[Visual] [Location - The Birdhouse]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul Smecker maintains a list of scents he doesn't wish to smell ever again. Some of these have been on the list for years, their origins back in this or that case-- the odor of a bloated river-dumped body, dragged back to the surface swollen to twice its weight and size-- the particular scent of coffee regurgitated-- the aftershave a man named David used to wear.

Some, however, are new acquisitions: the buttery olfactory grease of carnival popcorn, after the whirligig of the circus and its mob (its mob of people who could not be here, except 'could not' is a meaningless phrase nowadays, and seeing Alan fucking Shore had been a suckerpunch he still doesn't want to think about, he's glad Alan's not stuck here but damnit, damnit, why bring him at all except just to fuck with him, fucking aliens--).

And the smell of birdshit.

Yeah, that one he's just plain goddamn sick of.

It feels like it's permeated not just his clothes but his skin too, and Paul decides to burn the clothes he was wearing for the cleaning, not like he can't get more after all. His skin he's stuck with, but Paul takes a shower and then a bath and then another shower and finally feels back to human again. If nothing else, the building is finally clean. He's been in there almost every day of the last month, blasting with the hose, scouring, scrubbing the ceilings free of nests and the walls and floor free of crap, Cain helping him (for which thank God, because otherwise he'd still be at it, he's sure). Hasn't exactly done wonders for his social life but it's been a simple task, a task where every day he can see his progress (even if it's just in terms of square feet scoured), and know he's gotten something done, and if it's pointless then it's fucking pointless but it's better than fucking around in a circle-jerk of aimless committees that doesn't even have a hierarchy, that isn't even as organized as the Bureau in all her redundant, backwards, incompetent, bureaucratic chaos is.

Or so Special Agent Paul Smecker muses.

But the building is clean, and Paul walks through it taking deep breaths because he can, the air no longer smells stale and thick with feathers and droppings. It smells of disinfectant, which overall Paul approves of, so that's okay. Up through the building, all three floors, to the rooftop, where the wind is. The city below looks much less chaotic than a few days ago. Back to normal. Or what passes for it.

Paul digs out his tablet, his cigarettes, one with each hand. He lights up before turning on the communications device, flips it to an open visual broadcast to the city.

"Hi. Paul Smecker here. We've probably got some new faces here since the last time I said a nice big group how-the-fuck-do-you-do, so: How the fuck do you do? Or, here's a better and more interesting question: what do you do, everybody?

"We're each here from god knows where, and in some cases when. It's entirely possible we're selected on pure caprice, but operating on that hypothesis doesn't give us anything helpful, so personally I'm choosing to invest in the alternate theory, which states that we were all snatched from our so-very-happy lives for a reason. Don't know what it is, but I personally would like to know more about who my fellow inmates in the inter-stellar zoo are. Some of you who are willing to answer will probably lie; I can't stop you, obviously.

"Part of why I'd like to know is that if we have a crisis again, like the zombies, that's a threat that affects all of us, whether or not we trust each other. And I'm pretty sure we all hate the hamsters. So we do have common enemies; what we don't have is anything like a coherent way to approach our common enemies. I'm not going to even try and talk about organizing against the hamsters right now; frankly I doubt the lot of us could cooperate enough to work our combined way out of a wet cardboard box.

"But zombies, and things like that: we can do simple shit, for fuck's sake. We can organize defensible points. Those of you who are superhuman, and obviously there are those of you who are, can make it clear if you're willing to pitch in to protect the less fucking gifted. As for the rest of us, being slower than speeding bullets doesn't mean we don't have skills: what I am trying to do right now is ascertain what those skills are, what people are good at. If you know first aid, if you know how to defend yourself, if you're good with electronics, good with barricading a building-- we can't organize if we don't know our resources.

"So, what the fuck, I'll go first:

"Paul Smecker, career FBI agent, to those of you from realities with no FBI it's law enforcement with an investigative mandate. My area of expertise was largely forensics-based, but I can handle a gun, I can do CPR and other basic first aid, I'm a good cook and I will kick your ass in any sort of classical music trivia contest you want to have.

"Next? Oh, and Buffy and DG? You two got time for a chat?"

Comments

[visual]

[hasaheart]

What the Hell, thinks Wyatt, and figures he might as well elaborate beyond any variation of 'officer of the law'.

"You know the basics. I'm also a trained scout, can track anything through the densest set of woods - which, I know, useless knowledge around here. I know my flora and fauna - again, useless. Tactical strategy, basic resuscitation skills... Research."

A pause. "And apparently, I'm good at shoveling bird shit. Who would've thought?"

