The invitation, keeping in line with its bizarrely formal wording, is carefully embossed on expensive paper and enclosed inside a lilac-scented envelope. It arrived in no less strange of a fashion- rather than being found in your mailbox, perplexed but well-paid couriers followed careful instructions to put the invitation in some place where you would be sure to find it. In the branches of a tree, under the wrapper of a fresh loaf of bread at the grocery store, under your plate at your favorite restaurants- bizarre, strange places. But find it you did. And now the date of the meeting is creeping up upon you.

The eleventh of January is not the only thing creeping up on you, either. Now, whenever you glance at a newspaper or turn on the television, the face of your sworn enemy smiles back at you. The Coalition has caught the public imagination- impressive, since The Coalition has yet to actually do anything. Everywhere you go, there is discussion, analysis, debate, speculation. Hashtags for #TeamDurga and #TeamMrRedline (Durga is currently leading). A Popular Science article on The Scholar's refits to the new Coalition headquarters, the historic Continental Life Building. A series of recipes for mixed drinks themed after The Coalition trending on Pinterest. Polls on which member is sexiest. And of course, the endless speeches, statements, and responses. A small sample:

“St. Louis is a city with a rich history, wonderful people, and great potential. Yet it is also a city with tremendous problems- violent crime, gangsterism, endemic corruption, rampant drug use. Because the Coalition's only goal to to make America safe for the common citizen, it only stands to reason to begin with the city that has so generously agreed to host our base of operations.”

-The Golden One, quoted in USA Today

“Look, obviously we support making the city safer. All that I'm saying is that we need to be prepared in case The Coalition comes after honest businessmen like me. If they harass me like the police have done, then I'm within my rights to defend myself however necessary.”

-Julian Capizzi, alleged head of the St. Louis crime family, quoted in The Washington Post

And so on and so forth.

The more you hear, the more you think about the invitation. Reading between the lines, it seems to be some sort of counter to The Coalition. Maybe it would be worth checking out.

Or maybe it's a trap.

At any rate, the date of the meeting has arrived, as has the time of your flight or the deadline for other travel arrangements.

On this cold, overcast day, snow and slush on the ground, St. Louis welcomes you. This is the beginning of something. Something new. Something dangerous. Something that will overshadow all that came before.

---

“This be a bad idea, Kaal.”

“It could be a bad idea. But we will certainly find out for sure.”

The bedraggled man riding in the backseat had a look of irritation etched across his face. The shaded glasses and the unkempt dreads didn’t do well to hide it. He leaned over the seat and began saying again, “We shoulda brought more backup than one truck and four men at least. This could be some kinda Coh-Lission trap!”

“Baba.” The man riding passenger replied, raising his brow and turning his head, “Relax. Coalition wouldn’t make a trap for just little old me. And even if it is, I guarantee you we will be able to properly retaliate. Ain’t that right Cliff?” He turned to the driver of the vehicle, a much larger man, equally bald as him with a black scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, and much more scarred. He didn’t respond, save for passing Baba a quick glare of reassurance before returning his eyes to the road. “See?” The passenger replied, “How could that look not fill you with confidence?”

“Bah.” Baba replied, leaning back into his seat.

They opted out of taking the plane ride gifted to them when the letter came, delivered to Frank by a trooper who found it in his pocket where some ammunition was meant to be stored. Whoever this Cesare was, they were going to get to know him better before they did so much as drink something he offered them. Two nonidentical trucks, one with the leader of the Sunflower Group, Saint Frank himself, and his two adjutants, Clifford and Baba Daga. The other was holding four men ready to arm themselves at a moment’s notice. They weren’t dressed in their heavier combat gear in favor of remaining at least partway inconspicuous once they stepped out, with coats and hats for the snow instead. They had vests underneath just in case things got hairy. But hopefully, their destination wouldn’t leave them out in the open for long.

“There it is.” Frank said, pointing forward. Down the road, past the white of the snow, their destination lied. Viviano and Sons Funeral Home. Frank raised a communicator from his coat pocket and spoke to the team in the truck behind them, “Alright boys, destination ahead. Cliff and Baba are gonna come inside with me, rest of you find a place to settle. Observe anyone else who comes in, buzz for each of them to let us know. Do not engage unless ordered. Copy?”

“Copy, Saint.”

Frank put the communicator away and turned his head, watching the team’s truck turn into an alleyway far behind them while Clifford parked their truck in the lot beside the building. “Safeties on for now. Holstered.” Frank said, checking his handgun as Clifford shut the truck off. “Play it slow, play it safe. Let’s find out who this Cesare fellow is.”

They all exited the vehicle, checking their surroundings before they made their way into the building.

---

---

For Ben, the letter came in a tree.

He didn't bother remembering that much anymore. Most of the time it wasn't worth looking at for more than a few seconds. He liked to think that was good thing- living his life the way he did. No due dates, no one to tell you when or how to do something besides yourself.

