Rachel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
futures_of_ash) wrote2020-07-04 12:57 am
futures_of_ash) wrote2020-07-04 12:57 am
Entry tags:
Dear Dad
Who: Rachel
When: After the second movie.
What: Writing home.
Professor,
I've been following the hysteria, you were right about that, people do love to panic don't they? All the terrified little lights. Not all, thankfully, else this whole thing would be doomed from the start I suppose. If no one can think outside it then what am I even doing?
She was a particular kind of weapon, really. Not an in and out heavy hitter like Red, she couldn't be. Or shouldn't be rather, it wasn't good for her head and she knew that. She could work to derail things though, change the future.
Always change the future.
Her lot in life huh?
It kind of worked out that she needed to leave about the time their kind had gone public in a spectacular way. Save the world, but blow cover and there was no getting it back after giant flowers and Toothfairies at high end auction houses. That was even without the rest of the world really knowing how close they'd all come with the Golden Army thing.
Really they all should have hunted and slagged myths like that years ago. Ah, but they were quiet little cleanup crews before.
Now Bruttenholm was working out how to keep his people together in the face of everything. How to establish policing forces rather than supression teams, because if there was ONE thing about all this that people weren't ready for, well, it was just how brutal the forgotten beings were.
Unforgiving.
Cruel in their needs many would think. Hell, even their team wasn't untouched, that had messed with her more. The easy, casual way Blue had simply been taken way from them.
Oh, not physically, but from the moment he met that damn woman she couldn't reach him.
And he couldn't reach her.
That easy companionship and comfort was just gone and she hated the bitch for that.
Privately.
Publicly well, noble sacrifice saved the world and all and she was probably a little bitter about it. Or more than bitter really, she was angry and that was dangerous, so she'd done what any self respecting member of their organization did in times like these...
...she'd left.
For the first time in her life she was the one who stormed out instead of the others. It was easier than she'd expected, Red was still sore about her hiding the fact Bruttenholm was alive after Rasputin, Liz was, well, her friend was more Red's girl now and they were playing the happy family with lots of fire thing and good on them, and Blue was gone. The other agents were new enough she couldn't really find a reason to stay for them and father, well, he needed eyes elsewhere.
He needed to see the ripples of these events in the populace and he knew better than to try to keep her caged. She had no idea what he told the others but eh, it was kind of nice NOT to worry about them herself.
Kind of.
Other times it was lonely.
And strange.
Texas is handled. There were more than a few hate groups starting there but I derailed them quietly. Except the last one. I want to talk when I'm next with you about that, it was a bad place, it was a cult...
One she'd finally called the FBI in on honestly, because she'd been undercover there for a few months and it had put her in a bad place. It wasn't Hounds, no, but it was brainwashing, and the children all lived in the basement in tiny rooms because good children did not bother adults. She'd had to have everyone in the congregation throw up because she'd actually misjudged by a day and the FBI hit just after the damn koolaid act and it had been...
...just bad.
Bad and Bruttenholm was the one she trusted to help her work through bad things.She'd spent a week after that just drifting with a storm front trying to feel clean again before she caught scent of...
I traced a Sandman in Arizona, it was sensible and ran from me, but it was hunting outside the accords and I had to chase it up the west coast before I got it to ground. Report is attached, all duly written and such, it was old, one of the oldest I've seen but the accords hold all and I know he was aware of them before he threw the wording in my face and laughed when I had him cornered.
If he had been truly ignorant, sure, she'd have contained him and gotten him back to his own kind for some firm handling, after all, the Accords kept witch hunts down, but no. This one was a damn gorger who'd go off again and again to harvest others, a new 'sleeping sickness' that ravaged small towns. Sleeping minds tasted best, daydreams were more like candy, sugar but no substance, so if you could keep your victims asleep then you never went hungry.
Especially if you fed on nightmares. Not all Sandmen did, kinder things could be just as filling, unless you got a taste for blood. This one had that in spades, smelling like old death arenas and the sand beneath the feet of gladiators. Putrid, unclean, and smiling all the while.
Luckily fire purified. The sands burned clean then melted into glass, well, he'd have decades to rethink his ways and start over by the time winds and heat brought him back to sand.
With luck the damn thing would be a kinder soul in a more interesting world.
There's a crate coming the slower way, don't want it jostled too much, modern art and all. See he gets a good spot where good people can walk by or admire him? It might help over the years.
Or at least it couldn't hurt.
Ah, right.
Coming slightly faster are baby clothes for Red's little spark, I figured out how to make breathable cloth fire proof so she can be comfortable AND clothed. Give them hugs for me, and send me baby pictures to the P.O Box in Oregon? I'll be in the area a while longer, then probably head further north and feel out hate groups that way. Wine country is full of them I hear, that and wine, which I'll send as well. Your cellars have to appreciate a few additions I'm sure.
