadow hounds getting to their feet. He rolls his shoulders and sets his jaw, but keeps his eyes from making direct contact with either dark canine. Instead, he tries to peek over his shoulder at the Tasmanian Devils. Aside from tripping over a few steps, Malcolm largely does not succeed in his goal...

Of course, it does cover up his shock at the sound of Porter's voice in his head. ((... Port? Why are you in my brain?))

((So we can plan and not give away the plan?)) Seems perfectly reasonable to Porter. If only he could speak Tasmanian Deviling. But he can't. But he's got on idea, maybe. With the pointing. Could be good, could be bad. Either way, getting inside quicker is better. "Open the door." Hopefully he can sound sort of autoritative.

The shadow hounds are...big. Like irish wolf hounds big. They watch Malcolm closely as he stumbles. If the darklings were saying anything in a language that was understood, the shadow hounds make no reaction to it. But it seems the Darklings recognize Malcolm.

Malcolm rights himself and continues on toward the indicated door. He opens it slowly, hands still "tied" up in front of him. As he tugs open the door, Malcolm idly comments in his head, ((Good plan. Didn't know you could do this.))

The ten foot tall double doors open to a grand ballroom. The walls adorned with ancient wall paper, now beginning to peel, and the tile on the ground is one of a kind marble covered in a thick layer of dust upon which can be seen the tracks of various animals or adventurous humans, or the scuffing of robes. At the far end is a raised stage with five steps leading up to it. This is traditionally where the orchestra or band would play.

Instead, it contains a black throne decorated with twisted antlers and horns. Sitting at the throne, swirling a goblet of red wine (at least you hope it is), is a woman with silken black hair that comes down to her waist. She's wearing silken robes of scarlet and black, with a black velvet chasuble trimmed in silver lame and the same silver goat's head embroidery. She wears a half mask of ebony wood decorated with silver filigree and two spiraling horns of silver. She holds a coiled black whip with thorns long black hair entwined with the braided leather. At the base of the stairs before her stand two DEMON Initiates. Their robes are more ornate than Porter's, with red tream over the black chasuble, but they are not quite of the same calibur as the woman on the throne.

And on her knees beside the throne, with black rune etched chains with spikes wrapped around to pin her arms to her side, is Gabrielle Grimm, kept like a pet. Having been missing for around a fortnight, she looks dirty and exhausted, her head cast down and her eyes entirely black. Her expression is blank.

Mistress Adana has a scowl on her face. "You've had enough rest, slave. Make the castle bigger! More regal. Expand my demesne to swallow what's left of this town." She draws back her whip as it glows a sickly green and cracks it on Gabrielle. Gabrielle flinches, but she doesn't even whimper. Darkness surrounds her and the ballroom darkens with her. There's a strange effect...it's like the ceiling is growing taller. Or perhaps it's just you that is growing smaller. The throne becomes even more ornate. Tapestries bleed through the wallpaper to decorate the ballroom. It's being changed on such a large scale that it, along with everything else she's being used to power, is taxing Grimm's body. A trail of blood starts to travel down from her nose from the strain.

((Yeah. Para and I are linked up pretty much all the time. Before that was Vix and me, since she can't talk real good. And... nevermind. Anyways, now we can plan what we're gonna do and they don't-holy $#@!)) Or maybe it should be unholy $#@!. He tries not to blink or look TOO surprised at the room, the throne, the woman... and Gabrielle. Or too angry, especially at the last part.

((Porter, are you trying to tell me I need to see Mens Sanus to make sure I don't get a memetic disease?))

That's about as far as Malcolm gets because his attention is stolen by Mistress Adana and Gabrielle Grimm. Porter may sense Malcolm rapidly approaching his Limit Break in the seconds leading up to the blood dripping from Gabrielle's nose. Malcolm very visibly vibrates with ill-suppressed rage as he steps slowly into the room. Somewhere in there, Porter may also detect a hint of physical pain from somewhere in Malcolm's body, radiating up through the mind link. Did Malcolm just stab himself somewhere?

