Owner	Pose
Casey Brinke	"Hey there," Casey says. Hands on hips. Shoulders back. Hair - it's not windy today. It would be blowing in the wind if it were windy today. Jumpsuit and all. She has a bright smile on her face. After all, this is what she came back in time for - to gather the Doom Patrol to help defeat Torminox before he conquers the world. Her confident expression falters when she sees what it is Jane is doing out here. "I rang the door bell, no one came..." So she walked around the side of the manor hoping to find someone. "I don't mean to intrude. The angry man in town said this is where I could find the Doom Patrol." A narrative is forming itself in the wake of her arrival. One that makes sense. One that Casey believes to be completely true. "It's important that I find them. I've travelled a long way back in time and my mission is of the utmost importance."
Crazy Jane	And what is Jane doing out here? Jane is painting. Or perhaps Jane is painting. Those who know here know that when Jane is painting, there is a perhaps fifty-fifty chance that it isn't Jane. Jane paints sometimes, but on the other hand The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter paints virtually all of the time she is 'on the surface'.     There's an easel, a canvas of no great size mounted on it. Jane, if that is who she is right now, sits on a folding stool in front of it, with a wooden palette in one hand and a brush in the other, a small folding table beside her decked with tubes of paint, jars of turpentine and linseed oil, and an assortment of other brushes. It's a pleasant enough day, and the landscape of the grounds of Doom Manor probably makes for a good subject to paint. That presumably is what she's painting, as she seems to be glancing out across the grassy expanse from time to time as she daubs paint onto the canvas.     Jane turns her head slowly to look at Casey, no hint of surprise at the stranger's appearance on her face. She tilts her head slightly, studying Casey for a few moments before turning her attention back to the canvas.     "They might not be here right now," she answers in a soft voice. "If you rang the bell and nobody answered, they might be out somewhere. Or asleep. Or maybe nobody could be bothered to answer the door."     She taps the back of her brush thoughtfully against her lip, then swishes it around in the jar of turps before dabbing it in cobalt blue, thinning it with a little linseed oil, and applying it in bold strokes onto the canvas. Maybe she's working on the sky.     "I saw Larry earlier. Maybe he's here. He might be in the greenhouse. He goes there a lot, I think."
Larry Trainor	There's someone in there, alright. But not in the house. Larry likes the company of plants- for many reasons. He actually does have somewhat of a green thumb. This is because plants, unlike people, didn't sass back at you, they didn't snark and they didn't present insurmountable obstacles. You watered them, you made sure they got enough heat, the necessary humidity, and in the end, they rewarded you with- "Shit." Larry sighs and shakes his head, looking at his latest effort. The bird of paradise has, indeed, flown off to paradise. He'd fertilized it only once a month. Made sure it stayed within its range of sixty-five to eighty Farenheit. And yet. And yet. The bandaged head shakes three times in sheer, complete disapproval. The audacity of it all.
Casey Brinke	Casey can't help but notice the striking resemblance to herself in Jane's painting. Yes, certainly the manor lawns are there too. But Casey, undeniably Casey, is standing there looking up at a strange sky. She peers up at the sky. It's quite a nice day out - blue skies, nothing ominously purple or swirly. "You're a good artist," she says encouragingly and then thumbs toward what she thinks looks like the green house, "I'll.. just got find this Larry person then." The confused expression on her face speaks volumes, if Jane were even looking - which she clearly isn't. A short trek across the grass brings her within ear shot of 'Shit'. Perhaps someone is in -need-. She pulls open the door and brandishes a somewhat heroic pose - before realising there's a man wearing a lot of bandages looking over a more than sad looking plant. "Oh. Ah. I'm sorry for your loss..." No saving to be done here. "Are you Larry? I'm looking for the Doom Patrol and the artist implied you were one of them. It's vitally important I find them as soon as possible." Then again if Larry isn't one of them then 'not home' is inconvenient at best, ominous at worst.
Crazy Jane	Jane does not seem surprised by the resemblance. Why should she be? She paints what she sees. There's Casey on the lawn at Doom Manor, and that's what she painted. The fact that she had painted Casey there before she had arrived doesn't seem strange to her. After all, is not the whole point of art to seek out and express in paint some greater insight into reality than the mere representation of what is in front of you? If that's all you want, you might as well get out your cell phone and take a photo.     As Casey leaves for the greenhouse, she does however rinse off her brush in the turps, put her palette carefully down on the folding table, and follow the newcomer. She doesn't want Larry to be too surprised by some random person walking in off the streets, after all.     "Larry?" she calls in around Casey's shoulders, the softness of her voice telling him that she is not currently Jane. "You have a visitor. I mean the Doom Patrol has a visitor. I thought she should talk to you."