I guess I don't really know what to say aside from mission things, I know you trust me, and you gave me this mission so I wouldn't just slip between the cracks and truly disappear on you, but it's...wearing. Is everything out here suppose to make me so tired? It may be the company I keep these days I admit, but I'm tired and that makes me morose. Add in the odd feeling there's something, or someone familiar just a bit further north and I'm a bit on edge. Do we have any agents or prior military personnel that came up this way? I can't put my finger on it and I don't want to reach that far and intrude on a brain that I don't have permission for...good to know my manners stick even away from home I guess.
Not falling into purely hunting mind and reaching out to every mind she could feel had been a long, hard lesson in her life honestly. A person wasn't meant to listen to the world like that, not that many, not that deep, and even in using her telepathy to work on damn cultists and hate mongers felt like she was breaking rules...despite permission. Bah.
It'll be easier when my badge means something again I guess. Talking with other agencies is hard when they don't know our symbol or designations. I know you're working hard on that, and Hellboy is the poster boy he always wanted to be, but tell him to step up the damn campaigning for proper reinstatement. We never stopped working, in any era that we were blacklisted in, but it's just easier when we have...friends. Greg in Texas field office says hi by the way. He was in with the FBI guys, so his double standing is holding firm and they don't know about his BPRD work, slick appointment that I'm glad you made it, he says Hellboy still owes him a six pack and three dart games though. I was able to give him something for the team to talk about though, redhead with him at a bar cheered him up, and it was great to see a friendly face. And no, before you ask, I didn't look exactly like me when in the cult, else they'd have me in deprogramming or something and we'd be on tenser terms.
I may, thinking about it, step up monster checking here for a bit, ease off the groups and space them out a bit for my personal mental health. Easier to chase Bigfoot in the PNW and explain why he needs to go home than deal with humans like that.
Oh, and there's bells over the water again, thought you like to know. That sea temple we handled back in the 80's may be reforming. They're distant still, calling softly to the lost ones and sailors, so not a threat yet, but something to keep an eye on.
Hell, maybe that temple would be a sanctuary properly again after it got torn apart too. A place for the lost to be found, not a siren out in the deeps. Though it could come back mean as hell too, after all they'd kind of pissed it off. Nothing like having to deal with water logged sailors and barnacle faced children to make them want to tear a place apart brick by brick after all!
Right, I'm rambling so it's time to end this letter and get it mailed before I move along. I love you, and I love you all, still that hasn't changed, and it won't.
Rachel
Yeah, she got it folded and sealed and slapped stamps on it, some random number, it'd get where it needed to go even if stamps these days were different than when they'd been taught to write them back then. A blue box and she was kicking her motorbike live and buckling her helmet back on. She'd gotten the bike when woke up several members of a biker gang that the Sandman had winged in passing, gratitude got wheels in their world, so, hey, at least she was getting some fun toys to tease Hellboy with...sometime later.
When: After the second movie.
What: Writing home.
Professor,
I've been following the hysteria, you were right about that, people do love to panic don't they? All the terrified little lights. Not all, thankfully, else this whole thing would be doomed from the start I suppose. If no one can think outside it then what am I even doing?
She was a particular kind of weapon, really. Not an in and out heavy hitter like Red, she couldn't be. Or shouldn't be rather, it wasn't good for her head and she knew that. She could work to derail things though, change the future.
Always change the future.
Her lot in life huh?
It kind of worked out that she needed to leave about the time their kind had gone public in a spectacular way. Save the world, but blow cover and there was no getting it back after giant flowers and Toothfairies at high end auction houses. That was even without the rest of the world really knowing how close they'd all come with the Golden Army thing.
Really they all should have hunted and slagged myths like that years ago. Ah, but they were quiet little cleanup crews before.
Now Bruttenholm was working out how to keep his people together in the face of everything. How to establish policing forces rather than supression teams, because if there was ONE thing about all this that people weren't ready for, well, it was just how brutal the forgotten beings were.
Unforgiving.
Cruel in their needs many would think. Hell, even their team wasn't untouched, that had messed with her more. The easy, casual way Blue had simply been taken way from them.
Oh, not physically, but from the moment he met that damn woman she couldn't reach him.
And he couldn't reach her.
That easy companionship and comfort was just gone and she hated the bitch for that.
Privately.
Publicly well, noble sacrifice saved the world and all and she was probably a little bitter about it. Or more than bitter really, she was angry and that was dangerous, so she'd done what any self respecting member of their organization did in times like these...
...she'd left.
For the first time in her life she was the one who stormed out instead of the others. It was easier than she'd expected, Red was still sore about her hiding the fact Bruttenholm was alive after Rasputin, Liz was, well, her friend was more Red's girl now and they were playing the happy family with lots of fire thing and good on them, and Blue was gone. The other agents were new enough she couldn't really find a reason to stay for them and father, well, he needed eyes elsewhere.
He needed to see the ripples of these events in the populace and he knew better than to try to keep her caged. She had no idea what he told the others but eh, it was kind of nice NOT to worry about them herself.
Kind of.
Other times it was lonely.
And strange.
Texas is handled. There were more than a few hate groups starting there but I derailed them quietly. Except the last one. I want to talk when I'm next with you about that, it was a bad place, it was a cult...
