Internal Holding Cell - Charles O'Malley

A maze of corridors that leads to a room soaring with vaulted ceilings and stone-worked columns. In the center of the vast space are large cubicles twenty feet by thirty feet, and rising twenty into the air; they are designed to house even the most dangerous of abominations. Silver-tungsten blend bars cut each room in half, and they are tried and proven to hold back even Category A vampires.

There are only two entrances and exits to the room, all designed to be locked down should an emergency arise; too, the air circulated in the room would be filled with atomized silver and a mixture of inert gasses, effectively subduing or killing nearly everything in the area. Total purge by fire is also a viable option, but one used with care, as it also destroys equipment and data not saved off site.

All of the walls, halls, and corridors are lined with detailed paintings and inset silver depicting all manner of biblical artifacts, symbols, holy passages, and words of power, creating an oppressive cage for any eyesore.

<-------------------------Airport


By God, she was tired. She was stretched a little thin now, having been from South America to Rome to Philly in less than a week; it didn't mean she wanted a break, she simply needed a break. Unlike many others in this holy organization, she was only human, and there was a point fast being reached where she knew she would be useless without rest.

But they had a prize with them now, and that alone brought a bit more to her reserves; she didn't enjoy the fact they’d brought a heretical abomination onto the same ground the Holy Father walked, though his presence meant more could be gleaned about the creatures they all fought.

The tunnels to the holding cells and research facilities were well lit and clean, entirely void of any colour except those of the illuminated crosses, delicate scroll-worked prayers, and the myriad of other holy images splashed along the walls; the sum effect was that of an uplifting air for those of Section XII, while creating an oppressive presence for any non-human that had the misfortune of walking the halls.

It would be difficult indeed for any such creature to find the strength to cause much of a fuss.

Their small band of men – the cyborg as well – wound through the maze of corridors to arrive at last in a room soaring with vaulted ceilings and stone-worked columns. In the center of the vast space were large cubicles twenty feet by thirty feet, and rising twenty into the air; they were designed to house even the most dangerous of abominations.

Making her way to the middle of the long rows of sectional rooms, the Irishwoman swipes an RFID card across the wall next to a heavy, silver encased door, over what appeared to be nothing at all; the door makes a heavy click noise and then slides open, revealing a room cut in half by floor to ceiling bars. A small desk and two chairs occupied the most immediate area, while nothing at all sat in the space behind the silver-and-tungsten bars.

She enters the holding area and waits for the rest to enter, features schooled to a completely neutral expression; in the back of her mind, something was nagging her about this creature, something about his nature and general attitude. It was right to bring him, but it felt as though somehow she’d stepped wrong.

Michel had said little of anything on their trip back, having let his target get away due to unseen circumstances, the weasel of a vampire was more slippery than he'd given it credit for and though his face showed no emotion aside from his blank stare, he was rather annoyed. He rarely ever set foot in this section of the Vatican, never had he ever actually been ordered to keep a vampire alive and detain it, he was curious as to why this section even existed. He accompanied their small group all the way to the holding cell and waited by the door for the others to enter first. Michel stepped fully into the room and grabbed the vampire by the shoulder, sitting him down in one of the chairs with a firm grip on his shoulder before stepping back by the door, his hands by his side without a single impurity in his posture. The cyborg stood there, awaiting for things to get underway.

-------
OOC: Shit post is shit, shit connection is shit, apologies. I didn't want to do to much with Joey but...

Father Miles' attitude was oddly refreshing at the moment; no hint of animosity like the others escorting them, and none of the curiosity of those about to dive into their research on the creature sitting before her.

Frowning, the red-haired woman taps on one of the taller Iscariot members currently stripping down the thing named Charles. As he stepped aside without a word, both men halted their actions for the sniper to take a long look at the thing they'd captured; there was something about him that still bothered her, and it had nothing to do with his physical form.

"Yew ah quite lit'rally my collar, sew nothin' will bae start'd or finished wit'out may 'ere."

She didn't wait for a response; the woman simply turned on her heel to make room for the others to finish their work, and exited through the doorway. Halting for a moment, she doesn't look back to the cyborg, but he knew her words were for him.

"Ah need ta shoot somet'in."

She walks off again, making her way to the ranges just outside of the current complex.



[[OOC: Trying to leave Charlie for a while so nothing else is done to his character without him here. He should be returning next Thursday or Friday.]]

