Thursday, August 18, 2005

Allergic to Sunlight?!?

Cleaning up the mess of the Grendel incident was no fun. Between the New York City Police Department and the Bureau, I had to write more memos and reports than I could believe. I also had to help the Bureau come up with a believable story to cover up the fact that an inhuman serial killer had been stalking the city, been killed and the body disposed of without making a big splash in the news hungry press of the Big Apple.

All that had to be done after helping Ravyn and Herne take Fang’s body to the Portal in fortune teller’s cluttered basement home and business. I was sad to see Ravyn and Herne go, since I had the disturbing feeling that it would be awhile before I saw either of them again. But they needed to get healed up from their injuries and to take care of the arrangements with Fang’s body.

My biggest shock of all, however, came later in the day when I stepped out into the sunlight like I have nearly every day of my (un)life and for the first time felt a strange sensation on my skin. Mind you, I haven’t felt a damn thing on my skin in nearly two damn years, so this was a bit of a surprise.

It was hard to quantify what the damn feeling was for a moment, I kind of just stood there for a minute, puzzled. One of the two agents sitting in the car waiting for us to come out was the one who focused things for me, “Agent Bones, why are you smoking? Are you alright?”

I looked down at my hands and the bit of my forearm that were visible and noted, “I’ll be damned, I am smoking!”

The exposed skin on my hands, arms, gut (from the slash in my clothes created by the stab wound), and face and head was literally smoking and burning in the damn sunlight!

OK, I’m not the brightest guy around, but I stepped into the shadow of one of the buildings and no longer felt the sensation of...burning...anymore. My skin stopped smoking, but remained a little charred from the time I stood there dumbfounded. As I watched, the skin that burned began to smooth out and change. The charred bits fell off, sloughing in small, dark patches, but the fresh skin beneath was of a darker hue than before. I could almost see tendrils of darkness weaving themselves into my skin, pulling together healthy patches with their own new fabric of small dark strands.

I shuddered as I realized just how significant some of the changes were going to be. I was fucking allergic to sunlight! This was going to be pretty damn inconvenient in my everyday existence!

The agent who had appraoched me out of concern took one close look at me, covered his mouth briefly, and then pitched over onto his knees retching. When i went over to see if he was alright, I stepped back into a patch of sunlight inadvertantly and began smoking again. When he looked up at me the sight was too much even for a seasoned FBI agent to handle, he made the sign of cross and scrambled back to his car faster than I figured he could move in his condition.

I stepped back into the shadows, which again ended the burning sensation I was feeling as well the smoking, and tried to collect my thoughts.

The car with the two agents in it peeled away, with both agents inside casting furtive glances my way as they fled.

So how the Hell was I going to be able to move around in the daylight? It was still in the afternoon, and I had to drive the van back to the Bonesmobile, a 40-50 minute drive.

I decided to call SAIC Murphy and let him in on the problem before he heard it from his panicked men. He agreed to bring me a hat, sunglasses, gloves, scarf, and a black trenchcoat, although he didn’t quite seem to grasp why I needed them at this particular moment. His questins were answered by my appearance when he arrived with the requested items.

He agreed that meetings in the immediate future to clean up the aforementioned messes would take place after sunset.

Once I was bundled up worse than a woman at a Taliban convention, I was able to drive the van back to my base of operations. I then spent some time sending my own queries to the Frau, the Professor and everyone else I could think of who might be able to explain my newfound allergy to the fucking Sun.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Sheesh, I turn my back on you for 5 minutes and you;re trying to copy my ability to throw flames?

I'll send you a giant umbrella, with enough make up we might be able to get you doing a reasonable Michael Jackson impression.

:::ducks and runs:::

Anonymous said...

Y'know, Ravyn, ya just can't leave some of these youngsters alone...they get into too much dang trouble! And as for you, Rusty, this may go a bit beyond my motherly ability to, "Kiss it and make it better"!
Frau--busily mixing potions.