"Alliances - Part One"
Introducing - Victor Garber as Jack Archer
Apartment #301, New York City
Monday, 5th September 2005
9:30am
The mangled body of a woman lay in a pool of her own blood.
Jack Archer coughed, covering his mouth with his handkerchief as the putrid stench of death permeated his nostrils. “How long has she been here?” he choked, having to leave the confinement of the small room as the smell of decaying flesh became overwhelming.
The aide followed him out and into the hallway. “About a week. She was supposed to be on vacation. The building super found her after the neighbours complained of the smell.” The aide handed Jack an envelope containing a series of photographs depicting similar scenes of violence and death.
“In total there’s been thirteen deaths like this one in the past month. The police have no leads yet except that it looks like a serial killer. Each victim had their limbs either dismembered or mangled and their heart cut out. They also had similar flesh wounds like these…” the aide directed Jack to a specific photo.
“This looks like Belzar’s work all right,” said Jack, his face turning more rigid than usual in an effort to fight down the nausea. “He must be a fool, defying the treaty like this; he knows civilian territory is strictly out of bounds. Alert Beta section immediately, tell them I’ll be in Virginia by 10pm tonight.”
******
The Alliance Headquarters, Virginia
Monday, 5th September 2005
10:00pm
Jack Archer paced the length of the vast boardroom with haste. He was anxious to meet with the head of Security section. If Belzar had already left New York there was no telling where he might have taken his brand of wholesale carnage by now.
Suddenly the door opened and two middle aged men entered followed by a short Marakka demon.
“Ah Jack, please, sit down,” said the first man, gesturing towards a seat.
“Lothar, Samir, thank you for meeting me so urgently,” said Jack formally as he seated himself.
“We have some good news for you,” continued Lothar as they settled at the desk, “We located the subject you requested. He’s currently in Los Angeles.”
*Anywhere but there!* Jack thought dismally. He had avoided LA like it were a leper colony for the past twenty years and he didn’t have any desire to return. Outwardly he kept his expression as blank and tight lipped as usual. “Are you sure?” he asked flatly.
“Very sure Sir,” said the Marakka demon turning to face Jack, “I’ve been tracking Belzar for sometime. After the series of murders in Washington DC and New York he appeared to have vanished, then I found him again in Las Vegas.”
The demon pulled a file out from under his jacket and tossed it across the table towards Jack. “I received Intel earlier this morning. This time it was a Russian Diplomat, they found his dismembered corpse in the restroom at Caesar’s Palace. Not only that but his heart had been cut out, just like all the others.”
“This demon is one sick son of a bitch,” muttered Jack under his breath.
“Well, yeah, so I got one of my best trackers to follow the target from Vegas and that’s how we know he’s in LA. No doubt The Order will protect him.”
“You must be careful Jack,” warned Samir. He carefully removed his glasses and cleaned them thoroughly before replacing them on his face.
Jack rose from his chair in surprise. “Me? You want me to go to LA and eliminate Belzar? Why not just get one of our Californian agents to make the hit?”
“He’s your case subject Jack,” Lothar reminded him, “You know more about his moves and the way he thinks than anyone else in the Alliance. Belzar defied the treaty, that makes him a target now. Think you can handle it?”
Jack’s face became immovable again and he pursed his lips together in an expression of repressed contempt. "Of course,” Jack pushed his chair back noisily, “I’ll set out to Los Angeles as soon as I can.” He lowered his head respectfully and then turned to leave the room.
“And Jack?” called out Lothar, turning in his chair to face him, “Be careful. Belzar may very well be an irrational fool but he’s also one of the Five. The Order may be prepared to kill to defend one of their own.”
Jack nodded in understanding and quietly closed the door behind him.
“What’s his problem?” mumbled Samir in irritation.
Lothar still continued to stare at the door long after Jack had passed through it. “Old ghosts,” he replied.
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Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
"Hollow: Adjective: A Void"
17 September 2005
5:45 A.M.
Sunny Gates Apartments, Unit 3D
Fate knelt and could not force himself to count to four over and again. Too many thoughts buzzed through his head. His metabolism, as inert and Noble as neon or argon just a few short hours ago, was already sending him the first faint twinges of The Hunger that dragged him through the entirety of whatever it was that he was.
Blake. Fate's promise to him.
Blake, who knew of his own mortality, and wanted to provide for the time when he would no longer be around.
Blake, who, like the Archangel Gabriel, blew his horn and opened the gates to something greater, more beautiful beyond himself, beyond Life as a concept.
Blake, who, like Michael Wilkins many years before, believed in a God who cared.
Fate, back before he was Fate, believed himself...
1958
San Diego, California
The Wilkins family, sitting around the dinner table, uttering the Lord's Prayer:
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name..."
1970
San Diego, California
*My father, who art in Heaven, sent there by an evil man, a monster without forgiveness...*
1956
San Diego, California
"Now remember, Son--God is always up there watching out for you. If you ever find yourself feeling lost, all you've got to do is talk to him wherever you are. He is always listening..."
1970
San Diego, California
Fate couldn't attend the funeral for his family. Friends and acquaintances wondered what happened to him, wondered why he of all people was not there. Words were spoken, most of them with barely-concealed anger at Terence's seeming-hardheartedness.
1970
San Diego, California
Fate mourned in shadow, kissing the cold granite of his parents' headstones. The dew was moist and soaked through the knees of his pants. The grass was green and did its work, covering over the bodies in the cemetery, the bodies of the faithful and the not so faithful. A wind blew through the trees with a sighing sound, solemn and sibilant. The trees and the grass were sown by seeds blown in the wind, resting in the fertile earth, emerging, growing through the years.
His father the wind that blew and planted the seed, dark as the shadow; his mother the earth that germinated that seed, dark, rich, and fertile; he, Fate, emerging through her, through the years, growing.
Growing to plant his lips on cold stone in the grass and the wind and the trees, cold stone etched by people who would eventually be here, cold stones of their own marking them, the grass covering them over, the trees blowing in the wind, different lips on different cold stones, the process repeated over and over again.
Fate would be there to mourn them all, eternal like the grass, the trees, the wind...
16 September 2005
Late at night, the time so very arbitrary,
At the intersection of time and eventual death
Blake, Ronnie, and a promise.
The music and their lives as transient as a song, everything going away in the wind, the trees, the grass.
Fate, no matter how surely he kept his word, would mourn them all eventually. He was forever. He and his hunger...
1988
San Diego, California
He remembered seeing an album cover. The group was Leaders of The New School, and the album was titled "A Future With No Past." He could feel that title on a cellular level. The house he was in held many of The Somebody Man's enemies, junk-sick types that feared the considerable sway of The Somebody Man's network of associates. He, Fate, was there to "tidy up" some unreliable members of that network, to fold in--permanently--some of the ragged edges that might catch on John Law's Long Arm if push came to shove. An exercise in illicit origami.
The "questionable aspects," as The Somebody Man put it, were more interested in The Spike and what it offered than the dispensations of honest Network affiliation. Fate observed them, those worshippers of The Monkey, with a detached sort of interest. Their God was a certain molecular arrangement, and no amount of sincere reasoning could distract them from what was obviously a mistaken path to tread. He followed orders like a good soldier, his sense of The Somebody Man's spiritual worth guiding his hand, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for them, they who only desired The Needle and a quiet place...
1970
San Diego, California
Fate's Monkey hit him for the first time, pain, rage, and desire culminating in hostile hands laid upon Ishida the Monster, Ishida the Being that stole Fate's past. The killing of Ishida seemed like the proper sort of Karmic reaction to an utterly incomprehensible circumstance. The assumption of his essence carried Fate through the worst of The First Days...
Fate's Monkey, as he soon learned, never aged or went away. His--Fate's--physiology would always be subject to the desire to consume energy, constantly pushing him to hit the streets looking for prey. He resisted at first, his ingrained moral fabric weaving a web of denial that lasted six days. The seventh found him stalking the streets, sensing presences, grasping at 'hot' spirits, trying to sate his hunger within the moral parameters he had been operating inside of.
17 September 20057:32 A.M.
Sunny Gates Apartments, Unit 3D
Hunger, Blake, and God...
God made Blake, and gave him his talent, but God also made Ishida and his talent.
God made Ishida, Ishida made Fate, and Fate wondered about God, the one who allegedly listened to the pleas of His faithful.
Fate had to wonder about what God, the God that his parents were into, was all about...
God made Ishida, Ishida took Fate's mom and dad, and Fate was left there at the end, God's Powerful Orphan.
"Our Fate, who art on Earth, hollow be thy name..."
Of course, as the Old Testament would tell it, Nimrod would eventually try to build a tower to Heaven, and Fate, knowing the script, would know that God decided to thwart his aggressive child in his moment of ascension.
Fate, God-sanctioned, allowed to exist in his hungry fashion, threw himself into the satiation of his own self, absorbing the bio-electricity of the predatory Others, keeping his comprehension of his own Being as cool, clean, and cynical as a Bugs Bunny incarnation.
17 September 2005
10:15 A.M.
Sunny Gates Apartments, Unit 3D
Trees, grass, Blake, and cold stone. Granite and the pearls that used to be his eyes....Who is he?
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Bathroom Confessional
Sept. 20th, 1:04 AM
Darian's Apartment
Crimson liquid flowed from the cuts on Darian’s knuckles; punching the concrete wall of an apartment tends to leave a little more than a small bruise. Despite the throbbing pain in his hand, Darian was unable to turn his thoughts from the night’s events. It had seemed like a good idea – well, at least not a bad idea. How was he supposed to know that the “reading” he would get from the tarot woman would cause him to lose control? The only good thing to come out of the dreadful situation was a needed reminder of how close he was to real darkness. Had it not been for the intervention of the mysterious stranger, who knows what damage the fae would have caused? *I could have killed that poor woman. What if I had?* That “what if” was a haunting thought, one which weighed heavily on his conscience.
The sound of his blood dropping to the ground woke Darian from the daydream of self-loathing. To prevent the creation of any more bloodstains on the floor, he slowly made his way to the bathroom in search of a bandage. Once there, Darian froze as he gazed into the cabinet mirror, eyes transfixed on the reflection of his amethyst necklace.
“I’m trying to be good Seb. I wanna be the man you always told me I’d become, but it’s just so damn hard.”
In his centuries of living, Darian would often carry on these one sided conversations, the thought that his friend could possibly hear him was a minor comfort. Yet ever since the night where he saw – no, hallucinated - Sebastian on the balcony, these dialogues were not so helpful.
“This dark thing inside me, sometimes… sometimes I just can't fight it.” *Or maybe sometimes I don’t want to fight it.* Darian only thought the latter, in case Sebastian actually could hear him speaking. “It's so hard going through year after year, always worrying about keeping my guard up and never giving into the darkness. It would be so much easier if you were here Seb, so much easier if I wasn’t always alone.”
With a soft sigh, Darian ended the conversation with the mirror and opened the cabinet door. The bandages retrieved were thin, and his blood quickly soaked through them. Luckily however, the wound was already healing, so a second bandage was not needed. Once the bleeding had stopped, Darian returned to his room and collapsed exhaustedly on the bed. The night’s events at the tarot reader had been taxing both physically and mentally. *What if that man hadn’t stopped me tonight?* The encounter with Fate was the last thing he thought of before drifting into an uneasy slumber.
*****
Just outside Darian’s bedroom window, on a tiny ledge, a shadowy figure sat, his legs dangling careless over the 30-foot drop. “Oh what a heart-wrenching monologue that was,” Loki chuckled to himself as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Boohoo, I’m so tortured, I wanna be good, I’m so alone,” he mocked. “God, he whines so much, he is practically begging to be killed.”
Loki raised himself from a sitting position and without any fear of falling took a few steps so he was on the part of the ledge directly outside the window into Darian’s room. Despite the darkness, his eyes could make out the sleeping form of his enemy tossing and turning in bed. Silently the assassin unsheathed a small knife from his belt, but after a moment’s consideration, placed it back in its case. *The Order would probably be pretty peeved if they knew how many times I’ve let you live.* A mischievous smile crossed Loki’s face. *But you are just such a blast to play with Darian, that I think I’m going to stay in LA for a while. I just know we’ll become best of friends.* Loki erupted in laughter as he calmly jumped from the ledge to the empty alleyway below.
*****
Darian’s eyes fluttered open, the distant sound of cackling waking him from his light sleep. *Man, LA is filled with such strange people,* he thought as he adjusted his covers and went back to sleep.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Tuesday, September 13, 2005: 7:00 pm. After Dark
After Dark was the perfect place for Tyler to finish his business with Paul. It was largely neutral ground, and should Paul try anything there would be more trouble than either man could survive. As such, the last thing Tyler expected Paul to do was stick to the deal and come alone. But he did.
Tyler saw this as he sat alone at a table in the back corner of the place, giving the entire room of vampires the evil eye. As was most often the case, they backed off. A man like Tyler was more trouble as prey than it was worth. And so they left him alone. And as such, Tyler’s eyes were locked as soon as Paul came in.
The headman at the Beazor sat across from Tyler. To the surprise of both men, Paul had come alone.
“No guards?” Tyler had to ask.
“No. We made a deal,” Paul responded, his head making a circle of the room.
“Heh. You’ll have to forgive me, but that’s the funniest god damn thing I’ve ever heard.” Tyler stared hard into Paul’s face. By now, Paul would know the full body count at the port. The tables had turned. So Tyler reached into his pocket, took out the crystal and held it up.
“Bereaver, Ryan Michaels. Talk.”
Paul took a breath and began, “Your friend Michaels came to LA just over six months ago. I wasn’t running the Beazor then. But I was essentially the recruiter. He fought in our arena, your friend. He was good, too. Killed demons five times his size with that sword of his.
"But then I hate swordsman.”
Tyler sat, patiently, waiting Paul out. It was a trial to not whip out a gun and shoot the asshole.
“His kind especially. I’d see Bereaver from time to time around Narcosis, feeding. When it was done, he’d get this sick look on his face, and run off with his head in his hands. It was a bit embarrassing.” At this, Tyler punched Paul hard in the face.
“Stick to the facts, leave the comments out.” Tyler’s voice invited trouble but Paul, knowing his surroundings, did not give him any.
“After a bit, I recommended him to the boss. Thought he could be valuable. First thing we had him do was hit the local white hats. He never came back.” Paul was biting off some violence, and Tyler could see it.
“Where do I find these ‘White Hats’?” Tyler’s voice stayed level.
“Most of them live on Poplar, 1318, in a place owned by a guy named Victor Tek.” Tyler made note of the address, knowing it was where he found his ex-comrades a few days ago. “Planning on going in, guns blazing.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“Might not be such a bad idea. They’re tough, given me plenty of trouble. If it’s revenge you’re after…” Tyler threw the crystal across the table.
“Go now, Paul, before I make trouble.” Paul glared back at Tyler, struggling to rein in that violence, and Tyler glared back, daring him. Paul took the path of caution and walked away, making the throat slash gesture.
Tyler stayed seated, thinking.
Wednesday 11am TFE (Too Fucking Early) *****
“Ian! Wake up dammit! Are you okay?”
Ian’s eyes were closed although he could feel the sunlight burning his face. It was Victor’s voice, and he could hear the concern in the tone. He could taste the grass and dogshit in his mouth and wondered what he had done last night. It wasn’t even a blur… it was a gaping void.
“Mokaaay,” mumbled Ian.
He opened one eye gingerly so as not to let in that vile sunlight. A dark brown blur was leaning over him. It was still talking in that annoyingly loud voice, “What happened to you last night? Your clothes are ripped; you have blood down your arm and on your pants. You were lying on the floor this morning. Are you sure you are all right?”
“Hwah?” Ian lifted his arm and it ached like he had done 100 curls. He could see the crusted blood on his forearm. He sat up and had to fight a wave of nausea. His pants had stripes of blood all over them. It too was dark and crusted. He swiveled his single working eye back to the brown blob.
“I dunno, did I have a good time?” Ian asked.
Victor helped him up to the bed. “I am not sure, Ian. I heard you come in the door around 3am. You were singing Memories.”
Ian started to laugh but it make his head explode in little fireworks so he stopped. “I don’t remember anything Victor. Nothing from uh… lunchtime I think.”
Victor examined his arm, “Did you meet any strange people last night? Did you let any of them bite you?”
“Bite me? What are you talking about?” Ian wiped the crust off his other eye and looked at his arm. There were two deep punctures and a ring of tooth marks at his elbow. *How did that happen? You’d think I could remember that! * His head swam with the exertion. He lay back down on the bed, “I don’t feel too good Victor, can you make out without me?”
Victor felt at his neck, “No too bad today. I’ll let you know if I need your help. You rest. I’ll leave some headache tablets on the bedside table.”
As Victor left, Ian looked at the bright red tablets on the table and decided he definitely didn’t want to take them. He wasn’t sure why because his head hurt like crazy.
Wednesday, Sept 14, 2005 2pm *****
Ian was snoring as Victor took off the neck brace. There was one brace left and it was itching. He had pulled the others off in the night and could feel a need to reattach them. Victor walked across the hall and rummaged around for the drill.
Finding it he rummaged again for screw and stepped into the bathroom. Once there he drilled new pilot holes and swapped to the screw bit to sink new anchors for the braces. Victor turned left and right and examined his work. He felt like an erector set.
A sound downstairs made him freeze. The faint smell of blood wafted on the breeze and Victor gently set the drill in the sink and crept noiselessly towards the hallway.
Downstairs, Tyler let the door close behind him with no care for the noise. Despite Paul's suspicions, he wasn't expecting trouble here.