Larry Trainor	Plants, also, don't visit. You know exactly where they are, and you can choose to see them -or not- depending on your mood. The fact that he may not have been in a mood to see certain plants might explain the state of the bird of paradise, but hey may not admit this just yet. "What the-" he takes a step back at the random person walking in off the street, which Not-Jane didn't impede at all. This is yet another annoyance: one should have time to mourn a boon companion in privacy. "Right... thank you," he tells the Beautiful Daughter. He can tell it's her because, if it were Jane, there would have been at least five 'fucks' interwoven into that short sentence. "But since when am I the rep in charge?" he says, gives Casey a long look (through those dark goggles, so his expression is anyone's guess, and sigh. "Alright, alright miss---?" he tilts his head at Casey, "What exactly is this very important errand that requires you to find the Doom Patrol?"
Casey Brinke	Just how much does Casey know about the Doom Patrol? Not a lot at all actually. Her author never wrote that bit. He was busy doing _other things_. So noting that Larry is not just a little wrapped in bandages but presumably completely wrapped in bandages makes her take another pause. But then she sticks her hand out. Because prejudice has no place in hero work. "The name's Space Case. This might be hard for you to believe-" But given she's just witnessed two rather unbelievable things already. May be the artist is one of the Doom Patrol after all. "- but I'm from the future. I'm a hero space adventurer from the year 2823. I've travelled back in time to stop an evil taking hold in the past and corrupting the entire planet. This evil is known as the Torminox Virus. If it takes root in the past then all of the future will be destroyed." "My mission is simple. Travel back to the year 2023, team up with the Doom Patrol, and stop Torminox once and for all before it's too late." Hands go back on to hips again as she nods affirmatively to her own words. Of course, everyone she's told she's from the future so far hasn't reacted well. 'Fuck off lady' was her first introduction to the 2023. Along with 'We're not interested in buying whatever it is you're selling'. And the aforementioned angry man in Cloverton, 'Doom Patrol, hah, you tell those <bleeping> <bleepers> that if they <bleeping> <bleep> their <bleeping> <bleeps> in my store again I'll <bleeping> <bleep> their <bleeps> right back in to their <bleep> hole. You can find them at Doom Manor'.
Crazy Jane	Larry actually gets a look of concern from Jane. The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter is definitely one of the easier personalities to get on with. She actually thinks about other people and seems to care for her fellow Doom Patrollers. On the other hand she's not very communicative, her mind always on her paintings.     "I'm sorry Larry, you're the only person around. I think." She tilts her head to the side, studying the Curse of the Mummy with an intensity that implies half of what she's doing is committing his appearance to memory for some future picture. Her artistic instincts take in a lot of detail while at the same time not responding to much of that detail as anything other than food for future works.     "If you'd like I can ask Jane to come," she suggests. Not that Jane is any more the 'rep in charge' either. And probably less suited to the job than Larry is. It's all The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter can think to alleviate Larry's concerns though. She's just there to paint, she doesn't do Doom Patrol things. Normally.
Larry Trainor	This was one of those 'the young girl and the tiger' choices. He genuinely liked the Hangman's Daughter, she was a sweetheart. Larry also, admittedly, liked Jane precisely because she was spiky, sassy, and was hard to deal with. She made him appreciate his plants that much more. But our omniscient narrator is right: the daughter doesn't do Patrol stuff. That's what Jane does. "Sure, go ahead and let her know," Larry says, nodding his head, "Just make sure to clean your brushes first." He looks at Casey and hmms. "Okay... let's just wait and tell all of that to Jane when she comes. I can't wait to see her expression."
Casey Brinke	Casey thought she'd made a pretty 'to the point' pitch. But if Larry isn't the point guy.. and Jane isn't the point guy. Is someone just pulling her leg. She glances back out the door toward the manor expecting someone else to be joining them any moment. Perhaps this Jane is a genuine super hero type and will fly in with cape billowing. The 21st century had those kinds of heroes. She always admired their ideals and modelled herself after them. Well, her author modelled her after them - sans the incredible powers. "...Sure thing." Her smile returns though there's doubt in her eyes. "Who is in charge exactly?" Is the polite way she asks how many times she'll have to pitch this plea for aid in defeating her father. Not that she's exactly framed the problem like that yet.
Crazy Jane	Jane does not come in with cape billowing. Instead, The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter gives a faint smile and nods her head at Larry. Then she seems to flicker faintly with a dull light and... doesn't change. At least not in any very obvious way. She looks like the same person. She does stand in a manner that's both a little more upright and a little more casual, and her her whole body language transforms into something --yes, spikier.     "Yeah I'm not in charge either. Fuck, I'm barely even in charge of myself most days. Why do you want me here Larry? What am I supposed to do?" She gestures, a somewhat aggressive wave of her hand, towards Casey. "So some girl from one of her paintings shows up, and apparently she's from the future? What am I supposed to do with that information? Throw a fucking party?"     She sighs and walks past Case, into the greenhouse, and does a small lap of the immediate area, taking a look at the plants. When she's finished her circle she comes around to stand beside Larry, looking at Case with a slight frown. "Okay. My advice? Find a different superhero group. We only really do the really weird crap other people can't cope with because they're not as fucked up as us. Future stuff, that honestly doesn't sound messed up enough for Doom Patrol. Though hey if it's a virus you're suffering from, maybe go see a doctor instead of a superhero team."
