The Importance of Hunting Idols

[Guest]

"...daddy?"

Poke.

"Your alarm went off..."

Poke. Poke.

"Daddy, don't you have a meeti-"

Before the small child could finish her sentence, the bedroom erupted in a tornado of flying linens and a thunder of pattering feet as a somewhat odd-smelling middle-aged man and single father launched himself from bed and up onto the floor of his room. "I'MAWAKE!" He announced jovially. "I'M AWAKE! I'M AWAKE! I'M AWAKE!" He affirmed, to whoever may have been or not been listening, as if trying to ensure divine protector of his current status of consciousness.

The man, garbed in exceptionally pungent boxer shorts and a faded, stained white tank top, then proceeded to yawn, and turn to the small child, staring at the man who could only be her father with an apprehensive and slightly concerned look. He met her gaze with a beaming grin which seemed to be unable to be broken by anything. "Morning, sweetheart. You had some breakfast?"

The girl nodded proudly, having poured herself and ate a bowl of cereal a full five minutes ago.

"Did you put the milk back in the fridge?"

THUMP. MEEEEEEEEEEEEEOW! Glug. Glug. Glug.

"Guess not..." The lethargic man shrugged, swiftly breaking his daughter's guilty-looking expression. "We'll pick some more up on the way home. No harm done." With that, the individual peered down the hall at the waiting door of the bathroom,, slightly ajar. A burst of wind came in from an open window, and with an eerie, gentle creak, the door swung fully open, and the father could have swore he'd heard a voice whisper "come heeeeere" in some ethereal, phantom-like tone.

To shower, or not to shower. That was, indeed, the question.

Almost telepathically sensing his thought processes, the small child sniffed the air and put on a face of exemplified disgust. "Daddy, you stink!" The father shrugged. Perhaps he'd been given an impromptu answer. Ah, well. He made a double-take and checked the alarm once more. He still had a solid six minutes before he had to be at the palace.

Which was a ten minute drive away.

Well. Fuck.

Fashionably late would have to do.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, one Doctor Vergil Rawls, PhD, both freshly washed and unshaven, pulled shut the door of his 1969 Chevrolet El Camino with a sigh. Milk-sodden kitten and his lack of sleep aside, the archaeologist yanked the keys through the ignition and ran a hand through his damp hair, sighing gently under his breath as deep hazel eyes glimmered underneath a dew-sodden fringe. The binary red figures glared on the car's newly-rigged eighties digital clock: 9:11AM. Eh, he'd be fine. It wasn't like this was majorly important, anyway. Probably. He wasn't sure. Was it?

With a delighted childish squeal from the passenger seat, the car thrummed into life, Vergil tugging absentmindedly at his charcoal work jacket, and his scruffy-looking hastily-knotted red tie, over a plain white shirt that he hoped wasn't stained. However, as the car spluttered its way away from a small driveway in a quaint area of Dublin, frantically, the doctor's hand on his head began to jerk about like a giant fleshy spider, and the jagged question came forth from quivering lips. To whom in particular? The doctor wasn't sure. "Where's my hat!?"

Vergil's six year old daughter, Tamara Rawls (no PhD) giggled playfully, and from the floor of the passenger seat produced a wide-brimmed, dark brown fedora, waving it in the air before finally plonking it atop her father's head. She was garbed in a white t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants, with some sandals and a child-sized tan backpack. Given that it was still only April, and Carraig had a reputation for notoriously bad weather through til at least May, her choice of clothing was optimistic at best - but there was always a spare fleece or two her size hidden in the trunk of the car if worse came to worst.

Ten minutes later, the El Camino pulled up to the front of Carraig's palace. A monumental construction, in all honesty; the home of King Etheridge was not a building to be simply waved off in terms of architectural superiority, it was far grander than most modern buildings of his time. Vergil Rawls, however, was a specialist when it came to these sorts of things, so, flatteringly, he rubbed his nose as he did every time he arrived, shrugged, unimpressed, and entered through the main double doors.