*Probably next up from priests.* Tyler's head played with that particular horror while he scanned the room, noting the entry points, security, everything that could cause that trouble.
Satisfied, Tyler wandered toward the mailboxes, looking for some sign of where to find this Tek. Tyler's knee twinged with every step he took.
Victor glided into the hall and started to walk down the stairs. He spotted the man next to the mailboxes and started to move closer to greet him when he realized he had forgotten his neck brace. *Damn, you don't want to scare off the normal.*
Victor turned and jogged back up the stairs and into the office and exited a few moments later wearing the white foam rubber neckpiece. He smiled as he walked down the stairs, "Hello, may I help you?" *As long as you aren't selling newspapers or Jehovah's Witnesses.*
At the first sound of Victor's voice, Tyler's hand shot into his right coat pocket, where he kept the Sig he'd lifted from the fallen Watcher. Turning his head to look the man over, Tyler's other hand found its way into the left pocket. It bothered him that he'd not heard this guy coming.
*Quit being so damned careless.*
Turning to face Victor, Tyler's eyes locked on the neck brace and he took a moment to ponder how it got there. His hand, all the while, stayed on the gun.
"That depends. You Victor Tek?" Tyler looked Victor dead in the eye.
Victor saw him jump and turn. He was fast and he looked as if he'd been in a bar brawl. An amateur evidently did the rough stitching of the cut over his eye quickly. *Or he did it himself.*
Victor narrowed his eyes to peer back into the intense stare, "I might be. Who's asking?"
Sensing the hostility, Tyler took a moment to readjust. The size of this guy alone would make for more trouble than Tyler needed at the moment. *And lord knows I've got enough bodies on my hands.*
So Tyler took his hand off the gun and extended it, controlling the wince he knew would come from his ribs.
"Tyler Hyatt. I'm new in town, looking for a place." Hyatt would know soon how hostile this was going to be.
Victor relaxed. He had placed the ad in the paper because so many of the 'tenants' were living here for free. It looked strange on the taxes. All he would need would be one or two paying rent to make it work out. Victor descended the last few steps and took the hand warmly.
"Victor Tek. Pleased to meet you." Victor heard bone grinding and saw Tyler wince. "You okay? I have to say you look a mite rough."
Releasing the grip, Tyler immediately wondered about this Tek. *Something off here. He moves... oddly.*
"Car accident. Drunk slammed me couple days ago." Tyler thought it best to keep his answer as close to the truth as possible.
"Pissed me off. The rental company is gonna ream my ass."
Victor felt for the guy. He could appreciate being hurt. *I'll bet that little jump turn he did in the hall must have really stung.* "I can appreciate a car wreck, let me tell you," Victor patted the neck brace sympathetically.
*Best get down to business.* "So you looking for one or two bedrooms?" Victor leaned against the banister post and tried to look casual... relaxed... human.
"One, preferably." Tyler relaxed a little, and immediately was glad his wedding ring was on a chain, under his shirt. He dropped his hands to his sides, which eased the pain in his ribs, "But if I can afford it, two works just as well."
Victor pointed down the hall to a door marked 103, "That one's available. I have to go up and get the keys. I'll show you my place while we are up there. It's a two bedroom."
Tyler nodded and followed Victor up the stairs. *There's something different in this guy.* As they crested the stairs, Tyler was immediately struck by something he couldn't place. He stopped, and shifted his weight back and forth, from foot to foot.
"Something big fall here?" Tyler tried to pass it off as structural problems.
Victor turned. For a moment his mind flashed back six months:
Victor started to shake his head but the braces pulled and one of them bent. He could not shake the vision. This man was standing there, that same pride. Victor had admired the vampire Ronin.
"Yes, someone fell. It was... unfortunate."
"Someone?" For everything he'd seen and done, this still surprised Tyler. He'd expected... he didn't know what he expected. "Another accident?" Tyler stepped forward, off the spot. His eyes went dark with suspicion, "Or something else?"
Victor turned his back to Tyler, "Accidents happen. Fate happens. Honor stands."
There was a jingle of keys and Victor opened the apartment door. He waved a hand inviting Tyler into his apartment.
Tyler took the invitation and entered the apartment, stopping at the door to size the place up. That, and measure his next response. He had little experience with this sort of thing.
"So these "accidents," Tyler went out of his way to sound apprehensive. "Do they happen often around here? I hope you don't mind my asking, but you've got to understand. I need to be fairly secure that I can come home at night and not get killed."
Tyler's examination of the room stopped on a stone, on which something had been etched in a language Tyler couldn't place. He'd seen it before, he was sure of it, but it didn't register. As such, he dismissed it and moved on. But he stopped again, this time on the katana. Tyler moved further into the apartment, transfixed, never moving his eyes. Then he flashed back to just under two years ago.
Tyler could see it, the night a little over a year ago. He and Ryan had been in San Jose that day, dealing with an errant MJ-12 agent. Their chosen method of dispatch had been a heart attack. But as the man had seized, he’d realized what happened, that he’d been killed. The image didn’t sit well with either man.
“Damn,” Ryan spoke first, looking down at the clock on the car’s radio.
“What’s up, kid?” Tyler was driving, trying to quell his own sour tastes.
“When’s our flight home?” Ryan was plainly doing his best not to think about a fifty-year-old man’s screams and death rattle. It wasn’t working that well.
“We’ve got a few hours to kill, why?”
“My mom lives up here, I promised I’d come see her when I could.” Ryan’s voice posed a question, without asking it. Tyler relented, a bit charmed.
“All right. Where is she? I’ll drop ya, go make myself scarce, call Kelly.” Tyler had, a few months earlier, introduced Ryan to his wife and son. That was a good day. But Ryan wasn’t letting him off here.
“There’s no need for that. I was planning on dragging you along. She’s gonna pinch my damn cheeks, and I’ll need some relief.”
Within two hours, the pair were in the house Ryan grew up in. They had been fed and parked in the living room. Tyler was sitting in an old, ragged chair, while Ryan took a spot on the couch. He stared off in the distance, seemingly lost in thought. Tyler scanned the room, his eyes falling on a katana.
“That’s kinda weird.” Tyler gestured to the sword.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mom doesn’t seem like the type to collect weapons."
“It’s an heirloom, you idiot.”
Tyler smiled.
“Passed down five generations. Gonna be mine soon.” Ryan trailed off after the “soon”, looking distracted.
“Ugly tonight, wasn’t it?” Tyler asked, knowing the kid needed to vent. But he got no response, for a long three seconds.
“Huh?” Ryan looked back at Tyler, comprehending. “Yeah.”
“Something else?” Tyler was a bit concerned now. He pressed more.
“Nothing, just… you ever get the feeling we’re wrong?”
“About?”
“This, all of it. Demons, keeping them secret, everything.” Ryan was not himself. He had, till this moment, showed nothing but love for the job.
“On nights like tonight, sure. But then I think about what happens if people find out about demons. Total fucking anarchy.” Tyler believed that, at the time. What happened the next time he was in this home changed his mind.
“You looking to get out, kid?”
“No. No.” Ryan took a large breath. *He won’t understand.* “No. Just a rough night, is all.”
Tyler's hand went back into his pocket and took hold of the gun.
Victor waved an arm nonchalantly around the room. "This is the lounge. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom at the end of that short hall. Please don't go in the room on the right, I have a friend who is sleeping in there."
Victor turned his back to Tyler again and began to dig through a desk drawer there. He pulled out a massive ring of keys and turned back to face Tyler. If Victor had been able to, he would have cocked his head at Tyler. Tyler's face had lost all expression and his gaze had leveled on Victor. He was standing the stance of someone who was prepared for trouble.
Victor stood stock still, held the key to the apartment below, and stared back, "Who are you, Mr. Hyatt, and what do you want?"
Tyler let go of the gun and took his hand out of his pocket, "The man who died in the hall, was he a friend of yours?"
Tyler, in a flash, went from quiet awe at the sword to interrogator.
Victor held his silence for a long time watching Tyler. He was like a spring trap ready to snap shut at the first mis-step. Victor felt as if he had better be careful how he answered the question. "No, not a friend. He was a warrior who found himself on the wrong side. A Ronin who had accepted the wrong Shogun. He was struck down there fighting with honor despite the fact he was fighting for evil."
Victor did not need to follow Tyler's eyes to see that the blade transfixed him. "That is his blade which I display as an homage to the man."
*I feel silly saying this while standing here holding a damn key ring,* thought Victor.
"He's already dust then?" Tyler's voice surprised even him. There was something in it, something incredulous that apparently wouldn't believe it. Without warning, his hand started shaking, and it was all Tyler could do not to lose his balance.
It was over.
Tyler reached out for the sword, stopping short of touching it, and pulling his hand back. His eyes turned to Victor, "How did...? Who...? I need to sit."
As he spoke the last four words, Tyler's hands rubbed his face. And without waiting for an invitation, he moved to the couch and sat.
"You can guess, Mr. Tek, that I'm not here about an apartment."
Victor sensed something leave Tyler like a candle blowing out in a stiff wind. He sat heavily on the couch and Victor winced for him as he heard joints pop and rib bones grind. Victor sat down on the desk chair. "Did you know Michaels?"
"You could say that, yeah." Tyler was far more broken up than he'd expected to be, and as much as he wanted to chalk that up the events of the past week, he knew better.
"We, uh..." Tyler stopped mid-sentence. "He was like my son." Tyler ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered.
"We worked for the government. We, uh, killed demons for them."
A brief glance at Victor and Tyler knew that he wouldn't have to explain further, which was a relief.
"I, he was mine, my partner. I taught him how to survive, how to do what had to be done... and he saved my life more times than I can count. I don't know the word for it, but I trusted that kid with my life, no more than that."
Victor nodded. He understood the loss of a partner. He understood betrayal. He understood the trust and reliance you could feel for another. *Tash, I hope you are safe. Tempest, wherever you are, rest well.*
"I am sorry for your loss. You traced him all the way here - an amazing feat I have to say - only to find he died. I really am sorry. Would you like his sword? It is your right, being 'family' and all."
Tyler gathered himself, "If you want the truth, I came to kill him myself. I owed him that much. Ryan, it’d have torn him to pieces, seeing some demon with his face."
Tyler took a breath, and asked another question, "Were you the one to do it?"
Victor shook his head, "No, it was another, a swordsman himself. The two met at the top of the stairs and it was over almost as quick as it began. At the end I would swear that Michaels gave up, surrendered because it was the honorable thing to do."
"In that case, I have to take that sword." Tyler stood now, recovered. "It shouldn't be here."
Tyler's eyes wandered back to the weapon. "Ryan… his mother came from ancient Japanese nobility. They had a tradition that if one of their warriors fell, the man who killed them was the rightful owner of all of that man's possessions. Can I trouble you for the other swordsman's name?"
His, always his.
Victor thought about it. "No. I will not tell you his name. I will tell him your story and let him decide. He declined to take the sword once, I suspect he will do so again. If you have a place, or a number, I will let him know."
Victor set the keys down (finally) and took the sword from the wall. He handed it to Tyler who held it in both hands as if it weighed 100 lbs.
"Tyler, Michaels ended here, and there is no reason for you to play out his fate seeking closure."
Tyler let out a sound that might have been a laugh, "There's more to this situation than you can understand, Victor." Tyler spoke carefully, so he didn't sound condescending.
"Things I wouldn't tell you even if I thought you could." Tyler's eyes hardened. He thought of the VW bus that had been parked outside the building, until today.
"The story gets long if I try." Tyler looked the sword over. "I'm staying at the Super Eight in Alhambra. Room 206. I'm sorry, but I don't know the phone number."
From the sword, Tyler's eyes went to the window. "Are you aware that you've got a tag on this building?"
"Somebody is always watching this building. Government, Hunters, Vampires, we are more popular than a drive-in. The fact of the matter is the government isn't the only secret organization that fights demons."
Victor sighed, "I suspect you knew that before you came here. You don't strike me as the kind of person who doesn't do his homework. We are friendly to the Men in Black here, as long as they stay friendly to us."
Tyler smirked at Victor's comments. "For the past three days, there's been a black VW Bus parked in the alley across the street. It's gone today, but that's definitely a recon job. Those men aren't friendly Victor. If they're here, they're here to kill someone and I'd wager everything I have that the target is no demon."
*I will have to tell Ian about that,* thought Victor, *He might have some better defenses we could install. I cannot hold this fort alone.*
Then Victor was struck by a thought, "Could it be they were waiting for you?"
"No. They don't know I'm in LA." Tyler glanced to the window again. "And even if they did, they'd have no reason to think I'd be here."
Tyler looked back at Victor.
"Did they know about Michaels?” Victor asked, “You found this place, why not them? Who knows how long they've known?"
"They might, but I doubt it." Tyler was frank. "If they knew he was here, they know he's dead. One of your tenants pissed them off." *And I'm going to find out who.*
"See to your tenants, Victor. And thank you for the answers."
Again, Tyler extended a hand and Victor took it warmly as he stood.
"Tyler, I hope you find what you are looking for, searching can waste a lot of time if you are looking everywhere at once. Trust me, I know. Sometimes your answers are at home."
Victor led him out of the apartment and Ian, in the back room, cried out loudly as if from a nightmare, "Vampires!"
Victor apologized, "I have to see to my friend. He had a rough night last night. Take care."
"You too." Tyler left the building at a slow walk, doing his best not to limp. His stride was far stronger, more sure, than it had been when he entered.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Who Sleeps Anymore?
September 21, 2005
12:33 AM
Club Asylum
The night air was cold and uninviting. Something in the air warned people from staying out. Not even a non-human lurked in the shadows. Much of LA's night elite was already inside the clubs, even at such an early hour. The only person outside was a gray-clad figure who stood on a rooftop across from Club Asylum. His eyes peered quietly. He stood there emotionless, not a muscle twitching. Only his hair swayed back and forth in the calm wind. His hands were clenched in fists, yet they relaxed at his sides. His head slouched forward. Kieran fit in seamlessly with the night's atmosphere.
12: 55 AM
Nobody had walked the streets until three women clad in crimson red entered the club. Two others in the same colored dress entered five minutes later, followed by a taller woman dressed in a charcoal robe and elbow-length, maroon gloves. *Well, well. Not every night I see a bird dressed in red in LA.* Kieran then edged closer to the ledge, still retaining his slouched, indifferent posture. The rain started to drip lightly. Still he did not flinch.
He stood there a while. He knew what was going to happen. Club Asylum rarely, if ever, hosted vampires. It was only a matter of time before blood would be shed. But Kieran could care less. He was not there for that.
It was ten weeks since his encounter with Estella in Colorado. It was a night he would never forget, and a night that was ended prematurely by the uttering of the mysterious ‘Damien’ and Estella flying out the window at Kieran’s hands. Kieran wondered whether Damien actually existed and whether he was just a pawn in some twisted game played by vampires? He kept telling himself that Father Aidan’s disappearance was too coincidental. Something had to give. For ten weeks he followed Estella’s trail to LA. Something told Kieran that she had a role to fulfill. Was that the reason he spared her shallow existence? There was more to it than that. He tried to deny it, but he could not hide the fact that he had developed an unwanted bond with her. She made him feel alive. Nobody had done that in years. He never felt that way that Ireland.
Kieran finally lifted his head up and crouched to his knees. *What am I doin’ here? What am I bloody chasin’? Every bloody promise I’ve made is still up in the air. Is this what I’ve become, a bloody fool who gets fed on by the undead? I’ve been in LA for three weeks and every night has been a routine. I’m already bored with the life here.* Still peering, he did not flinch when the screams erupted from the club and broke the silence of the night. Five girls frantically fled the club entrance. One of them tripped on the sidewalk and was left behind by her friends. They were too drunk to notice her. Seconds later, the six vamps calmly emerged from the club and walked into the streets.
Kieran held up his binoculars and peered into Club Asylum’s top floor bathroom. Three males slouched against the wall, their throats bleeding profusely. Nobody even knew they were. They were too stoned to even hear the music. *LA!! Heroin is so chic.* Kieran quickly climbed down the fire escape and walked along the building's windows. Away from the club. Away from the bodies. *The police’ll do their bloody job.*
1: 55 AM
Kieran never slept, but he never tired from shadowing. Matter of fact, he came to enjoy it. He rarely wandered the streets of any town during the day. It was as if he was slowly becoming one of them. His obsession was turning into a reality. The vamps were still in viewing distance. They turned onto Sunset Boulevard. *Flaunty bunch of birds aren’t they, no?* It was actually rare for vamps to wander the streets in plain view of society. But tonight was different. The air foreshadowed it. The vamps stopped walking and entered an old bookstore. *Now, now. Where’s the missus?* Kieran slowed and turned into an alley facing the bookstore. It was going to be a long night. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
2: 25 AM
Police sirens could be heard from a distance. *Took them long enough. Gotta love LA, no?* Kieran was still watching the store, even though the mahogany curtains covered most of the window. Nevertheless, he could still see the silhouettes through them and what was going on. The five vamps had the shopkeeper tied to a chair and were clearly cutting him all over, each taking turns sipping from the old man’s wounds. Kieran shifted a little.
“It’s turning you on, isn’t it?”
“Slightly. I got an itch.” Kieran turned around and stared at the charcoal-clad vamp. He blew a smoke ring into her face.
“Didn’t your mommy ever tell you smoking would kill?”
Kieran noticed the half-crooked grin. “I’m already dead, love. And don’t mention my mother ever again, no. Next time won't pretty.” Kieran did not have time to finish his threat before he held one of his throwing knives to her throat.