[visual]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"I think I'll call you Cub Scout from now on," Paul responds lightly. "Or Nature Boy. Forest Ranger. Seriously, is all that outdoorsy stuff a part of being a Tin Man, or is that just you?"

[visual]

[hasaheart]

"For one night only, on your nearest kinectograph, The Adventures of Cub Scout and Funny Bone. Get your tickets before they run out!"

Sometimes, dry wit and quirky amusement just go together. "But, for the sake of not being juvenile, all O.Z cops get your basic training in the great outdoors. But Tin Men in particular are based in Central City. I just happened to be born a good way outta town."

He shrugs, giving Paul a slightly awkward smile. Taking credit for something you were brought up doing and had a natural affinity for is just not his style. "I've been learning everything about different outdoor habitats since I was a kid. Getting added training for it just seemed like a natural progression."

Wryly, because guess who just realized he's rambling? "I think Ranger would be most aptly put, come to think of it."

[ voice ]

[dreamsinwhich.livejournal.com]

[ forever pinged. SECRETLY EVIL VAMPIRE PRETENDING TO BE THE NORMAL VERSION, GO. ]

Have you tried giant wheels?

[ voice ]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

(Paul Smecker: missed that broadcast, which might have struck him as slightly odd, and so will take a Dawnie at complete face value for now.)

"Dawn, hey," he says with a nod, half a smile. "What, against the hamsters? No, I think they'd probably just turn me into a guinea pig and stick me into one of them. How've you been?"

[ voice ]

[dreamsinwhich.livejournal.com]

I'm... great. [ crap, name to a face. okay, this is... paul somebody. sounds like jam. smucker? no, smecker. ] And you never know, maybe a giant hamster wheel is the key to breaking free.

[visual]

[aintnoconvict]

Oh look it's a Glitch. If he knew the tune to I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major General he'd have have found a way to set the following to it:

"I think I've gone over some of this but - inventor, mechanic, engineer, holographic imaging expert, astrophysicist, political adviser and strategist...okay, former in a lot of those cases because of the brain thing." Pause, frown. "And and I think I'm good at general survivaly stuff, cuz why else would I have made it with the brain thing?"

Finally there's a partly sheepish, partly prideful smile. "And I'm a bit...okay, I'm really good in a fight. Cain and DG'll back me up on that."

[visual]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul arches a brow at the whole 'good in a fight' bit. It's not that he thinks Glitch is lying, but.... Glitch. The guy doesn't impress him as a kung fu master.

"I may consult those references of yours," he says dryly. "As for the rest of your résumé-- Jesus, Glitch, just get business cards, nobody's gonna remember that laundry list."

[visual]

[aintnoconvict]

Someday this will have to change, in dramatic and / or hilarious fashion.

"Especially not me," was the jovial reply. Haha, because lobotomy. "Although it is pretty impressive, a-and I can still remember bits of it when I need to. Kinda makes me wonder why she didn't just take all of it but, well, not my place to complain."

[ voice; locked ]

[herotypical]

...Yeah?

[ she replies cautiously; things haven't been going the slayer's way, of late. ]

[ visual; just as locked ]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"Hi, Miss Summers, thanks for answering," Paul says to that wary 'yeah?', and takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Sorry if I'm making assumptions here, but from our previous chat I'm thinking you're the closest thing to an expert on staying safe from vampires as I am likely to find. Basically, I want to know if there's any way to make a building vampire-proof. I don't want them coming in, and if they get in, I want to be able to hurt them enough to convince them to get out. Following me?"

His tone is all-business, professional.

[ visual; just as locked ]

[herotypical]

She allows her own feed to click over to visual, then. Unwilling to play the stick-in-the-mud; however, her breath catches at the question. Did he know? Hmm.

"Live there. That's the best way to keep a vamp out. They can't enter a home without an invitation. But beyond that? Crosses. Wooden stakes. Holy water. Anything consecrated, really."

Her pitch matches his. Professional. Cool.

[ visual ]

[faderbroderson]

Look Paul, it's your favorite person.

"I am one of those you would likely classify as superhuman. I have done my best, both during the zombie outbreak and in times past, to use my skills in the interest of protecting the people here. I will do so again in the future, if necessary."

[ visual --> locked]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Several long beats of silence, because it's one thing to have seen Godric on the tablets months ago breaking trees and another to be talking to him, face to face, and hear him as good as admitting vampire even if he's not saying the v-word.

Paul eventually clears his throat. "Godric. I appreciate your candor, such as it is."

A moment's hesitation, then he locks the transmission.

