Owner	Pose
Ralph Dibny	Midnight in the city. A man, backlight by flickering neon signs, slams into the corner of a building as he runs desperately down the street. The impact sends him careening until he slaps his back against a nearby wall, but he appears less concerned with any potential injury than with someone--something--that might be behind him. Gulping in breaths, the man attempts to swallow and chokes, coughing. He launches himself off from the wall and runs, stumbling, toward the nearest doorway that might be open. The iron gates creak on their hinges as he passes through the courtyard into the entrance of the Hyperion Hotel. Behind the fleeing man, perhaps a block away, is a figure slinking in the shadows--matching its prey's general movements, but at a much slower pace. Nonetheless, it too reaches the entrance to the hotel, clinging to the dark evening shadows.
Angel	Angel's sat in the lobby, mostly since he's taken up residence here to ensure the hotel's secure. With a sword in his lap Angel's sitting watching everything, as he hears footsteps and the door. He's on his feet, eyes locked on the man, his sword in hand. "You came here why?" he asks. It's like he's made 8it his personal mission to protect his people, and after all that happened to Fred...sure, Angel will take that responsibility on. He pulls himself up to his full height and watches, no words after his question. Instead Angel's got the sword ready to strike if it's needed. He's got a crossbow within easy reach too...but he's hoping neither are needed. But if they are...
Ralph Dibny	The desperate man nearly collapses from surprise as he enters the hotel lobby and is confronted by an unexpected man. Letting out a yelp as he tries to halt his sprint, his feet slipping out from beneath him, the man falls on his behind. "Oh--oh God!" he chokes out, still trying to gather breath, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the sword. "I don't want to die! Please, please, please," he begins to repeat frantically, eyes never leaving the weapon, "please don't kill me. Please don't let me die. Oh, God, I'm so sorry," the man rambles on. Meanwhile, the pursuing shape creeps its way closer to the entrance, moving in a nearly liquid form from shadow to shadow, a pair of nearly unseen eyes staring at the terrified man.
Angel	Angel waves the sword for a moment. "I'm not going to kill you. But you charge into my home like your backside's on fire and you're scared. Take a seat" Angel says. Given he's got....a soul, he'ss feeling compassionate tonight. "And tell me what's troubling you" Angel nods and looks past the man, then he offers a hand to help him up. With a nod, Angel gestures (with the sword) to a chair. Any number of them really. "Don't mind the sword. It's my way of defending my home" he explains and actually....gives a dark brooding smile.
Ralph Dibny	Eyes still wide, the man tries again to catch his breath, finally willing to glance over his shoulder toward the doorway. "I'm ... I'm ..." he heaves before being able to gather his thoughts. "I'm being chased. Haunted." The man runs a hand over his face. "You've got to help me. Hide me. Just--just don't let me die. Please!" As if in response, a figure steps into the lobby, emerging from the night air to coalesce in a translucent, ethereal shade--in the garb of a pirate, complete with peg leg. "Ssseeyyyymouurr Carlssonn," it hisses, stretching out one arm to point at the man on the floor. "Give me what is rightfully mine!" The man responds by screaming.
Angel	Angel's heard enough and raises the sword. "You're in my home. You come in and threaten somebody who looked for my protection" Angel says and the sword is perfectly still....for a moment. Angel shakes his head. "Leave" he says to the creature. That's the one and only warning. Angel's not afraid of fighting. He's afraid of other things.
Ralph Dibny	"Not without my treasure," the apparition responds, taking a step toward the frightened man. As it does, its face ripples, fluctuating back and forth between a gaunt man's face and the rictus grin of a corpse. Seymour Carlson responds by scrambling on his hands and knees toward Angel, trying to position the standing man between himself and the ghost. To those with supernatural senses, there's something off about the spirit. But it steps forward, and behind it creeps the shadows. "Give it to me!" the pirate-ghost shouts, brandishing an ectoplasmic cutlass from its belt.