Michel caught Sister Meabhs words, still looking at the vampire he forced to sit down before turning his head to look over his shoulder, catching her out of the corner of his eye. He drew his handgun from its holster on the back of his waist and lifted it up, turning around to follow her. Seconded.., He lowered his weapon to his side as he stepped out of the small cubical to follow her to the shooting ranges.

>>>>following meabh...

(Longer post coming up at said shooting range)

He didn't like flying. It always gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He had never been a fan of flying even when he was human was made to jump out of perfectly good airplanes during the Great War. So when he was forced into an airplane by the priests, he was not a happy camper. He was even less of a happy camper when they landed in Italy. He never did like Italy. Mostly because him and his friends were too busy getting shot up and being tortured by the Eye-Ties and Krauts. Of course he didn't know it was Italy until they he spotted the Vatican.

"Oh boy," he said loud enough for everyone to hear, "I get to kill some Goombahs."

He expected some sort of retaliation from the Italians but he quickly disappeared into a maze of hallways that ended up in a room with small cubicles that appeared to be some sort of containment area. It was going to be a little more difficult to get out but he would never admit to it. When the door opened up and revealed a room with bars he nearly freaked. They were planning on putting him into a cage again and probably torture him again just like their grandparents did. He didn't fight the cyborg when he was manhandled into the room and forced to sit down. That thing had firepower that he did not want to tango with. Yet.

He sat quietly but not obediently. He did not make it easy on the Priests trying to strip him but he just gazed straight ahead with a grimace on his face. Only when the Irish lass began talking to him did he let a half smile creep onto his face. Oh the lass would be fun to mess with. As she walked away, he shouted after her.

"If ye wanted to see me naked lass, you just needed to ask me nicely."

Once she was gone, he looked up at the Priests and said "I need to kill something. I wouldn't stray to close to me if I were you." He then showed his fangs so they would know he wasn't playing around.

After being stripped down, he waited. He waited for his arm to regrow, which it did eventually, and for his torturer to arrive. He had a plan and hopefully it would work without him dying.

Hours crept by in total silence and darkness; that is, it would be total quiet and inky blackness to anything other than the thing now stripped and languishing in a silver-barred cell. After some time, the heavy door slides open to reveal a priest of no intimidating stature holding a moderately padded stack of files in both hands, as though afraid to drop a single sheet of paper.

Light floods one side of the room, leaving the creature still sitting in partial darkness. The mousy Iscariot member shuffles awkwardly to the single chair and table in the room, carefully setting down his stack of seemingly important papers before turning to the general direction of the subject. He clears his throat, both hands clasped in front of him as he addressed what the creature could consider to him, though it was unclear as to if the man was actually addressing the wall behind the vampire.

"Ahem. We will begin a round of questioning now. Uhm.." he clears his throat again, obviously attempting to hide his discomfort with the situation, "Sister Eir has left express instruction on how you...uhm...are to be handled. I am Father Rearden, and Sister Eir...erm...requested that I be the one to administer the test..."

His eyes grow wide and he clears his throat again, as though he mispoke. "The questions. I will administer the questions."

The modest looking priest takes his seat and then flips open a file with one hand whilst the other fishes for a pen in his robes. Struggling to pull his prize out of a pocket, the man finally seems ready to begin his rather odd "testing".

He "ahems" again, not looking back into the cell, but rather straight at the paper before him.

"What is your given name?"

Charles waited in silence, flexing his regrown arm as he waited for his interrogation to being. This was nothing new to him. He had experienced it before at the hands of the fascists and the nazis during the Great War but it never got any easier. Instead of last time when he was afraid, he was eager to get it started so he good escape. He nostalgia was interrupted by a bright light suddenly coming on. He held his hand up to block the light from his eyes before watching to see who came in. It was a smallish man. The priest kinda reminded him a varmint he would kill when he was younger for food. He smiled.

"O'Malley, Charles. Corporal. 2275637382. You have violated the Geneva Convention by taking from me my personal belongings. You have also violated the Geneva Convention by removing my clothes thus not treating me humanely at all times. According to the Geneva Convention you must clothe, feed, and shelter me at all times. I am a prisoner of war and not a criminal. I request a meeting with a superior officer."