"Hey, guys," He greeted the two CPD officers trusted with the defense and security of the palace's main entrance with a quick wave, before throwing his hands up. "Now I can promise you I'm unarmed, buuut..." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards his daughter, who angrily plodded up behind, hanging onto her backpack with a defined frown as she stared at her father. Curse him, and curse his longer legs. "...she might be a different story. Heard terrible stories about that one." Vergil shrugged. "Saw her put a great big .44 in her bag this morning."

"Did not!" Came the defiant squeal from behind, Tammy crossing her arms and frowning at her father.

"Did too!"

"Did not! You were too busy sleeping!"

...well, fuck, she had him there. Vergil turned back to the guards and shrugged. "Isn't it just gratifying when your six-year-old daughter has beaten you in an argument through the crushing grip of logic?" The archaeologist shook his head in mock despair, before breaking into a chuckle. "Anyway, I'm here to see Mr. Moray. Twenty-five minutes late, but here to see him all the same."

[Roarke Moray]

Roarke felt kind of important. He had a meeting today. Mind you, he had no idea what said meeting was about to be entirely honest. He may have knew at some point, but he had since forgotten. Other important, beastly matters had taken over his brain. But the day have the meeting had arrived. He had bathed two nights before and last night had given himself a thorough brushing. He looked very dashing, as far as he was concerned. And he definitely didn't smell funny, which was a bonus. He had even polished his horns! And not that kind of horn, you perv.

Breakfast the morning of was his usual affair. He cooked up two pounds of ground beef, threw it all onto a loaf of french bread sliced in half and doused it in Worcestershire sauce and ketchup. Delicious! He threw the dirty dishes into his sink and flew up the stairs to clean up his paws and get some clothes on. Because what beast DIDN'T walk around in the buff in his own damned house? He pulled his usual blue pants over his legs, tugging his tail through the slit in the back. Feeling classy, he tossed his cloak around his shoulders, feeling very smug. He hooked the clasp and after taking one more glance at himself in the mirror, he was out of the window of his bedroom, doing a massive leap to the ground about a story below. Being fantastic, he landed easily on all fours and began the usual ten mile run to the castle. While it was fantastic having an estate and land all to himself, sometimes the commute to work was less than ideal.

Yet he still managed to arrive more-or-less on time. Not that he ever really had a set schedule. Being a guard meant his hours varied. The meeting he was having was at nine, and he showed up around eight-thirty. He decided to remain outside as it felt pretty nice against his fur. He ended up settling down in a huge furry ball, cloak wrapped around him. He was on the inner grounds of the castle, paw over paw and his head resting atop those. He watched for a little while, mulling time until he thought he heard a car outside the gatehouse. Maybe it was his meeting! He rose up as another guard came outside, calling that he had company. The guy was still at the main gatehouse, so Roarke went there, crossing the inner courtyard easily. He walked in, not quite standing at his full height. He towered over everyone there, per usual. His tail swished casually across the floor as he stood between the two security guards, across from Dr. Rawls. He gave Dr. Rawls a toothy grin and held out a massive paw in greeting. “Hey! You must be Rawls.”

[Toss Ivanova]

"He could have been dreaming," Toss whispered from beside the little girl at the gate. He was listening in, as per usual. He also didn't feel any guilt as per usual. In fact, he didn't even realize he was eavesdropping; he wasn't even on an eave so it didn't make sense to call it that anyway. Instead, Toss was just hanging out on the steps, watching some guy park his car in the middle of the street like he owned it. This was the palace, didn't he know that? That car was gunna get towed. Probably in the next three minutes it would be gone, didn't he know that? Even if it was a saturday, that didn't make parking free. Even if parking was free, that didn't make it park-where-ever-the-fuck-you-want day. He smiled slyly. Whoever this guy was he--