The vamp quietly laughed, “Irish boys amuse me. They look and preach like angels but mention their mothers and they turn into devils.”
The vamp winced in pain aloud. Kieran had pierced her shoulder with another knife. The blood trickled down the eight-inch blade. “There’s plenty more from where that came from, love,” he replied.
“Don’t kid yourself, Kieran.”
He descended the knife from her throat and stepped back, leaving the other in her shoulder. “Unnh,” she exhaled as she pulled the knife out of her flesh and dropped the blade at Kieran's feet. She pressed her long finger into her shoulder and brought it to her lips. “Tempting isn’t it? Tell me, why aren’t you in there?”
“He’s not my problem.”
“What is? What is your problem Kieran? I picked up your trail the day I left Colorado. Why are you after me? Have you reconsidered my offer?”
“No. I hate your kind.”
“Then why aren’t you in there saving the poor old bastard?”
“Like I said. He’s not my problem and I don’t have to answer any of your questions. I know you’re leading me on. That poor old bloke is just another victim. The world is full of 'em. Forget him. I know you’re wasting time. The question is, why and who for?”
At that moment, a cling was heard. The sound came from the back of the alley. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” Kieran swerved his head to the bookstore. The vamps bit into the shopkeeper's neck and then snapped it. Kieran brought his attention back to the vamp, but she was no longer there. He caught a glimpse of a man staring at him from the end of the alley. He could not make out his face in the darkness. The man started running and Kieran followed in pursuit until he reached the brick wall. The cold air was getting to him now. *Bloody Christ!* The man could not be seen any more. He'd vanished into nowhere. Kieran punched the wall out of frustration until all the joints from his hands trickled in red. His arms were raised against the wall and his head bowed in defeat. At that moment, he noticed an object that shone from the ground. Kieran picked it up and instantly dropped the item. He turned his head and looked in disbelief for anybody. Anywhere. It was the bottom half to his broken cross.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday 14th September, 2005...0647
“Bite me!”
Reah glanced briefly at the no parking sign as she strolled by it, risking the abandon of her bike to the early morning bustle of the city. It didn’t really bother her too much if it was stolen, even if she did like it. It was only a possession to her now. She’d learnt a while ago not to get attached to ‘things’ - eventually they’d take control of your life and you’d be disappointed far too easily too soon.
Besides, what she lost she could always steal right back.
*Need milk.*
Daylight had peaked the tops of buildings now, brisk morning walkers and joggers were occasionally glimpsed in the far off distance rounding a corner, crossing paths or merely pacing casually along the same street as her.
Reah smelt the air so fresh that she’d been deprived of for a long time. It still surprised her, even after being back for about two weeks now. Things had calmed down somewhat since she’d initially arrived. She hadn’t seen Buns at all, and if all went to plan she wouldn’t for a while yet either. The ‘girl/girls’ of some unknown origin hadn’t crossed her path since she’d been to The Laughing Dog either. She’d successfully managed to avoid all forms of life that knew her. A good thing! The fewer distractions to deal with, the fewer explanations that needed to be contrived. She’d had more time to get a plan of action on tackling her job.
The only thing that stood in her way at the moment was the lack of milk, and if the electronic doors decided to…
*Finally!* Reah sighed and guessed the doors had hesitated a whole second before they’d allowed her admittance into the 24 hour ‘convenience’ store that was supposedly ‘new‘. The rattling of the doors in itself was proof enough of the poor technological ‘advances’ for the time hell she was reliving every day.
She missed swift, swift was good.
The air inside the store smelt crisp, fresh… She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was just something about newly opened supermarkets that made Reah feel awake and, for some unknown reason, healthy! She’d guessed it had something to do with the fact that its pristine whiteness, smooth lino tiled flooring, and two sharp simple bold lines running the length of the walls in theme with the convenience store’s chain gave it a sense of neatness and sanitised diseaselessness.
*Lemony fresh.*
Minimal staff was on, but the warm aroma of freshly baked bread wafted tantalisingly into Reah’s nostrils tempting her towards it. Strategically placed at the opposite end of the store so she, or anyone else who entered, who were tempted by that same scent would have to pass through the rest of the shelved merchandise before reaching it.
Reah found that if you looked close at any store, never is there anything just randomly placed! Everything was money driven, even herself, and she was so tired of all of it.
The more expensive, individual size of a particular item will be placed at an easily spotted and comfortably reached location whilst the bulk buy/multipack items would be located at the very bottom, unnoticed, unless you were actually looking for them. Chocolate bars, magazines, chewy and other similar items would be located at the checkout areas for two main reasons; one - you’re standing there waiting so long to be served, tummy starts grumblin’… staring at your favourite chocolate bar…tempted, are you not? Two - annoying little brat children like chocolates, and you obviously have money, mummy or you wouldn‘t be buying all this other stuff.
Reah shook her head while loosely holding onto a milk carton in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other. She had given in -who could defy the scent of a freshly baked loaf of bread? *If anyone were to ever have a chance at taking over the entire world, they’d either have to do it using freshly baked bread, or be made of freshly baked bread!*
To avoid the other temptation at the counter, however, she took up her usual practice of studying the checkout chick. The main reason was to keep her from buying chocolate. However, the second reason, which she found after practising it for a while, was because it unnerved checkout chicks to have strange people standing there openly staring at them. If you’re intimidating enough in the right spots, their service miraculously speeds up and you’re out quicker!
*I really need to find myself another hobby! I think too much.*
After insisting that her bread and milk be put in separate bags, Reah handed a note to the girl and left with her purchase, waving off the change without glancing back.
A blast of fresh morning air hit Reah as soon as the automatic doors decided to open again. That was one thing she loved about these types of mornings. When she actually decided to wake up for them after dying the night before, she was reborn again, she felt human with the warming kiss of a new day.
So many things she’d forgotten.
Always with the sun was her life forever linked.
The clod of her boots rhythmically hitting the footpath came clearly and pointedly to her ears. She had to snap herself out of a trance from merely listening to the sound of her falling steps when she suddenly realised she’d walked a good ten metres past her bike. It was amazing how the simple everyday beat had her on the verge of dancing!
*Of all things! Dancing?* Now that was something she hadn’t done in an age.
One simple morning, no different from another, yet all these simple things of the past were reawakening themselves to her conscience. Simple, trivial things, but somehow they managed to have such great emotional effects over her.
Reah chuckled to herself, *Hmm, distracted to my death by dancing. My life and world will be defeated by a dancing, freshly baked loaf of bread.* An amused smile crept onto her face.
As she got closer to her bike, a square piece of paper trapped under the wiper came into view. Flickering loosely against its weight with the wind the tiny piece of paper lifted and slapped flat back onto the windscreen again and again to no avail.
Reah snatched the tiny piece of paper up and briefly scanned over its contents: parking fine, $200.
“Hmm, how about you piss in the general direction of off?” Scrunching up the ticket she opened her wallet and added it to the rest of her collection. “Its registration isn‘t even under my name! And if it was, you still don‘t have a postal address,” she muttered incoherently to anyone who happened to stroll past.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
"Three Is The Magic Number"
17 September 2005
6:18 P.M.
Sunny Gates Apartments, Unit 3D
Susuko-Kan stalled on a single, unmotivated "Ichi," Fate sprang to attention, neglected his usual routine of katas, and wandered the small, lightproof sanctuary that he, through the polymerized magic of opaque plastics, conjured in the empty one-bedroom place. Four figures monthly to never stain the place with evidence of his existence, hiding from the sunlight, paying the bills with the cash he saved up from his SD days (the Landlordess, a hideous termagant of a woman, liked his regular cash donation to The Welfare of Her Impersonal, Greedy Ass, and articulated her contentment with a scowl that might, under certain specific circumstances, be construed as appreciative), Fate, the Heavy Questions burning in his head like incendiary devices, his body cooking at a similarly high metabolic temperature, saying only "why?"
And why indeed?
Why God, why Life, why arbitrary definitions of Good and Evil that referred unerringly back to the first of his questions; why not just kill, why not just be as his nature demanded he be? Questions all, questions that only he in the present L.A. tense could even contemplate. L.A. read hot and kept moving--that he knew. Where, he wondered, did God mesh with L.A.'s machinery? Did the God that the faithful worshipped turn a blind eye to L.A.? Was he there and not-there, waiting for His creations to play out the hierarchies of dominance that Darwin observed, picking his existential battles, appearing to claim credit for making the world happen as it did, but cutting out when fault got assigned? Could He admire his distance from the regulation of His creatures, watching them with the disconnected eyes of a crimescene photographer, taking all the data in passively, particular tragedies and/or romances registering coolly on some Divine Scorecard, lives and essences rendered as either positive or negative values?
Fate, God, and Ishida: a Trinity of sorts, Life indivisible by whatever three-sided equation they formed, the trigonometry of incomprehensible elements, and no amount of experiential uncertainty could offer a usable variable to cleanly permutate the scalene-ness of their three points.
Terence, Mom, and Dad: three.
Blake, Ronnie, and Fate: three.
The Dark Kid, Fate, and The Tarot Reader: three.
Fate, part of several trios he couldn't whistle with, decided that the world might perhaps need a coda where it wasn't expecting one. He knew the place, feeling the dominant vibe emanating off of it like a fingerprint that he registered eidetically in his memory, and wasn't surprised at all when he saw the spraybombed name on the side of the warehouse: "Narcosis."
Mosquitoes and meat frequented the place, and Fate decided that it was time to see what that God fellow had in mind for his forgotten progeny...
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
"Honour Among Theieves"
Villa in Russia, near the Black Sea
20:17 local time
October 1
Lianna was in the middle of silently cursing her mentor for the twelfth time when things started to go wrong. “’Trust the Russians,’” she muttered mockingly while tossing the disks into the bag, “’They will give us a foothold into the underground in this area of the world.’ No fucking honour among fucking thieves, that’s the problem.” Not that the villa wasn’t nice – the rug alone must have cost them a fortune.
She took a final look around the bedroom, wondering for a moment if she could take the time to steal anything. Then she was aware that this may be the last bedroom she ever saw. It was certainly everything the guest of a wealthy crime lord would come to expect. “God damn government, won’t let you make a dishonest living anymore,” she muttered, slipping out in the hallway as she heard the sounds of the helicopters. How many were there now? Probably three to five, knowing them. No chances. As she ducked out of the room, a searchlight passed by the window.
In the hallway she saw her long time mentor there, looking stunned. The fine oak halls and the red carpet seemed a very rich place to die in… she wished she could just torch the place on the way out. But no, that was not their way, and would endanger the Order too much if they were both captured or worse in the attempt. “They’ve come for us,” said the shark-demon, blatantly stating the obvious.
*****
A group of four commanded the operation, with almost 30 regular army units under their command. All four men were dressed alike: black suits, white shirts, black ties. Each soldier had received orders in private that they were required to obey all of the orders given by these men without question. They would then forget everything that happened; they would deny everything if asked. In return, their families would be cared for.
Some things, they knew, did not change despite the end of communist rule.
The leader of this group of four was a medium-build black man with a flattop haircut. “You,” he said, pointing to the woman with him, “Take team Alpha, go in through the back. You two, make it look like a standard attack – remember, we want to flush these two to the back of the house. This crime family is being well paid, I want it to be worth the price. Now, move!”
*****
The pair were already starting down the spiral staircase when they heard the sounds of the doors being bashed in. Her mentor stopped so fast, she almost tripped over him on the way down. She beat down the urge to question the legitimacy of his parents’ lineage, despite the fact that such an insult would mean nothing to his race.
Voices speaking Russian trailed up the steps as they started back up. There would be no escape this way. Sounds of men rushing down the hallway could be heard, while a few troops waited at the bottom of the steps. That was when they saw him.
A Man in Black.
They were back up the stairs as quietly as they could go, trying to reach the other end of the hall. More guards were at the bottom of those stairs as well. There was one more set of stairs to try, which Lianna recommended… only to hear the sounds of soldiers coming up them. No doubt a black suit would be with them as well. “We’re trapped,” she said in panic.
Her mentor was lost in thought. “No, not trapped,” he replied. “Just... you remember the laundry chute?”
Lianna nodded, wondering what he was thinking. He grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his room, where the chute was located.
“You can’t fit down there…” Lianna started, suddenly realising what he was planning on doing, and all that entailed. The demon had the suitcase open, the one he never unlocked in front of her. “What the hell is that?”
“Ka-boom,” he said jestingly, picking up a small metallic case. “Explosive. Incendiary. Roast MJ12.”
“But-“
“Go! Now!” Lianna felt the demon push her back, experiencing only blackness and the feeling of the large laundry chute as she slid down it. He would doubtlessly hold off as long as he could before setting off the bomb.
She almost lost grip on the back, but quickly got to her feet and began to run out. *Survival of the fittest,* she thought ruefully. *Somehow, I doubt this is what Darwin had in mind.* Fortunately for her, there was another way out by the ground.
In the room above, the malevolent financier of the Order of Valour waited, playfully tossing a remote detonator back and forth. They would naturally be sweeping every room one at a time, making sure they didn’t miss anyone… the door opened. A Russian soldier stopped to gawk at the sight before him, and a Woman in Black aimed a gun at the demon.
The demon spoke to the pair: "Pekaboo."
Lianna instinctively ducked when the explosion sounded, before taking off running. She was very flammable, after all. Flames lept from the villa as it caught fire.
“What the hell...?” the commander of the operation said to nobody in particular. Grabbing his radio he shouted, “Get out of there! Secure the perimiter!”
Lianna picked up speed as best she could, throwing herself to the ground and thinking small thoughts as a search light came near her. Soon it passed and she was running again, trying to escape. She had to first get out of there; second, find cover before the sun came up in a few hours. Both tasks might prove difficult.
The woods were not far off, letting her breathe a small sigh of relief. Whatever deity looked out for thieves and conspirators seemed to smile on her when she found the campsite, a father and a young boy. He started to say something in Russian when she noticed the truck, and promptly ripped his throat out before drinking deeply from the boy.
It was three hours later when she used blankets tacked up around the inside of the cab to protect herself from the sunlight. Only then did she realise one crucial fact with horror.
She had just been promoted.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday September 14th 2005 around 8:00pm ***
The buzz of the microwave as it rotated around filled Reah’s ears with a gentle hum, nuking her quick ‘n’ easy meal full of ‘healthy’ radiation. It was amazing what didn’t worry you when you knew what some of the future would entail. Radiation from her microwave was a needle in one bloody big haystack by comparison.
The timer went off, reminding Reah to stop the machine and stir her meal before setting it back on the turntable and pressing continue. Reah had to keep a hold on her nose even after she closed the door, *Cheese and bacon risotto reeks way too much of vomit!*
Reah was sucking on the fork she used to stir, with its end jutting out of her mouth like a chup-a-chup when there was a sudden knock at her door. She turned back to her rotating meal, contemplating not to answer when a second, more urgent knock sounded that didn’t stop.
“Fucken’ hell, go easy. If I wanted to answer the door I would, but frankly…” she mumbled around the metallic prongs pressed against her tongue. The knocking didn’t cease. “All bloody right!”
Exasperated, Reah stalked over to her front door muttering curses under her breath.
Ian stood outside the door with the manila folder under his arm. He hadn't seen this sheila, but as far as he could tell, Victor didn't know any ugly women. He knocked again for good measure just to make sure that she was off and then he could head out to the pub. He had a feeling he had left something behind there. The door opened with a jerk.
The first thing Ian noticed was she had a fork in her mouth. It was definitely a fork because she pulled it out and pointed it right at his left eye.
The second thing he noticed was she was wearing vinyl tech pants, combat boots and a camo t-shirt.
The third thing he noticed was she was damn cute.
He smiled his charming smile, looked cool and said, "Hi, I'm Ian. You must be Reanna. Pleased to meet you."
Reah eyed the guy in front of her up and down whilst still holding the fork steadily aimed at his eye. His smile said it all - wanker - and considering he still assumed it even while a fork was being aimed at his eye… big wanker!
Reah sighed after her quick study, *Had better...* “Apparently. I can tell.” She pulled her own charming smile for the sake of sarcasm before continuing, her hold on the fork not wavering an inch.
“What do you want?”
Ian replayed all the smooth lines he could think of in his mind and none of them seemed appropriate. *Perhaps some wit would work.*
"So you gonna fork me here in the hallway, or shall we go back to your place?"
*I think my instincts are pretty damn right with this guy. And he‘s a Kiwi!* Reah smirked, she hadn’t laughed in a while, even at someone. The poor guy! Reah didn’t want to imagine the sort of chicks he was able to land.
She lowered the fork slowly and leant across the doorframe, completely blocking it from his entry and sight. “I don’t think you’d be able to keep up with me. So, after taking that into account; what do you want?” She decided to ease up somewhat on the guy considering his background was so close to home.
*Well, well a true sheila. An Aussie far from home!* Ian chuckled in spite of himself. His carefully crafted poise cracked for a moment and he smiled genuinely. He pointed at the fork and winked.
"Good on ya. Listen, I hate to bother you but Victor is still laid out and he asked me to drop this off for ya. It’s a lease or something. He said the room was in your roommate's name..."
Ian's sentence drifted off as he watched her reaction.
Reah crossed her arms, shifted her footing and shot a quick glance back into the midst of her apartment before she managed to compose herself and return back to the guy. Not hostile, but without much emotion. She uncrossed one of her hands and held it out to take the forms.
She missed Sam.
“Thanks. What did you say your name was again?” she said monotonously.