It was nice, living like that. For the city of Chicago, things had been peaceful for the past few months. Christmas had come and gone without any trace of tooth or scale. Damselfly was out of town- but most of the world didn't know that. He had no reason to disturb the peace. December rolled around in January, and the only way he could tell was the slight difference in the air's smell. A certain crisp tangent from the regular that only the colder months had that grew stronger and then weaker as winter rolled in and out. He didn't keep calendars.

At least, he didn't use to.

He does remember finding the letter. It had been an especially cold day and he had been moving through the woods wearing a thick fur coat he had made for himself. He had been returning home from hunting a buck, gun in hand at the time. He nearly didn't notice it amongst the white of the snow around him. But there was no mistaking the fluttering of paper. Paper that had been placed neatly between two branched on the path home. Paper that was sealed nice and tight, and had been treated nicely- as something so small and delicate should be. As his claws had caressed and manipulated the paper folds, in a way he hadn't needed to in months, he came to the realization that it was something he hadn't received in a much longer time.

An invitation.

But that's where he deviated from his regular self. Because he acquired a calendar. And he remembered the date. He remembered sitting in his small log cabin during a winter storm and reading it over and over again. He didn't think about her even once. His mind was too occupied by... this.

...Whatever this was.

He had, after many attempts tuned his radio to one of the stations. NPR was its name. He could only define it as... chatter. Lots of chatter. Everyone was talking about something called the Coalition. Someone who did this. Someone who did that. Hashtags, whatever those were. It was... overwhelming. He had nearly turned the device off when he heard her name. She wouldn't be coming home this year. She was moving. To the same place he had been... invited too.

And for days he listened. He did his best to understand everything that the station reported on. He had no idea what Instagram was, or how to 'like' and 'follow' them on Facebook (whatever that was). But he did his best to... comprehend the changes that were being made. That were occurring.

This little home he had made himself was quaint and kind. One part of him told him that this was it, the opportunity to... fade away into obscurity. To let the world forget about Dragonfly.

But the other part of him told him that if this letter was a trap, and it probably was a trap, he'd at least go out with a bang. Just like how this version of him came in.

He set out on foot, with his travel packs and maps in hand a day early. He caught an open cart on a train and rode his way into the city during the night. When he arrived in St. Louis, it was early. Some time between 3:00 and 3:30 in the morning. He moved on foot through the alleyways and around the city. But once he reached the suburbs, it was much easier to navigate the quiet morning streets.

And so he walked the sidewalks, wearing his fur coats with his hood up and head down. No doubt looking rather... out of place to any early morning driver. He did his best to avoid interaction with anyone. If his size and disposition didn't turn anyone around, then his tail did. His hands stayed in his pockets, and his tail followed close behind him, raised off of the ground as to not leave any drag marks.

He was the first to enter that funeral home at 5:30 that morning. He was the only one to set his things down and to take a seat in the pew. He was alone in the building for a long time. He turned to watch the sun rise, and only tore his attention from the windows when the interior lights came on.

This isolation was to be expected.

The only men to smell of blood and gunpowder didn't enter the building until nearly one in the afternoon. He made no movements. If they were here for him, they would come to him.

He remembered that this was a... conference.

He wondered how many others who smelt of charcoal and cheap metal. He wondered if they were here to hurt him.

He also wondered if he locked the door to his cabin.

Only time would tell.

It hadn't been very long since the morning Domonic found the new pressure cooker he put in his apartment had something in it. He had exhausted his last three in his numerous attempts to stop Stand-Up Guy from foiling his plans. They worked as well as he could have hoped, except for the part where he was put behind bars. Or rather, in a little grey room with abhorrently saccharine employees breathing down his neck and only allowing him to use plastic spoons and glue sticks for everything. That was well enough, he supposed. He could still kill someone with either of those things, if he really wanted it hard enough... He didn't even need to explode two of the pressure cookers. They were deterrent enough, and it bought Domonic just enough time.

The problem was, it was an expensive household appliance, and once you make a pressure cooker into a bomb, it's never going to be a pressure cooker again. So he had to buy a new one every time. This time, he resolved to use other methods. His pressure cooker would be used for pressure cookery only from this point on. But now something else was in it.

It exuded an air of expensiveness, and as he opened it, he noted (almost aloud) that it smelled, frankly, like shit.

Inside, there was a formal-looking invitation, an address, and money enough for ten more pressure cookers. What was this? Some kind of taunt? Some demonstration by a stuffy eccentric that wanted to demonstrate some illusion of omnipresence? Did they think he was stupid enough to fall into that kind of trap!?... He cursed the note in Russian spitefully. But there was something about it that was definitely off. Who would put this kind of effort into inviting him into a trap unless they were as insane and economically detached as Domonic made himself out to be? Obviously, this Cesare character was loaded. Dangerous, but loaded...

Perhaps Big Game would pay him a visit and show him who was the dangerous, loaded man in this country... After casing whatever fancy joint this shady character invited him to, of course. Maybe he could squeeze something valuable out of him before the job was done... He also really, really needed a lead in crime elsewhere. Ohio wasn't exactly a happening place, and maybe he'd run into the golden guy there. The man probably oozed money. He fancied you could probably rob him by accident... He hoped...