Throughout the entire speech, Charles never stopped smiling. He was entirely full of himself with his little Geneva Convention speech. He waited for a moment for the mouse-man to finish writing before talking again.

"Or that's what I would say if I was still a soldier and this was war time again. Of course not like any of you Goombahs would follow the Geneva Convention. Of course I assume this is war time by the way your fellow priests came into that alley firing cannons at me. Oh and in case you didn't catch on, my name is Charles O'Malley formerly of the United States Army and general ass kicker of you Nazi loving assholes. Now if you let me leave here and return to me my personal belongings, including my Colt 1911 and my Heckler and Koch USP I may let you live. If not, well I'll just bide my time until I can get out. Of course if you try to do weird tests on me I will do everything in my power to rip that perfectly good jugular vein out of your throat and feed it to you. Oh I like that idea. Sounds pleasant. For me at least. I hope I didn't scare you father. It would be against my Catholic religion to hurt a priest but isn't it also against the Holy Church to falsely imprison a member of the flock as well?"

He never stopped smiling that fang-y smile of his as he stared directly into the Priest's eyes with his own crimson ones. 'Oh, this is going to be fun.'

The rather harried-looking priest hurried to scribble all that the vampire was spouting at him, not seeming to care in the least about the meaning behind the words he was writing. But when the creature began threatening him - and Iscariot in general - the little man's brow furrowed while he attempted to keep up.

Once the "prisoner" had finished, the priest calmly set down his pen and turned slightly in his seat, so as to give the impression he was indeed addressing the vampire. "Mr...O'Malley. I can understand your desire to be free from all of this..." he gestured vaguely at the general surroundings, "but surely you are aware of why you are here. Uhm..."

He adjusted his sight back to his notes - a gesture that spoke volumes as to his nervousness - scratching a phantom itch on the side of his nose for the briefest of moments. "Uhm...you are what we call "abomination", and as such you...uhm...you are outside the Grace of God. I..."

The man was terrified, but at least he had some semblance of a backbone, leading him to at least converse with the thing without a huge tremor in his voice. As he came to this portion of his response, however, he gained a bit more courage, as he could fall back on what he knew so well.

"No doubt, Mr. O'Malley, you know what this means." He clears his throat again, still nervous, but more sure of himself than before. "So it follows that you, ah, cannot speak of being in His flock without blaspheme."

He still refuses to look at the subject, instead turning back to his papers and picking up his pen once more. "Now then...uhm, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

So the priest still had a backbone behind that frightened exterior. Charles remembered kids like that from his Platoon. Quivering little blobs that still had milk on their breath but had signed up to fight. This one didn't appear to be a fighter but he still had a backbone. Although it was only faintly there. He was enjoying himself with the Priest until he was called an abomination. That removed the smile from his face and brought on an angry snarl followed by slapping of his bare feet on the floor before his hands grabbed the bars.

"Do not dare to declare me an abomination just because I am immortal! Did the apostles not dine on the blood and flesh of Jesus Christ at the last supper!? Did Jesus Christ not rise from his tomb after 3 days of being dead!? I surely hope you did not skip that class of the seminary. I did not ask to become what you see before you. It was forced upon me by a Striapach Goombah much like your friends out there. I was born a Roman Catholic, raised as such, died the first time a Roman Catholic, and I am still a Roman Catholic. I adhere to the ideology more so now than when I was 'alive'. Next time be careful about who you call an abomination or you might lose that tongue of yours."

He finally let go of the bars without even a glimmer of pain showing in his face. On the inside he was in pain. Silver hurt worse than being kicked in the testicles by a horse. As his anger simmered down, he moved back to his original spot before turning back to the Priest.

"I wanted to be a gangster as a Kid. Growing up in a neighborhood like mine, a Gangster was the best you could hope for. Seminary school cost too much to attend. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor I wanted to be a soldier. Which I did. Attained the rank of Corporal in the United States Army Rangers before being captured by the Krauts and the Eye-Ties. After escaping, I was discharged and sent back home where I became a gangster. You can assume I accomplished both goals. Of course if it wasn't for your Goombah cousins in New York who murdered my brother while I was out killing you Nazi loving bastards, I would never have joined a gang. Of course, joining a gang helped move my family to a nicer neighborhood so I guess I owe a little gratitude to you people."