"Anyway, I'm here to see Mr. Moray. Twenty-five minutes late, but here to see him all the same." --was so fucking late, hahaha! Sucked. Woah, waitasecond. He was here to see Roarke? Toss side-glanced to the guards who looked a bit misplaced considering the dialogue that was interchanged, but he didn't see the furry beast among them. Toss had no idea where the guy was. Even if he was around, waiting 25 minutes was a bit... He'd probably get bored and go off to scare small children or something. Whatever big, scary chimerae did, he didn't know. In fact none of this was his business at all. Why get involved? Because that guy's face pissed him off. He looked too..too smug. That was the word. He was just too laid back. Sorry wrong building, dude, try the travel agency next door for trips to one of the islands. That thought brought the image of Roarke being one of the travel agency women in a pencil skirt. He snickered out loud. That would be funny. Instead of 'may I help you?' it'd be: 'AHEERGGAARRRARRARRR!!' Needless to say, the company would go under in a matter of a few weeks. If that. Not that he really knew anything about companies, but surely it wouldn't survive very long if most of the customers bolted. And by most, he could name off a few people that wouldn't be fazed. One of whom was himself. Roarke's name was pretty much 'Roar', but still he was a... Toss lost his train of thought at the approach of the chimera. Upon seeing him, everything he was thinking melded away. Nope, he was definitely not a person like everyone else. That was for sure.

Chills ran up and down his spine at the fact that a giant, tall, hairy, horned, big foot with fangs and sharp teeth was talking. “Hey! You must be Rawls.” Yeah, it needed some getting used to. Toss wasn't really around the other militants often, usually spending time with either Boobface or King Gavin. He didn't get out much, confined mainly to the hangars and whatnot. And let's just put this on the table while he was thinking about Roarke: he NEVER wanted to see the guy in a fight. Well, more specifically, he didn't want to see the OTHER guy in a fight. Or what was left of him. Some things just--no. Unless it was him. He doubted Roarke would even be able to dent his skin, but no one needed to know that. It was enough that Gavin knew. No one else had to. It was better that way. That's right, Toss thought darkly, I'm a monster too, that's why I'm allowed to call you one. Fellow monsters. Funny. Two peas in a pod--or separate pods cause no one else knew what he was. If they knew, he wondered, what would they say--what would they think of me then? A sardonic smile overtook him and he shook his head, white spikes of hair flopping in the sunlight lazily. He remained bent down at the little girl's level, feeling like Thumbelina in the shadow of, well, Roarke. Roarke was big enough not to need a metaphor or whatever those comparison thingies were called.

"Hey there, Rawls, I'm Toss." He waved unenthusiastically. "Sorry for invading your meeting, but your car is being towed."

[Guest]

“Hey! You must be Rawls.” From across the threshold, he appeared, and by God, Allah, and Jehovah, Vergil and Tamara had never seen anything quite like him. He was a towering, titanic, giant man-beast, covered in some sort of organic fur, vaguely reminiscent of a large, bipedal bear. For a moment, Rawls stood in stark wonder at the chimera - he'd known the man wasn't exactly entirely human, but not for a MOMENT had he ever presumed anything like this. Fascinating! The same twinkle of curiosity twinkled in the father's eyes as the son.

"Where are my manners?" Shaking it away - after all, it was rude to stare, Rawls offered his hand forward, taking the man's bear-like hand - paw? - in his own and shaking the weighty limb up and down. "Yes. Doctor Vergil Rawls, PhD." He jerked a shoulder towards Tammy, who beamed up fearlessly at the man-bear-thing as her father introduced her too. "And this is my fantastic assistant. Miss Tamara Rawls... preschool." Tammy pouted up at her father aggressively.

"I HAVE started school!"

"You haven't finished it!" He'd already explained the importance and detailed inner workings of qualifications in the adult world to Tamara, but she seemed not really to care, just a scholar in general. Words on a paper meant nothing to her; oh how he wished to be that way again, the carefree child playing in his little sand forts in the back garden, going on fake excavations with his paleontologist father...

"Anyway, the reason I came to you today is-"

"Hey there, Rawls, I'm Toss." Nyeh? Ishvallan-looking? Toss? Well he couldn't give one, but- "Sorry for invading your meeting, but your car is being towed." NYEH!? He pivoted on one heel, and let slip one word from his mouth in a vicious hiss, confirming that, infact, this Toss person was right, as odd as he seemed.