Gritting his teeth, Malcolm steps into the ballroom and very pointedly ignores the impressive, sweeping changes to Adana's demesne. Blood drips from somewhere under the metal bonds holding Malcolm's wrists together as he walks deeper into the room at a slow, measured pace. Malcolm stops precisely 3.5m into the room, head hung and hands clasped tightly together - tight enough that his knuckles are starting to turn ashen - as he draws in a deep, heart-heavy breath of air.

Porter doesn't get Mal's joke. If it was one. But he does get his ire, and pain. Porter has gone through that more than once, and he's ticked to see Gabrielle this way, too. It's just even more personal for Mal. Malcolm just seems to have pretty good self-control. Porter should take a lesson from that. And maybe he will, sometime in the near future that's already happened but not quite yet in this timeline...

Mistress Adana looks quite pleased with the improvements to her little domain. "Excellent. Next I'll need more creatures to deal with the invaders," she praises before sipping from her goblet. Then her eyes falls upon the entering Porter and his captive. "What is it?" she asks as her finger taps the side of her glass. Gone is the impatience and disapproval she had for Grimm's sluggishness. Her voice is sultry. Almost pleasant. And you've all noticed so far that all of the DEMON agents under her command are men.

((Well, we can get close, maybe? If you can keep her busy, maybe I can grab Grimm?)) Porter clears his throat and nudges the bleeding prisoner forward. "Sorry to distrub you, Mistress, but we caught this one in the halls, stealing. I was told to bring him to you." He doesn't have to try hard to seem a little nearvous in her presence.

If Porter reminds Malcolm later, he'll probably explain the joke. Right now, Malcolm is too preoccupied with focusing on not trying to figure out how to become a living Typhoon System from Deus Ex. He keeps his hands clenched tight, knuckles definitely in the realm of ashen now as he tries to contain his emotions. Mostly this revolves around keeping his head down and shuffling forward as he's nudged along.

Mistress Adana raises an thin, arched eyebrow. "A thief? Come all this way? What did he take?"

Porter continues to walk the prisoner towards the mistress. "We don't think he took anything. We caught him before he could. But he admitted that's why he snuck in." We. Yes, Porter's just part of their big, twisted, unhappy family... thing. He's wearing the uniform! And maybe if he can make himself sort of believe that, he can make her buy it, too.

"Through the fog and avoiding my mind thieves? Hmmm," Mistress Adana sits forward in her throne to study Malcolm. "I'm impressed that didn't deter you. I could use more followers with your mettle."

Malcolm is forced deeper and deeper into this den of inequity. His blood burns, his stomach churns, and somewhere, somehow, Porter could swear he can feel Malcolm's Colossus' Flesh smelting itself. The tall man grunts with every poke, prod, nudge, and shove, stumbling along as he leaves a small trail of blood behind him.

((Now?))

Adana's voice draws Malcolm up short, his head and hands still pointed toward the floor, his shoulders hunched, and his breathing slow and heavy. He has the posture of either a man knowing he has walked right into Death's icy grasp or a man trying very hard not to let his pain show.

"Oh yeah?"

Porter is anxious, knows Mal is anxious. Ok, probably an understatement, but still... ((Let's get in close, first. So you can get her. Distract her. Beat the tar out of her... I'll get Grimm loose. )) And now that the Mistress is curious, maybe she'll come to them? He brings/nudges/shuffles Malcolm up to the throne. Lowering his eyes towards his feet. Not in deference, but mostly to avoid looking to Grimm.

During all this, Gabrielle hasn't lifted her head. She just stares at the ground blankly, like her mind is elsewhere. Probably dealing with maintaining this little kingdom Mistress Adana has set up for herself. Even after Malcolm speaks up, there's no recognition, no reaction. She does sway a little from strain.

Mistress Adana has an unholy beauty about her. Perhaps she made a deal with a devil. As the pair draw near, they can sense a compulsion from her beauty. A desire to love her and not hurt her.

The pair of initiates watch the two come closer. One holds up his hand. "That is close enough," he commands.