He still wore an angry snarl on his face and his words seemed to be laced with venom. He was far from being calm but he was less likely to grab those silver bars again.

"What about you, Father. Did you always want to priest for the Holy Church?"

The mousy priest seemed to shrink in on himself the moment the vampire began speaking about the Church and Her ideology. Pen slowing, the little Father took a deep breath before continuing his scribbling, deciding not to say anything for fear of starting up a conversation about his beloved Church with a thing from Hell; obviously he would have to speak to Sister Meabh and inquire as to why she felt it necessary to speak to the thing at all.

He swallows a bit harder than he'd have liked when the vampire finally backs away from the bars, but he summons up what little courage he had to catch up his writing with the answer the creature was giving him. Good gracious, I hope Sister Eir can shed some light onto her reasoning for this. This is quite unorthodox.

These thoughts halt, however, when the vampire poses a question of his own; did Father Rearden always want to be in the Church?

After clearing his throat again - but not looking up from the paper as he continues to write - the bookish Father answers quietly. "My personal motivations, ah, have nothing to do with our session. Uhm..."

There is a flipping of papers before the priest continues. "Ahem...if you had a new blue sedan and a five year old, red sports car, which would you drive more often?"

Even the Father looked a little confused by this question, but his over-worked pen hovered just over the paper, ready for whatever quirky answer came his way.

Charles smiled. He was definitely scaring the proverbial crap out of this Priest and his mother probably just turned over in her grave as he did it. He also noticed that the Priest did not wish to discuss the Church with him and that only made him want to talk about it more. Seemingly ignoring the question that the priest asked him, Charles began pacing back and forth while talking to the priest.

"You know something. I don't understand these blacks wanting to call themselves gangsters when all they do is talking about smoking drugs, drinking alcohol, and having their way with women. They don't stand for anything. Back in my day a Gangster was someone who had a purpose in life. When someone became a gangster it wasn't to try and be tough, it was to provide for their families. Well, it did make you tough but it also gave you a purpose in life. Much like the Holy Church. Back in my day, you didn't join the church unless you were willing to change someone's life but now. All I hear about are Priests molesting little boys. Back in my neighborhood, the sick bastard that did that would get his throat slit, shot, burned, and hung by his neck to show what happened when you messed with the innocence as a child. And Father, your personal motivations are relevant. Cause when I get out of here I'm going to need to know who to hunt down and kill like a dog and if you joined up for the molestation, then you will be sorry you met me."

He gave a laugh that sounded almost evil. Boy, was Charles enjoying this. It looked like the Priest was about to crap his pants, at least it did to Charles. He continued walking the perimeter of the cell, seemingly trying to figure out how big his cage was.

"You know, Father. I once owned a nice sedan back in '49. The war was over and I had a ton of money from my profession just laying around so I went and bought a 1948 Lincoln Continental for around eight hundred bucks from a buddy of mine. It was all black and boy could that thing fly. Of course I never did like sports cars much. Didn't offer much protection from guns. So I'd say, I'll stick to the brand new blue sedan for an answer. But you have to tell me something now Father. Tit for tat if you will. Well two things seeing as I've already answered one question. Number ONE! What are your motivations for joining the Church. Number TWO! Whats with all the psychological profile questions? Reminds me of the time I joined the Rangers. Asked me a bunch of nonsensical questions to see if I was fit for special forces."

This really wasn’t going well, in his opinion. Not well at all. This vampire would answer a question only after first threatening or poking at him. It was tiresome and terrifying at the same time. Why did Sister Eir feel the need to pull him from all the others, all the other more qualified members of Section XIII? It was a horrible thing, being stuck in here with a monster, but this one in particular seemed hell bent – pardon the pun – on making him as uncomfortable as possible.

When the thing began talking about his beloved Church and the…issues facing Her today, the little priest puffed a bit, as the words began to rankle his sense of propriety in regards to the Church. His own reasons were his own, and he felt no need to respond to the creature as it prodded him along. Gritting his teeth, the mousy man continued to write, never once looking at the vampire, instead choosing to stare intently at the papers before him.