Angel	Angell sighs. "What treasure?" he asks. There's got to be a way to sort this out. Angel's a tactician after all. But he's not sure fighting ghosts is a good idea. Instead....Angel is staling a little for time. He looks over. "So what treasure is this man said to have taken? I can look into it for you" Angel offers. Sure, Angel. Work for ghosts now. Take their cases why don't you. Angel's still not put down his sword, though. "Because I feel like a fight would be a waste of time for us all. Come, and discuss this....civilly" Angel adds. There's a hint of a threat with the last word. Or else....or else what. Angel's going to get a proton pack or....something? He could just.....ya know.....probably call somebody to deal with the ghost, true...but.....pride' sa powerful thing
Ralph Dibny	The ghost's eyes narrow slightly and the grin becomes a sneer. "Why, the treasure is mine own spoils of war--which this thief burgled and is owed to me!" It takes a step closer, and its ethereal figure seems not only to ripple eerily but to hiccup or glitch, like a digital signal from a projector. "It's mine-mi-mi-mine-mine!" the pirate cries, swinging its cutlass at Angel. The shadow moves behind the ghost, like a phantasmal arm reaching out, not quite in concert with the slash of the sword.
Angel	Angel leaps back, not wanting to die by the spectral swordd. "If it's your treasure. Take your treasure and get going" Angel adds looking from the ghost to the man. "Or, you could explain why you want that treasure" Angel says looking serious with a firm tone to his voice.
Ralph Dibny	Behind Angel, Seymoure Carlson slowly stands, stepping back further away from the pirate. "He--he's lying," Carlson stammers. "I found it, fair and square." "NO!" snarls the ghost on the end of its initial swing. "Cursed ye be, if ye won't return my treasure to me! 'Tis MINE!" He prepares to slash again. "Actually," says a third voice--the murky shadows near the entrance break as the rubbery body of Ralph Dibny, Elongated Man, snakes into the light, one hand raised, index finger extended to punctuate his statement. "The truth is a bit more complicated." "Bah!" the pirate spits, leaping toward Angel, its eyes on the cowering Carlson behind him. As it nears, the nearly inaudible hum of a whisper drone can be heard where the ghost's head is. With that hum comes the sound of a soft, but definitely recognizable, charging taser.
Angel	Angel brings the sword up. He's going for the head, knock the taser off and use it against...what. A ghost? Well....or keep it, and use it on Spike or Buffy if they bug him. Or give it to Fred for self-defense. That's a good idea. Knowing Fred she'll go all mad science on it and she'll make a killer death taser. No skin off Angel's back. Still though he is more inclined to protect Seymour. The guy literally fell into the hotel. Angel's trying to figure out what all this is about, too...and protect the poor guy. Then again, he's trying to protect himself, too. He could really use Cordy's help, or, or....somebody.
Ralph Dibny	The pirate ghost's form dissipates--fizzles, really--as Angel's sword slices the drone in half. "Noo--" the pirate cries out before stopping abruptly as the electronic device projecting its body and voice loses power. A moment later, the pieces of the drone, including the disarmed taser, clatter on the floor. Seymour Carlson, clutching his chest and still unable to catch his breath, wipes sweat off his brow with his other hand. "Oh, thank God! You saved me! You--you're my hero!" Ralph Dibny's stretched, distorted form retracts into something resembling a normal human's proportions. "Ah," he says, raising his hands up, palm forward, as he steps further into the lobby. "That's more complicated, too," Ralph continues, nodding his head to Carlson. "I've been tracking some museum robbers recently. I'm a private investigator," Ralph says, looking at Angel with a grin. "You look like you might know the type. At any rate--the robbers have been targeting various ancient exhibits in the tri-state area by remotely controlling drones that project ghost-like apparitions to 'claim' their goods."
Angel	Angel pockets the bits of the drone. Gifts for Fred. "Ah" Angel offers, "You walked past my sign on the door. You're a PIP too? You just strolled into Angel Investigations, and you decided o....well, a PI, even. So you wandered in here after I sliced a drone and had that guy" he says gesturing to Seymour, "Literally fall through the door and end up on his backside. So, please, take a seat" Angel offers. "I'm Angel. Of Angel Investigations" he offers then smiles. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Bloods off the menu...as Angel gestures to the chairs. "Pick one, and please, enlighten me on these robbers"
Ralph Dibny	Thinking for a minute, his head rocking back and forth, Ralph nods with a smile. "Well, if you've got any Gingold soda, I pretty much never say 'no' to a glass." Seymour Carlson begins toward the door. "I can see that you two have a lot to talk about. I'll just be going, since I guess I'm not haunted by pirate ghosts after all." Ralph reaches out with one comically long, rubbery arm to block the doorway, the arm zig-zagging across the space to create a lattice. "Not /so/ fast, Mr. Carlson. You see, I said things were complicated." He glances back to Angel. "See, I was on the trail of these robbers. And I nabbed them. But it turns out that they'd pre-programmed their drones to keep tabs on the loot, so they kept at it autonomously after the robbers were arrested. Even, it seems, when someone /else/ steals the targeted goods." Carlson frowns. "I don't know what you mean."