That was why he smuggled his weapons arsenal across three or four state borders in an old jeep. Wearing jeans, an old T-shirt, and the least conspicuous gas-station sunglasses he could stuff in his pocket, he stood and eyed the building he was led to. He then eyed the address, just to be sure. And then he eyed the colorful cast approaching it.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose and keeping his head down, he followed them in.

---

---

Frank and his adjutants walked in out of the cold. Gloves still on, though Frank had removed his cap now that they were inside. They looked around the main hall, and all the fine wooden pews seated next to each other. And their eyes immediately centered on the rather large, hooded figure seated a bit ahead. Too big to be human, that was easy to tell for them. Frank quietly said to his adjutants, _{"Someone's early."} They both kept their hands in ready positions to draw their guns while Frank approached the seated figure.

"Excuse me." He said aloud, with a bit of a wry smile.

Ben shifted in his seat, but didn't audibly respond or turn around. His tail shifted under his seat and Ben fidgeted some with his claws. He pretended to be engrossed in the pamphlet about why you should choose Viviano and Sons funeral home for your loved one. Anything to keep them off of him, at least for the time being.

"Hey!" Frank said, little louder this time, moving further. Still no response. He stopped for a moment before he was within three pews worth of range behind Ben. He nodded, turned to his men, and motioned for them to be at the ready. Cliff and Baba began circling around the pews while Frank turned back to the figure before him.

"No need to yell." Was Ben's response. His voice was predictably deep, and coarse like gravel or sandpaper. He wasn't used to speaking, he hadn't really done anything more than various growls, snarles, or roars in a long time. The little talking he did was in response to anything Damselfly had commented on during one of their many scuffles. This wasn't one of those times though. He hadn't been in an interaction like this in many years.

"Alright. Fine. Maybe I should come right out and ask..." He stated, hand near his coat pocket. Instead of pulling out his handgun, the invitation he'd recieved was now being held up. "You got one of these... invitations, too?" He asked calmly.

Ben hadn't brought the letter with him. He had seen no reason to bring it along with him. Now he was regretting that choice.

"Yes... Didn't bring it." He responded, turning his head ever so slightly. His white, pupiless eyes met Frank's, and he turned back to facing forwards very slowly. He had made a mistake. Frank had more the likely seen his snout. Maybe even the side of his face. He didn't know this man, or his motives. This... was not good.

Frank kept up the smile as he put away the invitation. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human. And if it's not human, then it's a bounty. The motto of the Sunflower Group, unofficially. Maybe Frank wasn't thinking too forward at the time, but as he put his invitation away, his hand crept towards his holster, and he could tell Cliff and Baba were making the same moves.

"That's a shame..." He said quietly.

Before anything drastic happened, some sound behind them all interrupted the encounter.

The doors had opened again.

Domonic raised a single eyebrow at the scene in front of him. There were men. Men with guns. And Cesare obviously had good taste in henchmen. Where'd he even find that giant. His hands fell to his pockets, fingers clenched around the two knives he brought with him. He struggled to try on another accent. B-movie German wasn't the most convincing, but it hid the voice of Ibor well enough. If the trap was already set, he would have to convince them they had the wrong guy.

"A-are you men Vivaio und Sons? I vas comingk to see if I could set up appointment sometime. My mozzer is in Hospice."

---

First buzz.

Frank took his hand away from his holster and turned his head. Cliff and Baba did the same, holding their positions and keeping an eye on Ben, who was still seated. Frank eyed the man who'd just entered the building, taking a few steps towards him.

"A-are you men Vivaio und Sons? I vas comingk to see if I could set up appointment sometime. My mozzer is in Hospice." He asked.

Whatever he was trying to pull, it wasn't working. Frank simply chuckled a bit, the B-movie German accent striking his funny bone some. He raised his hands at his men, making sure they weren't about to do anything brash. Common sense was finally catching back up with him. He ceased his chuckling and looked back at the man, speaking out.

"Nah, nah..." Frank said, shaking his head. "We're all here for the same reason as you, pal. So cut the shit."

"You get letter?" Domonic says, his voice dropping roughly three octaves and settling much more comfortably into his real accent.

If Cesare meant to set up a trap, he sure invited some heavily armed people... Unless Cesare was among them. Or maybe this was all a ploy to avert his suspicions. He suspected Cesare was the giant. The name, after all, evoked the image of an enormous Italian fellow in some sort of leadership position. His right hand remained on the knife in his pocket as his left lifted out harmlessly to remove his sunglasses and hang them off the neck of his shirt.

"And this is not trap?" He adds, almost disappointed... Maybe he could throw them off by making them think they threw him off...

---

---

Morrigan looked at the letter that appeared inside her spellbook. No one touched her spellbook. Who the hell touched her spellbook.

She could easily cast a spell to see who it was and decide on an appropriate punishment for them. Perhaps tying them up and letting spiders eat them. Or cursing them with glass bones. However, the letter intrigued her. It took guts to come into her home and leave it for her. She had to respect that, even if it pissed her off.

She opened it and read the contents. She didn't know what to make of it. Was it a real invitation? If so, who would invite her. Her list of friends was non-existent in this world. Her list of enemies was larger. Was it a trap? Probably. It would be their mistake if it was. She'd have them eating dirt before they sprung it. Who would be this stupid to trap her?