But once the monster started asking him questions, Father Rearden found he could no longer just sit in a state of fright and peevishness, so he laid down his pen and sighed slowly. ”Ah, I believe I’ve already, uhm, told you I have my reasons for joining, and ah, they are none of yours to, ah…uhm, know.” He was rather proud of himself for standing up to this abomination, so he continued on with his response, clinging to his moment of strength with everything he had. ”Sister Eir had these questions, uhm, drawn up for you.” His nose wrinkled slightly, though what that little quirk could mean was lost on the vampire. ”I have no idea what they are for. I am, ah, simply supposed to, uhm, ask them.”

This said, the priest turns his attention back to his papers, picking up his pen and continuing on as if the conversation never happened (which was a miracle in and of itself, as the little man was quite out of sorts).

”What is your greatest sin?”

Charles wasn't entirely sure if the priest got the picture. He wasn't going to answer anymore questions until he got a few of his own. Though, the priest did answer one of his questions. He guessed one more couldn't hurt so he thought about it for a second. Which of his sin's was the worse. Weren't all sins equally bad. The only sin he hadn't committed yet was lust and that had saved his (un)life but he still thought about his life long of sinning. There was that one time in Boston. Or that campaign in North Africa. Or being a POW in Italy. He couldn't think of one, so he chose several.

"Well father, you better iron your stomach cause I got some doosies for you. But I was always taught that all sins were all equal? No matter what sin you did, you went to hell for it. Unless you repented of course. But onto the sins. Yes Sins cause there is more than one. Let's start early. About five months before my fifteenth birthday I was making a delivery for the neighborhood's 'boss' when some goombah idiot tried to rob me of the goods I was carrying. Well, the bosses right hand gave me this weird curved knife the threaten people with if they messed with me. See I didn't have a gun cause they didn't trust me yet but back to the story. You see this weird knife was a karamabit or something. It was a wicked little sucker but I digress. Here I was in an alley with this big old goombah standing right in front of me. I mean he made Arnold Schwarzennegger look like a baby but I was fast. Well faster than him. He lunged at me, obviously underestimating me, and I pulled that knife out in time to rake it right across his throat. He tried to scream. Oh did he try. But every time he did nothing but blood came out of his mouth and this red foamy stuff came out of the slice. I just sat there and watched him bleed out before I left the alley and continued on my way. I didn't even noticed that the arteries had put half a pint of blood all over my face. First man I killed was over a bottle of whiskey. Good Canadian stuff. Though it doesn't have shit on that Irish Whiskey I have back at my house in the states."

Charles knew that probably wouldn't have gotten the priest too worked up so he continued on.

"Now this was back in '42 in the North Africa Campaign, before I became a Ranger. I was with my unit down near Tunis and we were expecting heavy opposition from the Krauts and Eye-Ties. We were expecting Tigers and Panzer Fours with heavy infantry and air support. Well me and the boys were all fired up after hearing what the Nazis were doing to the Jews over in Poland, a lot of my friends were Jews and I was just as mad because of it. Some of 'em had friends over there so they were in a blood craze. They just stared off into nothing. Now we weren't green recruits anymore. In that war we were already Veterans. Staying alive six months made you a badass mother if you catch my drift. Well, at about 3 in the morning we were told to attack so we gathered our crap up and snuffed out the fires and set off across the desert. We fought and we took a lot of prisoners. By a lot I mean we had around 100 nazi prisoners. Well some of us got an idea into our heads to mess with the bastards for messing with family, cause you know once you kill alongside someone they become a brother to you. You learn things about them their real family should never know about someone but back to the story. Like I said earlier we were some hard mothers. We also were bored with waiting for the prisoner transport so we decided to mess with those bastards. Now it was a hot day. Damn near a hundred and thirty five degrees out there and there wasn't any wind blowing or any shade. So we offered the prisoners some water and made them hold their hands out for it. Once they did that instead of pouring water in them we each took our turns pissing on them. Now that's sadistic but I ain't finished yet. One of those fuckers had a razor blade somehow so when it was his turn to get pissed on, he pulled it out and sliced off some green fuck's privates. Right off. Blood a squirtin' everywhere so we called for a medic but that didn't stop there. Them damn Nazi bastards got a little uppity and tried to take my squad out. Didn't work. Three of us were carrying Thomsons and another was carrying a BAR. Now If you never heard of a Thompson, you want to be the one firing it. Damn things are inaccurate and fire a forty five caliber round. These were freshly loaded 50 round drum magazines to. So when me and the three others started firing, not much was left standing. We kept the one that cut off the Private's private parts alive so I could deal with him personally. The men knew I had a brutal streak in me so after it was done, we drug him over to the bodies before I beat the immortal crap out of him. No literally, I beat him so bad he shit and pissed himself. When I was finished he could barely talk and he smelled worse than an italian does. Then I put a bullet right in his head while he begged me to stop. We walked out of there with one dead G.I. and twenty-one prisoners out of one hundred. Before we left we took turns pissing on the bodies before we burnt them. On occasions I can still smell the scent of the burning bodies."

