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Who: Sam, Noemi, Rick, and Hellboy
What: Something terrible is happening, and Sam ends up with two (of the three) best paranormal investigators on the case to help her out.
Where: Various
When: Late spring 2022

Sam had decided to take Noemi on a little vacation. So long as she keeps Noemi's anchor item, a lovely little paperweight, bundled safely in her backpack, Sam can take her friend to places, and, at a signal, let the spirit of the young lady take control to see things for herself. They're two days into things.

Noemi is in control of Sam's body, enjoying the sights and sounds around her as she chats quietly with Sam in her head (in English! She wants to practice as much as possible!). She's having so much fun, and will cherish the memory forever for sure!

The good feelings don't last, though. A low rumble trembles in the air. No one else seems to notice or react, but Noemi stops, hands coming up to grip her head. Sam will sense the sharp pain Noemi feels just before the girl let's out a blood curdling shriek. This tattooed woman stopping in the middle of everything, hands to her head, screaming at the top of her lungs, has the crowed moving away from her, staring, startled, and unsure of what to do or what the problem is.

(No, no, no, no.) Noemi's voice is full of panic and pain, and plenty of confusion. She doesn't know what's happening, but it hurts! (S-sam....h-help!) The scream stops as her hold on Sam slips, leaving Sam in control of her body once more.

Sam will see Noemi's spirit for the first time outside of a dream. The ethereal image is faint, and will disappear from view quickly, but in that moment she looks like some stuntman in a movie being yanked backwards by a harness. Sam will be able to follow Noemi's aura as it disappears, not into her anchor item, but away through the crowd.

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The question made Sam snort laughter, and she held a finger up to Rick in an attitude of now see here, softened by a smile. "I'm not the classiest person, but I'm above day-drinking alone in a hotel bathroom for fun. The books and bottle back there are how I got a hold of you, though it's not like I knew I'd be ringing Rick Rogers. The ritual---cause yeah, that's what it was---puts the person dialing through to someone who shares a specific problem, the problem being spelled out as part of the rite."

For what it was worth, his tone didn't really indicate that's what he actually thought had been up. Still, he glanced back at the bathroom a brow arched in renewed appraisal. "Ritual? I've seen and even been part of a few myself, but none of them looked anything like that. But...that's how you called me, huh?"

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that in the moment, so he figured he'd fill the pause with that bit of previously-offered dessert while he took a moment to just go over everything he'd learned about this case in his head.

"I know a few. They're kinda weird. Just this side of gutter magic, though they're all pretty useful. The phone rite has to be one of the most useful, though, for sure---and you don't even need that much for it. A windowless room with corners, a phone book from a different city for each corner of the room, and a bottle of red wine, the smaller, the better. And, yep. Lucky me." Sam grinned for a moment, meaning that last remark, and let Rick think for a minute before piping up again, since she knew she'd be wondering until she went ahead and asked. "Totally off topic, but... we had a moment of wait, what? over 'fed up,' and now I'm wondering what a party line is to you, cause I'm used to it meaning a landline connecting a couple of houses the same way a landline would be connected to rooms in the same house."

"To be honest, I don't hundred-percent know. I think it's basically like a chat room, but over the phone instead of text." Wry grin. "And probably a lot less wholesome than you might think." He turned to gaze thoughtfully at the bathroom. "Think we can use that ritual to get some more information? Not just someone with the same problem but someone with a solid lead maybe?"

"Ah. The ones I'm used to hearing about were just, like, a result of the limitations of phone service out in rural areas. Wholesome enough, but prime feed for eavesdroppers." Sam let it go, following Rick's look to the bathroom. She didn't shrug, since he was looking elsewhere, but answered, "Someone with a solid lead maybe. The only thing that's for sure is getting someone with the same problem, and who that someone is is really just the luck of the draw... but I'm game to give it a go. If this round doesn't yield much, maybe you can try? Third time's the charm and all, and I did get enough wine for three calls."

Sam moved to the little paper bag beside the room's minifridge, and withdrew a bottle. Like the one already in the bathroom, it was small; a single serving. "At least it won't be on an empty stomach---and yeah, the first step is 'drink a bottle of red wine.' Want to tell me about the rituals you've participated in while I work on it?"

To the question of performing a third try of the rite himself, he nodded. "Sure, I can give it a go."

His eyes darkened a bit at the last, and Sam would see in his eyes memories crossing the back of his mind. But he just shrugged. "Ceremonial magic a la Golden Dawn, stuff like that. Or things out of Latin America or Mesopotamia, far-flung places like that. Candles and sigils in circles on the ground, reciting texts in Latin or some little-known ancient language, activating artifacts of power without getting sucked into them or otherwise screwed over by them."

