The idea of the Americas being scary got stuck in my head and this is what I managed to dislodge.
Grigori headquarters was quite large. Its inhabitants weren't evenly spread though. They tended to flock together and form cliques. Mittelt didn't like most of them, but she had to travel through one of the hangouts for a group of older fallen to get to the office where the fake ids were issued.
She tried to speedwalk past, only to catch their attention. One of the fallen didn't quite get in her way. He grinned in a manner that seemed tailor-made to be annoying.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Mittelt gave the group her best smug look of superiority.
"Azazel-sama gave me a mission to Nevada."
Mittelt was about to leave but the awkward atmosphere made her pause. She looked around at the suddenly sympathetic and pitying gazes.
"What? What is it?"
Another one of the fallen set his book down with an authoritative thump.
"Rule number one of visiting the Americas: Don't."
Mittelt was confused, but still managed a sneer.
"Seriously? Are you a fallen or a chicken?"
That had the entire room laughing. One of the other fallen wagged a finger at her in a way that made her want to put a light spear through his skull. He smirked condescendingly.
"It's easy to say that when you haven't met their hunters."
A few others piped up in agreement.
"Yeah. Those maniacs are something else."
"Freaking gun nuts."
"I met this fellow up in the Yukon. He had a stuffed Wendigo in his cabin. A F***ing Wendigo, stuffed and mounted like a trophy. He also wore a necklace of vampire teeth like some sort of supernatural Crocodile Dundee."
Another fallen let out a huff. He lifted his shirt to display a long, ugly scar running horizontally across his stomach.
"It's not just the hunters you've got to worry about. I got this scar investigating this place called Camp Crystal Lake. I was having some fun with this cute blonde and a freaking revenant appeared out of nowhere and nearly cut me in half."
His display triggered a competition as everyone began supplying their own stories.
"Chupacabra aren't that strong, but man are they fast. Sneaky too. I woke up with one 'this' close to biting my throat while I was visiting Mexico. I couldn't relax the entire time I was there."
"I had a mission to the US once. I was supposed to make allies among the magic users at Miskatonic University. You couldn't pay me to go back."
"I went to Jersey to investigate reports of a stray devil a while back. Whatever that thing was, it was not a devil."
"There's a rumor that South America is off-limits to all Grigori members. I'm not sure about the details. Just something about Tezcatlipoca liking the taste of our blood. Freaking unfair. Angels love it there."
"You've read about the Slender Man on the internet, right? He's real. We lost a team to him not that long ago."
"Mothman scary mothman scary mothman scary mothman scary-"
The stream of tall tales cut off as the group turned toward the muttering fallen angel who was rocking back and forth in a fetal position. One of them coughed lightly and tried to change the subject.
"I had to investigate reports of humans with abnormal abilities in Florida. Turns out, some of the locals had mistaken a dragon for an alligator and cooked it into gumbo. Everyone who ate at the restaurant unlocked their touki."
Mittelt rolled her eyes.
"Okay, I know that one is made up. Eating dragon meat doesn't give you powers. For one thing, their meat is poisonous."
"Their cook knew a bit of voodoo. I didn't talk to them personally though. No way am I getting anywhere near a voodoo practitioner."
Mittelt stood up and flared her wings. She rolled her eyes at the group.
"Well if you're done making shit up, I've got a mission to do. Thanks for nothing, lackwits."
*A few weeks later*
Penemue paused as she saw Mittelt floating slowly down the corridor at a walking pace.
"Why have you been flying everywhere since you got back?"
Mittelt looked down, then gave Penemue a haunted look.
"Graboids."