"....so... I realize I have no way of verifying this if you decide to lie to me, but I have to ask it for my own what-the-fuck-ever, clearing the air-- you're a vampire? Or something else?"

[ visual --> locked]

[faderbroderson]

"A vampire, yes." There you go, Paul, the v-word in all its glory. "There are different types of vampire in Taxon. As of recently, I am the only one of my particular classification remaining."

Godric may be many things, but he sees no point in withholding information about himself.

[ voice ]

[stacked]

Or you get could out of the way, let the pros do their thing. Just sayin'.

[ faith lehane: making friends and influencing people since ever. ]

[ visual ]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"Pros?" Paul echoes that word slowly, letting smoke drift out his lips along with a short laugh.

The grin he turns on the tablet, even if he can't see the woman talking to him, is bitter as all hell.

"Pros. Right. We have different definitions of the word, I think-- I'm going to assume, from the fucking amazing levels of condescension in that statement, that you're one of those people who can break walls with a punch or whatthefuck ever.

"Here's a news flash for you, pro: Talent and professionalism are hardly fucking equivalent. Because if they were? Then when this city was being invaded by fucking zombies one of you goddamn pros would have had something like a fucking rescue system in place for us poor mere mortals who got pinned down by the living dead, and YOU DIDN'T. You had no safehouses. You had no organization. You didn't respond to a distress call when I was trapped.

"I have absolutely no faith in the ability of you 'special snowflakes' to protect the normals, because you already visibly failed once. I died, princess.

"So fuck off with your talk of being a pro until you understand what it actually means."

[Visual]

[noheatnikki.livejournal.com]

Kate hides a smile, amused at Smecker's tone of voice.

"You know me. Kate Beckett, NYPD Homicide. I have two guns, I know CPR and basic first aid, I can kickbox. I can help with strategy as well."

[Visual]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"Yes, Detective Beckett," Paul answers with a nod. Curiosity prompts him to ask, "Two guns? What, one as a backup, or you packing a shotgun for fun?"

[visual]: locked

[garg-elisa.livejournal.com]

"Pretty sure I mentioned I'm former NYPD," Elisa says, as she appeared on the screen. "Which is a very long story. Homicide and special crimes unit, mostly."

She goes on. "Even when that stopped, I stayed and am still a protector. I'm stronger, claws--obviously, senses, gliding. CPR trained and a pretty decent shot with a handgun. Had plenty of combat training."

[visual]: locked

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul nods a greeting at Eliza. "So.... alright, really not trying to pry here, but am I right in the theory you're not-- you haven't always been-- you know." A gesture at his own ears.

A thoughtful drag on his cigarette; he makes mental notes. "What 'senses'? Like... you have better hearing than a human, what?"

[Visual]

[allthatlife.livejournal.com]

"I'm a doctor," said Martha, responding to the request for information about her occupation immediately and matter-of-factly. She had done her best to make sure that people knew that the city had a doctor that wasn't an Extra, but, given everything that happened here and how unsettling it was to arrive in the first place, the information was often lost.

"Doctor Martha Jones," she continued, "Back in my world, I work for a military organisation, the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce.” Work, not worked. She was going back to her life one day, one way or another. She was going back. “I've got a lot of experience in the field. And I’ve treated both humans and non humans."

[Visual]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"Ah, I was wondering if we had anybody medical in the city-- good to meet you, Dr. Jones," Paul said with a crisp nod, absorbing what she said with approval.

"One of the things I'm wanting to do with this 'safehouse' thing is have emergency medical supplies here-- I mean, I know enough to stock a first aid kit, but beyond that.... how do you feel about lending your expertise to that, supervising the establishment of, hell, I guess you'd call it a field medical office in case of emergency?"

[tothelightshown.livejournal.com]

"I think I can manage that, yes," she said, giving him a wry smile as she adjusted the tablet so they could have a proper conversation. She genuinely liked Smecker. He was difficult, of course, but that was nothing new. There were times when Cain seemed to do everything he could to be as difficult as possible. "Everything ok?"

[Visual, Locked]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul gave DG half-a-smile when she answered, and tapped a button to secure the conversatio. "Pretty good, yes--"

(--this is the most optimistic he's probably sounded since getting to Taxon--)

"--just getting stuff in order. I don't know if Glitch or Cain's mentioned, but I'm working on trying to get a safehouse in order-- part of the problem with the zombies was we had no organized defense, no place to try and make a stand.

"I'm recalling you mentioned you can do... you know... magic." Paul lights a cigarette, takes a drag. "Everyone seems to mean different things by that, so here's what I'm looking for: is it possible to ... I don't know, put.... magicky protections on a place?"