Was he being kinda vague? Yeah...if only because it wasn't overly germane to anything presently at hand. He would go into more detail if pressed, but part of him really preferred not. ~~How did a young man explain he spent time in the body of a really attractive woman and NOT sound like just a pervy low-life?~~

“Cool, cool; glad you're game. It is, at least, probably the most socially-acceptable ritual I know. Not that the others are awful or anything.” Just mildly to moderately taboo, or a little messy. But by that thought, Sam had opened her wine and started sipping, pausing to mentally thank whoever had first suggested selling single-serving bottles (making ritual repetition much easier). “That's very interesting, and a wild contrast to my own experience. Want to tell me a bit about these artifacts of power? I know a guy who makes charms that keep a person from getting hit by spitting grease or anything hot coming off a stove, and another guy with a pair of chattery teeth he can sic or have fetch things like a dog.”

For a moment, Rick could do little more than gape. Magicked toy teeth? Protection against cooking? Seriously?

"The stuff I've encountered is..." How did he put this respectfully? "More esoteric. And ancient. A tribal necklace of power. A large crystal globe that opened a path to a lethal - and pointless, in my opinion - set of trials. An iron farming hook that was the anchor object for a murderous and powerful, evil spirit. A drum that could summon spirits of the dead..." And that was just everything off the top of his head. He thought of more even as he decided that was enough.

Sam couldn't blame Rick for his initial incredulity, but that didn't mean she couldn't be amused by it; smiling, she shrugged, and still smiling, nodded as he finished explaining his examples. "Safe to say we run in different circles. I'm sure I know someone who knows someone---aside from you---who has a line on the esoteric and ancient, but a lot of what's within reach is... supiciously new. Not everything, but enough to be odd; this phone rite, another ritual we call Mechanical Ipecac... exactly what it sounds like, that one. But I should get back on-track."

With that, Sam raised her wine to Rick. "Got coke and OJ in the fridge if you want."

"'Suspiciously' new?" At the last . . . Rick had no idea exactly what it sounded like. He'd never heard that word. But he decided not to comment, also getting back on track.

"Sure, thanks." He grabbed a soda and settled to watch.

"Suspiciously new." Sam confirmed, and finished her wine before elaborating. "Like, vending machines are probably older than most people would assume, but they're still a recent-enough invention that it's sure something there's a ritual to target them. Help hotlines a person can call are also relatively recent, at least compared to the classic rock of blighted crops and barren cattle. Or, the benign golden oldies, like witching warts off, and luck rites and wish-making on Stir-Up Sunday. I know kitchen witches; that's a big deal for them. Anyway, you're welcome."

Moving to seat herself just off-center on the bathroom floor, Sam set her newest wine bottle down. She took out her phone, got to its call/keypad screen, and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. "The numbers corresponding to the letters I need to spell out the problem I'm looking to have help with, so I can punch it in faster." Actually entering 44678762824464327536848946783232 still took a moment, but once that was done Sam started to spin the bottle. With every spin, she was able to add another number, taking one from the most prominent hotline on the book the bottle's mouth came closest to; when she had spun the bottle ten times she had what she needed, and hit CALL. Though the mishmash of digits should have gotten an error, if anything... that call rang through.

"Here goes."

"Huh. I see." Okay, yeah, DEFINITELY 'new' as far as . . . anything of the ilk goes. Then one bit boomeranged back around in his head. "Wait...you know some witches?" Real witches!? Well...he had to figure they were more North than Wicked West from her tone and the glib way Sam mentioned them, so probably not anyone he needed to worry about. Certainly not now.

The question had popped out with thinking, with Sam having already begun dialing, so if she didn't answer, he'd not push it, not wanting to disrupt the ritual. He couldn't help leaning closer, though, soda forgotten in his hand.

Who could the ritual possibly put them in touch with this time!?

It would take a few rings - Sam might start to worry she'd just go to voicemail - but then the line went active.

"...hello?"

The voice was gruff, though not impatient or upset or the like. Bemused, if anything.

Hellboy, had been on a case regarding an invading demon for...about three months now.

This slippery bastard of a spirit has moved from town to town seemingly one step ahead of Hellboy, ditching its hunting grounds before he can find it. And finding it again has proven... tricky. Mostly because the evidence of it is hard to find. People collapsing? Yeah... not too common, but not necessarily unheard of. People ending up in comas? Again, not too uncommon either. A report of some kind of dark entity will do it, but... doctors don't tend to always report that, and police often leave it out of reports thinking people were just seeing things, or they describe a "dark figure" which... could just be another person, and so doesn't always ping the BPRD research team. Right now, with all the leads he's got, Hellboy has FIVE possible cities to check out, with no guarantee where the target actually is.

And his target? Well, this shadowy demon spirit goes by the name Buer. This being collects weakened souls, ripping them from the body to collect and slowly consume. He likes to lay low in dark, dank places; basements, garages, old cellars, crawlspaces, attics, and so on... which of course leaves a lot of openings for where it is. LUCKILY, Hellboy does have a charm that will let him pinpoint the demon's location... in he's within a mile of where Buer is. Getting within a mile has been him problem since this case started.