Ian shivered involuntarily at the change in temperature. One moment a warm chuckle between mates and the next it was all work and no play for Ian.
"Ian. I'm a friend of Tash's. Stopped in to keep an eye on Victor while he's recovering from the accident. I was planning to go out for a drink, care to join me?"
Ian held the folder up but didn't move it towards her outstretched hand. *The best Defence is a good Offense.*
Reah raised a slight eyebrow to that with her hand still held out. She moved her hand out slowly to take the folder herself but was foiled when Ian drew it back further. She leered at him spitefully, *I could flatten you so much!*
She let it drop. He was reasonably nice, when you got past the wankerness. Plus his being Kiwi gave her a strange warm feeling of being closer to home. It had been years since she’d met a true blue Aussie or Kiwi.
Reah sniffed. “I don’t really go out much of late,” she smirked ruefully, “but of course that doesn’t meant to say I don’t drink. I’m a bloody Aussie mate! It’s second nature!” She mimicked the stereotypical accent before her smile started to fade again slightly. “Maybe in ten years when I feel I can socialise with people on a regular basis again. Possibly even sixty.”
She held out her hand again.
Ian thought about the bottle of black label in the apartment down the hall. Brand new since he had bought it yesterday morning.
Ian also thought about the light that had lit up her face for a moment as she joked then faded back to such a sombre tone. *She needs someone like me to cheer her up.*
Ian handed over the papers and said, "Look I have a bottle of good whiskey and a night to kill. I don't need to drink with strangers I don't want to know down at the pub when I can drink with a stranger I'd like to get to know. Come on, mate, whadda ya say?"
Ian stood there feeling like a huge dag. He was going to play party games and maybe if she lightened up some he'd get lucky. *The daggy act sometimes works,* he thought.
Reah stared blankly at him. It didn’t take much effort for her to second-guess his motives, but then it wasn’t as though she was a very vulnerable person either. *Company… urch? Drink…* Reah shook her head. She couldn’t! She’d likely end up killing the guy by accident if he tried to move on her while she was pissed! But then again, after you’ve gotten pissed on a troll’s grog, you tend to handle human doses a lot better!
“It’s tempting. I bloody need a drink like no one's business! But for your safety, I think I’ll have to say no.” She chucked a glance at the manilla folder, peering at its contents.
"My safety?" Ian stood there mock indignantly, "You may hurt me while you are drinking but you will definitely hurt me if you don't." Ian grabbed at his chest, "You will break my heart for sure."
Despite herself, Reah nearly burst out laughing. “Seriously, dude! That was bad and you know it!” She didn’t refrain from hitting him with the folder. It was definitely deserved.
She eyed him suspiciously a moment longer. She knew what he was thinking and she’d be damned to let those thoughts become reality… but that drink had started singing sweet songs to her.
“Fine!” she sighed, “But don’t get any ideas. It’s mainly the drink that’s letting you…” She paused, thinking of last minute bails. “Try anything and you will be hurt! It’ll be nice though to have someone who can pick my accent as a friend.” She murmured the last. *I’m so going to regret this, but I hope not.*
*Bingo!* "You are right I deserved it, but you deserve a break too. Let me pop over and grab the bottle and I'll be right back."
Ian walked sideways down the hall not wanting to take his eyes off Reah. He stumbled once but managed to get back inside Victor's place so he could clench his fist and mouth a silent "Yes!"
He rummaged in the kitchen and found the bottle, and lifted it up in disbelief. It was only half full. He remembered buying it yesterday, but the rest of the day was a blur.
*It will have to do,* he thought. He grabbed two glasses to take with him. *Judging from the smell coming from that apartment I’ll bet she hasn't done dishes.*
The moment Ian had disappeared around the corner into his apartment, Reah ducked quickly back into her room, locking the door solidly behind her. *It’s not spring cleaning, but it definitely needs to be done before I have another living being come in here!* She darted her gaze about her lounge, picking up on the occasional varying sword or knife jutting out from under the couch. Sometimes literally out of the couch! Guns, ammo, in particular her Ares Predators and their clips she’d been studying in order to replicate them went away too along with anything else that even remotely resembled a weapon.
She was thankful for her reflexes when she finally had everything jammed into her wardrobe and had to get the door closed without anything falling out.
Back out in her lounge, finger tapping her lower lip, Reah studied her exceedingly detailed stick figure sketches of alternative deaths she’d contrived for Paul. *Probably should stash those away too…*
She was about to unlock her door when the scent of her risotto wafted over, sparking senses to re-alert its presence.
Ian was just about ready to dash back out into the hall when Victor's voice stopped him cold. *Shit.*
"Ian, did you give that stuff to Reah?"
"Yes Mother," said Ian as he slipped out the door and dashed back across the hall.
He knocked twice and grabbed the doorknob. *Locked?*
Ian pulled out his key ring and flipped a wire-like device off the large round knob and poked it into the lock. He rapidly turned a few knobs around the perimeter of the knob and was rewarded with a gentle click. He pushed the door and it didn't budge. *Deadlock too?*
"Reanna? Are you in there?" he called.
Reah stood on the opposite side of the door, risotto in hand as she watched and listened to Ian’s efforts at trying to break into her apartment. It’d take a bit to get through the lock she’d conjured for her door. She was about to open it too, just before he started.
She smirked. It was cruel, but she let him wait a bit longer before answering. “Yes, I’m here. I was just…” *Fuck… anything I say is going to sound really bad.* “Erm… killing a rat that I just saw run across the floor!” *Not my best, but it’ll do.*
Ian heard her slowly unlocking the door. *Tease,* he thought but relaxed a little; she was okay. Something about the rat story didn't sit well but Ian let it slide back into his subconscious. When she finally opened the door he could see she had straightened up. *Nobody really stacks their magazines like that except for company.*
"You didn't have to go to any trouble for me," Ian said graciously, "I wouldn't have minded... the… what is that smell?"
Reah forked up a heap of her risotto and held it casually above the bowl in her other hand. “My dinner. Problem?”
Ian's stomach growled, "No problem, just sorry I didn't eat before I came over. Of course, drinking on an empty stomach makes for a fast evening."
She didn't even have to say it before Ian held up a hand. "I know, suits you."
He plunked the glasses down on the sturdy looking table. There was a heavy couch there next to a much nicer and softer looking one. Ian sat on the hard one.
"Concrete, eh? I hear it’s making a comeback."
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Reah answered distractedly as she opened up the manilla folder to read over its contents and held out her free hand expectantly.
"So what's all this? What do I sign or read?"
Ian poured two fingers into each cup and slid one towards her. "I have no idea. I glanced at it, and it looks like a standard lease. Although Victor scribbled something on that last page."
Reah flipped the four-page document to the last page. There in Victor's flowing old-timey script handwriting was a note.
Ian muttered, "Good thing you know how to kill rats, huh?"
Reah frowned at the note. “Yeah… great!” She didn’t have to be an expert to realise that it wasn’t referring to actual rats. At least she sincerely hoped not anyway as she shot back the contents of the glass given to her.
Curiosity had taken the reins of her once again. She’d never quite been one who was able to subdue its impulse.
She held out her glass for another. When the clink of the bottle on her glass rim didn’t come when she’d expected it, her concentration was broken and she checked to see what the hold up was.
Ian was sitting there looking rather hurt for some strange reason she couldn’t quite pick till she watched him silently throw back the contents of his drink and remembered downing hers without a so much as a “cheers”!
“Shit, sorry!” she exclaimed, hiding her mouth behind the folder in a realisation of guilt, “Wasn’t thinking. Next one?”
Ian perked up some and poured two more drinks. He raised his glass, "To Australia."
Reah smiled genuinely and raised her own, “To Australia. Cheers!”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Reunions
Previously on LABN –
Bibliophile – Los Angeles
Friday, 23rd September 2005
A Few Minutes Before Midnight
Starring Victor Garber as Jack Archer
Jack Archer sat silently in the corner of the coffee shop and watched as the shop girl cleaned the glass counters and then began stacking the chairs away. It was late, already dark outside, and all the other customers had been gone for some time now. He glanced away as the woman cast him another of her not so subtle ‘hurry up and leave’ looks. However, instead of taking the hint, Jack unfolded his newspaper and continued to contemplate everything that had happened to him since he returned to Los Angeles.
Kate rolled her eyes as the man picked up his newspaper and resumed his reading. Joshua strolled out of the kitchen and leaned against the counter.
“We clear back there fo' another day. You ready to go?” he asked tiredly.
“Sure, as soon as Mr Re-fill decides to call it a night.” Kate paused for a minute, watching the older man as he read his newspaper. “You don’t know who he is do you? I’ve seen him here a lot over the past week.”
“Sure I don’t Miss,” answered Joshua, stifling a yawn. “You want me to send him on his way?”
“No. No it’s okay, I’ll do it,” insisted Kate. “You lock up the kitchen and I’ll sort things out here.” Kate handed Joshua a bunch of keys before he disappeared back into the kitchen.
Kate approached the man. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m ready to close up now. If you wouldn’t mind, we’ll be open again at…”
“Of course, of course,” mumbled Jack as he rose to his feet, knocking his paper on to the floor by accident.
Kate knelt to retrieve the paper, as she picked it up she noticed something that had fallen from between the pages. She picked it up and rose to her feet. “Here, you dropped…” Kate suddenly frowned, looking at the piece of paper in her hand, “…your photograph of me. What is this?” asked Kate, holding the photograph out to Jack. “Have you been following me? Who the hell are you!?”
Jack took the picture from Kate and quickly replaced it within his newspaper. “My name is Jack. I understand this looks bad but it’s not what it seems, I assure you.”
“Oh you assure me? You’ve been hanging around the shop, taking photos of me and you assure me that your intentions are honourable? I think you’d better go before I call the police.”
“Please Katy, you have to listen to me…”
“H-how did you know my name?” asked Kate sharply, taking a wary step back. “Look there is a hu-huge man back there, a-all I have to do is shout and he’ll come and beat the holy crap out of you… and you don’t even want to think about messing with me I-I’m stronger than I look, I can…”
“I have no desire to hurt you,” interrupted Jack. “I just need to talk. You are right about my coming here all the time. It was to see you, but it’s not what you think, and I didn’t take that photograph of you but I know who did. Katy-”
“W-why do you keep calling me that?!” shouted Kate anxiously. “How do you even know what my name is?”
“Because I-” began Jack, uncertain of how to proceed. He paced a small space of the shop in agitation. “Because… I…”
“Can I buy a vowel? Because I’m still not getting it.”
“Because… I’m… I’m your father.”
Kate looked stunned for a moment before bursting out in laughter. “Oh, yes, of course you are! Excuse me please, I should have recognised the family resemblance. You’re my father and I’m the Queen of Spain.”
Jack remained unmoved. “We need to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t,” interrupted Kate abruptly. “Now if you’ve finished giving me the Star Wars treatment, I need to close up.”
“Listen to me. Listen to me!” insisted Jack, taking hold of Kate by the shoulders. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what you’ve been told about me but I am your father. I was told you were dead, when I came looking for you and your mother the coven elders told me you were both dead. But here you are. You look just like your mother, you have her eyes.”
Kate’s expression weakened a little. “Okay, this isn’t funny any more,” she spoke softly, trying to stifle the encroaching tears. “I think it’s about time you left.”
Jack held Kate closer, looking deep into her tearful eyes. “The last time I saw you was when you were four years old, you used to wear your hair in braids… you, you had a kitten called Grimm th-that Kadee bought you for your birthday but he fell from a tree and broke his neck. I had never seen a child more distraught than you were over that cat. I remember I sat up with you all that night and we buried him in the garden and burned a torch for him, and you and your mother danced around this massive oak tree under the stars until 3am.”
“Stop it! Stop it!” cried Kate, wiping at her eyes and pulling free from Jack’s arms.
“I know about you Katy, I know how special you are. I know about your powers, I know you can read minds so you must know, you must know that I’m telling you the truth.”
Suddenly Joshua returned from the kitchen. “Sorry I was so long but some damn kids had…” he stopped abruptly as he noticed the tension in the room. He turned to Kate. Despite her efforts to hide the fact, he could tell that she had been crying. He lay a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “You okay Miss Kate?”
“I’m okay,” said Kate quietly, not looking at him. After a moment she wiped her eyes and looked up. “I’m okay Joshua.” She glanced at Jack who stood a few feet across the room from her. “I’m okay,” she said a final time. “You can go home Joshua. I’m going to stay for a while.”
As Joshua left the shop Kate sat down at a table. “Okay. I guess I have about half an hour or so before people, and by that I mean my significant other, start to wonder where I am. So let’s talk.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday September 14, 2005 around 9:30pm***
Ian sucked on the bottle mouth and stuck his tongue up inside the bottle. "There. now are you satisfied it's empty?"
Reah was watching TV and had her feet on Ian's shoulders since he was sitting on the floor facing her.
She stared at him speculatively, increasing the weight of her feet. “I thought you said it was a new bottle. Bought it yesterday. Four glasses each is hardly the enough to fill an entire bottle that size with, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled slyly as the pressure she applied continued to increase gradually.
"I... don't... know... what... happened," Ian said through gritted teeth. Finally he shoved her legs off his shoulder and rolled aside. He crouched on hands and knees and asked, "Don't you have anything here?"
Reah shook her head sadly. “I wish I did, but the whole having to socialise with people in order to get it kind of turned me away from it.” *And any supplies I had before I went away, I cleaned up as soon as I got them!* She shrugged, “What do you suggest we do my young apprentice?” She’d started drinking now, she wasn’t satisfied enough to be stopping yet.
Ian was flattered she thought he was young. "Well, master Yoda, I was thinking we might look in Victor's place and see if he has any more. Then we could look in the basem...no...there's none down there. Maybe Victor's office."
Ian's brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. He had an itch and this wasn't the time to scratch it. Or was it? "I could open some of the other places and see what else we find."
“Is that before or after Victor’s office which, may I ask, is he going to be in?” Reah said. She was willing to do whatever really, it didn’t bother her much. In fact she thought it might be fun to do something of a grog hunt. It had been a few weeks since she’d done anything requiring great stealth.
She grinned at the thought of a tipsy stealth mission.
"Victor's in bed reading some dusty old book," Ian said with disdain, "He's worse than my grandmother and she's dead. Well he's the same as my grandmother, except she's not black and doesn't walk. But she doesn't eat either!"
Ian scratched his head. "Okay, then. That means that Victor doesn't have anything in his office. I don't know anyone in this building. Who might have some spirits?"
“Hm…” Reah tapped her foot thoughtfully on the ground, waiting for some fantastic idea to jump up in her face. “To tell you the truth I don’t really know anyone else here either other than me… and sort of Tash.” She pursed her lips in consideration. “Wanna try find out who has some by random room searching?”
Ian started to giggle. Because he was trying to hold it, it came out like a series of weird hisses. Finally he just cut it loose. He grabbed Reah's hand and dragged her into the hall and made a grand gesture.
"Lady's choice tonight. Think of them as oysters. Let's find some pearls."
Reah held up a finger, motioning Ian to wait where he was while she quickly darted back into her apartment.
She soon returned with the Black Label JD bottle, chuckling at the expression of curiosity and slight worry that washed over Ian’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on bashing people over the head and stealin’ their piss. That sort of an act would be unprofessional!”
She quirked her head and gave him a smile as she lay the bottle on the hallway floor. “We’ll let fate decide!” With that she spun the bottle and stepped back.
“Hmm. Impressive for a Black Label!” Reah commented as it continued to spin with no sign of slowing down yet. But as the wait stretched out, the bottle began to slow and for a minute Reah thought she was going to have to ransack her own room!
It eventually slowed even more, and then finally stopped. Both Reah and Ian followed the line of the bottle's final decision it pointed to and peered up at the door it had chosen. “208! You know anyone who lives in that room?”
Ian shook his head. "All systems go. Watch as my hands never once leave my sleeve."
Ian palmed the key gun knob and waved his hands back and forth over the lock. He then grabbed the knob like a faith healer on crack and threw his hands back and pushed the door like a slaying of the spirit.
It silently glided open.
Ian poked his head in the doorway. It was dark inside. Ian pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. He offered one to Reah.
She held up one fingerless gloved hand and shook her head. Ian shrugged, and put on the second glove. He used his lock knob as a weak penlight and entered the room quietly.
Reah followed Ian quietly into the room. Whoever lived here had style - and good cooking skills by the smell of it. Clean too. It really put the appearance of Reah’s room in perspective when she compared it to whoever this persons was. *The show-off.*
She stepped around quietly, listening for the sound of a set of footsteps that were neither her own nor Ian’s. But for some reason in the back of her mind, she felt as though they weren’t going to be sprung unexpectedly - that they were alone.
A dinner table was nicely set up for some type of romantic dinner. The odd thing was that the flowers had started to wilt, and the candles at each side had burned right down. Which seemed extremely out of place when you took in the rest of the apartment.
Whoever lived here hadn’t been here in a few days.
*Makes my job easier!* She opened up a cupboard; finding nothing but plates she closed it again silently. You could never be too careful.
Ian was about to ask why she wasn't using a light but he caught a glimpse of her eyes as she was searching the kitchen. Her irises had opened up until there was almost no white at all, and a ghostly glow like cat's eyes glittered within. Ian blinked and shook his head. *She’s normal, She's normal. There is nothing wrong with her.* A few seconds and he began to relax a bit and almost believed it.
He had looked in all the cupboards and walked around the counter and almost tripped over the prize. "Ssst," he motioned to Reah.