She decided to go. She was bored, admittedly. Her spells haven't been good lately, perhaps a change of scenery would be best.

She never flown in a plane before. Seeing them in the sky made her think they were just destined to come crashing down. It was unnatural for all those humans to be flying. Granted, she herself could fly if she chose, but that's because she had the help of magic behind her.

Humans weren't that smart.

She took the opportunity to travel somewhere else. First class sounded exciting. She freshened herself up and headed towards the airport. It was going to be a weird few days.

--------------------------------

On that cold day, a lone woman wearing a long black coat and expensive-looking black casual clothing underneath stood under the thin roof of the bus station. A breeze passed by, making her coat flutter in the wind, something she barely paid any attention to as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked around. Her eyes were obscured by a pair of sunglasses and she kept her lips shut rather tightly.

"Those guys..." She whispered and groaned. "Sure, Crow, got it! We'll be there super early and completely on time, don't worry about it, Crow!" She said in a high pitched mocking tone of voice.

"Assholes, they should take things seriously for a change." Crow sighed and tensed her jaw.

Five minutes passed and Crow opened her baggage to pull out her cellphone. As she input her password, though, the distant sound of a car engine grew louder, and then a white minivan took a turn on the corner and drove right up to the bus stop, where it pulled over. The windows were tinted a shade so dark one couldn't see who was inside, but Crow knew who were inside the car. As soon as the passenger door opened, Crow huffed and frowned.

"You're late, dumbasses."

A meek squeak could be heard from inside the car, and after a moment of fidgeting, a guy with a wiry frame and equally wiry glasses peeked out. He seemed to be hiding as much of his body as possible.

"S-Sorry about that, Crow! John got diarrh-"

"Shut the hell up, Straw!" The driver shouted.

Crow glared at the guy, Straw, for a moment. He shrunk under her gaze. Then she shrugged and got into the back seat, carelessly throwing her baggage inside as well. "Whatever. Next time you're late, you'll be my dinner." She couldn't help but chuckle a bit. She didn't truly mean that last part, because even if she was actually mad at them for being dumb and inefficient, she couldn't afford to kill her men just yet. Besides, while Straw wasn't the best at being punctual, he was good at the tech-related stuff Crow sucked at.

John, though...

"We should be there in half an hour, Crow. There are some weapons under the seat next to you." John, the driver, said the most obvious thing in the universe. Of course Crow knew where the weapons were. She had sent them on the damn mission herself. They had driven all the way from NYC to St. Louis over the last few days so they could smuggle her gear in for her. You couldn't really pass body armour, firearms or combat knives through airports and while Crow knew she could have just gone on the roadtrip with her two subordinates, she decided to go on the airplane because she wanted to experience first class. Faking the IDs wasn't a big deal, and it appeared the ticket made her trip easier, as security guards or airport personnel would let her through that much faster.

So the trip to the Funeral Home was over in the blink of an eye and Crow had put on her underarmour and armed herself with a handgun and a knife, as usual. She took off her sunglasses and untied her hair. Finally, she relaxed her lips and took off both contact lenses, revealing her vibrant red eyes.

Then the building came into view.

"Okay. I'll be going in on my own. You guys stay in the car, keep it running. Also, for the love of Durga's sixth arm, keep the windows up and closed. They won't stop bullets if they're all the way down so you can smoke some blunt." Crow said to the two in the front seats. They nodded. Better be safe than sorry, Crow thought, even on the off chance that this was a trap, she was confident she could get away.

So when the minivan came to a stop in front of the Funeral Home, Crow opened the door of the car and stepped out, closing the door behind her. At that moment, she could smell several humans and one... Thing... inside the building. There was the smell of more humans coming from somewhere around the building as well, most likely from one of the many cars parked near hers.

Crow let her hand fall on her handgun, holstered around her hips, to calm her nerves. She looked around once and walked toward the entrance.

When she got closer, she could make out a sentence, said in a foreign accent.

"You get letter? And this is not trap?"

Crow tensed her jaw as she opened the doors and walked in.

"It better not be a trap." She said, eyeing everyone present.

---

Second buzz.

Frank craned his head over the man's shoulder to eye the the woman who'd just showed up. His smile stretched up again as he clapped his hands together and chuckled some more. "Now this is turning into a party!" He called out. He turned towards his adjutants and waved them over. Cliff and Baba kept their eyes trained on Ben for just a moment more before they joined their leader's sides. Frank stretched out his hands for a bit as he stepped forward, dropping any hostility until it was necessary once more.

Domonic casually kept his distance as a woman in black entered. In the guise of politely getting out of the way for anyone entering the building, he moved to the side, where he could keep them all in view.

"You are who?" he asked, his eyes moving across the room slowly. The grammatical structure of this peculiar query was the fault of lazy mental translation rather than real lack of English understnding, but the difference wasn't obvious. It usually never was...

People were coming in now. Several of them.