Nodding at Rick, Sam mouthed 'oh, yeah,' while she waited... and waited... and waited... and started to wonder, though the pick-up came a second later. Sam straightened, now intent on the call. "Hi. I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I want you to know I'm sorry for cold-calling, and wouldn't if this wasn't serious. My friend and I are at a loss dealing with what's definitely a dangerous problem, so I'm sorta sorry to be so blunt but: you know anything about a ghost-snatching shadow thing dickin' about Quebec?"

Sam might catch the soft "huh..." from Rick but, again, he didn't want to risk fouling up the ritual by breaking her concentration or something. Then the line was picked up. Rick waved eagerly for her attention with a 'come on/ come here' gesture and a hoarse whisper of "Sam! Speakerphone..."

"...you call me on my personal phone and you don't know who I am?" Yep, that incredulous question is her first response. For what it's worth, there's no hint of offense. The tone is just the same level of shock she'd likely get if she'd somehow bypassed all telephonic security measures to call the phone in the Oval Office directly, untapped, and NOT know that she'd just reached the President of the United States.

But then the voice on the other end of the line seems to get down to business. "Name's Hellboy. I'm with the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense."

Rick couldn't help his flabbergasted outburst. "H-Hellboy!? Sam, YOU CALLED HELLBOY!?"

A chuff of humor sounded from the other end of the line. "The one and only, kid. And to answer your question . . . I know something about a soul-snatching shadow thing that might have fled as far as Quebec by now." There are some sounds and a grunt and some more sounds - he's shifted his cell phone to his stone hand so he can dig out some notes from one of his belt pouches. "What city are you in? And have you tried to engage the thing? If not, don't."

That whisper prompted Sam into a sort of apologetic flinch---the sort of silent 'sorry, sorry!' someone might manage after accidentally forcing a fellow driver to brake, though she mouthed the words as well while switching to speakerphone.

"Long story," was what she managed, before Hellboy introduced himself; after, she managed to tamp down an audible reaction but mouthed JACKPOT to Rick, holding her free hand up, fisted, in triumph.

"We're in Quebec City. I've seen the thing---it snatched my friend---and my other friend and I have been trying to narrow down where it's at, but no, we've not tried to engage." Lucky for IT.

"Hmn. Sorry about your friend. I'm currently in Denver, Colorado. Gonna take me a couple hours to get up there. How do I get a hold of you once I'm in town? Your number's showing as Unlisted."

Rick had already pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and was tossing Sam a business card. "Here, give him mine. It's my cell."

"Thank you. And yeah, s---one sec. Thanks," That last was in response to Rick; Sam read the information on his card off, and added, "And since I should introduce myself at some point, Sam Patchowski. I'm staying at Chateau Frontenac. Rick's got a pretty decent dossier on the thing's recent activity, I've got probably the best eyewitness statement and a great desire to do this thing harm, I guess we'll talk more once you get here?"

"Sam Pachowskee, Shattoh Frontinknack." Tone of voice was that he's writing what he's saying. "Your buddy's Rick and the number you gave is his cell?" Tone of double-checking this time.

"Yeah, Rick Rogers, Paranormal Files Detective Agency."

"Paranormal Files . . . you're based out of Reno, right?"

The surprise on Rick's face was clear. "Yeah, that's right!"

"You're a long way from home, kid."

"I've been hired by a guy in the local law enforcement. Apparently, he has family in Reno who suggested he call me."

"Huh. Good call, sounds like. All right, I'll make arrangements as soon as we hang up. Should be there in 3-4 hours, tops. Stay put." And he hung up.

Rick stared at Sam, flabbergasted. "Hellboy's familiar with my agency!?" Not that he expected her to answer. The question was rhetorical, but he still had to say it aloud in his astonishment.

((I'm kinda figuring it's not actually that surprising. I'd imagine the BPRD would keep tabs on any other outfits that deal with the paranormal, whether or not they interfere. Hell, they and MCF probably covertly cooperate from time to time. Info exchange if nothing else.))

"Hellboy's familiar with your agency!" Rick deserved to hear it from someone else, but that wasn't all he deserved; hand up for a high-five, a grinning Sam came over. "Hellboy's familiar with your agency... and on his way to help after being cold-called. I--man, I don't know if I'm just onto something with my lucky charms or what, but I kinda don't care as long as this luck lasts. Shit. This has taken a turn. We might actually get Noemi out okay."

She wanted to stop there, but couldn't in good conscience---that felt too much like she'd jinx things, and, anyways, ~~as it so often did~~ her mouth wanted to add more.

"...if we don't, got good odds on getting her avenged."

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Still signed in here, turns out, so just gonna tag both here

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I'm changing where he's at - he's in New York rather than Denver

o7