Ian whispered, "Arr, matey! The treasure ship awaits."
Reah’s grin split her face in two as she took in the contents of the wine rack. “I like this person!” She smiled as she pulled out one of the six wine bottles turning the label up, her grin widened; ‘Wolf Blass Shiraz’. *Where the hell’d she score this?* “I like this person a lot!”
Reah loaded herself up with another three bottles; two more reds that were Californian, she wasn’t sure how good they were, and a white. Ian slid out the last two whites.
Ian moved to the door pocketing the knob. He held a fist up and pointed two fingers at his eyes. Then he held two fingers up towards her. His hands had said, "I will scout ahead, you wait two seconds then follow."
Ian turned the knob slowly and then opened the door wide enough to peer out. It was clear. He stepped into the hallway and made one step towards Reah's place. 1.75 seconds.
"Ian, what are you doing?"
*Victor. Fuck.*
Ian didn't look at him. He held his wine bottles in frozen mid-step. "Victor, you should be in bed. You need your rest."
Victor sounded suspicious, "It was too quiet. You and Reah were laughing like hyenas and then you suddenly stopped. I came out to investigate. Everything okay?"
Ian kept his gaze straight ahead, "Victor, do you trust me?"
Victor said "yeeees" like it was going to be followed by the words "to a point".
Ian said, "Then trust me, you don't want to know. Just let it be, it's nothing serious."
Victor turned and closed the door to his apartment. His parting words drifted out, "Don't leave your empties in the hall."
Reah peered her head out casually before moving completely into the hallway with suppressed amusement on her face. She’d noticed Victor without even needing to look around the door first. She raised an eyebrow at Ian and mouthed a silent, ‘Sprung!’
They didn’t wait any longer before re-entering her room and settling their bottles upright on the bench in the kitchen.
“I swear you near pissed and shat yourself when Victor came out,” Reah exclaimed dominantly as she dropped herself down on her ever-sinking couch, hugging the Wolf Blass bottle in her left arm.
Ian started to hum then broke out in spontaneous song...
“A bottle of white, a bottle of red
Perhaps a bottle of rosé instead
We'll get a table near the street
In our old familiar place
You and I, face to face
A bottle of red, a bottle of white
It all depends upon your appetite
I'll meet you anytime you want
In our Italian restaurant…”
Reah was cakking herself by the time he finished with a suitably dramatic flourish. He plopped down on the couch and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You were awesome, by the way!" he gushed.
Reah grinned to herself as she ripped out the cork of the Wolf Blass bottle. “I know!” She took a swig from the bottle before leaning across to fill up her glass on the table. “You kind of get that way when you spend however many years of your life mastering it.” She halted quickly and paused momentarily in the pouring of her drink. That line could have ended tragically had she continued.
Before Ian got any more ideas Reah turned to face him, propping up his topped glass. “Remember what I said earlier. I may be tipsy, but I’m not dead or weak.” She smiled, “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Ian held up his hands in surrender, "I will be a gentleman, I promish… er promise."
He accepted the glass and held it up to tink against hers, "Besides I kinda grow on you after a while. Maybe I should be the one warning you."
Reah smirked around her glass before taking a nice healthy sip of her drink. “Is that so?” She swallowed. “I can kinda scare you after a while too.” She winked and swung around slumping back into her couch’s armrest and kicking her feet so they were bent up just between her and Ian. “The trick is being able to get near me.”
Ian sat against the opposite armrest and drank deeply from the glass. The wine stained his lip slightly and he cleaned it with his pink tongue. He looked her in the eye but she could tell his mind was not looking at her. His mind was wandering.
His voice took on a dreamy quality as he quietly talked. They were soft words like a lover might use. Secrets whispered beneath the sheets. She could hear him opening something to her he rarely shared.
"Everything is a prize," he said, "There are simple worthless prizes like trinkets in a cereal box. But you still want to jam your hand into the box to retrieve them. And there are bright glittering prizes that make you drool at the thought of just touching them. Not owning them, but being privileged... graced to be in their presence. Then there are the prizes you desire. The ones you have to have. The ones you stay up night after night searching plans and schematics. Expend hours of watching and waiting. Hacking and gnawing and whittling away the layers of covering to get at the prize. There are precious few prizes like that in the world, Reah. But that’s the thing about prizes... you never know until you see what they are."
Reah sat there listening to him quietly, till turning her eyes away from his down to the warming red liquid in the glass she cupped closely. *Awfully deep and unexpected from a wanker!* she tried to amuse herself. Nothing was ever just simple like she wished it could be again.
Ian would never be able to mentally conceive what she’s been through, not to mention what she was capable of doing, which put her one big step outside of the day’s society. Even he, as a fellow thief and close relation to her own home country who thought she was cute, would most likely not want to accept the reality of what she really was and had done.
She used to love prizes, still does. But she’s living in a reality now much different to what she’d altered herself to fit into, and she couldn’t change back. As much as she wanted to let loose with her curiosity, she could only ever dream now.
Reah took another sip from the glass and sighed, “I know… but after a while, when you‘ve been through what I have, as much as you may want some of those prizes, you learn to leave them alone so you don’t risk breaking them. And I‘m not talking about just physically.” She looked back up to him. “I see things differently to you, and I don’t think you’d want to understand it.”
“No... I really don’t.” He slugged down the rest of his drink and reached for the bottle.
______
Note: The spinning of the bottle in order to choose an apartment to search was done by the role of a D6.
1= Upstairs, 2= Vic, 3= Tash, 4= Jade, 5= Reah, 6= Downstairs
Deciding how many bottles found was done by a D6 roll
Deciding on the type of wine was by a D6 roll
1= Cheap red, 2= Aussie Red, 3= California Good red, 4= California good red, 5= California good white, 6= California so-so-white
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Wednesday 14th September 2005 – 7:45pm Bremen local time
Wednesday 14th September 2005 – 10:45am LA time
Street lamps appeared as dull, disembodied balls of light through the dark tint of Valerian's limousine. Tash watched them bleakly, her thoughts dwelling on Valerian's double-play the night before. Sorrow seemed to be taking it far more pragmatically than she was. While she'd been spending the waking hours of the day fuming over the elder vampire's subterfuge, Sorrow had simply accepted that they couldn't change what was done. "At least now we know where Jade is, so it wasn't for nothing," he'd said. That, of course, had only served to fuel her anger further.
Now Tash just felt worn out.
Wrung out.
Used up.
Used.
She sighed heavily and turned her attention back to the glowing lights floating past her window.
Sorrow watched Tash gaze morosely out of the limousine’s window and shook his head as she sighed yet again. He understood Tash's pain but he didn't share it. They'd been outplayed, an event they shouldn't be that surprised at. The girl was dead and nothing they could do would change it. It was time to learn their lessons and move on, to save who they could. And for all Tash's pain at what was probably the unnecessary loss of a young woman’s life, when they'd prepared for this sortie she had still strapped on her gun.
He had never really understood Tash's attachment to that weapon. Firearms weren't that effective against vampires. Of course, against humans they were far more effective but considering how loath Tash was to take any human life the H&K seemed out of place. Sorrow wondered how Tash would cope with what was to come. Valerian seemed in no mood to be merciful and Sorrow was expecting a bloodbath. Those deaths would prey on Tash.
The limousine came to a smooth stop, interrupting the occupants’ reveries. There were no lights visible through the tint and Valerian’s voice was soft as he opened the door. "We go on foot from here."
Though the hour was still reasonably early, this section of the city was quiet. Little disturbed the squat, sullen buildings that clung to the streets. Tash thought the area fitted her mood perfectly. Grey and dreary. She trudged in Valerian's wake, only her automatic survival sense forcing her to pay attention to her surroundings. Tasting the breeze, sending out tendrils of thought to catch any hint of evil-doing in the vicinity. All she could perceive was the cold, hard knot of darkness that was Valerian and the lesser, more normal vampire-sense of Samantha.
She knew she should be more alert. The situation they were heading for was largely unknown and highly dangerous. The adrenaline should have started to kick in by now, forcing her mind and body to operate at their peak. Instead, she felt as though it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.
"Pull it together, Tash!" Sorrow's voice was quiet but urgent, "You keep this up and you'll get one or both of us killed. A state of affairs that Valerian would just love, especially if he has no hand in it." He glanced around the street and then at the two vampires who had moved slightly ahead of them. "Now focus. Other than those two is there anything else in the vicinity we should be wary of?"
Tash shot Sorrow a venomous look but softened it almost instantly. She wasn't angry at him, but at herself. But damn him for saying exactly what she'd been thinking. "No," she shook her head, "nothing. But he's so strong," she said, pointing her chin at Valerian's form, "that he acts as a block."
"Fine, stay focused Tash. I need you sharp." Well, he knew it wasn't the greatest pep talk in his life but then he didn't normally have to give them. Sorrow relaxed the constraints on his senses and the street leapt into a sharper focus. He sorted through the scents and sounds and tried to find a hint of what may lay ahead.
Moving up closer to Valerian he kept his voice low, "Are you sure this is where she is? I wouldn't want to think that girl died in vain."
Teeth flashed bright white in the gloom. "Oh, don't fret about her, dear boy. I made sure that not a drop was wasted." His smile broadened to an evil grin briefly before he continued, "And yes, my daughter is not far."
Valerian quickened his stride, forcing the humans to a near-jog to keep up. Then, abruptly he stopped and held up a hand. He tilted his face to the sky and seemed to be listening intently. Then he turned and pointed to one of the grungy structures. "There."
The building was old and grey, seemingly disused for years yet Sorrow could discern in the gloom hidden amongst the shadows a camera here and faint hum there. He smiled at Tash "Why couldn't we have brought that 'friend' of yours? Though I guess all the blood drinking might have been tough to cover. Either of you two up to bypassing a security system?" At Valerian’s blank look and Sam's silent shake of the head Sorrow sighed, "Why can't these things ever be easy? Any ideas?"
At this distance Tash couldn't make out any detail on the building, but she presumed from Valerian's sudden halt that part of this security system involved cameras. Possibly electronic trip-wires as well, and God knows what else. "Ian would have been damn handy, but yeah, he's much safer in LA. Victor will keep him out of trouble."
She turned to Sorrow and shrugged. "Unless they have a secret back entrance that's unguarded, or we can use magic to fritz their systems, I don't know. They'd recognise us from the graveyard. And they probably have systems to detect the presence of a vampire."
“Considering the amount of magic they've been throwing around I wouldn't be surprised if they'd notice us messing with the electronics. Hmmm, if stealth is impossible try boldness.” Sorrow studied the building. "Let's overload the system. We blow a few cameras, blind a few more, trigger a couple of tripwires, maybe throw an illusion or two and hope to keep them guessing as to exactly where we're coming from."
He looked at the others, "Well, it's a plan. Anybody hate it?"
“I can’t think of anything better,” Tash shrugged, “and if we get killed in the crossfire then at least we’ll have gone out in a blaze of glory, right?” At Sorrow’s look she subsided, “Ok, ok. Yeah, so long as we don’t have to break down the front door with all the alarms blaring, it could work. But maybe we should check for any possible quiet entrances. It doesn’t do to assume the whole place is as heavily guarded as this.”
"True, but let us not be naive in thinking we can stroll into this place either, Natasha." Valerian turned to Sorrow, "Put forth a little of your power Tristan but please, be subtle."
Valerian took Sam's arm and led her away into the shadows while Tash and Sorrow watched. "Subtle? Come on, let’s have a look around."
Tash grabbed Sorrow’s arm before he strode closer to the building. “Careful – I’m sure Valerian stopped here for a reason. There’s more to this place than just cameras and electronics. We don’t want to get any closer just yet – but from here I can’t see shit.” Now that Valerian had moved away, she tried once more to feel for any other presences, but felt nothing.
She shrugged at Sorrow, “All I can tell you is there aren’t any vampires or demons within half a block. Beyond that it’s anybody’s guess. You might be able to get more,” she grinned with her first indication of real mirth for the night, “so long as you’re ‘subtle’, eh?”
Sorrow's expression was anything but amused. "Fine, give me a moment." He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing and Tash felt his shields drop ever so slightly. In the past when Tash had felt Sorrow's use of power it had been hard and fast - this time it was more nebulous. It rolled from him in a faint cloud and swirled around the ward that surrounded the warehouse.
"That subtle enough for you?"
"Very nice."
Tash stared at the street, which looked entirely unchanged to her. She shifted a little at Sorrow's expectant silence. "I presume you didn't set anything off at least," she finally ventured. "We need to suss out this joint, then work out our approach. If you just found anything out, then that'll help."
She tugged on the arm she still held. "Come on, you can tell me if we get too close to whatever barrier they might have, if you know where it is now."
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Starring Edward Norton as Cameron
>>>Thursday 15th September, 2005...0045
The shrill whistle of a kettle broke out, piercing through the abandoned, lonely air of the ‘late eighties’ style kitchen located at the back of the Police Station on South First St. Alhambra. Blades on a fan rattled and sliced rhythmically and almost hypnotically, circulating a cool breeze for a short distance across the room, lifting a collation of papers that fought for a blissful release from the weight of a mug stating “Batons wait for nobody”, which held them to ground.
The whistle climbed in pitch causing an uproar from the dog kennels somewhere further within the depths of the station. It seeped, muted, through the solid oaken door and competed in vain with its now faint cry against a rerun of the game that was broadcasting on the overhead 64cm screen television - the prized possession of the station’s units.
Only one of those units now watched it while the rest of his squad had retired to their homes, toilet, front desk, or milk bar to handle the current Coke shortage situation that, left much longer, was sure to reach code blue in the next five hours. Of course, there were also the few who’d drawn the short straws and copped patrolling this afternoon.
Officer Cameron Laiko slacked back in the recently refurnished staff lounge with his feet kicked up on the new, modern low set, iron braced coffee table that he thoroughly believed to be of no practical use as a table and better used as a footstool to which he religiously persisted in doing and wouldn’t stop with anything short of a court order restriction. And even then the situation was still debatable.
Ktch hsss… Cam gulped down the precious cool liquid; his lifeline, his love, it was sure to keep him awake for as long as these long night shifts prevailed. The smooth sweet taste rolled over his tongue, filling his mouth. It crashed against the back of his throat sending an instantaneous chill throughout his body, revitalising him as it danced a soft fizzling jig down the path of his throat.
He swallowed, and with a satisfied sigh of contentment he brushed off the corners of his mouth with a thumb and forefinger.
“Here comes the kick…”
“Scoooore!”
“SCOOOOOOOOORE! JUST LOOK AT THAT PIGGY FLY!”
“I am Cam’s complete lack of enthusiasm.” Cam wasn’t sure what he thought of this new commentator that seemed to be broadcasting on every sports event now. All he knew was that he’d seen this before, he’d most likely see it again, and he‘d most likely die if he continued to watch it.
Now restless, Cam pushed himself up off the couch away from the TV, hobbling a couple of steps while the cramp loosened up in his left calf.
A faint knock came on the door before it suddenly opened up nearly slamming him flat in the face.
“Oh!” Jen, the constable unfortunate enough to cop front counter duty, jumped in surprise. A smirk crept across her face. “Sorry ‘bout that Lakers. Didn’t realise you were right there.”
Cam smothered his own, sarcastic, smile. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
Jen suppressed her chortle and nodded back to the front office. “Your dear baby sister requests an audience...”
Cam straightened with alertness. There was probably nothing wrong; she did drop in every now and then while he was working.
“…with a Constable Jones.” Her smile was incorrigible.
Cam could only raise a questioning eyebrow before shuffling past her to make his way to the front counter on the opposite side of the one way viewing bullet-proof glass.
Sure enough, his baby sister, Jack, was standing right there pressed up against the bench wiggling her butt with a keen anticipation. She paused briefly at Cam’s entrance, surprised and somewhat disappointed, but didn’t wait long before she fidgeted in some other form.
Cam pressed both knuckles into the counter and leaned over to peer down the opposite side with curiosity. Finding no one he settled back, raising an eyebrow at his sister, “So where’s Aaralyn?”
“At home,” Jack sniffed, “Casey is minding her. Quit worryin’! I made sure to flush the alligator as far down the toilet as I could get it before leaving.” She poked her tongue at him.
Cam kept his face expressionless. “Very funny. Now what’s this I hear about you looking for Jonesy?”
“Jealous?”
“Trust me, I have no ambitions towards incest relations.”
Jack smirked. “Really now?”
“Truly.” Cam returned the smile and poked his tongue back at her. “Plus I hear you have a kid, and to tell you the truth, it really turns me off!”
Jack chuckled, “You dick…”
“Hey!” Cam rubbed his forehead where a postcard suddenly frizbeed into him. “Not the face!”
“Ha! You wish! It’d be an improvement.” Jack’s grin split her face in two. A light chuckle came from behind Cam through a slight crack in the door where he’d entered the room. The sound of Jen’s hand suddenly slapping her mouth shut soon followed.
Cam, still rubbing his forehead, twisted around to look over his shoulder back at her. “Having fun are we?”
“I’m practising to be a detective!”
“Yeah, well, you suck!”
He could hear her light chuckles diminish as the door clicked shut and Jen withdrew deeper into the station. Cameron smiled at her efforts and turned back to his sister.
“So. Is he your new boyfriend?”
“No!” Jack coloured slightly. “He’s just company… goodness… being… of…. Fun company.”
Cam eyed her knowingly. “Sure. I know! I trust you! No, seriously. I do! Yup!” His head nodded actively whilst Jack stared rather unenthused back.
“…I hate you.”