Angel	Angel looks puzled for a moment or two. "So. They used drones to keep an eye on the loot. Even when they're arretsted?" he asks. "WHy?" Simple question but...but....Angel's not understanding it. He is though, feeling like this could lead to something big. "And how's that guy?" Angel asks gesturing to Seymour, "Tie into it? He led one of those ghost...drone....things here" he adds. "He's as good a lead as any, right?"
Ralph Dibny	Clearing his throat, Ralph takes a step toward Carlson. "Well, I have a nose for mystery. And this one definitely /smells/." "You see," he adds, "Mister Carlson here isn't part of the drone robber gang. For all I can tell, he wasn't even aware of their existence. Is that right?" Carlson nods, his face an expression of skepticism. "Yeah...?" "Like I thought. What Mister Carlson /is/, though, is a burglar. You decided to steal the pirate gold on display yourself. And the drone activated to try and procure it--from you, rather than from the museum, since you'd already done that." "Whoa, hey now," Carlson says, shaking his hands in front of himself. "That's preposterous." His gestural protests, however, cause a faint noise to be made in his pockets--the sound of jingling coins.
Angel	Angel sighs. "You came in here and were terrified. You know, next time you tangle with a gang, I'm gonna make sure you get a good butt kicking outside" Angel mutters. "So let's get this straight. You" he says gesturing to Seymour, "Took the gold. The gang knew this and even though arrested, kept an eye on you, and you ran right here?" Angel asks. He needs to figure out this technology thingy. Shaking his head Angel runs a hand through his hair. "No idea why though. Or.....how. Howw would they know the loot got stolen?" Angel asks with a confused tone and look. "You think somebody called them and said hey, the pirate gold's gone?"
Ralph Dibny	Shrugging, Ralph sighs. "Your guess is as good as mine. It's a constant war of escalation with surveillance technology and ways to circumvent it." He rubs his chin with a finger and thumb. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say that the gold was marked or tagged somehow. Chemically? Electronically? Some way for the drone to keep a lock on it." "I mean," Ralph adds, turning to Carlson, "you don't want this guy frisking you with his sword. Why not just give up the ghost? Ah, so to speak." Carlson's face scrunches up, and for a long moment it looks like he might protest or try to fight his way out. But nine or ten glances back and forth from Ralph to Angel result in his shoulders slumping and his expression drooping. "Fine," he sighs in a resigned tone. "Here." Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Carlson pulls out several pouch-sized bags full of metal objects. "So you're saying this /could/ have worked, but I had bad luck? I hate my life."
Angel	"There's a way to sort this" Angel says with a sigh. "You do the right thing. Then you tell us what the hell's going on" he adds and shakes his head. "Or better yet. You tell us firrst. We come with you to ensure you don't steal anything else on the way" Angel saays. Sure he's done his share of bad things. So he's reformed now with a sol and he's wanting to help this detective guy out. If he can help Seymour out too...win win
Ralph Dibny	Seymour Carlson groans, but Ralph puts a hand on his shoulder, his arm withdrawing from its criss-cross blocking of the hotel entrance. "Hey, look at it this way. You give yourself up peacefully, maybe even talk to the authorities and the museum about how you got in and out undetected--I mean, other than the drone tracking you--and you might even get a reduced sentence for your participation." He looks to Angel. "Seems possible, right? Either way, anything's better than having my fellow investigator here use that sword to bring you in. I don't know what /you/ saw, but I'm glad that my body is unnaturally resistant to injury." Ralph's neck extends, and his head makes its way on that extending neck closer to Angel. "I'll even give you a share of my commission for this gig. You've definitely been helpful and reasonable enough in dealing with all this." Carlson's shoulders slump further and he nods. "Sure. Fine. Here's what I did..."
Angel	Angel gets a pen and paper, "Alright, spilll it. Also we gtet paid. You get paid. You" Angel nods to Seymour, "Return the stolen goods and get that nice lovely 'feel good' feeling. Isn't it wonderful?" Angel asks. There's still the brood there. But he's hiding it well. He straps the sword to his back and picks up the crossbow. "Shall we get going?" Angel asks with a gesture of the crossbow. "Remember, I'm right behind you...with a crossbow. You return the stolen things. I don't either shoot you or turn you into the police"