<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/15/Richard_Lancaster_2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Rick Lancaster<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>January 1st, 2018<br/><strong>Status:</strong>---<br/><strong>Notes/Triggers:</strong><br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Anyone/Open<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>To the eyes of the everyday person of McAlester, 222 West Madison Ave was a dump. Single story house with an addon that didn't fit the theme of the original house. Rick didn't give a shit about what other people thought of the place, as it managed to house him, and his people comfortably. Inside was a little more up beat than outside, but it was warm, friendly safe and that was all that mattered to him.<br/><br/>Oh, the rent was up to date.<br/><br/>"Hey, boss. You got some mail. Fancy looking piece too."<br/><br/>Nancy Sinatra wandered through the house from the front door to the room where Rick was sitting listening to music. His choice in music was like his choice in clothing; highly mixed, not really fitting any genre, and could go from subtle and soothing to loud heavy metal in a moment. His feet were up on the coffee table, and he knew that if Annabelle walked through, she would knock his feet off without breaking her stride. But when Nancy walked into the room, he looked up to see how she chose to dress that day. Some days, she dressed like a 'normal' woman, wearing some nice looking top, maybe a shirt, or jeans, and some comfortable footwear. But today, she was dressed for kicking heads. All biker leather, steel capped boots and a bad attitude that she wore just as freely as her leather jacket.<br/><br/>"Kinda feels strange too. Maybe from your other social circle."<br/><br/>Rick dropped his feet to the floor and sat a little straighter, one hand thrust out as far as he could reach to take the envelope.<br/><br/>"Normal mail?"<br/><br/>"Nah, I was about to head out the door when the courier was half way there. Some group called 'Post Haste'."<br/><br/>Rick took the envelope, and the moment it touched his hands, he knew it was from one of his kind. His eyes narrowed, thinking of which pooka he had recently pissed off, and if they had any idea of where he lived. When none came to mind, he proceeded to open the envelope, carefully, just in case there was something that was not what it seemed. No explosions, puffs of smoke, gales of laughter nor obnoxious gas filled the air, he pulled the expensive looking paper out, and unfolded it.<br/><br/>His gaze hit the edge work, and he was on his feet as it he had been hit by a bolt of lightning. His gaze flickered, absorbing every word like he was a starving man finally eating and staving off death. He stood with incredible stillness before he slowly reread every word, making sure that he was not being hoodwinked, or imagining what was there.<br/><br/>"Fuck me sideways."<br/><br/>"Something wrong, Boss?"<br/><br/>"Not for me, but someone else is in for a whole world of fucking pain."<br/><br/>"Who we busting up?"<br/><br/>"Fucked if I know, but it something that we're going to have to find out. Get in the good graces of Her Grace, and I wont have to worry about any snotty nosed fucking noble trying to tell me what to fucking do. The Duchess has called for my help. Of course, as long as she stands back and doesn't try to 'manage' things, then I think we'll get along famously."<br/><br/>Rick put the letter down on the coffee table with a great deal of reverence. He interlaced his fingers, turned his palms outward and extended his arms until there was a loud series of cracks. He levelled a sly look at Nancy, along with a cheeky grin.<br/><br/>"You go and do whatever it was you were planning on doing. I have places to go, people to meet and hopefully people to beat the shit out of."<br/><br/>Nancy looked a little hurt, but shrugged and turned back toward the front door. Rick practically skipped toward the umbrella stand near the front door, and pulled out his favoured item - a willow cricket bat. The face of the bat was scarred from repeated blows of a cricket ball, leaving large pock mark like indents in th wood, along with the tell tale red reminders of where the ball struck. As he walked toward the garage, the bottom end of the bat tapped the ground, and Rick slowed for an impromptu blocking swing, or a flick of the wrist to send the imaginary ball down through to Third Man.<br/><br/>"Oi, Josh! We got wheels ready to spin?"<br/><br/>"Sure do, Rick. Where we headed?"<br/><br/>"Robbers Cave State Park. I have someone out there that I have to talk to."<br/><br/>"Shit. Out in the country, man? You sure?"<br/><br/>"Damn straight, mate. I'm on a quest, a real fuckin' quest."<br/><br/><div align="center">~||~</div><br/>Rick was feeling a little bored, and again, not caring about his perceptions by others. So when he finally turned up where he had been directed, Rick was dressed the same in the eyes of the Fae as he was in the eyes of the plain human. Even though the ranger he was approaching looked much more refined to his Chimerical eyesight, there was no difference to Rick's. He walked slowly, the bat falling to the ground in the same pace as his left foot step and he came to a stop a few feet from the Sidhe nobleman.<br/><br/>"My Lord? I am Richard Lancaster, and Her Grace has called on me to aid you in your time if grief. The sooner I can get information from you, the sooner I can get to the bottom of all of this. I also hope that the other five who have been called don't drag their fucking feet too much, otherwise you'll be doing a lot of talking." He stood for a moment or two. "Oh, my condolences on your loss. I'll make sure that he bastards pay."