Larry Trainor	Ah, there it goes. That familiar antagonistic pushback. That's something he can do with. "Well, for starters," Larry says, gaining some equanimity, "We need to ask some questions." It's easy to be the more level-headed one in the presence of Jane. It was rather miraculous, no matter how off-kilter you might be, there was always Jane there to stand on the other end of the balance and somehow prop you up through the sheer force of... well. Her. "Why is it that you need the Doom Patrol specifically?" the Mummy Man asks Casey. "As Jane pointed out, what we do is what other groups don't do- we're rather off the beaten path here. This time travel... thing sounds like something the Justice League could help you with. Or the Titans?"
Casey Brinke	"..." Casey has questions about that painting but it can wait. She shuts her eyes for just a moment and nods as it becomes evident that Jane is the artist. But her demeanour and language have certainly changed. This might take a little big of convincing. "I assure I'm virus free. But if it's weird .. stuff .. you want then I should probably tell you a bit more about the situation." Her hands dance in front of her as if she were delicately smoothing out a blanket, or perhaps petting a cat. "Torminox, a sentient all consuming virus, possessed my father. And my mother, in a desperate attempt to defeat Torminox, trapped my father and flew him in to the sun. He is dead and the Torminox virus should have died with him." "But instead, from the grave, Torminox is attempting to breach the past through the power of reality manipulation. The more people believe in him the more he can manifest here and become real. I can't let my father come back to life to go through all this again - for my mother's sacrifice to have been for nothing." There's the weird and the personal. The expression on her face explaining this is clearly pained. "And it must be the Doom Patrol. The historical records are quite accurate that you are the only team capable of defeating what is, right now, an imaginary villain." Heart on her sleeve, it's difficult to imagine anyone could be this driven yet innocent at the same time. Especially for a self professed space hero. "So - what do you say. We could team up and stop my dad before everything is completely doomed?"
Crazy Jane	Jane listens to Casey's story with an expression that somehow manages to mingle disbelief with a cynical 'seen-it-all'ness that belies the disbelief. When the account has been given she gives a half-sigh, half-growl that sounds distinctly frustrated.     "I have to admit that this crap sounds a lot like the kind of crap Chief keeps dropping on our shoulders, Larry. You know what really bothers me about this though? The idea that there are historical records from the fuckety-second century mentioning us. That just makes it feel like someone is paying attention to us who shouldn't be. Can't the universe just leave us alone? Nooooo. Always got to be one more shitty thing we need to deal with. "     "HEY! Doom Patrol assholes! There's giant fucking robot, only it's possessed by sex ghosts! That makes it your responsibility! Hey Doom Patrol assholes, we accidentally started worshipping a Q-Tip and it's gone power-mad and taken over our town, fix it! Hey Doom Patrol assholes, please enter this portal that's inside a donkey's..."     Jane deflates and shrugs her shoulders dramatically. "Whatever. But I mean this people believing him and manifesting here bullshit? That sounds really like that comic book supervillain bullshit Chief wants us to investigate anyway."
Larry Trainor	"That kind of does sound like him..." Larry says, his voice quiet. He's musing. "... those sex ghosts were weird." He shudders for a moment, shakes his head, and sighs quietly. "I think that we're probably up your alley, then," he tells Casey with a slight tinge of disappointment in his voice. He really was hoping this could be a Justice League problem. "I wonder if there may be a /movement/ starting up. That'd be the last thing we need, a group of bozos looking for unreal characters to make real- for what purpose?" Well, he couldn't ask that. Most of the time, as the Q-tip case indicated, the answer was simply 'Because we could, okay?' 5r
Casey Brinke	"29th century but..." Casey smiles and claps her hands, together, "It's agreed then. The Doom Patrol and Space Case are ON the Case!" She points to Doom manor, "Ring the klaxons, assemble the team, there's work to be done and if your Chief is already looking in to something unreal becoming real then may be, just may be, we're already on the right track." Unending optimism. That's Casey. There's no such thing as defeat only temporary not victory. With or without them she begins to stride up toward the manor because her mission is on track. Or so she thinks...
Crazy Jane	"Fuckety-second century, yeah I heard you the first time," Jane tells Casey. "Welcome to the 21st century, Future Girl. It's a shithole, so if the fuckety-second century is such a mess you're coming back here to get away from it - " not /quite/ what Casey had said, Jane. " - Well then congratulations for escaping from it."     Jane looks from Casey to Larry and back, as if weighing things up. "Fine. Whatever." She raises a finger. "But let's get one thing straight. We do not. Fucking. Do. Klaxons."     Behind her the door to the greenhouse swings open, and a smartly-dressed older man in a wheelchair comes rolling in. "Larry... Jane," he says, his voice rich and warm, very well-spoken and filled with well-enunciated familiarity. "Would you like to introduce me to your new friend, perhaps?"