The first was a strange man. He smelt like sweat and blood and fire and metal. The kind of iron that he himself forged. His accent was very forced, judging by the slight squeak at the end of each word he spoke. It wasn't natural to him as it would be for someone who normally had that accent. The asked a stupid question, which his aggressors laughed off, and then inquired as to whether or not this was a trap. Something Benedict himself was wondering.

Then another person entered. This one... this one smelt like blood.

He turned his head at an angle so his eyes could look past his hood and at the two newcomers. These two were vastly different from the three men he had already seen.

The new man was older looking than he expected. All the hair from his receding hairline had migrated to his lips and jaw. He was portly, but tall and muscular. A bit like a heavyweight cage fighter. He spoke too much. Asked too many questions to which answers were either obvious or wouldn't be truthfully told. The other person was a slender woman. She was pale and had very long, dark hair. She was tall for a woman too. A little over waist level for him. Her eyes were very red. She had an... unnerving aura to her being. Nothing he was bothered by, but his predatory instincts told him she was... stranger than the other two in a way they didn't share.

He didn't like these people. He didn't like all this talking and white noise. He was used to quiet mornings and evenings. With the attack every now and again. He was a quiet person.

"Excuse me." Ben stated, pulling one of his massive hands out of his coat's pockets and placed it on the back of the pew, which groaned under his weight as he pushed himself upwards. Ben slowly and purposefully stood up to his full height, towering over everyone else by three feet or more. While sitting, his size was less apparent. But now his true mass was shown. Each of his arms were as thick as a normal man's torso and judging by the curvature of his torso in the very masculine 'V' body shape, he was extremely muscular.

Ben took a few strides to the pews ahead of the ground. Another four rows or so. It would lessen the chance that they'd come after him. He saw them pulls guns. They were armed. He didn't want to be around them. Not until he knew why he was called here.

It had been an ordinary day at work. Ginny was dressed in a nice blue dress which was covered by a white lab coat. Her blonde hair was tied back into a braid and bun. A small pin was used to tap rhythmically on her work station as she waited for the mass spectrometer to finish its' work. When the doors to her lab opened she didn't look. She was far too used to people coming and going. While she headed up this lab, she still had various underlings to do whatever she deemed beneath her.

When a very confused lab technician scuttled up to Ginny, she finally looked away from the lab equipment she was eyeing. The nervous technician was Joseph. An intern straight from the classrooms. Scared to death of women. Ginny was no exception, even though she tried to be friendly. Emphasis on tried.

"Yes Joseph?" Ginny prompted as the technician didn't speak.

At her words the poor kid looked like she had grown two heads and started spitting fire. His mouth opened and closed like a fish's. However no sound came out. Ginny sighed and looked to see if there was anyone else in the lab. She quickly spotted Richard who was trying to hide behind a Plexiglas divider.

"Richard, really?" Ginny called exasperated over to the head technician. At her tone Richard burst out laughing. Something he had been undoubtedly holding in. He said something in the mist of it and Ginny lifted an eyebrow. Richard too a few bracing breaths, came out from his terrible hiding spot, and repeated himself.

"He has to learn to talk to you somehow." Richard wiped tears from his eyes.

Ginny rolled hers. "And this is a good way?" She gestured to the tech who had retreated from the room. Which caused them both to burst out laughing. Gradually they regained control. Ginny fanned her face as she tried to breathe.

"He looked like a fish." She finally got out.

Richard tried to return Ginny's imperious look of arching an eyebrow but failed and they both resumed their laughter. Eventually through a great force of will, they both returned to workplace accepted seriousness. Richard was the first to break the new silence.

"You have a courier." He said suddenly.

Ginny arched an eyebrow, a very telling habit. "A what?"

"A courier." The older man said with a large smile. "Little bumbling kid. Worse than Joseph. Anyways, says he has something for you. Only for you. Has to," Richard made air quotes. "Only deliver it to you and no one else. Insistent little feller." Richard shrugged. "Anyways, couldn't let him in, clean room and all. So he's waiting at the security station."

Ginny made a face of surprise and astonishment. "Well okay then." She shrugged. "Lets go see what he wants. You," She halted Richard with a finger. "Will stay and watch the Mass Spectrometer. As soon as the batch is done it needs to be analyzed."

Richard sighed and deflated. "Yes ma'am." He made a great show of shuffling off in sadness to assume her vigil. The sound of her laughter followed him until she was out the door and it was again closed.

Ginny's white pumps clacked on the linoleum as she stalked down the hallway. She moved at such a pace her name tag flopped against her minimal chest. Those she saw in the hallways nodded their head in greeting, but none stopped, all moving just as determinedly as Ginny. The way to the Security Station was down the main elevator, past the lobby and then you were there.

"Miss White?" One of the guards asked as she walked up to the security desk. He was one of the regulars and had often checked her in.

"Able." She smiled. "How's the daughter?"

"Just as much of a pain as her mother." Able smiled broadly to show that he loved them both. They had meet at work and two years ago had gotten married. Ginny had attended.

"Good to hear. One also hears I have a courier?" Ginny smiled at the shuffling boy who had been loitering near the security desk.

"Yes Ma'am. We scanned the letter, it's safe."

