taxonomites | [✘] one; holo; central building; arrival.

Rebecca Locke is not a stranger to find herself in unfamiliar places. On the job, she’s come to expect it – whatever that says about her, it’s probably not positive, and it’s likely to get her locked in a room with a leather couch and a woman who wants to know all about her feelings, if her boss weren’t the manipulative bastard that he is. Small miracles.

It’s not the fact that she doesn’t recognize this room that alarms her. It’s the fact that she doesn’t recognize how she got here. She hasn’t woken up here – she simply is here. No tranquilisers or paralytics or two-by-fours over the head involved. That’s the part she doesn’t understand, and whatever Rebecca doesn’t understand, she desperately wants to.

She surveys the room at first – the walls and the ceiling. If there are cameras, they’re well-hidden. So it’s not your garden variety psycho that likes to lock girls up in their basement. Could be a wealthy, connected psycho that likes to lock girls up in their basement. Which would put her in an estate out past the suburbs, or a government facility in the heart of downtown. There are other possibilities, still. Too many.

For example, maybe the cameras aren’t hidden. Maybe they aren’t there. Maybe there are no microphones either, in which case yelling won’t do any good. There is some sort of device nearby. She’s supposing her abductor wants to communicate with her through it. In that case, maybe it’s someone with a scientist complex, and she’s the rat chasing the cheese. Could just be a bored sociopath enabled by too much Saw, but there’s a distinct lack of escalation, if that’s the case.

Only one way to find out.

Rebecca picks up the device. She could start with her government title, read them their rights, and insist on being let go. But they both know that’s not going to happen. Besides, she’s still got her badge on her. If they took her, it’s because she’s with the FBI, which means there’s no sense in acting the scared victim either.

She’ll be frank then. Keep it short. She activates the tablet and speaks into it like she would a walkie-talkie. No need for introductions.

“Who am I speaking to?”

[ ooc | as mentioned in my ooc post, backdated to just a few hours before the doctor's trial. ♥ ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Uther of Deadhouse Doul. I am not one of our captors," says a quiet, serious man in pseudo-Victorian clothing. It's worth mentioning that his voice is unbearably lovely and his original creator likes to go on and on about it at length.

Rebecca looks down at the screen; unless this is a recording, the device in her hand is much more sophisticated than she thought. She gives it a closer look-over and presses the button she thinks will give her the same display option as the stranger speaking to her.

"This is Special Agent Rebecca Locke. I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Her tone remains professional. As yet, she has no reason to believe him, especially when he sounds and appears to be some kind of history fanatic. "Tell me how I arrived here, and why I should believe you."

He's used to titles and pronouncements that carry no meaning for him, and chooses not to share that information at this point.

"As far as we know, there are aliens who have brought us here for study and their own amusement. I can offer you no reason to believe me other than your own judgment."

"Aliens." She only mouths it, as she doesn't expect him to correct her were she to speak it out loud. All right then. She's been abducted with or by someone apparently completely insane.

She says aloud, "You can offer me information. What the 'aliens' call themselves, what city or state we're in. Anything you remember from just before you were taken."

"This land is called Taxon, and I was taken in the first quarto of the new year when I had gone ashore at the port of Wailing on Bered Kai Nev." When he moves, Locke might notice that on his right arm, underneath the fabric of his shirt, something bunches and wraps around his skin.

She is in fact quite attentive to detail, especially when it comes to suspicious strangers. Since continuing to question a visibly insane man is probably not going to yield any helpful answers, she doesn't mind addressing it.

"What's... There's something," she points at the screen, as though it will specify at all, "on your arm."

"I use it to power my sword," he says while rolling up his sleeve to display a series of wires with an unusual metallic sheen. Embedded in the palm of his hand there are three brads which, presumably, are connected to the wires that emerge from the back of his wrist and then wrap around and through the meat of his upper arm.

It is obviously not any sort of fashionable body modification, nor it is likely of Earthly origin.

"As far as I can tell, most all your fellow kidnapees." Spade's tone is wry, but not unkind. "This is Sam Spade speaking, but other people might pick up in a little too."

"So I'm speaking over a network," she says, interested but neutral. Any information is useful information. She tries to stay focused on that and not how flabbergasting the technology is. "How many fellow 'kidnapees' are there?"

"Been working on pinning down a number. Best estimate so far is about 45 or so. Captors unseen, far as I can make out."

"You can't abduct forty-five people and go completely unseen," she says, not that she's ever encountered or been a part of an abduction on this scale. "Someone must know something."

"Everyone knows all kinds of somethings. I just ain't made any sense out of the pieces yet. Maybe you'll have a better crack at it, ma'am."

"Maybe," she says, when she thinks probably, seeing as it is her job. She's managed to gather up a little bit of tact in the past six months, at least, and doesn't say it out loud. "It can't be safe to discuss it over this... thing. Is there somewhere I could meet you?"

"Certainly. If you pick the thing up, you can get out the door. If you go out of the building you're in, there's a village square of sorts. I can meet you there in 20."

"Master Siri Tachi," she answers with a flourish. Siri often doesn't use her title(s) here, but even after nearly a year of having been here, old habits are still very much at the forefront her person and dictate her responses when she isn't watching them closely more often than she likes.

The "Master" bit of that doesn't sit well with her, though considering the unusual sound of the woman's name, she's at least inclined to suspect cult member over domination enthusiast (and yes, her mind really does work that way).

"Special Agent Rebecca Locke. FBI. What exactly are you master of?"

Sadly, that's not too far from the truth, given some of the extreme length the Order goes to in her day before it's inevitable fall, revival and reorganization by Anakin Skywalker's son. Siri is, thankfully, not as dogmatic as other masters, especially after having been in Taxon for so long. Even Jedi have their limitations on what they can and cannot hold on to without reason.

"FBI," she echos. "Forgive me, Agent Locke, but I am unfamiliar with that lettering. What is it to stand for? I am a Master of the Jedi Order. We are peacekeepers, the guardians of the Galactic Republic."

"Teddy Daniels, ma'am. US Marshals," says the insomniac-looking gentleman in the fedora. He could flash his badge, but he generally figures his posture says cop well enough on its own. "Have you gotten a run-down on the place yet?"

[✘] one; holo; central building; arrival.

[visual]

[ holo → visual ]

[visual ]

[ visual ]

[ visual ]

[ visual ]

[ visual ]

[holo]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ holo ]

[ visual ]