He let what he had just said to the priest sink in for a moment. Let the thought of someone literally crapping their pants from a beating and then begging for their life before a forty five caliber round impacted into his cranium and out the other side making a gory mess all over another gory mess.

"Now those are the worst things I've ever done in my life and I only regret the last one. Now I did commit a lot of sins in my current state, even ripped some poor Scotsman's head off after he tried to rape a woman. The sick bastard had it coming though. He used a broken bottle to do it. That was back when I worked for the Irish mob. But I didn't do anything as bad as I did that day near Tunis. Of course you will probably come up with some reason as to why me ripping some poor rapist's head off is worse than war crimes. Something to do with being an abomination probably. Though, I don't really understand as to why you think I'm an abomination. Sure it's hard to kill me, but I can die. Hell, I bleed too. You friend with the cannons blew my arm off and I bled everywhere. By the way, where did the good sister go off to? She find another friend to play with?"

----------> Le Chateau Rouge


Having traversed the Vatican steps and corridors with a familiar ease, the Cyborg had little to no trouble with the female vampire draped over his shoulder. Aside from the awkward looks he got from a few of the other member's strolling the halls as he looked much like a kidnapper, which he didn't really care about, all seemed fine. A bit of blood dripped from where he leg used to be as the wound was working to heal the damage and regrow the leg, but her regenerative process was struggling due to the blessed 20mm AP round she'd received, it was understandable. Para had been knocked out along the way to lessen any form of petty struggle she could of put up, and had a collar put around her neck similar to the other vampire they'd captured not too long ago.

Rounding a corner into the Internal Holding and Research vault, the cyborg was met with several of the guards Sister Meabh had left along with Father Rearden who was still giving an interview. Ignoring them with only a slight nod, the cyborg walked by them to the large cubicle next door and opened the silver-tungsten blend bars that cut the room in half with his free hand, sitting the female vampire down with a surprising gentleness before he turned away and closed the bars behind him, locking them in the process. A priest will be by shortly to speak with you before Prof. Lloyd comes for you. He wasn't sure if the abomination heard him or not, but he spoke anyway before exiting the cubical.

<------------------------ France

The flight back had been blessedly uneventful, and for that the red-haired woman was eternally grateful. Striding alongside Father Miles, coat brushing her ankles and her soft soled boots making nary a sound, Meabh hands off her gear to a clerk, knowing it would arrive at her room and be laced carefully on her desk; it was a habit formed from hundreds of missions run.

Normally, she would report back to Maxwell, however, they had a ticking clock and she wanted to stay one step ahead of the thing locked floors and floors below; he'd had time to think, and she didn't want to give him too much room to breathe.

That's what Father Rearden was for.

Though the man was timid in the extreme, he had a strong sense of pride in executing whatever orders were given to him. As they reached the holding cells, the woman breaks off from the cyborg with a nod and steps between the two men waiting just outside a cell door. They wept back, giving her room to open the heavy panel to reveal a very nervous looking Father Rearden and an oddly calm abomination.

The little mousy man scurried to his feet when she enters, scattering a few papers that he then spent a few moments rounding back up.

"Sister Eir! Thank goodness you are...I mean, uhm...it is a pleasure to see you again. I was just in the middle-"

A hand was held up, a gentle gesture that the man should stop falling all over himself to create conversation. Sliding a sheaf of papers to her side of the desk, Meabh completely ignores the thing in the cell, focusing instead on the report in front of her. "Thank yew, Fah'der Rearden. Ah can see yew 'ave done a thoro'gh job. Well done."

Her praise seemed to brighten the small man a bit, causing the touch of a blush to colour his cheeks as he gathered up what little the Iscariot sniper wouldn't need. Bowing his head more than once, Rearden scuttles past the woman and to the exit. Before he steps through the door however, he stops to throw back one last comment, directed to vampire it seemed.