Ginny blinked and turned back to Able laying a hand on his and offering a warm open smile. "That was very kind. Thank you."

Able blushed, in a aw-shucks kind of way. Ginny lingered a second longer before going to the courier. "I believe you have something for me?"

The young man nodded. He was just as Richard had described. His voice was soft as he spoke. "I need identification please, Ma'am." He stumbled over the last word. Probably only using it because Able had.

"Of course." Ginny carefully unclipped her Axell ID tag and held it out for inspection. It must have matched whatever the courier compared it to because the man nodded and passed her a very fancy letter.

"Thank you." Ginny barely managed to get out before the man hurried off. She turned back to give Able a bemused look. The black man shrugged and Ginny ran a hand over the paper. Whomever sent this isn't skimp on quality. Then she turned the envelope over and stopped dead. With neat cursive lettering was her name. Not Ginny White, but BROKER.

"Everything alright miss?" Able's voice was concerned.

Broker didn't get flustered often, but this small change in her life was enough. She jumped at Able's voice before giving a small laugh.

"Of course. I just wasn't expecting this." She gave a small shrug. "I would say old friend, but it's been a long time since I could say that." She gave a wistful smile, giving guise that maybe an old lover was writing her. "Can I borrow your knife?" She questioned.

Abel accepted her lie without further ado and passed her his work knife.

With a deft movement she slid it under the envelope flap and opened it on one edge. She passed the knife back to Abel. She eyed him carefully as she did so. He was curious. Too curious, the part that was Broker whispered in the back of her mind. Still she forced a believable smile onto her face. "If you don't mind, I think I'll read this somewhere private."

Broker exchanged the proper goodbyes before making a retreat into the nearest bathroom. She commandeered a stall and locked it behind her. With shaking hands the woman opened it and read the contents. She checked the cash, then read the letter again.


With a small frown Broker tore up the letter and flushed it. The money and plane ticket she secreted away in her bra. After that she took a few minutes to compose herself before returning to work.Broker emerged from her limo bundled in a luxurious fur coat. Ted, her bodyguard stood holding the door opened. No smile graced Broker's face. Nor any expression for that matter. Liam was further ahead near the other vehicles. He looked over the snow then held up a hand and made a quick sign.

Seven individuals. One very large. Two most likely female. The rest normal men, as far as Liam could tell. Broker barely inclined her head, yet he saw it and vanished off into the snow covered landscape.

By this time Ted had closed the door behind Broker and offered an arm for her. She took the offered arm without even looking at him. Time to join the party. Broker and her men were as prepared as they could be. Liam would watch over them from a distance and Ted would protect Ginny with his life. Both were extremely well armed.

Broker and Ted crunched over the snow and up to the Funeral Home. The doors opened soundlessly. Inside it was warm and voices drifted towards her. She tilted her chin and Ted grunted a no. Broker released the pose, released Ted's arm and swept into the room. She pulled off her coat and passed it to Ted who hung it on a coat rack. There were no other coats there so Ginny assumed they all kept their belongings with them. The duo continued into the viewing hall.

The sight took Broker's breath away. (Mainly the very, very tall lizard walking towards the front of the viewing room. One she recognized from the news. There were not very many giant lizards.) Not that her face disclosed any of her secrets. Impassively she scanned the room. True to Liam's sign, there were two women. Both with black hair and red eyes. One was vaguely familiar. Broker set to remembering why to the back burner to run while she scoped out the rest of the room. A few Russian looking mobsters that all blended together visually.

Broker and Ted moved aside, just in case there would be more joining them. Anyways, it offered Ted a better vantage point without the worry of someone stabbing them from behind. A very real worry. One that made her send a random minion she wasn't very happy with, with the airplane ticket to the town and message to never be seen again. According to Liam, the minion had lived through the flight. A very useful tidbit of information.

As Broker stood there she tugged off one glove and very covertly started eyeing objects that would aid her the most in determining the most about the seven individuals and why they were here.

---

Frank backed up to rejoin Cliff and Baba, the latter whispering to him, _{“This be getting out of hand, Kaal.”}

Frank nodded a bit and, keeping his eyes on the rest of the room, moved back some to the right side of the aisles. He turned his back to the rest of the room and lowered the output volume a bit as he began speaking to his men. _{“Okay. Obviously… this is something serious that I’m not sure we’re prepared to handle on our own.”} He brought up his communicator and spoke quietly into it, <sub>“Hey. What are you guys seeing outside?”

“Some other folks are hanging around, same as we are. Pretty sure they’re onto us, waiting for something to happen.”

“Alright, have your guns ready.”</sub> Frank replied, <sub>“Don’t make any direct eye contact with them and stay in the truck unless things get serious. We’re handling ourselves inside but it could go fuck up at any point. Definitely some supers in here with us.”

“Any plans to capture them?”</sub>

Frank looked up at his adjutants. They both shook their heads. He replied to the soldier, <sub>“No. At least, not now. We’re definitely gonna be outnumbered. Just stay ready and wait for us.”