One she'd finally called the FBI in on honestly, because she'd been undercover there for a few months and it had put her in a bad place. It wasn't Hounds, no, but it was brainwashing, and the children all lived in the basement in tiny rooms because good children did not bother adults. She'd had to have everyone in the congregation throw up because she'd actually misjudged by a day and the FBI hit just after the damn koolaid act and it had been...
...just bad.
Bad and Bruttenholm was the one she trusted to help her work through bad things.She'd spent a week after that just drifting with a storm front trying to feel clean again before she caught scent of...
I traced a Sandman in Arizona, it was sensible and ran from me, but it was hunting outside the accords and I had to chase it up the west coast before I got it to ground. Report is attached, all duly written and such, it was old, one of the oldest I've seen but the accords hold all and I know he was aware of them before he threw the wording in my face and laughed when I had him cornered.
If he had been truly ignorant, sure, she'd have contained him and gotten him back to his own kind for some firm handling, after all, the Accords kept witch hunts down, but no. This one was a damn gorger who'd go off again and again to harvest others, a new 'sleeping sickness' that ravaged small towns. Sleeping minds tasted best, daydreams were more like candy, sugar but no substance, so if you could keep your victims asleep then you never went hungry.
Especially if you fed on nightmares. Not all Sandmen did, kinder things could be just as filling, unless you got a taste for blood. This one had that in spades, smelling like old death arenas and the sand beneath the feet of gladiators. Putrid, unclean, and smiling all the while.
Luckily fire purified. The sands burned clean then melted into glass, well, he'd have decades to rethink his ways and start over by the time winds and heat brought him back to sand.
With luck the damn thing would be a kinder soul in a more interesting world.
There's a crate coming the slower way, don't want it jostled too much, modern art and all. See he gets a good spot where good people can walk by or admire him? It might help over the years.
Or at least it couldn't hurt.
Ah, right.
Coming slightly faster are baby clothes for Red's little spark, I figured out how to make breathable cloth fire proof so she can be comfortable AND clothed. Give them hugs for me, and send me baby pictures to the P.O Box in Oregon? I'll be in the area a while longer, then probably head further north and feel out hate groups that way. Wine country is full of them I hear, that and wine, which I'll send as well. Your cellars have to appreciate a few additions I'm sure.
I guess I don't really know what to say aside from mission things, I know you trust me, and you gave me this mission so I wouldn't just slip between the cracks and truly disappear on you, but it's...wearing. Is everything out here suppose to make me so tired? It may be the company I keep these days I admit, but I'm tired and that makes me morose. Add in the odd feeling there's something, or someone familiar just a bit further north and I'm a bit on edge. Do we have any agents or prior military personnel that came up this way? I can't put my finger on it and I don't want to reach that far and intrude on a brain that I don't have permission for...good to know my manners stick even away from home I guess.
Not falling into purely hunting mind and reaching out to every mind she could feel had been a long, hard lesson in her life honestly. A person wasn't meant to listen to the world like that, not that many, not that deep, and even in using her telepathy to work on damn cultists and hate mongers felt like she was breaking rules...despite permission. Bah.
It'll be easier when my badge means something again I guess. Talking with other agencies is hard when they don't know our symbol or designations. I know you're working hard on that, and Hellboy is the poster boy he always wanted to be, but tell him to step up the damn campaigning for proper reinstatement. We never stopped working, in any era that we were blacklisted in, but it's just easier when we have...friends. Greg in Texas field office says hi by the way. He was in with the FBI guys, so his double standing is holding firm and they don't know about his BPRD work, slick appointment that I'm glad you made it, he says Hellboy still owes him a six pack and three dart games though. I was able to give him something for the team to talk about though, redhead with him at a bar cheered him up, and it was great to see a friendly face. And no, before you ask, I didn't look exactly like me when in the cult, else they'd have me in deprogramming or something and we'd be on tenser terms.
I may, thinking about it, step up monster checking here for a bit, ease off the groups and space them out a bit for my personal mental health. Easier to chase Bigfoot in the PNW and explain why he needs to go home than deal with humans like that.
Oh, and there's bells over the water again, thought you like to know. That sea temple we handled back in the 80's may be reforming. They're distant still, calling softly to the lost ones and sailors, so not a threat yet, but something to keep an eye on.
Hell, maybe that temple would be a sanctuary properly again after it got torn apart too. A place for the lost to be found, not a siren out in the deeps. Though it could come back mean as hell too, after all they'd kind of pissed it off. Nothing like having to deal with water logged sailors and barnacle faced children to make them want to tear a place apart brick by brick after all!
Right, I'm rambling so it's time to end this letter and get it mailed before I move along. I love you, and I love you all, still that hasn't changed, and it won't.
Rachel
Yeah, she got it folded and sealed and slapped stamps on it, some random number, it'd get where it needed to go even if stamps these days were different than when they'd been taught to write them back then. A blue box and she was kicking her motorbike live and buckling her helmet back on. She'd gotten the bike when woke up several members of a biker gang that the Sandman had winged in passing, gratitude got wheels in their world, so, hey, at least she was getting some fun toys to tease Hellboy with...sometime later.