[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
Ingrid was well-prepared for the season, dressed in a long coat, snow dotting her faux-fox ushanka. Yet she hadn’t been prepared for the stinging disappointment of having to deal with far too much of one terrible thing. Pouring another mug of mulled wine, she allowed Gleeford his moment of frustration as her own boiled beneath the surface. Earth-Chan had indeed set them up, while there were perfectly good Christmas eve masses to fail to attend, she was stuck chasing stolen parcels for an American soda mascot. She, at least, determined, possibly spurred by a few too many sips of wine. Taking a comforting sip, she offered a second styrofoam cup to Gleeford, “We have a long night ahead of us; you can’t start falling apart *now*.”

[break][break]

As for what they were actually supposed to do? Ingrid was certain of one thing, what they weren’t going to do, “We can’t quarrel with it. It looked dreadful, I’d prefer if we didn’t have to see it again.” Which was clearly her justification before any of the dangerous implications that came with fighting a giant monster came to mind. Taking a long swig of her wine, she promptly prepared another, “Our choices may be slim; we can try to sneak past, or make ourselves at home and try the cyclops method.” Which was a plan that was only really possible with someone like Gleeford.

[break][break]

Her train of tactical thought was quickly undone with the sudden burst of a “heya”. Thrown off, she whipped around, facing the ghostly guest. As useful as one more head may have been, Ingrid couldn’t help herself, “Yes?” She almost questioned, in a bit of a shock. Regaining her domineering composure, she looked the jolly stranger up and down, “Are you… lost? Please, give us a moment; we were discussing something.”

[break][break]

[attr="class","frame13"]

[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
The knock was all the encouragement she needed. Meeting her gaze, Ingrid nodded, her expression one of pointed intensity, “You needn’t worry.” She assured her before possibly betraying her expectations, “I’ll pick you up in a moment.”
[break][break]

Closing the roof, she prepared her convertible for business. There wasn’t a love tap in the works, as she couldn’t stand this guy, and she wasn’t sure she could, even if he wasn’t a direct threat to her wellbeing. Accelerating, well beyond what might have been necessary she, once again, initially drove past him. This time, it didn’t take too long for her to turn back, only this time the methodology was always different. Adjusting her gallant rainbow ahead, she forged a loop so that she could double back while still moving at her top speed.
[break][break]

Eyes affixed on the disturbed bandit, she kept flooring it. If executed incorrectly, her strategy could prove disastrous. She was willing to take that risk, at least this time. It didn’t take long for her to be in the range of lethality. One with the road, she narrowed her eyes. Not a number ran through her mind as she ran the calculations. The real nitty gritty of applied physics may have been unimportant to her, but she had such a connection to her car that she felt she could wing it.
[break][break]

In fact, her choice of action may have been ill advised, if given thoughtful consideration. Coming in from above, she swerved her supercar, swinging the rear bumper into his head in one of the most vicious examples of an improvised truncheon that could have been devised. Upon striking the poor lout, she came back into the full view, shattered tail light and all. He was down, and probably not forever. Adjusting her speed, she eased her way back to Elara and the crew.
[break][break]

Wordlessly, she opened the roof, offering Elara the passenger seat. First they would take the convoy to their destination, and then… somewhere else.

[attr="class","frame13"]

[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
Diligently, Ingrid investigated what was going on behind her through the reliable rear-view. None of it was appealing, yet, she withheld, upholding her obligation. Flushed out, and already he had chosen violence. Her suspicions were correct; this unsavory character happened to be a dangerous threat. Regretting that she hadn’t attempted it sooner, she put her thoughts in order.
[break][break]

Barreling down the way at full speed, she spun the invisible vehicle around, parking it beside Elara. By now, she likely could see right through the shroud. Ingrid didn't really count on it, “How do you want to go about this? If he declines your kind offer of hardtack and raisins?” She suddenly asked, leaning her head past the side mirror, and into the visible realm of things that can be seen.
[break][break]

Ingrid may have had her own terrible plans, but she still had to respect the fact this was very much Elara's mission. She was very much above such obnoxious showing of horsepower with incessant revving. Instead, she continued pawing the gearstick; both leaving the question of why she insisted on making all of her vehicles with a manual transmission, and the answer of what she was hell bent on doing.
[break][break]

[attr="class","frame13"]

[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
It came roaring across the waves… Ingird’s fancy motorcycle that is. Positioned some ways off the coast, keeping away from the beach itself. Although, it was very clear that Ingrid was more than happy to be at the beach, despite the danger the sun posed. Dressed to the nines in a cutout one piece, paired with a sheer beach shawl, one could have easily mistaken her for vacationing. Yet, consistently, she would take the slightest sliver of a moment to take her eyes off of her glittering rainbow road to examine the shore, grumbling under her breath as she did so.
[break][break]

Once again, Ingrid had chosen her job poorly. It was understandable with some of the previous issues, where it was clear she had arrogantly assumed the tasks would be no trouble, despite how poor of a fit they were for her. This time, she thought she had found something special; a trip to the beach and treasures sounded like a match made in heaven. Heaven, it was not, ‘‘What sort of profession is 'Trinket Hunter' anyway?”’ Was one of the many questions that saw airplay inside of Ingrid’s head, along with a few ruder questions that would remain unwritten. Just as well, no matter how contemptible this particular mission issuer may have been, Ingrid had still accepted it. She could seethe and despise all she wanted, and perhaps she could channel that bitterness towards achieving her current goal.
[break][break]