"You wanted her, and she appears. You will soon wish it was me in this room."

With that, he is gone, the large door coming to a surprisingly quiet close. Still standing, still reading, still fully dressed, Meabh peruses the papers in her hand, face relaxed. "These tings yew say ahr sins...did yew say them t'shock em?" She doesn't look at him, but puts the report back on the desk, stripping out of her heavy coat and laying it against the back of a chair. Now, the abomination could see what she'd hid ever since they'd met: two long knives, strapped to her back, and engraved with curling words that broke the single piece of steel and silver into liquid waves of text.

She doesn't take a seat, instead preferring to stand, one hand on her hip as she continue to read, waiting for a reply.

It was all such a mess. The battle in the castle had gone very wrong. The young vampiress had been captured and passed out for a moment from the shock of the pain once the bullet had blown her leg off. When she came to, she found herself on the shoulder of the last person she had seen before passing out. The Cyborg of Iscariot. Her head shifted as she looked around the area, taking in the path that she was being carried through.

As she was brought to the holding cell, she saw a few of the guards and bared her fangs at them, seeing their reactions made a bit of light of the situation. Feeling her body being put down lightly, she was a bit shocked. Hearing the cyborg speak she tilted her head with confusion and quickly began protest. "Wait! Who is Lloyd? What are you going to do with me?!" Before she could get her answers, the cyborg was gone, causing her to just growl softly. With that, the young vampiress sat back, waiting her fate.

Not too long after, she took glanced up as she heard movement and speaking. Her gaze looking over the scene as she remained still in her seat. Her gaze locked on the red headed woman who seemed to be taking control of the situation. Her eyes gazed over the smaller man, keeping her expression rather blank. Her violet locked were partially in her face due to her not shifting to fix it at all. It didn't matter in the moment. For now, she needed to watch the red head who approached and removed her coat. The young woman's gaze looked at the knives which were slightly sticking out from the woman's back but said nothing, merely watched.

Charles smiled as he watched the man scurry to his feet from the chair as the Irish lass opened the door and stepped in. 'Good,' thought Charles 'I was getting bored.' "Calm down there Father. It isn't the Boogie-man. You seem to think the lass is a the Boogie-woman though from the way you have been talking." He turned his attention to Meabh before continuing. "This good Father is certainly the talker. I could barely get a word in he talked so much. Told me all about the Irish Nun before me. And the big man who blew my arm off. Now that was some story you told me there, Father." He gave a coy smile as he paced back in forth behind the bars in his birthday suit as he watched the Nun for a moment. Meabh was right of course, what he had said were sins but he only said them to shock the poor priest or give him a heart attack.

He gave one of his best smiles at Meabh, "Yea, mostly told those to shock him. Though it was all true. Desperate times and desperate measures and all that. All true and only one regretted as it should say in those documents there. Now, I'm not too keen on being labeled an abomination for something I had no control over so please keep that accusation to yourself. My hand's still hurt from trying to rip the poor priest's throat out after calling me an Abomination."

He paced a bit more around the cell before finally sighing and plopping down on the hard floor. The skin of his ass making a smacking sound as it connected with the floor. He then leaned back and gazed at the ceiling as he did a quick one-two of his life. Of all the bad things he has done and all the good things he could have done. He finally smiled and said "So lass, did you get a new playmate while you were gone? Cause if you did, I'd be insanely jealous of the lucky vampire."

He was a very...willing subject thus far. From what she was reading, he had answered many of the questions rather candidly. This would help facilitate the process later down the line, but she couldn't help noticing the remarks Father Rearden had written in the margins of the report.

Interest in examiner's personal life.

Willing to freely give large amounts of information if prompted correctly.

See section on religious status.

That last bit intrigued her. Sitting on the edge of the table, she flips through the report with keen eyes, skimming over certain parts she thought helpful; there would be time later to read over it all in detail. It wasn't until after the creature finished speaking that the red-haired woman made any motion to indicate she'd been listening, though it seemed as if she was talking to herself.

"Fah'der Rearden sayd nothin' about either'o us. In fact..." she pauses for a moment, and peruses a certain section of the document with some interest. "...'e sayd very li'tle ov anyt'ing to yew at all."

She scans down the information of a particularly violent outburst by the creature. "Whay only call yew what yew ahr. A technicality, but one tha' saves us froom formin' attachm'ents."

