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Rebirth and Transfers [Sep. 24th, 2011|01:23 am]
The BPRD

golden_blazes
"Wait. What d'ya mean this is a full on transfer?" Arabelle grumbled, "I thought this was just some kinda check up thing."

"It is a transfer, and it isn't. This is only temporary, Goldenwing, please understand that. We only want to know more about what happened. As well as more about whatever the thing is that caused it."

This. This was quite the pair.Collapse )

((So! We got a freshly transferred paramilitary 'hero', whom you might've heard about or seen on TV as a face of the 'Sky Lagoon Project' to the public, her Boss. And Maria Macrow her examiner for the moment. Are you someone else scheduled to see her and wanting to save time and do it with Maria? Or someone here to meet her or her boss? Any questions, lemme know!))
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*Dons Mod Hat Briefly* [Sep. 23rd, 2011|11:00 pm]
The BPRD

icthysapien
Hey, all, it's been a while since things happened here, so some updating is in order.

Since none of us seem to be participating in d_m or Sages, the BPRD's portals to the nexus are sealed.

This may change, if we players encounter another multiverse.

Also, if anyone is planning to reboot a character in any way--say, removing the Nexus from their timeline, please post something about it here in order to allay any potential confusion.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled RP already in progress.

ETA: Plots can be discussed on IRC @ DarkMyst #funimplications
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(no subject) [Sep. 23rd, 2011|02:26 am]
The BPRD

4_20_100
It started small.

Here and there in a small town in Vermont people started vanishing from plain sight--they would turn a corner on a street or walk through a door or down a flight of stairs and simply... disappear. If any of the disappearing people had a mobile phone with them, the device was unreachable. Occasionally one or more of them would return a few days later, appearing to walk right out of a wall or closed door or, in one memorable occasion, a lamppost. When asked about the disappearance, every last one of them showed a complete lack of recall regarding where they may have been or how long they were there. The only clue was a kind of yellowish mud on one elderly man's shoes, a mud that perplexed police forensics teams and university specialists alike. Watches stopped at the moment of disappearance and electronic devices were found to be completely without power. The people themselves were unharmed, save for the very specific stretch of amnesia. These vanishings occurred infrequently but steadily for a month before the buildings were sighted.

In the middle of a square in the next town a large, Renaissance-era building simply ... materialised at one-thirty in the afternoon, wedging itself into a park and between a house and a municipal building. A half hour later, another appeared in the place of a restaurant, phasing into the space in a manner that left the astonished patrons and employees suddenly going about their business inside a huge, ancient, echoing manor house, completely bereft of life save for themselves. Over the course of the evening, eight more buildings and houses faded into existence, replacing whatever lay in their path so that office hallways led to enormous, antiquated chambers and streets terminated in crumbling walls.

And then the disappearances doubled in earnest. Witnesses described anyone caught in or walking into these strange buildings as fading from view in less then the span of thirty seconds.

An unseasonably chill and violent wind blew, carrying on it a musty smell of ancient attics and lonely, abandoned places. A loud wind, a fell wind, which blew and howled and skirled around things and people with a sound eerily like that of a wordless song. It was a song that bored into the mind and drove anyone who heard it long enough to panic-ridden madness. Drivers rammed their cars at full speed into trees or off of bridges; people threw themselves from roofs and balconies, darted into traffic and in front of trains, hanged themselves in their homes or workplaces.

A week and a half into this madness and the news is finally brought to the attention of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense.
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Well. This is embarrassing. [Sep. 22nd, 2011|05:15 pm]
The BPRD
carriesabigpen
Like so many men naked in public before him, Jeff is currently reflecting on what brought him into this situation in the first place.

For the BPRD, it had been a fairly routine call a month before. They tend to be the ones called after sudden unexplainable explosions in museums and for once it seemed like Manning's explanations of faulty alarms and electrical systems were actually true. No demons this time, no ghosts freed by a careless tourist, no portals to some perilous Hell dimension...just several shattered glass cases in the new Bubasti exhibit in the Egypt wing. Hell, the exhibits weren't even damaged.