Porter isn't expecting the sudden wave of ... Whoa. Ok, just because Para had those Starguard restraints, doesn't mean ... He blinks behind the borrowed mask as he shakes off the unexpected...swoon? ((Crap! Guess we need to do this now, not later! Go! Get her, I'll get Grimm!)) Porter crouches some. Not intending to look deferential, but maybe it will. Really, he's just getting ready to make a go at Grimm.

Something washes over Malcolm's brain, he doubles over and eventually ends on bended knee. Breathing heavily, Malcolm plants his palms against the floor as Porter yells into his head. Adana can probably seen the sheen of sweat breaking out on Malcolm's forehead and the back of his neck by now as he struggles internally.

"GET OUT... OF... MY.... BRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!"

Malcolm's bonds unfurl themselves in a propeller like motion as his hands tighten around a pair of metal nightsticks that erupt out of his palms. In a fluid motion, Malcolm whips himself upward in a double-handed strike at Adana's face and, whether or not he actually connects, Malcolm performs a standing backflip. Lunging forward from his nimble landing, Malcolm attempts to drive one baton into Adana's mid-section before swinging himself around her and bouncing off of her black throne to drive a third strike into the base of her skull and do a half-gainer over her head.

Sailing in an arc - like he just flipped out of one of the Matrix movies - over Mistress Adana's head, Malcolm watches her drop to her knees from the trio of powerful impacts with her body. He drops into a two point stance in front of her raised dais with his batons held out to either side of his body.

Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, Malcolm steps forward and uses the toe of one boot to flip Adana onto her back as he looks over his shoulder at Porter. Spinning his batons in his hands, they actually seem to momentarily just spin in contact with the palms of his hands without any actual manipulation by his fingers. Malcolm quietly intones to Porter, "You got them?"

The Initiates stare in shock as the captive proves to be a hero in disguise. "Mistress!" one decries as she sees her fall over. They draw out their wands. Even Gabrielle has lifted her head to stare blankly towards Adana.

Porter was all prepped to FLASHTHWUMP to Gabrielle. He was expecting a distraction, but holy hells. (Is that blaspemous in here?) He blinks, then nods. "Sure, I got them. Go get her loose." Hey, he can't deny him the chance to free his girl, afterall.

Somewhere along the way, Malcolm has planted one boot atop Adana's chest. He is now doing a full on Captain Morgan pose over her demonically empowered, wholly unconscious form. Malcolm tips his head toward the Initiate that cries out and shakes his head.

Malcolm steps over Adana, his Colossus' Flesh starting to spread over his body in a rolling wave of liquid metal. He offers a gentle smile to Grimm as he approaches her and intones, "It's okay, Gabrielle. I'm here to save you, just like I promised I would."

Porter was worried, not he can't help but grin at their sheer good fortune. Which probably means he's going to pay for it later. But that's later. He points the wand he has at the two initiates. Since it's the only thing semi-threatening he has. "Don't even think about it. Just put 'em down..."

Gabrielle sways a little more, still just staring at Mistress Adana's form. Her nose is still bleeding from all the power she's been channeling. A human body can only handle so much power coursing through it. She hasn't snapped out of whatever trance she's in yet. She doesn't seem quite aware of what's happening, or that Mistress Adana is unconscious. It's like she's waiting for an order. It's at the word 'promised' that causes Gabrielle's head to slowly turn up to Malcolm. Recognition hasn't set in yet.

The Initiate who cried out for Adana turns his wand and a sneer on Forge. "Defiler!" He shouts something in Latin, and a deadly blast of black magic streaks towards Forge.

"Traitor!" yells the other at Porter, thinking he's a turncoat brother-in-arms.

Porter yelps and ducks the incoming blast. So much for Mr. Intimidation. It ricochets off the enchanted floor, deflects off the chandelier, rebounds from the (recently higher) vaulted ceiling, then off the black thrown, whizzing past one initiative to collide with the one who launched it.

The Initiate watches the ricocheting blast. Hishead moves down, up, up, down, and before he realizes it, it's coming right for him! The eldritch blast strikes him square in the chest and flings him against the ballroom wall. He slumps to the ground and drops his wand.