“Roger.”</sub>

Frank put the communicator away and took a few more glances around the rooms. He turned back to his adjutants and said, _{“If we weren’t in the shit before, we’re definitely testing the waters now. You two keep an eye on everyone else, don’t let them get too close. Anything suspicious, you tell me. No drawing your guns unless I say so. Got it?”} Clifford simply nodded while Baba replied with, <sub>“Yah.”

“Alright.”</sub> Frank said, brushing past them and taking a seat in one of the pews, far away from the larger figure and anyone else in the room besides his men. The two of them stood and kept a vigil over the rest.

Sarah had found her letter when she wasn't looking, it appeared right under a book.

Knowing that this could full well be a trap, Sarah had been cautions on going to St. Louis. However, she didn't get out of town often and went anyways, feeling that she could handle the Coalition. Getting there was fun, she frightened many people on the way and she had to take a secret route onto the plane. On the plane, there was no one in first class, that concerned her the entire flight. She had to get off in a secretive manner when she finally got to Missouri.

To get the the meeting she simply traveled by power line, moving at an absurdly fast speed to her location. However, she did arrive and it seemed that there were others in the building. Hovering above the ground, she opened the door to the building and simply went to where she heard voices. It seemed that there eight people, all of them looked fairly normal except one. This may be fun.

______________________________________

Crow had been asked a question by the Russian guy. He apparently didn't know how to speak English correctly, so she avoided replying to him. Watching the people present move around and interact was enough to confirm Crow's suspicions. She'd seen some of them before on the news. Mainly the tasty-smelling lizard man, but the Russian guy she'd seen as well. The bald man with the two men by his sides she hadn't seen, and neither had she ever seen the woman that just entered.

Deducing it from the way they acted, though, they were powerful. Very powerful.

Also, the lizardman seemed humble, which was strange considering he was a hulking figure and could no doubt snap anyone present in half with a flick of his tail.

Crow let her hand fall to her side, relaxing her position once she noticed how tense the others were. It was clear to her that everyone was afraid of being set up by the others, so the chance that any of them had planned anything was slim at best.

'Thinking about it now seems dumb, Crow, but what kind of personality should I show them? These people are powerful and dangerous, maybe as dangerous as you...' Crow thought as she looked the others over. 'Settling for a respectful and inquisitive stance should be good enough.' Yet that line of thought left her with a question. Who should she approach, if anyone at all?

Bald man with bodyguards was out of the question. He gave her the creeps. Men without eyebrows were not to be trusted.

The blonde woman who'd just arrived was out of the question as well. She looked like a bitch, and not the good kind.

Balding Russian guy who didn't know how to speak properly? Maybe another time.

Electrical being who just walked in? Hell no, Crow didn't want to be hugged by that anytime soon.

So that only left the huge lizardman. That was the one she wanted to know more about.

Crow looked at the balding Russian guy (@Sombrero), "Crow." She said, and then walked over to sit on the pew behind the lizardman's (@UrbanEvolution). She crossed her legs and let a polite smile creep up onto her face.

"Hello, my name's Crow. What's yours?" For all she tried to be subtle, Crow couldn't help but take a few deep whiffs while near the beast. His scent promised great blood quality, and his appearance assured her that he had a lot of blood.

Being invited to... Meetings... Was strange for Ben. How someone found him puzzled him. Why someone would request his presence was even more boggling.

And now, someone was approaching him.

The one who smelt like blood.

He had heard her name before she told him it. When she answered the strange man who asked. Before her shoes tapped against the floor and before her weight fell into the seat right behind him. Her name was Crow. Why she named herself that, he did not know. Ben remembered a lot of things from his childhood, when he was completely human. His mother, the only person who he really considered a parent, told him stories when he was young before his father came home. Stories about knights and dragons and witches and princesses. He remembered how she told him a story one night about something called a vampire.

She had described them as imposing beings of great power. The pale undead for fed upon the blood of the living and hated sunlight and garlic. This girl... She was not very imposing. At least not right out. But she fit the bill, and if she was invited here then she obviously had plenty of bite to back up any bark she may show off. But she too seemed... Talkative some. At least to a degree. She was inexperienced, that much was obvious based upon how easily she introduced herself. She might be powerful enough to not be worried about the potential liabilities, but he wasn't personally taking any chances. His life had been changed forever because he wasn't careful one day, over a decade ago. It had permanently altered his outlook on... Most things.

So when the woman finally sat down next to him and introduced herself Benedict was ready. He recalled her name from what he had heard on NPR. He lowered his hood with his hands and turned his head to face the woman, his steely grey and blue scales moving around one another like a suit of chainmail armor. His white, glowing eyes moved in their sockets and the only way she'd be able to know he was looking at her would be by the subtle moments of his eyes shifting. He sniffed once but remained otherwise silent as she herself eyed him. He watched her eyes move over his body and was almost instantly on alert.

"I know." he said, his voice was almost pure bass. It's depth was almost physically heavy. The slight crackles and scratches suggested it had been a while since he had really talked.

Benedict hands clenched some and his index claw carved small circles in the seat of the pew as he contemplated his response to her relatively simple question about what his name was. His read name was out of the question. His adopted name was... A bit too personal. He doubted Crow was her real name and thus he decided to go with her introduction model. Professional titles only.