The only thing anyone could find was a very upset cat. It wasn't even a demonic cat. Sure, it was a bit large, and the fact that it happened to be an Egyptian Mau was nice and ironic, but the whole thing overall ended up being something of a letdown. The cat was blamed for the incident (and subsequently adopted by Red), and by and large the whole thing was forgotten. So the appearance of a somewhat feline, naked middle-aged man in the middle of the complex several weeks later is something of a surprise. Jeff, for his part, is just happy he has opposable thumbs again. He can work on getting rid of the ears and the tail--wait, sorry, "The blessed signs of Ubasti's blessing" later.

"Yes, yes, I surrender!" he says, though he flatly refuses to put his hands in the air, what with them being all that stand between himself and complete humiliation. "Whatever you need. But can I please have some pants?"

You know what they say, after all: curiosity killed the--erm. Never mind.
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Open to Investigation. [Mar. 26th, 2010|10:36 pm]
The BPRD

onlynothuman
[Tags|, ]

NEW YORK CITY, NY - Seven people were found dead in SoHo between 8pm and midnight Friday night, and all believed by the authorities to be connected.

Five of the seven were found together, on the rooftop of a SoHo tenement near Wooster Street. The sixth and seventh were also found on rooftops, each nearly a mile away from the first. "Considering how the bodies were found," SoHo police told Herald reporters, "They're definitely connected." Official sources have implied that this was a ritual killing, possibly the work of a cult or gang.

It is not yet clear how the victims died. Autopsies are scheduled to take place immediately, pending identification of the victims and notification of next of kin.

When asked if there is a suspect in this case, the police had no comment.


What the newspapers don't include, but the report and photos the police share with the BPRD do, is that each body was found stitched into a painted shroud, carefully arranged. Like an art installation. And each body was concealed in some deep shadow.
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Pest Control [Mar. 20th, 2010|06:45 pm]
The BPRD

oneshot_bang
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Location |BPRD level 1 - Administration]

"So... you said you were hearing scuffling sounds behind the walls?"

The thick brown man in the blue button-down shirt flipped a couple of pages on his clipboard as he thudded down the corridor. emblazoned on the left breast pocket is the name SAM and below that: RIDDIT EXTERMINATORS. Manning puffed along next to him.

"Could be termites. This place is underground and if those supports are any kind of old, they're probably wood. Aaaaand if you've got the possibility of termites, then you've got carpenter ants and cockroaches not far behind. Those don't usually make noise, tho. Rats are more likely, little bastards can get in anywhere. Maybe something as large as rabbits or raccoons; we're far enough away from the city that they're common, and they can dig or worm their way in through supply pallets. You said this is the BPRD? Like, everything's happenin' here?"

"That's right. Everything happens here, and everything continues to happen here which is why I have to have my assistant show you down to level four instead of myself. Don't worry. She's, uh... capable. Very capable."

"Really? Oh that's fine. Long as she can get me to where I need to be to figure out what kind of pest we're dealing wi--" Sam said, studying the forms on his clipboard again. He looks up... and sees Cheryl.

"Kibeep!" The three-foot bipedal ant says, waving cheerfully.

"Oh my gawd." Says Sam.

"Keedi beep. Geekideepibi geebeep bibi." He must be Sam! Her name is Cheryl and she'll be taking over for Director Manning. "Geekibeepi dikikeeki..." If he could just follow her please...

"Oh my gawd..." Says Sam again. And he follows her down but more at a numb obedient shuffle, than a purposeful plod.
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Reverend Graham Jones' Recurrent Cross Holy Hour [Mar. 12th, 2010|10:36 pm]
The BPRD

oneshot_bang
[Tags|, , , , , , ]
[Current Location |BPRD - Various television sets]
[Current Music |cheezy organ music]

Christian TV is a fact of life. Any person who has channel-surfed has come across the conservative, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and an obnoxiously well-fitting suit, pacing, sweating and speaking the Truth in an accelerated framerate through a microphone. There is one particular show, that causes the finger to hover for just a moment longer before changing the channel for the seven-hundredth time. Perhaps it's the bright-white suit. Or the swept-back mane of silver hair. Or the gravity of presence that some men seem to have, every motion an establishment of silky-sweet dominance that really, no one would be silly enough to refuse what he's saying, how could he possibly be wrong?

"Friends... I come to you today, to dispel your confusion, and shed the light of Truth on this new and harrowing world we now have been shown to live in. I witnessed on the news no more than a month ago, just as you did, that the monsters that lurk in the shadows and the demons that reside in the fiery corridors of Hell are real. Physical. Man cannot deny his eyes, and we've all seen the evidence of our new... companions on his plane.