Meabh finally looks directly at the thing in the cell, her grey eyes hard and colder than any winter the abomination had ever survived. "If a' Iscariot cannot keep grace joost by usin' a name, thay ahr no Iscariot."

The woman stares at him, pausing as though thinking on her next line of questioning. However, what came out of her mouth next was far from a question.

"Yew will bae 'appy t'know the thing yew made friends wit is nao a pile o'ash in 'is crumblin' castle."

It was obvious just how that abomination had met his end.

The pain most of these things suffered at the hands of their captors was enough to make many break, but she had a snaking suspicion no amount of pain would bring this creature to heel. A different tactic was needed; the pain could come later as a catalyst.

She rolls her shoulder for a second, then reaches up and unsnaps the clasp holding the leather harness on her back. The sniper removes her handgun from the shoulder holster, then slides out of the harness, laying it carefully on the table next to the gun.

Enter >>>>>>>>>> from Para's holding cell next door.

Sister Meabh. The cyborg called out as he stepped up beside the door of the cell after several hours of standing guard at the female vampires cell next door, I've received new orders. Another vampire is in need of capture for the research team. Targets location: London.

Before her captive had a chance to respond, a knock came at the door, followed by the entrance of Father Miles. Tossing the file in her hand back onto the table, she picks up her shoulder harness and begins to slide it on.

"Another one? Don't know when we went from kill to capture..."

After adjusting the straps, the redhead sheaths her knives and holsters the handgun, feeling slightly better for their presence. Grabbing her coat, she bypasses the cyborg and exits the cell. While she waits for him to exit as well - and for the door to close - Meabh shrugs into her coat and flips up the sturdy collar.

Reaching into the confines of his priest robes, the cyborg retrieved a pair of orange safety glasses and placed them on his face as Sister Meabh collected her shoulder harness. Approx. 48 hours and 32 seconds ago we began our decent into insanity, courtesy of the Research and Development team. Miles's trademark pokeface never changed as he made what what appeared to be another weak attempt at a joke, before turning to follow the Sniper out of the cell - which took only a single step as he was barely within its confines - before the door closed behind him.

Information from Research Team Capture List.

Subject Name: Leto Artyom
Race: Vampire
Classified Category: Cat.D Vampire
Last known location: London.

We are to rendezvous with Assistant Cecile at the Airport here in Rome, where she will be accompanying us on the hunt. The cyborg spoke as he stepped down the hall toward the exit. Other details unknown. Will inquire about them with Assistant Cecile once at the airport.

She nods to the Father.

"Insanity begins to describe it, yes."

Meabh appreciated how far the cyborg had come since their first meeting, and it made some part of her happy to hear him attempt a joke - even if it was a little weak. "So onward to yet another plane ride. I suppose the only good part about it is the fact I have you for a pillow." She smiles at him, a quick and familiar quirk of her lips, and makes her way out and about, calling for her gear from the armory and picking it up on the way out.

----------------> Airport

Miles was still confused as to why she used him as a pillow. Logically speaking though, he shouldn't be very comfortable as he was made of metal, however he didn't and wouldn't object to it. He felt a bit odd, and he didn't understand why, but he didn't really mind it. Picking up a pair of normal berettas at the same place Sister Meabh picked up her gear, Miles followed her out.


-----------------> Airport.

Charles gave a great big ole grin when the nun told him that Father Rearden hadn't sad much at all. "Looks like she caught me in a little fib there, Father Rearden. I'll be sure to make more of an effort next time." He continued to stare at the ceiling as the Nun continued to talk in short sentences. At the mention of the technicality he nearly laughed. "If you Iscariot are so hardcore, and I'm pretty sure I've seen more hard core kids from what I've seen, then it wouldn't really matter if you used my christian name, or my sir name, now would it?"

When he heard the news that the frog was a pile of ashes Charles nearly cheered for the nun and her large friend despite the fact that he wanted to be the one to end that miserable excuse for a vampire's life. He clapped his hands together a couple times before raising up on his elbows. "He wasn't really a friend. If he was on fire and I had to take a piss, I'd water the ground. I guess we should wait for the the good Sister to get back from her trip or do you have some more questions for me father?" After speaking, lowered himself back to the ground before humming an old irish lullaby rhyme his mother used to sing to him.