Her current goal was a problem; she did not actually know what a goblin was supposed to be, and she was far too embarrassed to ask. In fact, she had invited along Elara in the hope that the former fantasy author’s specialized knowledge could be a great help to her. Thus far, even with an expert at hand, her scouting had proven fruitless. Frustrated, she veered off to the shore, leaving the waves beneath them behind.
[break][break]

Parking, she eased off the handlebar, and dropped the suspension prop. Sitting straight up, she turned her head towards her passenger, “We’ve been at this for hours, yet no gremlin in sight...” Which was far from the truth, given it had been around ten minutes at the very most. Truth came later as she followed up with, “I’m not sure I can take this any longer… .” Usually she’d enjoy riding along the beach, but the overwhelming feeling of obligation and fear of smug goblins gad rid of her of any enjoyment, “Perhaps we can lay a trap, draw out these creatures that way.” She suggested, grasping at straws.

[attr="class","frame13"]

[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
Having her priorities in order; Ingrid indeed, knew exactly what Gleedford was getting at. She was far from hopeful, given every way Earth-Chan had failed her thus far, “I would hope so, it’d be some cruel joke if the prize was ‘you get to stay alive’.” She bitterly snapped, taking her own life for granted. Ingrid could hardly stand jokes in the first place, especially practical jokes at her expense. Earth-Chan had overstayed their already brief ‘welcome’ period.
[break][break]

Any hope of a prize was thrown into a particularly disastrous tailspin. Ingrid had suffered a number of indignities that night; from being transplanted to a ruined New York, to the unbearable totality of Junk's presence. Yet, to be so gravely insulted was perhaps the worst slight of the night (thus far). A nerve had been struck into a toppling of her nervous system, by way of her already fragile sense of patience. To call her boring was a step well past a step too far. A furor crept across her brow, as her once frigid blood dangerously roared into a rapid boil.
[break][break]

Much of the more deranged minutiae of Earth-Chan’s game slipped away, and Ingrid, focused fully on proving the smug, smiling globe wrong. She wasn’t so blinded by her newfound rage, in fact, she had achieved an unusual clarity, dropping into a when-in-Palmyra era. For now, her parasol would have to do; she had seen enough heavily choreographed duels on stage to partially believe that she had in her to fence if the need came around. It couldn’t be too difficult, a lunge or two, failing that, she had a few solid objects (chiefly, her other perfumes and her heels) left in her purse.
[break][break]

A mixture of anger at the precariousness of their situation and an overall manner of being receptive to the encroaching stench of tobacco, Ingrid took ‘Jog’ directly to heart--although she had a liberal interpretation of jog. Ingrid’s naturally long stride had already granted her a stable pace with her casual strut, her entering an athletic run propelled her onwards. Slowed only slightly by the drag of her parasol, she was onboard with the rush to the best of her ability. With this challenge still dangling over her head in a fiendish Ciceronian sense, she kept an eye out for anything that may be construed as a beacon, prepared to enter a building. Beginning to break a sweat, the prim and proper Ingrid yearned for the days behind the wheel of her blood money bought Porsche. For the fleetest for moments, she swore she could feel the steering wheel in her flailing fist, and eagle-eyed compatriots may have even saw it.
[break][break]

Yet, something still bothered her. Ingrid didn't have much interest in video games, outside of disliking the medium based only on the amount of cosplay she constructed for some of her clients. Some of its terminology, was completely lost on her to a suspiciously deliberate degree. A bit embarrassed, she took her eyes off of the road, "What do you think it meant by 'boss'? " She asked, loudly, ahead of the group. It was clearly a critical subject, for it didn't matter how many beacons they activated, if they weren't in the boss's arbitrary defeat circle they were still...
[break][break]

failures

[attr="class","frame13"]

[attr="class","frame134"]

[attr="class","lowe13reescroll"]
[break][break]
“Enchanté Gleeford, Elara and…” One last introduction remained, and it was nothing more than a jutting thorn. Halting, she turned up her nose and tilted her head, conveying an intensity of contempt she had previously only implied, “No. I refuse.” Her voice stinging with cruel amusement. Ingrid was not going to lower herself to utterances of a nickname she found so revolting, “You must have something else I can call you.”
[Break][break]

Now, as much as Ingrid actually enjoyed pleasantries and derision, they remained secondary to the life or death issues they were wrapped in. Gleeford's fears surrounding the unusual omniscient blue screen were shared, it had seen her at lows she would've preferred unseen.
[Break][break]

Ingrid was on the more cynical side; her expectations for the worst possible outcome had been challenged by even more terrible outcomes time and time again. The way she saw it, the number of participants sunk independently of beacons lit. A steep drop on a success was met with a slew of conflicting thoughts. Fighting a fearful shiver, Ingrid began to pace, swinging her parasol, “To me, the participants are either forfeiting or being eliminated, but what it means to be eliminated remains to be seen... so bad?” She had an idea, but it was an idea she found abhorrent.
[Break][break]

What happened shifted into a crucial “what to do.” Ingrid facing admissions of abandonment and expressions of disinterest, reacted with utmost severity, “I would personally suggest we move, before we suffer some penalty for being layabouts.” Which she did, sauntering towards parts unknown with a lacking sense of urgency, ‘I know if I devised a competition of this magnitude and some players refused to participate, I would be furious.’
[break][break]

Her newfound mobility had gotten her some distance in the way opposite of the lit beacon. She had one piece of information--what a beacon possibly looked like from afar--which had been so kindly offered up by Gleeford, and perhaps she could translate that into a unlit beacon up close.

[attr="class","frame13"]