A tiny thrill shivered up the back of Cam’s neck with his small victory. He sighed smiling, “I know. I’ll understand if your stuff isn’t there when I get home.”
“Uck! Shut up! If I could afford it I would move out and you know it!”
“I know. But you love me,” he grinned.
Jack tried her hardest not to let the smile creep onto her face, but only succeeded in making herself look stupid from the faces she pulled while trying to do so. “Only because you’re my brother. You’re stupid, you need me, and I have to.” She punctuated her point by sticking her tongue out again.
“You know, one day you’re going to lose that,” he nodded to her protruding tongue, “It’s so childish! And what type of example are you setting for Aaralyn?”
Jack retreated her tongue, her mouth twisted in sibling loath. “She’s not here, so it doesn’t matter.”
They both stood there just staring at each other under an unseen cloak of tension. Well, Jack at least looked ready to burst, face red, knuckles white, while Cam just stood there with the passive calm he always holds to.
“You wanted to do it didn’t you?” He spoke softly with a sly smile, unexpectedly interrupting the pause.
“Do what?”
“Stick out your tongue.” *I am Cam’s utter smugness!*
Jack made a disputing sound in her throat, “Sooo not!”
Cam stretched his neck and yawned in competition with his smile. “Whatever!” His neck finally cracked and he settled back on her. “Either way, Jones isn’t here. He called in sick. Just your luck I guess. And before you ask," he cut her off, "I'm still doing my shift tomorrow night too after taking the car for its service.
“I’ll bet the plan went something like: His shift finishes in… oh…” he made a show of checking his watch, “…fifteen minutes, and you conveniently happened to pop in and say hi at that particular moment!” He smiled.
“'Say, considering I’m off in only fifteen minutes,'” Cam mimicked Jones, “'would you mind sticking around till I get off and we could catch a coffee, wink-wink nudge-nudge, say no more.'” Cam leaned on the bench predictably, confident with his assessment and rewarded by his sister’s silently working mouth searching for a retort.
Cam transferred his weight and lent on his elbow now. “Please, you’ve lost! Don’t go having an aneurism on my account. The guilt I’d feel would be intolerable!”
Jack closed her mouth with a click from her jaw and just glared.
“But,” Cam stretched , arms fully back this time as he continued on, “since I am doing Jones’s shift, means that I’m getting off in fifteen.” He relaxed, letting his arms swing back onto the bench.
“Want a lift home?” he grinned victoriously. It was great being the big brother.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Thursday 15th September, early evening
Mantheana lay in her bath. She enjoyed her baths. Steam curled around the room, seeking gaps from which to escape, slowly and snake-like.
Maria was in the other room playing. Mantheana was tired of hearing about which doll needed what and the likes. Dolls were dolls and Mantheana had long grown out of the urge to play with them, but she humoured Maria. Children need to have something fun to believe in.
She let herself slip further under the water, the tops of her shoulders and her head being the only things above its surface. Her long brown locks swayed in the water, like mermaids hair and she exhaled deeply. Icy pale skin shimmered underneath ripples of hot water. Mantheana's eyes began to wander, and her eyelids to doze.
Suddenly she blinked them open again. The bathroom was different. Only slightly; all the furniture was in the same place, but it was different. The bath was a steel one instead of the creamy coloured ceramic Mantheana owned. The wallpaper was different. Recognisable from somewhere. She lay back in the bath and accepted her new surroundings. This was her bath. Mantheana didn't want to be disturbed.
A young woman walked in. There was something wrong with her face. It was like that of a child's, eyes oversize with lashes bigger still. A tiny nose and small pouty lips top of the porcelain-smooth skin.
"Who are you?" Mantheana found herself not altogether surprised that this lady was in the room with her.
"Alexandra. You know me."
"Oh yes. So I do." The water steamed, sending Mantheana's temperature up. "But why are you here?"
"We're just playing. I think she forgot you were here. Me too."
"Oh. Right."
"I'd watch out though. She has someone else playing too. I don't think they should be."
"Well how do we stop the game?"
"You can't. Not until she goes off and reads a book or something."
"So we can't do anything?"
"No. But it isn't bad. I like to play. Oh, I've been remembered. I have to go. Goodbye."
Alexandra walked out of the room again. Something about the way that she walked. As if not of her own accord. *Hmm.* Mantheana sank back once more into the bath.
There was a bang at the window. Mantheana forced herself to not look. In the mirror she could see a man's silhouette. It beat its fists upon the glass. It shook so much Mantheana thought it might shatter. She screamed and screamed.
Then she woke up. Maria was shaking her. She was back in her own bathroom.
"It is fine Mama. You were dreaming. There is no one at the window. I think. It is fine." Maria stroked Mantheana's long wet hair.
"I know pteetsa. I just had a bad dream. I vos like… vell I cannot remember very vell. There vos a strange girl." Mantheana rubbed her forehead. "I cannot remember. Never mind."
Maria wandered off to go and find Yasha, and Mantheana got out of the bath and dried herself off. Having a bath was never as simple as it sounded.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Thursday 15th September 2005 – 3:15am Bremen local time
Wednesday 14th September 2005 – 6:15pm LA time
The traffic noise had died down considerably, now that they were no longer in the active part of the evening. The quiet streets seemed even more desolate at this late - early? - hour. Valerian grinned at the two humans in his entourage, "I've taken the liberty of arranging for some additional distractions for our quarry." His grin widened at Tash's expected suspicious look. He gestured to the chicken feet she carried, "I assure you, dear Natasha, they are no more unsavoury than your unexpected talent."
Tash glared at Valerian. She felt no need to explain herself to this undead fiend. And she hated having to use the knowledge Ohenewaa had forced upon her. But she'd managed to find a reasonably benign method of summoning something to help their endeavour.
Their planning session had been somewhat perfunctory, but all concerned felt that time was of the essence. Tash had taken the longest to prepare, delving into the deepest recesses of her mind to wrest forth the knowledge she required. Now the feet dangled at her waist, knocking against her with every step. A lot hinged on this - if she botched it, she could well set off the very security they wished to fool.
Sorrow had probably prepared the least. He'd picked up a couple of crystals - mainly smoked quartzes - primarily to aid in obfuscation magic but he intended to expend as little power as he could. He'd also prepared Tash; the incantation to trigger Hizashi's light-burst was a simple one and it had taken only about a quarter of an hour for her to get it right. Right now Hizashi was all they had to protect themselves from Valerian, and Tash knowing Hizashi's trigger made Sorrow feel safer.
Sorrow heard the discordant tones of more vampires arriving. He looked at Tash. "Time to spoof that ward."
Tash nodded curtly and sat cross-legged on the pavement, ignoring the shivers that accompanied the arrival of Valerian's 'distractions'. She arranged the chicken feet in front of her and incanted the words that were emblazoned in her brain. The last time she'd deliberately tapped this power had been mere days after she'd received it, when it was fresh. Now it was different. It made her feel dirty. But she persevered, for Jade's sake. As she incanted the Ghanese words softly her voice grew huskier, more like that of the old crone whose memory this was.
A few tendrils of mist coalesced from the dark corners of the street. They merged, growing thicker and more numerous, until a fog rolled down the road towards the building they faced. The mist passed harmlessly through the boundary Sorrow had indicated, obscuring the whole block with a grey curtain. Tash finished reciting and shuddered, knowing the more potent uses to which Ohenewaa had put that ritual. She touched the feet with one finger, watching almost dispassionately as they crumbled to dust.
A gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to herself, and she smiled briefly at Sorrow before she rose smoothly and automatically checked her weapons. "Right," she said, "let's go."
They glided through the opalescent fog to reach the side of the building. Somewhere to their left Sorrow could hear the muffled sounds of Valerian's reinforcements making their commotion. They reached the fire escape without incident and as Sorrow jumped to grab the ladder, Tash and Sam kept a wary eye on the fog around them. Valerian, though, stood unconcerned as if he were merely out for a stroll. Sorrow led the way up the creaking stairwell just as the sound of gunfire reached them through the fog.
The roof was clear of the obscuring mist and Sorrow quickly spied out a couple of skylights. With no idea of the internal layout of the warehouse they'd decided to stick together during the attack so the four of them made their way to the rearmost skylight.
The gunfire from the street below was more sporadic now, but Sorrow could sense at least one, possibly two, of the vampires had already been destroyed. *Well, no regrets there.*
As Sam fiddled with the catch on the panel Sorrow reached back and drew his sword. She shied back momentarily from the light before realising it was too diffuse to harm her. Tash was struck by the similarity of Valerian and Sorrow's smiles at that movement. The glass swung aside and below was a drop of at least fifteen feet illuminated by the occasional flash of gunfire. Valerian stepped into empty air and soundlessly dropped to the ground. Sam followed moments later.
Tash grimaced at Sorrow. "Bloody show-offs," she muttered before making a more careful descent, lowering herself through the skylight first to minimise the drop. Landing lightly on her feet she surveyed her surroundings while waiting for Sorrow. So far it looked like an ordinary office. Filing cabinets lined one wall, a slightly battered desk occupied a corner of the room and a couple of potted palms wilted along the far wall.
One set of footsteps sounded in the hall outside, and Tash opened her mouth to protest as Valerian casually opened the door. She closed her mouth with a snap as moments later an obviously mesmerised guard followed Valerian, puppy-like, into the room. Sam's fangs grew and she licked her lips, but her sire glared at her. "No time for that, Samantha. Later, perhaps. For now only Jadyn matters."
Now that they were inside the barrier, Valerian's sense of Jadyn leapt to the foreground. He'd been concentrating on feeling it out for so long now that for a second it almost overwhelmed him. "Come," he said to the others, "we must go down. She is below us."
Sorrow's face set determinedly. "Better lead the way, then," he said. The regular popping of gunfire had dropped off considerably now, as had the tone of vampires from the front. *Pretty even match, then,* he thought. *Good.*
Tash stared at the vacant eyes of the mesmerised guard for a moment, her guts churning at the thought that Valerian had made her into exactly that sort of... "Zombie," she whispered aloud. Casting a last regretful look at the man, she drew her own gun and followed the two vampires and Sorrow down the deserted hallway. She had a nasty feeling they would find only humans in this place, but there were always Valerian's scratch troops to consider.
The corridor was lit by Sorrow’s blade and the occasional flash of gunfire, and led into the main space of the warehouse. It was piled with boxes, leaving only narrow lanes between them. As Sorrow and Sam looked cautiously out into the area, the stuttering sound of a submachine gun came from above and to the right of them. The gun stitched a line of bullet holes across the opening of the corridor. Bullet holes that smoked and burned.
Both Sam and Sorrow jerked back into cover as the guard fired. *Thank god the Imperial Storm Trooper Academy is still running.* “Valerian, how close do you have to be to work that mesmeric shit of yours?”
“Ten or fifteen feet, Tristan.”
Sorrow looked at Sam and shook his head. “That’s not going to work. That gangway was two, maybe three times that.”
“Sheathe your sword, Tristan. If he cannot see I doubt he will be able to aim his weapon.”
As Sorrow slipped Hizashi back into its scabbard, Valerian raised his hands and absolute darkness engulfed the warehouse. There was a whisper of sound and both Sorrow and Tash felt Valerian’s presence vanish from their senses. The supernatural darkness fled moments later and Valerian’s mocking voice called out, “You can come out.”
The dim light seemed unnaturally bright after that inky blackness, and Tash had to blink several times to clear her vision. Her gun held at the ready, she peered cautiously around the corner but the gunner was no longer concerned with shooting at them. Sam shot a smug grin at Tash as she swept past to advance on Valerian's position with the guard. Tash bristled and muttered to Sorrow as he drew level with her, "I really, really hate those two."
A grunt was all she received in reply as Sorrow followed in Sam's wake. Tash took up the rear, her senses alert. The sounds of battle had degenerated to snarls and shouts - it seemed the remaining vampires had managed to reach hand-to-hand range with the surviving guards. Wet, tearing sounds that she knew all too well echoed around the warehouse and Tash fought down her queasiness. No human deserved to die like that. No one.
Focusing her attention in front of her, she saw Valerian pass his hand in front of the eyes of the guard he'd just enthralled. The man's submachine gun was dangling uselessly from his fingers, and at Valerian's movement he slumped to the ground in a similar attitude to the one they'd left behind in the office.
Valerian turned with a smile. "This way, I believe," he said as he strode deeper into the building.
Tash shrugged at Sorrow and said, "After you - he seems to know where we're going."
While Valerian's borrowed minions played cat and mouse with the remaining guards the elder vampire lead them to a steel doorway near the back of the building. Inserting a keycard into the appropriate slot Valerian smiled at the others as the door slid open to reveal a stairwell leading down. A single red light illuminated the steps and the four of them descended into the gloom. About halfway down they heard the sound of a woman's voice chanting.
"Ah, our irritating magic user." Valerian moved but his peculiar gliding rush came to a halt at the next landing as a faint shimmering in the air held him immobile. Sorrow, Tash and Sam had followed more cautiously and saw Valerian struggling like a fly caught in a web.
"It won't hold forever, witch."
"It'll hold you long enough." The woman raised what looked to be a flare gun, "Did you really think you could just waltz in here like you owned the place?"
Valerian stood with what dignity he could muster in this undignified position, and from her vantage point Tash had to concede that even so he maintained considerable poise. He lifted his chin and fire blazed in his dark eyes. "And do you really think I am that easy to destroy, foolish woman?"
The mage faltered for a second, but she kept the flare gun trained on Valerian's chest. The doubt Valerian raised in her mind died out even before it had fully formed. "Yes, I think you are, vampire," she hissed.
Behind Valerian, consternation ruled on the stairway. Sam hissed at Sorrow, "Do something. Without him you won't get to your precious girlfriend."
Sorrow made a helpless gesture. He had no ranged weapons. Tash gazed at the gun in her hand, then looked past Valerian's shoulder at the woman below him, behind that trap. Valerian's words had rung false to her ears. The little emotional information she could divine from the aura of the undead was still enough to tell her that Valerian truly feared for his existence.
Damn. What a choice. Let Valerian die - all well and good except that Sam was right, they did need him.
Or kill a human.
"Shit."
She braced the gun, pointing it directly at the woman's head. "You might get to fire that thing at him before I shoot you," she growled at the mage, "but either way you'll still be dead and we'll still be coming in." She switched on a smile, then killed it almost as fast. "Or you could put the flare down and lower that barrier," she offered.
"Live or die," she shrugged, "Without him you're not getting what you came for." She started to squeeze the trigger.
*Stupid fucking bitch!* Tash wasn’t sure if the words that ran through her head were directed at the witch or at herself. She mustered all her resolve and squeezed her own trigger.
Then the world slowed down. The boom resounded in her ears for minutes, it seemed, and she watched as the woman’s forearm exploded in a spray of blood and bone. The mess splattered along the wall of the stairwell and the flare gun clattered to the steps, part of the hand still attached to it. The mage simply stared in shock, her arm held out in front of her still in its firing position. It ended at the wrist, a shiny, jagged piece of bone jutting from the end and bright red arterial blood shooting in a giant arc.
Valerian stumbled slightly as the magic that had ensnared him gave way with the loss of the mage’s concentration. He nodded appreciatively at Tash. “Excellent shot, Natasha,” he said.
Tash simply looked at him in disgust. “I was aiming for her head,” she muttered. The loathing she felt for this creature had just intensified a hundred-fold now that she’d been forced into such action merely to save his miserable hide.
Sorrow looked at Tash, then the woman and finally at Valerian. Grimly he spoke, "Lead on, Valerian, and a little more caution might be in order. I'm not sure I'd have made that choice."
Valerian, Sam and Sorrow continued down the stairwell as Tash knelt by the fallen, screaming woman and did what she could to see that she survived.
It was bad. The woman’s agony cut through her shields like a hot knife through butter. But Tash had no time to dwell on it, nor on the fact that she’d been the instrument of this devastation. The screams soon subsided to whimpers as shock set in from the blood loss, and Tash worked frantically to staunch the flow before the mage weakened too much. Soon the woman was reclining on the stairs in as close to the coma position as Tash could manage on the uneven surface. The shattered limb was padded and bound with wads and strips of cloth torn from the witch’s clothing and Tash stood back, watching her eyelids droop and flutter.
Right now there was nothing more Tash could do for the maimed woman. She repeated that to herself firmly a couple more times before she retrieved the flare gun the mage had carried, peeling away the grisly remnants of fingers that still gripped it. She bit her lip, breathed in deeply once, and turned her back on the mage to descend the stairs after the others.
They reached the bottom of the stairs to find a single security door. Unlike the one above there was no slot for a card, no keyhole - just a blank piece of metal set in a similarly constructed doorframe. Above the door was a single camera, its electronic eye scanning the area.
Sorrow looked over the door then glanced to Valerian and thought, *Come on Valerian, you're the only one getting us past this thing. Waste a little more of your power.* Sorrow drew his blade. The light wouldn't harm the vampire at this distance but it was a distraction and might cause Valerian to use a little more power. Sorrow wondered how much fighting that woman’s barrier had cost the elder, not to mention the darkness spell and a couple of mesmerisms. It probably didn't matter of course - if the vampire felt at risk he'd feed. There were enough live bodies around for that.
A booming concussion interrupted Sorrow's thoughts. Valerian stood before the camera with one hand clenched and the door itself was crumpled as if a giant’s fist had struck it. Valerian raised his other hand and the boom sounded out again. The metal crumpled further before it was driven off its hinges all together. As the echoes died Valerian strode majestically into the room beyond.