"BASTARDS!"

"DADDY!" Rawls pivoted back to see a frowning Tamara wagging a stern finger in his direction. "Language!" Well, Creig, preferably. Oh, how she was so alike to her mother. It was almost unfathomably glorious and yet somewhat depressing at the same time. But that was another thought for another day, Vergil concluded, filing it away and pivoting back a third time, before pointing at the two security guards standing by the metal detector.

"FRANZ! GILMORE!" Those probably weren't their names. Well, in Vergil's mind, they had been, anyway. "Go tell those traffic wardens that if they don't leave my El Camino behind, they're going to potentially damage priceless ancient-Creig century-old artifacts that are of monumental importance to their King!" The pair noted fairly quickly, and, though somewhat bemused, upon hearing the King's name, nodded, and one - Franz, by Rawls' reckoning - bolted off outside to give the civil service workers a stern talking-to. Vergil offered an addendum as he sprinted outside. "PROBABLY!"

With that, Vergil peered over the checkpoint to make sure everything was going fine, as the burly workers, dressed in their dayglow orange high-visibility jackets, seemed to be getting into something of a vicious argument with the suit-clad black-glasses shifty-shady security agent. Well that was one problem sorted. "...daddy, are we going to get the bus home?"

"Hopefully not!" He replied, oddly exuberant as he turned back to Roarke and the new Ishvallan guy. "Anyway, yeah. Thanks... Toss?" Odd name. Then again, so was Roarke. He could have sworn most militants he encountered seemed to collectively have something of a monopoly over unusual names or monikers. "By Xerxes... seems like a man can't get from A to B in this world without someone trying to ruin his day, eh?" So what if his tax sticker was a few years out of date?! HE WAS THE PROPHET OF GELEMORTÉ, HE COULD PARK WHERE HE WANTED!

"Anyway, should have probably warned you of the spoiler, Mr. Moray, but my presence here today is part of an archaeological dig outside Dublin that I'm officially requesting your assistance with." He shrugged. "Moving boulders and the like. Cheapskate city council can't "afford" to send out a few JCB excavators. Utter bullsh-" He remembered Tammy, peering up at him with those deep emerald eyes that her mother had once had. "Uh, utter copout, that is." Phew. At least he'd made one save. Between spilt milk and almost losing his hat, the parking ticket and swearing in front of his daughter (again), today had not gotten off to a good start.

And Tamara once more broke the pseudo-silence between the three of them with another stark and rather lighthearted remark, but humorous for all the wrong reasons. "...daddy, is this Mr. Rock Morry you were talking about?" ...sometimes, he felt like publicly facepalming. He really did.

[Roarke Moray]

"Where are my manners?" Roarke wanted to reply with “I have no idea, dude” but settled for grabbing the extended hand and returning the shake. He was a bit more gentle, going for the firm-but-not-ripping-the-arm-off type of handshake. Bad way to start a business arrangement if someone had to go to the hospital. "Yes. Doctor Vergil Rawls, PhD." Roarke resisted the urge to snicker. Vergil. What a ridiculous sounding name. Now his name, Roarke, was pretty sweet. If he did say so himself. "And this is my fantastic assistant. Miss Tamara Rawls... preschool." Roarke turned to possibly offer the young girl some kind of a handshake when everything got all crazy. There was disagreements about school placement, then cars being towed. The two security guards on duty, who were definitely not named Franz and Gilmore were instructed by the doctor to save his poor car. Roarke settled for a friendly half-wave towards Toss. Things got relatively sorted and Vergil turned back to Roarke.

"Anyway, should have probably warned you of the spoiler, Mr. Moray, but my presence here today is part of an archaeological dig outside Dublin that I'm officially requesting your assistance with. Moving boulders and the like. Cheapskate city council can't "afford" to send out a few JCB excavators. Utter bullsh- Uh, utter copout, that is." And so it came to be, the point of the meeting. Although it was odd that they hadn't gotten farther than the gatehouse before the meeting had actually started. There was a bit of a silence as Roarke mulled over the term “JCB excavators.” He was entirely sure what in the hell Vergil was talking about, but he suspected they were huge machines that moved boulders.