"Dragonfly." he stated, hoping to satiate her question.

It was a conference after all.

---

@Frettzo

"George, will you be a dear and get me today's newspaper?" Said Marilynn to George, her current agent. "And while you're at it, stop over at that little coffee shop around the corner and get me one of those chocolate cookies that they sell there. They are delicious."

It was a busy day... Filming in the morning, interview at lunch, promo shoot for a new bikini brand on the afternoon and then a charity event during the night. It was the life of a famous actress and she wouldn't trade it for anything... well... Maybe for the opportunity to get her revenge on Cherry Bomb. The nerve of that girl... making her lose and award and be in the first page of every single magazine. Just the thought of that made Marilynn almost want to just kill everyone in the studio... Almost.

"Action" And Marilynn woke up from her day dreaming. She was sitting on the chairs next to the director watching a scene portrayed between a group of low value actors. She wasn't going to act more today, but it was still early to travel to the interview and at least, in the studio, she didn't have to worry about the paparazzi... Not that she minded them... She just didn't want to be disturbed.

"Miss Marilynn, here's the newspaper and the cookie" Finally. George had returned. He was a good agent but too slow at doing whatever Marilynn asked. Still, he was the best at getting her contracts and that was the one single reason why he was still alive. "Thank you dear" She said while getting up from the chair and grabbing the items. "I'll read it in my dressing room".

She walked through the corridor and entered her private dressing room. After locking her room, she sat on a chair and took a small bite out of the cookie... Then... she read the front page... And what she saw made her choke on the cookie... She coughed and coughed and coughed until the cookie was back on the right track, but she never stopped looking at the newspaper... It had happened again... Marilynn wasn't on the front page. Not even on the little box meant for celebrity news. Instead, she was there. Cherry Bomb... "That wretched girl" She said to herself while her horns and claws began to show up. "She did it again..."

Her skin darkened while she turned the page to check the article. 'The Coalition'. It seemed that heroes had joined up together to fight as a team, and Cherry Bomb was one of the founding members... This was the final drop. Marilynn, now full demon form, unleashed a scream of anger while she ripped the newspaper in half... And out came an envelope. It dropped to the floor and Marilynn just stared at it. It wasn't addressed to Marilynn. It was adressed to Succubus, the name that the media gave her... Somehow, someone knew who she was.

"Miss Marilynn, are you alright?" George knocked on the door. It seemed as if he had heard her scream and was now checking up on her. Marilynn took a moment to calm down before answering from inside. "I'm alright dear. Don't worry.". She looked at the mirror. The succubus form was in plain view. It would be bad if someone saw her like that so she focused on her own form and reverted back to her human self. Then, she picked up the envelope and began reading the letter inside... It was an invitation... "Who the hell is Cesare?" She thought to herself, but still, it was an invitation that she was curious enough to take. It could be a secret Fan Meeting.

Knowing that George would still be outside her room, she called out to him. "George dear, cancel everything for the next week. I'll pay anything they ask. Also, make up a rumor about me being sick and spread it to the media. I don't want to be disturbed by anyone during the next week. Not even you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And the day finally arrived. Through the use of her disguise kit, she had managed to sneak out of her house without being spotted by the paparazzi and traveled in first class to St. Louis. She didn't tell anyone where she was going. Not even George despite his many attempts at getting the information. At the airport, she rented a limo with dark windows and gave the directions to the meeting place. The car travel was slightly boring but at least she had champagne to ease her ride. She stopped right at the entrance and touched the driver gently on the shoulder. The driver began to scream and age while a black light appeared from her hand. Marilynn took the man's life energy and then started to remove her disguise. Whatever this meeting was, she wanted to show up in style. She picked up a change of clothes, all Prada, and began changing, leaving her disguise behind. Then, she picked up her Prada travel bag, her Prada Handbag and her Prada sun glasses and left the limo, going straight in to the place. Upon entering, she picked over her glasses and took a quick look at everyone inside... She had no idea who they were.

"Excuse me, is this the Marilynn LoveGood fan meeting?" She asked.

EDIT EDIT: Moral Qualms defeated. Not like pre-mission-brief conversation ever derails the plot in ways the others would miss unless you're playing D&D with a particularly devious/malicious relative...

BIC:

An extravagantly dressed woman @Dragonydas entered the room. She asked a rather peculiar question about someone named Marilynn Lovegood. Her tone of voice seemed to imply that she herself was named Marilynn Lovegood, and that she was there to meet her fans. If this Cesare was trying to pull a sham, his distractions sure had bizarre and elaborate personalities... Perhaps they all really were invited here for a reason...

"I have no idea why a fan would like to be meeting in funeral home, but whatever this is is definitely meeting of some kind." Dom said.

Along the way through his first line he realized that an ego owned by this kind of person was probably better left stroked than not. After all, if they were invited for the reason he was starting to think they were, she was dangerous, like him. A useful ally, probably.

"Name and voice sound familiar... Would not happen to be Marilynn Lovegood, would you? Excellent actress."