Tash's voice sounded in Sorrow's ear, "I get the feeling he's got past the subtle approach stage."
Sorrow turned to see Tash descending the last stair, blood smeared over her body and covering her hands almost completely. "You ok?" he asked quietly.
Tash's eyes clouded for an instant before she banished the vision that haunted her. "I've got other things to focus on right now," she replied equally quietly, "I'll deal with it when this is over." Squaring her shoulders, she stepped through the doorway after the retreating forms of the two vampires.
Sorrow followed behind Tash and smiled when he saw the flare gun. As a reminder of Valerian's mortality it would be very useful. Beyond the door was a corridor. The occasional beep of some electronic equipment sounded from its far end. Valerian and Sam moved down the corridor with Tash and Sorrow behind.
The stream of water that shot down the corridor was nearly invisible in the dim light but it caught both the vampires. Some of the water splashed the two humans but for them it was merely water - the effect on the vampires was far more dramatic. Valerian roared in pain as his flesh bubbled and smoked at the blessed liquid’s contact. His demonic visage came forward and he ripped the sodden clothing from his upper body. Reverting to a more primal atavistic response he surged down the corridor. Sam, on the other hand, merely whimpered as the water ate at her flesh. She slid to one side and pulled weakly at her soaked jacket that trapped the holy water next to her skin.
Tash barely spared Sam a glance as she and Sorrow broke into a jog after Valerian. Even the part of her that abhorred needless suffering remained quiescent - quite frankly, she didn't care what happened to the young vampire. Hizashi glowed softly beside her and she grimaced, patted her holstered gun and hoped that she wouldn't regret putting it away.
Violent movement drew her eyes to the end of the corridor. Through the gloom and the steam of boiling vampire, Tash could make out Valerian roaring wordlessly as he wrenched the head of a man carrying a large water pistol with enough force to tear the flesh on one side. The body fell to the ground, its head lolling half detached. Maddened by the pain, Valerian roared again and leapt over the bleeding corpse before whirling at the sound behind him. Tash and Sorrow slowed at the visage of a furious, agonised Valerian in full demon face.
Valerian whirled back again as two men stood and levelled weapons at the vampire. Valerian leapt at them, and before they could register his attack Valerian backhanded one across the room then thrust his hand into the chest of the other. With a roar that failed to cover the wet sucking pop, Valerian ripped the man’s heart out of his chest. The heart quivered in the vampire's hand. Valerian slowly crushed the heart in his fist and gazed around the room. His searching eyes alighted on two young men who lay huddled against one wall. He advanced then stopped and cocked his head.
He turned back to Sorrow and Tash. "They will pay, pay in blood for what they have done, for the harm they have done my childe, for taking my daughter and for the pain they have caused me. You and your foolish morality - your paltry spells will not stop me." He turned his back on the two hunters and approached the huddled humans.
Tash jerked forward on reflex, grabbing for a stake and a vial of holy water as the vampire reached for the first of his two victims. A strong hand rested on her arm, stopping her forward momentum and she turned, half angry and half surprised at the impediment. Sorrow gazed back at her calmly, one eyebrow cocked. The message was clear enough, but Tash jerked her arm free anyway.
The delay had been enough, though. It was too late.
The first died without a sound as Valerian sank his fangs deep into the man’s throat and drank down his blood in one long draught. The second man struggled but never really stood a chance. Held by Valerian’s still-considerable power he too was drained to death in moments.
"Is that my fate then?" a man spoke from the shadows. Backed against the wall, he held a pistol in his right hand and a small red dot hovered over where Valerian’s heart would be.
With fresh blood coursing through him, Valerian felt every sinew singing. The pain was already subsiding and he could feel his power replenishing itself with the glorious infusion of life. He stared with disdain at the nondescript man before him.
"Somehow I thought the man who could steal my daughter would be more imposing," he said, his voice dripping honey, "but you're so... ordinary. I'm a little disappointed, really." Valerian leaned forward. "I can smell your fear, human," he hissed.
Tash stood on the periphery, barely daring to breathe. In many ways, she'd be happy if this guy simply took Valerian out here and now... but she wasn't sure she and Sorrow alone could withstand whatever defences still awaited them.
The man pulled the trigger, but Valerian - full of life and power - merely twisted out of the way. In the blink of an eye Valerian stood before the man, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other crushing the hand that held the gun. "Tell your master, Gemmel, that my daughter is not his path to power and immortality and should he try again I will rain hellfire and destruction on everything he holds dear."
Valerian released Gemmel and stepped back. The man fell to his knees clutching his mangled hand. "Go, worm! Get out of my sight before I change my mind."
Gemmel stumbled past the vampire and moved towards the entrance to the corridor. As he passed Sorrow and Tash, Sorrow caught his arm. "If you go anywhere near Jade again I'll carve your skin from your bones with fragments of black glass. Are we clear?"
"Yes."
"Tristan, stop delaying my messenger boy and go rescue Jadyn. She's through there." Valerian pointed to a small doorway in the far wall. "Be wary, there are traps."
Despair
Wednesday, 14th September 2005 - 6pm LA time
Thursday, 15th September 2005 - 3am Bremen local time
Her strength was fading. The hunger that had been tormenting her was finally taking over, leaving her limbs as lifeless as a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Her mind, however, was painfully alert, tormenting her with replays of her vision. The taste of blood refused to leave her mouth; she had been desperate enough to twist her head to the side and lap at the water beneath her, but her efforts at rinsing her mouth were in vain. All she managed to do was to add a stale layer of her own sweat and waste to the blood's coppery tang, the vileness of it making her retch again and again.
Till now, she had fought with every ounce of her being to stay alive, to stay sane. She had refused to give in to the unknown horrors of her surroundings, the overwhelming shame she had felt when she realised she was nude or the shattering despair the vision of Valerian had caused.
But a person's mind could only take so much. Hour by hour, the unknown horrors within and beyond her pitch black prison began to take its toll... Hope began to die and despair began to take its place. It bloomed black within her soul, spreading outward till it encompassed her entire being, till the prospect of facing even a second more of nothing but the tortured images in her mind was more than she could bear.
"No," she croaked. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the dried blood from where they had cracked. "Nooooooooo..." The word was a drawn out wail of pure agony...
Jade... Within the tank...
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Monday 19th September, 2005...2314
Reah strolled casually along, giving no sign that she knew someone was attempting to follow behind her. They really were doing a pretty good job! She hadn’t heard the person once! Unfortunately for them, like everyone else, the ability to hide their body heat was an extra feat they would yet need to accomplish if they wanted a better chance of hiding their presence from her… and it seemed very unlikely to happen. No one expects any human to be able to see heat signatures.
She figured panicking would only alert the stalker, plus she had the ups anyway of being able to see where they were even in the pitch-blackness of the rundown street.
Truth was they didn’t worry her at all… that much. All she was really worrying about at the moment was finding those harder, extremely faint heat signatures given off by vampires from the mere friction they build up when active. Occasionally she missed them altogether and only spotted them when they came into view of her backup vision. She didn’t know whether she hated or liked that fact. Surprise can make battles that little bit more interesting and fun, even if it was she who was the surprised one!
Like any regular person wandering the streets and taking in their surroundings, Reah took a slow casual glance to the worn buildings on the opposite side of the road, then relied on her peripheral vision to let her see if she was still being followed.
After a moment she finally spotted them again. They’d moved from where they initially were.
Reah smirked knowingly and went back about her business aware that she’d have to be careful when particular subjects appeared for her favourite nightly sport. Best thing about it was there were no fees attached to it either, unlike her dancing from quite a while ago. But she was thinking of possibly taking it up again too despite the cost! It’d be a small price to pay for an old memory.
Up ahead another person, not vampire, briskly rounded a corner and continued on up her street in the same direction.
Reah grinned. She remembered a couple of years ago when she had to rely on her instincts to be able to tell who was and who wasn’t a vampire. She felt a lot better now having the safeguard of her advanced vision to eliminate the chances of killing a human… by accident. Accidents were bad, they were also otherwise known as innocents. *Like my parents…*
Over the past couple of years though, when she’d come around finally to the knowledge that she had no chance of avenging them, she’d been able to concentrate on why! Why were they killed? It wasn’t as though they were just innocents wondering the street! They were ambushed in their own home!
Reah loved her parents to the grave, and on! No matter what. But her suspicion had been roused. They had to have been dealing with something in order to get that sort of attention. Though Reah knew she couldn’t point fingers at them, not after everything she’d done. Working with the sort of people she had been and doing the jobs that they were offered had definitely left its mark on Reah.
Nothing was ever black and white! The supernatural beings are no more different than the natural beings. They all have goals, flaws, secrets, desires. It all just depended on who you were and how you viewed it that made it evil, neutral or good.
Nothing was nearly ever as it seemed, and if it was, you could never safely assume; you have to find out first.
Assumptions were bad - at least that was how Reah viewed it. If you only scratched the surface, then you’d be as ignorant of the truth as the child next to you.
Reah sighed. Another thing she didn’t know whether she liked or hated was the world and how it worked. It had her on the edge everyday now, especially here in this day and age. She wasn’t ‘normal’ to what others expected, and therefore always had to be careful of whom she talked to and what she said.
She hated it because being suspicious and aware was an essential, yet showing it was a big no-no. Proof of her need to be cautious was possibly walking right behind her! *But who knows? Maybe they only want to kill me and steal my cash!* She grinned cynically as the person ahead of her rounded the other end of the block ten metres away.
*Ten metres? I’m not walking that fast am I?* She shrugged and did another peripheral glance of her follower who apparently wasn’t losing pace on her themselves… apart from slowing down a tad when she made her glance.
Gunshot suddenly whipped Reah’s head back around to the corner where the person had disappeared.
She sprang forward, sprinting to reach the corner when a second shot was fired, reaching it on the third.
Stilling herself in the shadows provided by the corner, she watched as the shooter stood over the person's body, aimed, then unloaded the fourth case dead between the eyes and steadied for a fifth.
“Hey!” Pissed off and disgusted Reah leapt into action to try and run down the shooter, diving for cover as the fifth shot flew past her ear and ricocheted off the brick wall on the opposite side of the street behind her.
Reah looked up in time to see the shooter sprinting off in the opposite direction, her beaded hair clicking erratically. Reah then noticed a couple of other people further ahead who were watching slip around the corner with great flight. The heavy fall of multiple boots crunching and scraping the ground faded deeper into the streets.
Reah’s own boots scraped on the ground as she tried to keep her footing, taking off from the ground into a scurried run toward the dead person, slowing to an eventual stop as she got closer to the mess before her. Mentally she checked when she’d had her last meal as her stomach clenched and twisted in rile and sickness.
“Bloody assholes.” Reah glared at the corner and started in a dash after the offenders when soft voices started up behind her around the body.
“Aww, he all tuckered out!”
“He ain’t tuckered out. He dead!”
“You don’t say-”
“I haaate ones that are spoilt on the ground!”
“No one's tellin' ya to eat et!”
“Who said no one?”
“Oh shut up you fu-”
“There’s a perfectly devine one over there.”
“-steaming pile of… huh? Oh! Hehe.”
“My god! You’re meaning to say you didn’t even notice?”
“Shut up!”
“Please do, all of you!”
Reah turned slowly back to take in the scene of four very faint heat-emanating beings. One rubbing its temples and looking like it was turned during a nineteen sixties mardi gras, another held a stake to some smelly looking other's head, and the fourth just grinned smugly at Reah.
Mentally, Reah cursed. There was no point in continuing to chase after the shooter and whoever those other people were, the vampires would just chase after her and make tracking too difficult… not to mention possibly kill her, which to tell the truth she didn’t really feel in the mood for today. At least this way she was prepared.
“Four's a bit unfair don’t you think?” Reah started up in order to delay the inevitable fight a bit longer while she conjured up a basic plan of attack in her head.
“Four?” The vampire with the stake being held to his head started up before the smug vampiress could get a word out of her mouth. “Duh! Der’s five of us! What about me?”
Reah just stared at the half-wit vampire before turning, uninspired, back to the formally grinning vampiress. “You didn’t seriously sire that guy?”
“Uch, long story. He’s my sire’s favourite cousin…” She paused to stare depressingly at the poor excuse for a vampire. “But that’s all beside the point.”
Reah nodded. “I know… I could have a go at eliminating him for you! Half price! We come to you.”
“Hey!”
The vampiress smiled as Reah’s charge started to close the distance fast. “Be my guest.”
“HEY!”
Reah impacted hard into the vampire, knocking him flat to the ground where he turned around and flipped her right back off, reversing the situation, slamming Reah’s head limply into the gutter with a loud crack and he delivered a solid punch across her jaw line, her teeth cutting the soft flesh of her inner mouth, giving her a pounding headache.
Blindly Reah grasped for the vampire with her free hand. Catching something of familiarity, she dug her fingers into his flesh causing a gurgled scream as she forced his only grip off her with her other arm and tore at the same time. Blood splattered her before she could avoid it and there was a loud snap she both heard and felt with her grip as the vampire diminished to dust.
A quick roll to the side left her free of a down falling, platform boot as two of the other vampires jumped up at the other's demise.
“You just tore out the throat of my sire’s favourite cousin!” The now bemused vampiress sounded up over the scuffing and blows being carried out between Reah and her opponents, fending and attacking. “I’ll have to kill you now for that.”
“Go ahead!” Reah yelled over the top of concentration as she slashed at the flamboyant vampire with a knife she’d drawn out of her boot. “But you owe me a hundred bucks for it too! AARRRGG!” she cried out as her attention was now being stretched three ways on hand to hand.
*Really wish I didn’t,* Elbow, kick, slam, “Oof!” Head-butt, *leave my fucking katana and sword at home!* Flip, spin, roundhouse, counter, block, thrown… *One of my guns might have been helpful too!* “Shit!”
Reah ducked, allowing a heavy foot fly over her head and followed through with a low kick of her own knocking the back of their knees, forcing them to commit to the ground as she blocked another blow that was flying towards her head, she forced the downed vampire fully to the ground with a punctuated boot in the back of his colourful head knocking him out cold.
The vampiress suddenly jumped up into Reah’s personal space and grabbed at her throat, squeezing tighter whilst the other conscious vampire reversed Reah’s and his own grips on each other’s arm and twisted hers up high behind her back, forcing her onto her toes. It felt like her arm was being torn out of her socket while her throat strained not to turn to jelly. Every muscle in her body was working to its fullest and straining for that extra bit.
Reah tried slashing the vampiress' face with the knife she still had a tight grip on, but had her flashing hand stopped short by the vampiress' free hand that flew up just that little bit quicker from that advantage of not being choked and mutilated. She forcefully twisted Reah’s wrist around, unlocking her fingers and dropping the large blade with a vibrating clang that filled her ears as it hit the ground.
With her vision growing weak and the black clouds that were all too familiar filling them once again, Reah struggled and strained to no avail. Her muscles were still working at full strength, but she could feel them wanting to give up, *Mind over matter!* They’d have given up a long time ago from now, if she hadn’t had the advantages she was equipped with only just a couple of years ago. Her blood would already be cooling down in these vampires’ bodies while they searched for their next feed.
The situation kept building upon itself and it wasn’t looking any brighter. Her mind rushed with multiple ideas for escape; unfortunately all the ones she wanted to use she also knew would fail.
*Stalker or no stalker, I’ll fucking deal with them later. So much for the bloody plan!*
With that, the blades in her arm being twisted behind her back shot out, “FECK!“…expectedly shocking the vampire that was holding her.
Tearing her now blissfully free arm around from behind Reah brought it flying down in a glimmering flash across the vampiress' face, causing her to throw her head back screaming over Reah’s gasp at the searing pain that penetrated her now ruined face, part of which was now on Reah’s blades.
Giving a moment for her vision to regain its clarity, Reah simply breathed.
Rubbing her throat as she flicked the remains of a twisted face off her blades, she turned her head to take in the vampire that had held her and was now streaking back towards her, legs pumping at full speed. Reah braced herself, pacing the impact.
Time seemed to drag out before her moment to finally make the move up for her counter attack, and in the space of a flickering eye she stepped into a solid couple of dashed strides that led into her leap. They met each other halfway, Reah’s foot landing like a concrete wall in his chest, and as her second assault whipped around and there was a sudden snap unheard by Reah over the blood pumping in her ears as her foot cracked hard into his temple, twisting his head backwards.
She landed swiftly before the vampire had its chance to burst into dust, with her left knee turned in to absorb most of the impact. As she slowly straitened back up Reah caught a stake that suddenly fell into her grasp unexpectedly.
“Hm! Convenient!” Reah croaked and turned her gaze over to the still settling dust. “Thanks!”
“Rrrrrg, ohh… aarrr….”
Reah’s attention turned back to the squirming vampiress before her clutching the whole of what was left of her face, and judging by what Reah had flicked off her blades, it wasn’t much! When she remembered the feel that the blades brought back from the carving, she wouldn’t be surprised if she split skull! Reah couldn’t imagine what it must feel like. She guessed it was something like being scalped… only it was your face... *Come to think of it, I don’t really want to think of it!* Death was interesting when Reah meditated on it, but on that final brink she remembered that she actually didn’t feel much at all!
The vampiress wasn’t going to die from this scrape.
Reah’s main reason now for finishing off the vampiress was not for victory, more out of sympathy. But out of respect from one fighter to another though, she wasn’t going to show it.
A few casual strides saw Reah at the vampire’s side where she then crouched. “Thanks for crushing my throat bitch, now I can’t fucken eat!” she croaked and thrust her hand into the vampiress' coat, jumping back as the vampiress suddenly lashed out leaving long deep scratch marks on Reah’s arm. “Piss off! I’m taking your wallet too.”