Forge looks like he's trying to move in close to Grimm so he can stoop down to one knee and free her. Instead he finds himself whirling around in an attempt to BACKHAND a dark magical bolt out of the air. This goes about as well as one would expect.

Naturally the metal man's hand passes harmlessly through the bolt of dark magic and out the other side. It promptly slams into his unguarded chest and detonates in an explosion of darkness and power, launching him over Gabrielle's head to *SLAM* into the wall of the castle so hard that he becomes embedded in the ancient stonework under the "new tapestries" covering it. Smoke rises in thick contrails from Forge's scorched metal chest.

There is a great deal of creaking and groaning coming from the wall in which Forge has become embedded. Metal cables erupt out of the front of his chest, shoulders, and waist to brace against the outside of his impact crater, helping to pry him out of it. Narrowing his eyes, Forge draws in a deep breath and stays his hand from doing what he'd really like to do to Initiate #2.

Walking slowly and calmly, Forge moves back toward Grimm. ((You got this, Port, I got faith in you, brother.)) Gently, Forge plants one metal hand on Grimm's shoulder as he steps up alongside her and offers another gentle, soot-streaked smile.

"Hey, beautiful. Time for us to get you out of here."

Maybe it's the contact that does it. Some of it gets through to Gabrielle. She looks so exhausted. "Can...can I stop now...?" she pleads weakly. She's still in that fugue state of not quite understanding what's happening or recognizing anyone yet. This close, Forge can see the rune etchings on the chains binding her. It's connected to a ring built into the floor. He can also see that Gabrielle looks malnurished from her captivity. She's lost a bit of weight. Well, that might end up being considered a plus once she recovers from all this.

Porter didn't expect to duck that well, much less have it work so well. He blinks. But there's still one left. He looks at the wanded initiate, looks at his own wand, then does what comes completely naturally. He chucks the wand at the initiatie.

Ok, so it seemed natural to Porter, but then he's used to weird. Maybe the initiate wasn't expecting it. By the by, seems wands fly pretty straigth when thrown. The headcrystal weight keeps it forward, too. To bonk the guy in the noggin. Where he blinks and crumples in place. Porter -isn't- the one with the conussion for a change.

"Yes, you can stop now, Gabrielle," intones Forge. He squeezes her shoulder very gently and stoops down, swinging himself around so he can face her properly, hopefully also blocking Grimm's sight line to Adana. Forge cocks his head slightly to one side, regarding Grimm carefully as he inspects her for other signs of injury and/or recognition. "You're safe."

((Can you get her loose?)) Sure, they don't need to mind-whisper anymore, but it's a habit with Porter. He keeps his eyes out for more trouble while letting Malcolm comfort Gabrielle and help her back to her senses. It's both a good and bad thing that he knows that situation all too well.

((I don't know. What do you make of these chains? They look magicky to me.)) Malcolm jingle-jangles the chains lightly with a metal cable of his own for emphasis.

Blocking Adana helps. Gabrielle offers a tiny, weak smile once he gives her permission. Aside from the nosebleed and the lashings on the back she took (there seem to be a few), there doesn't seem to be anything beyond superficial injuries. Gabrielle wobbles before slumping towards Malcolm. As she does, the ball room's ceilings begin to lower back to what they were before. The tapestries fade back into the walls. The throne turns into a normal high-backed chair. The room lightens and looks just old instead of creepy and forboding. The high paned windows show the fog outside lifting, and night turns to late day as the nightmare lifts.

Porter turns and steps over to look at the chains. When he looks up, he also sees the room and outside as they must've been. He also sees Gabrielle smile. Which gets her one back. ((They're just helping keep her trapped and controlled. Feel free to rip them apart.))

Forge nods to Porter and gently patpats Grimm on the cheek with one hand. Both of his hands move to the collar and grip it. He closes his eyes in deep concentration and starts trying to wrench the damned thing apart.

Over the course of a few seconds, Forge's hands take on the same coloration as the tainted metal strapped about Grimm's neck. He flexes his fingers and wrists, slowly unbending the collar until it is a straight piece of metal connected to the floor by a chain. Forge promptly tosses it casually away behind Grimm and wraps her up in his arms for a great big hug.