"...daddy, is this Mr. Rock Morry you were talking about?" Roarke looked pointedly at Vergil, his facial expression clearly giving the message of “Seriously?!” Either his daughter didn't understand names or Vergil had been talking about him in a strange way. Whichever the reason, it was LAME. He knelt down to be more at Tammy's level, even though he still towered over her. “That is not my name. Roarke Moray. You can call me Roar for short. Feel lucky.” He then raised himself up again. “So, you want manual labor? Do you want to actually come inside and talk more about it?”

[Toss Ivanova]

"BASTARDS!"

He shrugged. "Rules" were meant to be broken, clearly.

"Go tell those traffic wardens that if they don't leave my El Camino behind, they're going to potentially damage priceless ancient-Creig century-old artifacts that are of monumental importance to their King!"

"Shouldn't have parked it in the middle of the road," Toss muttered. And the guards had names. But this guy...had gal. Was he full of himself or just stupid? Toss couldn't tell, but it thoroughly pissed him off. But wait, priceless ancient--what? He was oddly intrigued. What could be important to Gavin that was transported in an El Camino? The guards left their post. The protection of the palace was left up to them. Toss itched the inside of his ear and sighed. Today was weird.

"Anyway, yeah. Thanks... Toss?"

"My name doesn't end with a question mark, Rawls," he snapped.

"By Xerxes... seems like a man can't get from A to B in this world without someone trying to ruin his day, eh?"

"Obviously. Xerxes ain't nothing but ruins." He flicked his finger and shifted his weight onto his other foot with a faint sigh. These people.

"Anyway, should have probably warned you of the spoiler, Mr. Moray, but my presence here today is part of an archaeological dig outside Dublin that I'm officially requesting your assistance with." Archae...ological dig? Dig. It sounded like bones. His blinked wildly, trying to process this information without overheating. So like, this guy dug up bones and stuff? No wonder he mentioned Xerxes, but there were no bones there? Xerxes was the city that became a philosopher stone, right? Or were bodies left behind? He really wasn't sure how it worked, but this Rawls guy dug stuff up it seemed. And now he was asking for help from Roarke? He'd say no. Definitely say no. Roarke digging holes? Toss covered his mouth and looked away. There was just--no. But that was when Roarke knelt down instead of answering right away. The little girl had gotten the pronunciation of the chimera's name wrong. Who could blame her? But that was apparently more important because he was definitely making a point of it. Roarke Moray, the Rock Morry of Carraig. If Toss was a little girl who had just started school, he'd probably piss himself thinking the beast was going to eat him. Except he wasn't a little girl. So he just laughed. ROARke Moray, emphasis on the roar. Yeah, she was lucky.

“So, you want manual labor? Do you want to actually come inside and talk more about it?”

"Yeah because there's totally not people who shouldn't be involved in this meeting listening it. But, hey, I have off today so if you need help yanking out old people's bones and shit..."

[Guest]

“That is not my name. Roarke Moray. You can call me Roar for short. Feel lucky.” Tammy pouted in response, staring down the giant man-bear thing. Fearless in her tactlessness, just like her father, for a moment, Rawls beamed down at her with a little "oh my darling, you're growing up!" look, before turning back to the matter at hand. “So, you want manual labor? Do you want to actually come inside and talk more about it?”

"I was thinking outside. It's nice and warm. Perhaps a picnic or something." Rawls shrugged. They could have had pork pies. And pasties. He loved pasties. With a stupendous grin, he looked back to the Ishvallan, who had thought it appropriate to intervene once more. Rawls scratched the back of his head and listened.

"Shouldn't have parked it in the middle of the road," Rawls shrugged. Parking spaces were so 2012. Plus, like he'd said - prophet of Gelemorté totally got ability to park wherever he want. And you'd think that having a car as beautiful as his El Camino was - an archaeological marvel of its own time - would prompt people NOT TRYING TO TOW IT. "My name doesn't end with a question mark, Rawls," God, this guy was snappy as fuck.