The vampire chuckled mirthfully from under her masking hands. “You humans are so petty.”
“You vampires seem to look better without faces.”
“Yeah? Well it FUCKEN HURTS!”
“Good! That makes me feel even better about leaving you then!” Reah made her voice sound genuinely delighted as she scraped her foot along the ground to bring it up beneath herself to get a push up for standing when the vampiress' hand suddenly flew out and grabbed the one of Reah’s that still clutched the stake, her face fully revealed.
The vampiress forced Reah to stare back at her one bulging eye that had no partner staring out of a near skinless face aside from the small portions that still clung to their place. And she was right - she had touched skull. Not a muscle tweaked in Reah at the sight of the dishevelled face. It really made her want to turn over her meals for the past year!
The thing… smiled! As much as it could anyway, lacking some of the necessary muscles. “You’re not getting this one.”
Those were her last words as she forced the stake down into the depths of her heart.
A small smile pulled at the corner of Reah’s mouth after the vampiress disintegrated to dust. One of the only beings she could reveal herself in front of… the ones she went out to hunt. She found her comforts in the strangest places now, that she would never have dreamed of in her past.
A moan brought her attention back around to the last vampire who was still very much alive and coming back to consciousness. Reah strode over to him and rolled him gently onto his back with her foot.
“Your buddies have all gone.”
“They wha? Huh?” He shook his colourful throbbing head, confused.
“I’ve got directions if you want them?”
“Mmyeah, whatever. What are they?”
“Here.” Reah practised with the stake as a dart, hitting dead centre in the vampire’s chest.
“Oh! Tha… ah, fu…”
Reah turned away from the decaying vampire and stepped up to start searching out her stalker. They had to still be hanging around.
She hadn’t gone two steps when a stream of wailing cars suddenly streaked around the corner into the scene skidding to a stop in the semi-circular trapping formation. Bright flashing red and blue lights illuminated the area as doors kicked open and suddenly about four guns and a rifle were being aimed right at her head.
“Put your hands up in the air!”
*Shit. A. Brick.*
Sam returns to the fold
*** Monday, September 19, 2005 early afternoon***
Sam stood in front of the building, feeling awkward and unsure. This was the place, a place he knew, and yet he’d never been there before. Sam clutched tightly to his chest the book. The vampire, that young female with the angry eyes, had given it to him after that party his boss and all those other people had gone to. It seemed like a very long time ago, when there had been a party, when he had been Sam; before Sam had gotten lost. Sam remembered that something had happened to him, something bad, or at least something he hadn’t wanted to happen. He felt alone, and knew that he’d been away for far too long. Sam couldn’t feel Mother anymore. That scared him. So he’d come here. Once, Mother had told him he could always come here, he could always come Home.
A man in a red robe stepped out of the door at the top of the steps and stopped, to stare at Sam. Sam felt like running away, but he knew Mother was here. She’d promised to always be there for him. And she’d taught him many things, important things.
“Who are you?” Brother Marcus asked. The man standing at the bottom of the stairs looked quite ragged, as if he’d been through some trying times. Still, he seemed familiar somehow. This must be one of The Brotherhood, newly arrived. The newest disciples always looked like that, lost and scared, but full of hope.
“I… I’m Sam,” Sam struggled not to stumble on his words. “I’ve come looking for Mother.”
Brother Marcus’ eyebrows shot up at the pronouncement. This was Sam? Mother Mariah had called this man the “perfect son.” He was to be the High Priest, The Crimson Brotherhood’s First Acolyte. This man was to take Brother Wyatt’s place. It didn’t seem possible. Brother Wyatt had been so strong and powerful. This guy was dirty and disheveled. He was painfully thin. He seemed to be shying away from the door, even as he strained to peek past Brother Marcus.
“You’re Sam?” Marcus asked. “Are you sure?”
Sam hesitated at the man’s incredulous question. Was he sure? Was he still Sam, Sam Aubrey? Things had happened. Even if he couldn’t really remember them, he still felt the change they brought. Perhaps he wasn’t the same person any more. But he still believed Mother could help him.
“I need to see Mother,” Sam said. He didn’t allow his fear or confusion to come through in his voice. “I’ve brought her something.”
Sam held out the book, and Brother Marcus nodded. This would be the journal then. Mariah was desperate to get her hands on it. It would be best to bring Sam inside, to take him to the “dreaming room” and give him the elixir. Then, Mariah could best judge what she wanted to do with him now.
“Come, follow me, Brother Sam,” Marcus said. “You shall speak to the Mother.”
Sam followed the other man inside the building, down corridors and stairways, until they came to a chamber deep in the ground. This chamber was empty, white and sterile. In the center of the room was a pile of pillows. The man led Sam to this area and gestured for him to sit.
“I am Brother Marcus,” the man said, drawing a small vial from within his crimson robes. “This is the elixir. Drink from it and you shall be brought before The Mother.”
Sam nodded eagerly, taking the vial from Brother Marcus. He remembered this from before. If he drank of the draught in the vial, he would be with Mother in a matter of minutes. Sam uncorked the little bottle and quickly brought it to his lips. He drained the contents, the foul taste almost making him gag. He fought back the shudder that the bitter taste brought to his body, and closed his eyes.
*****
Mariah lay with her head back upon the stack of silken pillows, listening as one of her many followers droned on and on, praising her “beauty and grace.” She was bored, bored and frustrated. Ryan had disappeared, probably gone off to nurse his bruised ego. He’d had no contact with Amanda in days. The woman, on the other hand, was proving even more susceptible to Mariah’s brand of persuasion the second time around. Still, the girl couldn’t sleep all the time, and at this point Mariah could only reach her when she went to sleep on her own. In time, a week or so at the most, Daye would begin to lose touch with her conscious mind. Then Mariah’s control over her would really begin to grow.
For the hundredth time, Mariah wished Sam had not been lost to her. He was the perfect foible for her plans. So trusting, so easily guided, was Sam. If only he were there.
“M… mother?” The hopeful, hesitant tone brought Mariah quickly to attention.
Sam stood at the foot of the dais, twisting an ancient looking, leather bound book in his hands. He was nervous and fidgety, but there was a look in his eyes. Mariah nearly jumped for joy.
“Sam?” she asked, rising to move towards him. How could this be? She’d thought him lost. She’d been unable to locate or communicate with his dreams for weeks. How could he be here? How could he have returned without her knowing it?
“Sam, is that you?” Mariah stopped in front of him.
Sam felt joy and warmth suffuse him when he was close to Mother Mariah. He nodded, smiling as she reached out to lay a gentle hand on his face.
Mariah was thrilled. However it had happened, Sam had come back to her. He’d come home. This was like her birthday, Christmas and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. Mariah felt like dancing. “Sam, you’re home!” she proclaimed, throwing her arms around him.
Sam felt engulfed in love and acceptance as Mariah embraced him. He was home. Finally, he was home. Sam knew he had been wandering, lost and alone, but now he was home. And he’d brought a gift, something Mother needed, something she had to have to complete her works, her great works.
“I have the journal,” he said when she stepped back to look up at him. Her sweet, innocent face shone with childlike joy. At Sam’s words, her happiness seemed to grow even brighter.
"You clever, clever boy,” Mariah gushed, reaching out to take Sam’s hand. She guided him away from the dais, from the center of her temple. Mariah took him through the door on the side and brought him to rest in a smaller, more intimate room. They knelt together before a stone altar, and Mariah instructed Sam to set the leather bound journal down.
“Now then, where did we leave off?” Mariah asked. Sam smiled. The lessons, the teaching and guiding began again. It was as if he had never left. It was true what he’d read once, somewhere. “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
20 September 2005, 0117
For a moment, Detective James Anderson wished he’d brought in Galen for counter-point. The case had seemed so open and shut from the initial reports of the arresting officers, and it was clear the entire time the young blonde woman was not being entirely honest with him.
“Ok, so let’s take this from the top,” he said, leaning his arms on the table. “You say you were being followed by someone while you were going out, right? He rounded around the corner, and then what happened?”
Reah really did wish she could just skewer this guy with a poleaxe right now. How stupid did he need to be not to get it after what seemed the fifth time now. *Detective my ass. From experience I thought they were supposed to be smart!*
With an exasperated sigh she repeated herself. “I told you. Some guy came around a corner in front of me then disappeared around the next corner of the block! About five seconds later I heard a gun shot! I ran up to try and help and another two shots went off by the time I reached the corner. Then I saw the shooter empty another round dead set between the dude's eyes when he was already dead on the ground before she took a shot at me.”
Something seemed fishy. Very fishy. She was definitely holding something back, but he couldn’t put his finger on just what it was. There was a small amount of time between the call that was placed about shots fired, and finding her there. What didn’t make sense was why she stayed, or why she didn’t call the police.
The bit of blood on her shirt didn’t help her case either.
“So, between the time of the first shots and the time the units arrived, what were you doing?” he asked in a curious tone of voice. Not to mention what had she done with the murder weapon?
Reah kept her expression steady, something she’d learnt to do pretty well in these sort of situations of having to bullshit her way out of being capped in the head by convincing the head of security at a major corporation that; “Yes, I am the entertainment for this party! Just check out my ass and whip! What else would I be?” and other such cover ups in order to get inside.
“I went to chase after the shooter when I was stopped by some thugs. Not uncommon for the area as you should know!” Which was technically the truth.
It was time, James decided, to play a trump card. “But you were alone when the officers found you,” he said. “Any other thugs there would have been seen running away - if they left you that early, you should have had time to leave the area as well.” Reah stared at him for a moment before the door to the room opened.
***
Galen Eldridge sat alone watching the monitor screen while listening to the interview going on. There was something vaguely familiar about the young woman in there, he thought, sipping his coffee. That drunken night at the bar so long ago? No, it couldn’t be.
That was when the door opened and he saw a young man open the door. “Can I help you?” he asked tiredly.
“I think I could probably help you more.”
“Really?” Galen asked, reaching for his notebook. “Might I ask your name and with what?”
“Cameron Laiko.” He flipped out his badge. “I’m off duty at the moment, but I believe you’re in charge of a shooting that took place tonight in back streets down gang way?
“I’m a witness.”
Galen raised an eyebrow at that, checking the badge. “All right, Officer Laiko. Please, be seated.” He shut off the monitor and waited for the other officer to be seated before starting. “Perhaps we should start with what brought you to the scene?”
Before launching into his story, Cam took a deep breath as he recalled certain things that he wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen them or not. *If so, then that chick has a lot of explaining to do aside from just the shooting!*
“I was walking home after finishing my shift when I spotted a glimpse of someone that looked awfully familiar, this girl that I’d picked up unconscious in a park a few weeks ago.” He watched Galen, making sure he was following his story. “So I decided to try and get a better look, see if it was.
“When I picked her up all those nights ago she’d been extremely out of it and on edge about something. I checked to see if she was all right - as much as she would allow me to, at least.
“Since I hadn’t seen her or been able to check up on her in the past few weeks at her apartment, I thought it best to try and catch her when I saw her tonight… if it was her. I wasn’t sure at that stage. Plus knowing how unstable she was when I first found her, I figured it was best to keep my distance.
“That’s when I heard the gunshots.”
Galen felt like his hand was about to fall off from all of the scribbling that was going on. "Unstable?" he asked carefully. Cameron nodded as he made a note to check for a possible psych profile. "So, you heard the shots? Then what did you do?"
Cam’s head quirked to the side in thought before he started up again. “I stopped in my tracks and on instinct reached for my gun. But I’d already finished work and obviously had neither my gun or vest on me.
“So I was still behind the girl when she suddenly darted ahead before I could say anything. I cautiously followed up behind from the opposite side of the road and saw her reach the corner in time for the fourth shot. She cried out and disappeared around the corner just before another shot went off that ended up hitting the brick wall of a building about twenty metres ahead of me. The sound of it hitting was hard to pinpoint, but the sparks that flew were noticeable with the little light in the street.”
Galen continued to scribble various notes before stopping. "Excuse me," he said, bounding down the steps to the interrogation room. This was information James would need to know very soon if they were to conduct any sort of investigation. He returned to the observation room a few minutes later with his partner, having tossed a glance at the young woman. Galen was almost sure that she was the one he had seen earlier. "Tell him what you just told me," Galen said.
The pair listened as Cam recounted everything he said up until that point briefly. "So she's telling the truth about that," James said. "Did you see anybody else there? Aside from the girl?"
Cam shook his head regretfully. “I wish I could help you pin point the shooter.. All I can add is that I think I possibly heard boots - running, more than one pair. But I can’t be too certain of that. It may have been my imagination. I know you understand what I mean with the adrenaline and blood just pumping in your ears when gunfire’s going off.” Cam paused again as the scene replayed again in his head before he continued.
“After that last shot when she disappeared… I cursed naturally… but ran up cautiously, taking cover where I could till I was able to get a clearer view.
“I saw her lying on the ground and thought she was dead for a moment, then she suddenly sprang up unexpectedly and headed off after what I could only assume was the direction that the shooter escaped, after she stopped momentarily at the victim of course too.”
"So, you're positive the shooter was somebody else? Not her?" James asked. This case was starting to look more and more interesting. He had assumed she was hiding the fact that she really was the shooter... but if not that, then what?
Cameron nodded. “I’m pretty certain she wasn’t the shooter.” *Whatever the hell else she is though, I have no idea!*
"Was she the only one there after the shooter left?" Galen asked, wondering just where this was going to go.
“Yes!” Cameron answered plainly. There was no point denying it, especially with all the damage she had to come away from it with! “After she’d started to take off about… four people I think? It was hard to tell from my vantage point. They where just suddenly at the victim’s side! It was as though they just appeared out of nowhere!”
James and Galen exchanged brief glances. So far their stories were meshing nicely - there was more than one entrance, and the night could easily explain the 'coming out of nowhere'. Still, there seemed to be something a bit wrong.
The conversation finally came back to Galen from the bar. She had broadly hinted at being a hunter, hadn't she? That would explain it to him. "Whose colours were they wearing?" Galen asked.
"Nobody's, I think," replied Cameron.
Galen nodded, pausing in thought for a moment. "They came from almost out of nowhere? Was there anything unusual about what happened after they showed up?"
Cameron eyed Galen warily. He knew what he saw, as much as he hated to admit their existence… but did Galen know? “What kind of unusual are you talking about?” Even if Galen did know, what about his partner?
"The usual kind of unusual," James said. What could he be talking about, with 'kinds of unusual?' "It's not a trick question."
"Well, you know what it's like," Galen said half jokingly. "Some things out there are just odd and defy belief."
"Yeah, that's true." A thoughtful look came over James' face. The last thing he wanted to do was get the details of who said what confused. Probably best to write up his notes on the Kossinton interview now, before things got odder. "Pardon me, I have some paperwork to take care of. Can you handle this?" Galen nodded as he headed out to his desk.
Cameron’s hand stroked his chin with deep consideration, turning Galen’s words every which way to be certain what he was getting at. To find any possible flaws and make sure he didn’t slip up.
He waited till James had left the room before he answered. “These days it’s hard to tell what goes on anywhere. You can never be too sure.”
Galen got up to glance outside the small room. There were enough broad hints to tell him something more was going on here than he was being told. Nobody was around, which was a good sign. It was understandable, if he was hinting at the 'other world', not to want to discuss it. "Just tell me what you saw," he finally said. "It's not my place to decide what is too odd."
Cam closed his eyes. That was one weight taken off his back for now. “I think they were on something by the looks of them, is all I’m going to say about how they appeared.”
He sighed and took a deep breath before continuing. He had to be careful with this next part. “There was a pause at first. The girl slowed to a stop in her tracks and the group and herself seemed to converse for a bit… like they knew each other. Then things started to turn for the worse and they attacked her.
“I thought she was done for, these… people… had skill. They were tough. I moved up to run out and help when she started to fight back… pretty well!” Cam nodded to himself in thought. “Surprised the hell out of me! I don’t know what happened,” he murmured, “I just seemed to freeze on the spot just watching her.”
He sat still for a moment, recalling the fight. *What the hell is she?*
“Anyway,” he shook himself, getting back to the matter at hand, “I’m not sure. It all just seemed to blur together. Before I knew it, the thugs were gone and the girl was just standing there on her own. Looking a little worse for wear. Or a lot!”
Galen could think of one possible explanation for what Cameron was describing. If he had witnessed a vampire attack, it sounded like he was already rationalizing it away. 'Gangs on PCP' was one of the standard explanations, but was so readily accepted people adopted it now without thinking about it. Within a day or two, he would be convinced the truth was too radical a departure from everyday life to be believed. A constructed, quaint little fiction would allow him to continue to function in the 'real' world.
*Far be it for me to spoil the lies people tell themselves on this matter,* he thought.
There was still an important question he had to ask. "Was she armed with anything?" he asked, even though his gut instinct said that she wouldn't have been the shooter. *Wrong place at the wrong time.*
Now there was a question that Cameron himself wanted to find out. “Not that I could see beyond her hands.” He shrugged then paused for a moment looking inward. “No wait… I think…. I don’t know, it was hard to tell.” Galen just watched him, waiting. “I think there was a dagger, or knife. I think it was possibly the girl who pulled it out from somewhere, but it could have just as easily been one of the thug’s knives that she managed to disarm them of. They were all too close to be able to tell for sure.”
That at least made sense, but what would the autopsy have to say about the wounds? The gun was never found, and if there were no stab wounds. