The Basement VI

You descend the stairs from the spiral above and discover a door locked with a key card. If you have gotten yours from the Old Man; the door opens into a pool room. The most noticeable thing about this room is the Basement Board.

There is also a kitchenette area with a coffee pot and the means to make hot beverages. A cabinet reveals the top shelf liquor.

Plenty of stools and beat up chairs are flecked about the room. A few lobby style couches hold down the wall. The basement looks like a bunker.

How this works

This is the Hunter only area of the Spiral. Free from Mortals; it's where you can talk freely. This is a sub-board and operates with the same rules as The Spiral does.

Daysha had breezed through the upstairs of the Spiral. She had only paused briefly to look for Derevko. No clue why she was worried about that asshole, but she was. The only thing she could figure out was because blue ran in her blood. Even her grandfather had been a cop in Chicago. How her family ended up here was beyond her. Daysha thought about asking her dad one day, how that all happened. But anytime it was brought up it was like a wall went up in her dad's eyes and he changed the subject. Picturing her grandpa as a hunter was well... weird. Of course now her mind may have plugged in things that may not have been there. That look of seeing too much in her father's eyes may not have been in her grandfather's.

Grabbing her mug from the cupboard, no one was really around in the basement yet. She checked out the board and shrugged. Daysha had enough shit on her plate at the moment. Opening the liquor cabinet, she perused the bottles. She eyeballed the Irish Creme which went soooo well in her coffee. But the last couple of times Daysha'd been around here, shit went down. She'd rather keep her thoughts clear if the fit hit the shan.

It was an espresso kind of night. She pulled out one of the little cups, pops it in the keurig machine and hit brew. Then she pulled out her smokes, slipped one in her mouth and lit up. Daysha only had one vice left. Cause she was far too busy to get laid lately. Hell... even dating was out of the question.

Mike slipped in through the back door, because he had kind of a thing, ever since that vigil of non-Hunters had shown up on the top level. He just kept thinking about reporters finding out where he drank.

And then finding out about his apparent 'mystery woman' who also drank there, wasn't dating him, but apparently wanted to adopt kids.

God, that was fucked up.

"Hello, Daysha," the hulking athlete said cheerfully, heading for the espresso machine. "Brought you some refills." He gestured to the box under one massive arm.

There were advantages to being rich.

Sara loped into the basement a couple of minutes later, and her purposeful footsteps could be heard as she descended the staircase. She had a very specific way of walking, when she was not attempting to be stealthy. It said, quite clearly: I'm here, don't fuckin' mess with me today.

She raised a hand in a mute wave to the two of them. In her other hand was a box, and out of the top was a toaster. Next to it, tucked away and currently unopened, was an assortment pack of Pop Tarts.

"Hey," Harlowe verbally greeted, a couple of minutes later. She dumped the box next to the coffee machine, eyed the tempting beverage, and turned away to choose her favoured snack. For someone who was pretty good at cooking, the former Captain ate some pretty unhealthy shit sometimes.

A few minutes later, Doc Marcus came through the back door. He looked tired, like he'd been up quite late. Tucked under his arm was a brown folder, and a newspaper. As he entered, Ryan smiled politely. "Hi, guys," the Doc said, settling into a couch and putting the paper and the folder onto the seat next to him.

The tough, scarred Agent from upstairs, missing. Bandit, directly involved in the shit that was going on at his hospital. And a gift for Sara and Mike that had taken a lot out of him for what could only be minimal gains. It was a lot of stuff that was very close to home... well, to the bar. Where everybody knows your name...

On a night like this, Ryan needed a drink something fierce.

The Detective watched the tall built man descend the stairs. It was sometimes impressive to watch such a guy in motion. “Oh, hey thanks Mike.” Daysha was a little shocked but grinned with raised eyebrows. Other than family no one really bought her anything.

Then Sara entered, without a waltz without a skip in her step but it was affirmative and assertive. They were much alike, perhaps hardened by their profession in life. “Hey Harlowe.” Nodding to the captain, her tone wasn’t crabby that evening… yet. That could change if some new dumbass walked in.

Then the chipper Ryan Marcus entered. He always seemed a little too friendly. Perhaps he was a little morbid with his work. Yet, maybe it was his way of covering up the bullshit. Put on a happy face, except tonight. He looked like he went through the wringer. “Hey Doc.” She nearly made a Bugs Bunny reference, but thought it would have went over like a fart in church. "How we all doing?"

Huh… church.

She wouldn't admit it openly, but she missed him.

"No worries," Mike said, dropping the box on the counter. "It's only fair. We all hang out down here, after all."

And I need to have something else to make sure I'm not always beelining for the-

He wasn't entirely sure when he'd picked up the shot, but it was already at his lips.

Fuck. Oh well. Tomorrow is another night.

And it would probably be exactly the same.

"Good. Still working on my little burning kid, but nothing serious there. Paper's been weird recently. All those disappearances..."

Harlowe hooked up the toaster to the wall outlet and, as a nod to looking healthy, tugged a strawberry snack from the box and shoved it in to cook. While she waited, she picked up the most recent SacBee edition and gave it a quick once-over - as if she had not done the same already a dozen times. She was sure, the world over, Hunters did the same thing: scouring the papers for any oddity, or potential supernatural activity to take down.

"You notice the blurb about the kid's foster father?" Harlowe questioned Mike, and half-nodded in greeting to the arriving doctor. "Kid's probably been told..." There was a slightly concerned look on her face, and she searched her clogged up brain for any recent fires the kid might have set for being... emotionally disturbed.

Nothing immediately jumped to mind, which was faintly settling.

"I'm all right, Daysha. Been busy lately because of a security concern at the hospital. How about you?" he asked. He sounded weary.

Rising from his couch, the Doc made his way over to the liquor cabinet. Which bottle of whiskey he selected didn't concern him; he just wanted a drink. In his hand, he had the folder. Tipping the bottle, he poured two fingers into a tumbler and took a sip.

Leaning against the counter, Ryan peered over at Mike and Sara, thinking for a moment. The diagnosis in the report wasn't outside of the range of expected possibilities given what had happened, but a possible diagnosis of PTSD meant these Hunters needed to be damn careful.

Daysha gave a humorous but perplexed look to the coffee. Other than herself and Harlowe, no one else seemed to drink much of it. Or she wasn’t paying attention that much, stress would do that. “Paper also said you’re going to adopt…” The Detective’s head angled toward Mike with a fill me in expression.

“Yeah, so many disappearances.” Daysha shook her head. Fucking city is full of vampire and other shit. “Sometimes I wonder what would happen if law enforcement knew about this… and I mean more than just myself or a handful of people.”

She sighed heavily and took a drag of her smoke. “But then I remember something I saw in a movie once.” Daysha tapped her hand on the table a tick. “A person is smart. People are stupid…or something like that.” God I wish I could remember what the fucking movie was. Black men in the night? Men in secret? M.I.S.?

Nodding to Sara. “God I can only imagine finding that out. Poor kid’s been through a lot.” Hell she was in her 30’s loosing her father would make her freak out too.

“Security concern at the hospital?” Her head shrunk back a bit in disbelief. “Did someone steal morphine?”