07-24-2013, 03:22 PM
Her body must have needed the rest; she didn’t wake as early as she’d have liked, and most of the morning was wasted as a result. Someone had thought to stock the fridge, which was helpful. Of the rest of the apartment there was little to explore; it was clean, and it was serviceable. The main window looked out onto a road, but she could hardly hear the buzz of traffic through the glass. It was a quiet place; she heard nothing of her neighbours either.
Retreating to the small breakfast counter of the kitchenette, Tehya booted up her laptop, checked her schedule and the user manual Marcus had sent, then turned her attention to the Wallet. After a few moments fiddling, she had to admit that maybe he was right; it was useful. Information glittered at her fingertip; she discovered comprehensive maps of the city, as well as the location of various safe-houses. Her mail was integrated. Her finances. Everything, pretty much, in dizzy layers of flashy screens. Too much. Eventually she placed it back down on the counter, and rubbed her temples.
She wasn’t expected to report until Monday, and perhaps she should have been more grateful for the generous free time. But Tehya didn’t take to idleness easily. They expected her to explore the city perhaps, learn her bearings; and most people would. Indeed she would, but not without a focus. The serpentine tattoo on her wrist was not simply decoration; it was curled about her soul.
The files she accessed had already been processed by juniors; it was good practise for them to scour the news for suspicious activities and parse the supernatural crimes from the human. Many of the creatures the Atharim hunted were slaves to instinct; they followed the same distinct patterns that every Atharim was taught to recognise - patterns that people like Tehya identified in the first place. There were dozens of reports relating in Moscow alone, which was to be expected; she skipped the ones pertaining to the Sickness, for now at least, until she came to one she thought she could work with.
She’d spent a couple of hours trying to fathom out the Wallet – it wasn’t so difficult to grasp, though its scope and unfamiliarity had given her the beginnings of a headache. It was still her phone she reached for to call Marcus, though. He picked up on the third ring.
“I’m looking at this hospital stuff. Window jumpee. Nurse bitten.”
“Uh huh?”
“You have the contacts of the assigned agents?”
“If you look at your Wallet, Tehya, you’ll—”
“I will, Marcus, I promise. But later. Can you forward me the names?”
He sighed. Audibly. Then mumbled an affirmative. “One sec.”
Tey let the silence drift for a moment. “Rougarou, you think?”
“Yeah, probably. CDPS are involved, but we think they’re centred on the doc - who’s been cleared by psych, by the way. Stress.” He chuckled. “Most of the evidence has been pulled. Just gotta find our guy before he finds his next meal, and before the CDPS roll in the heavies. It’s high priority.”
Good. She cradled the phone between cheek and shoulder, then brought up the Guardian complex on her laptop screen. A couple of clicks found a decent enough map, though the machine shuddered in its effort to load the high-res images. An orphanage. God. Delinquent home, psych unit. It would be a Rougarou’s idea of a candy store. “That area of Moscow see much trouble? It doesn’t exactly look…pleasant.” In the corner of her screen, a new message pinged into her inbox. “Thanks, Marcus.”
She was about to click off when he spoke again. “Tehya, you’re not thinking of doing anything—”
“Stupid? No. I’m just going to do my job.”
Retreating to the small breakfast counter of the kitchenette, Tehya booted up her laptop, checked her schedule and the user manual Marcus had sent, then turned her attention to the Wallet. After a few moments fiddling, she had to admit that maybe he was right; it was useful. Information glittered at her fingertip; she discovered comprehensive maps of the city, as well as the location of various safe-houses. Her mail was integrated. Her finances. Everything, pretty much, in dizzy layers of flashy screens. Too much. Eventually she placed it back down on the counter, and rubbed her temples.
She wasn’t expected to report until Monday, and perhaps she should have been more grateful for the generous free time. But Tehya didn’t take to idleness easily. They expected her to explore the city perhaps, learn her bearings; and most people would. Indeed she would, but not without a focus. The serpentine tattoo on her wrist was not simply decoration; it was curled about her soul.
The files she accessed had already been processed by juniors; it was good practise for them to scour the news for suspicious activities and parse the supernatural crimes from the human. Many of the creatures the Atharim hunted were slaves to instinct; they followed the same distinct patterns that every Atharim was taught to recognise - patterns that people like Tehya identified in the first place. There were dozens of reports relating in Moscow alone, which was to be expected; she skipped the ones pertaining to the Sickness, for now at least, until she came to one she thought she could work with.
She’d spent a couple of hours trying to fathom out the Wallet – it wasn’t so difficult to grasp, though its scope and unfamiliarity had given her the beginnings of a headache. It was still her phone she reached for to call Marcus, though. He picked up on the third ring.
“I’m looking at this hospital stuff. Window jumpee. Nurse bitten.”
“Uh huh?”
“You have the contacts of the assigned agents?”
“If you look at your Wallet, Tehya, you’ll—”
“I will, Marcus, I promise. But later. Can you forward me the names?”
He sighed. Audibly. Then mumbled an affirmative. “One sec.”
Tey let the silence drift for a moment. “Rougarou, you think?”
“Yeah, probably. CDPS are involved, but we think they’re centred on the doc - who’s been cleared by psych, by the way. Stress.” He chuckled. “Most of the evidence has been pulled. Just gotta find our guy before he finds his next meal, and before the CDPS roll in the heavies. It’s high priority.”
Good. She cradled the phone between cheek and shoulder, then brought up the Guardian complex on her laptop screen. A couple of clicks found a decent enough map, though the machine shuddered in its effort to load the high-res images. An orphanage. God. Delinquent home, psych unit. It would be a Rougarou’s idea of a candy store. “That area of Moscow see much trouble? It doesn’t exactly look…pleasant.” In the corner of her screen, a new message pinged into her inbox. “Thanks, Marcus.”
She was about to click off when he spoke again. “Tehya, you’re not thinking of doing anything—”
“Stupid? No. I’m just going to do my job.”