Porter backs out of Forge's head as he concentrates. And, Ok, the moment is theirs, too. He turns back around, to watch for danger and stuff. Even if he's pretty sure it wouldn't matter if there was a whole gallery full of onlookers. It also gives him a clear line for an update to someone else. One that's probably a little overdue. ((Hey, Sweetie, I'll be home soon.))

Grimm collapses against Forge once she's freed. Her neck is a little chaffed from her bonds, but at least now she can rest. Her eyes, which had remained pitch black this whole time, gradually clear to their usual blue. After a few moments, Gabrielle manages a weak smile and a "Heeey, Handsome..." as she starts to become herself again. She rests in his arms and sighs in tired relief before closing her eyes.

Porter gets a response from Para. ((Great! Kyssie's missing you. I don't think she'll be happy until her daddy comes home. Everything okay, Sweetie?))

Forge holds onto Grimm tightly, stroking her back very tenderly with one metal hand. He offers a contented little sigh and comments, "You know you didn't have to go through all of this, you could have just said you didn't want to celebrate Valentine's Day," in a quiet, playful tone.

That manages to get a quiet chuckle from Gabrielle. "I...had concert tickets. Is it too late...?"

"Li'l bit, gorgeous, but that's okay," replies Forge, "It's the thought that counts."

"Oh. Damn..." Gabrielle sounds disappointed. She shifts a little and winces. "Was looking forward to Valentine's Day. Sorry, Handsome." She rests her head against him as she tries regaining some of her strength. She opens her eyes slowly at last, trying to get a feel for her surroundings. It starts to come back to her as her eyes settle on Adana and narrow some.

"It's okay, Gabrielle," murmurs Malcolm, gently cradling Grimm in his arms. That one hand continues to gently stroke her back as he comments, "The important thing is that you're alive and we're going to get you out of here just as soon as you've got some strength back."

Grimm nods softly. "Good...because I'm SO ready to go home. And sleep for a week..." she murmurs back. Some strength is coming back, because she manages to inch her arms up and around his neck. She stays resting like that, her head nuzzled against the crook of his neck for a minute. Outside the Ball room, it's generally quiet so far. Most of the forces had gone outside to deal with something. Eventually, Gabrielle nods and says, "I think I have some strength back."

Forge nods and scoops Grimm up in his arms, "Good." He promptly stands up and turns back toward Porter and the door, smiling cheerily as he starts marching down from the dais. "I believe you and Porter know one another."

Grimm blinks in surprise as she sees Porter. "Y-yeah...we're...we're friends." She settles on that. They've come to an understanding and have been on friendly terms. "Surprised he came with you." She manages a smile for Porter as she's carried. "Thanks for coming and helping Mal." Then she looks up to Mal. "Thanks for the save, Handsome."

"Every time, Gabrielle," replies Forge. He continues to carry Grimm as he marches back the way he came.

On the way out, the shadow hounds are gone. As are the darklings. And other shadow creatures. The place is brighter, less gothic, still abandoned looking, but not nearly as imposing or intimidating as before. There's still the skittering sound of ...something around, but nothing decides to peek its head out. The front doors are open and it's clear and light outside. Perhaps the brothers encountered earlier fled when the castle fell from their control. Porter keeps an eye out and watches their backs as they go.

Grimm smiles up at Forge like he's her hero. Because of course he is! He stormed a castle and saved the damsel/princess. And she wasn't even in another castle. "Wow, was it just the two of you? How...?" she asks in awe.

Forge shrugs at Grimm and smiles, taking a moment to find an answer for her. Straight-faced and in a perfectly deadpan voice, Forge replies, "Porter's a fourth level Vice President and I'm just a Banetank."

No, Forge has no idea what he just said. It just sounds like something he heard on tv one time.

Grimm stares, silently for a few moments, before smirking and managing a laugh. "I'm lucky you two are amazing, I guess. Thanks again, guys. I'm just glad to be free. I'm so hungry and thirsty..."

Forge nods and smiles. "I'll try to make it a quick trip back home then," he replies in a gentle voice, continuing to make his way back along the path he used to enter.