"Yeah, well, I prefer it if mine ends in a fairly positive tone." Rawls snapped back. Taste of his own medicine! There was no need for such dry sarcasm so early on in their acquaintance. Though if he kept acting like this, Vergil was just going to ignore him. Best way to do it - jump onboard the seven year old ship with Tammy and follow the stars down the "LALALALALA I'M NOT LIIIISTENING" route.

"Obviously. Xerxes ain't nothing but ruins."

...what?

Really? He had just called Xerxes "nothing but ruins"? A vein began to bulge on his forehead. "Xerxes is one of the greatest archaeological marvels of the old world that one could ever come across." Vergil stated flatly. "It's reason that we've made so many advances in not only ancient history and archaeology, but sociology and understanding of an ancient culture - even from 'nothing but ruins'." Rawls was seething. There was something personal about Xerxes. It was kind of... the reason he became an archaeologist in the first place. "Xerxes is one of the greatest ancient civilizations this world has ever seen." OLD MAN MODE ACTIVATE. "And you will show some signs of respect when talking about it, boy!" Wow. Overkill on the old man front. Jeez, he was acting like a seventy-year old around thirty years early.

"Yeah because there's totally not people who shouldn't be involved in this meeting listening it. But, hey, I have off today so if you need help yanking out old people's bones and shit..." Tammy, apparently having been oblivious to the whole debacle with Toss and her father, stepped forwards and gave Roarke a vigorous poke in the leg, before shooting her head upwards to study his facial response, and making a "hmm" noise.

"If you mean my daughter, then I'll have you know that her knowledge of archaeology is probably better than yours, and through assisting me she's most likely more qualified than anyone in this building to come through to this dig." Tammy blinked, tilted her head, and paused her poking of Roarke, looking at Rawls in an extraordinarily derpy fashion. "Probably."

Vergil scratched the back of his head again. "And not quite old people's bones. I'm an archaeologist, not a graverobber." Though the distinction between the two was difficult to find sometimes. "Ancient Creig warrior burial crypts. Possibly up to a thousand years old." And hence, he was hiring muscle instead of finesse. Logic in the best of sense. With that, Rawls turned back to Roarke. "Lead the way, Roarke."

Tammy nodded vigorously, repeating what her father had said in a significantly more bubbly tone. "Yeah, lead the way!"

...

"Stop copying me."

[Roarke Moray]

"I was thinking outside. It's nice and warm. Perhaps a picnic or something." Roarke nodded his head. Outside seemed like a pretty decent idea. It was a little cool, but he was covered in fur. Therefore, he would be fine. He was going to suggest raiding the castle kitchens when Rawls and Toss seemed to get kind of... into it. Well, Rawls got into it with Toss. Roarke smartly decided to step in between the two, glaring down at Rawls. “DUDE. Seriously. Chill out.” He glanced back at Toss, shooting a nasty glare his way to hopefully encourage him to keep his mouth shut. “Everybody can have opinions about stuff. It's not a crime. So relax.”

He wanted to continue being a mediator and being righteous when he felt a tiny prod on his leg. He shifted his gaze down to the puny one that was far closer to the ground. He tried to frown, but he'd always had trouble with that expression in beast-mode. It tended to look nasty more than disapproving. So he kind of settled for a flat stare. “How would you like if I did that to you?” He reached down his paw, making sure to curl the claw in. Being as completely gentle as possible he poked Tammy in her arm.

He kind of zoned back into Rawls' talking after another second. "Ancient Creig warrior burial crypts. Possibly up to a thousand years old." Well. THAT sounded kind of cool. For sure. "Lead the way, Roarke." Glad to be back onto the point Roarke nodded his head. “Unless you brought said picnic, we'll have to raid the castle kitchens. But then we can go to the gardens.” He headed in the direction of the castle because either way Rawls' answered, that was the direction they needed to go. He gestured behind him at Toss, encouraging him to follow if he felt up to it. Food was delicious after all, and should be shared.

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