"But now we as good Christians are told... that we should not fear them. That they are not dangerous. And that there have been organizations long enlisting the aid of these creatures to protect us! But tell me, brothers and sisters... if human beings need so much to be protected, then who is to believe that they are ALL anything but dangerous?

"At best, their mindset has to be alien to ours, to the point where our lives and our common comfort and salvation is not a concern to them! They could just as easily curse us, kill us or rip our souls out without realizing what they've done! At worst... theirs could be the deliberate machinations of tyranny under a very clever guise of helping-the-humans! Just speaking to them could be a one-way ticket down into the lake of fire and glass! The very spokesman for this... Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, is seven feet tall and BRIGHT RED! I stand before you with one singular, desperate plea: do not associate with these freakish creatures! Leave them be! Do not suffer them!

"Now, I'm afraid I must leave y'all for a little while. I will be gone for a month, bringing the word of the Lord to the corners of Europe. Theirs are the souls most at risk in this time of new temptation and turmoil, because theirs is the history most soiled, with the unfortunate lingering stains of pagan worship. And so I feel I need to provide some extra attention, to keep the true path to 'em! For when the good lord comes into his rightful place to rule over the nations of the WORLD, only the souls that have dedicated themselves to him entirely will be given eternal life! Such devotion can only come from listening to the worlds that I preach unto you now!

But if you remember nothing I have said to you, remember this, friends... there are no pixies in the City of God!"

The signoff chimes in "That was the good Reverend Graham Jones, on his Recurrent Cross Holy Hour. If you'd like a DVD of this sermon, please call the number on your screen or go to www.grahamjones.com. God bless, and have a good night."
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"Stumbling: Sculpture with Shadow, by Simon Garoux" [Mar. 12th, 2010|01:53 am]
The BPRD
oneshot_bang
[Current Location |SoHo - New York]

After Agent Ankhenaten left the Pyramid Club...Collapse )
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Where in the world is Akhenaten? [Mar. 4th, 2010|08:17 pm]
The BPRD

anubiswouldwork
[Tags|, , ]
[Current Location |The Pyramid Club - Soho]

A mummy doesn't normally get misplaced. But Ankh didn't tell anyone where he was going; he even bother to sign himself out on the equipment sheet this time. His room is unchanged, save for one very small detail; his guitar is missing.

He wouldn't be in the gym. Nor in the weapons training facilities of level five. He wouldn't be in the cafeteria, the Agents' quarters (including Maria's), or administration.

He's not even on the same shore. Try looking in a cafe in SoHo, once again Phoenix-Down'd alive and perched nervously on a stool, acoustic guitar hefted in one hand.

"This... Ahem. It's been a long time since I've had an audience." He says into the microphone, adjusting the height with some difficulty, and then lugging the acoustic guitar into his lap. "You'll have to bear with me."
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4 sale or rent: one mummy, slightly used. [Feb. 23rd, 2010|01:27 am]
The BPRD

anubiswouldwork
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Location |BPRD level 3 - Ankh's Room]

"Heh. Y-you're kidding, yes? Just a joke."

[I only wish I were, Malik.] Replied the proud, quiet old man on the other side of the video screen. [There is nothing more that I can do right now; this chapter of the Bureau has been abolished. They intend to retrieve any and all artifacts being used for what they call "unnatural purposes."]

"They can't do this." Ankh grumbles at the video screen as he paces past. "Just because they want to bury their heads in the sand--Ach, I was barely getting started! I love my country, Al-Asad, and I owe everything to you and your colleagues. But I cannot leave, not now!"

[I am afraid you have no choice. Specimen KV-55 is considered property of the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities, on loan to the BPRD. The ruling does not take into account how badly KV-55 wants to stay in the States... I am sorry, Malik.]

"But there has to be some a way around this!" He says, throwing his hands out and turning back towards the screen, obviously agitated. "What am I going to tell Maria? That it's been a lot of fun but I've been repossessed? That Aten-willing the ruling will be reversed and someday we'll be together again? That--hm."

[...I know that look. What are you thinking?]

"What if I were to be loaned to a private collector instead? One with a vested interest in the occult."

[Oh... I believe something like that can be arranged. But we'll need to get the paperwork and compensation out of the way in the next two weeks. The question is, my friend... are you ready to become a woman's property again?]
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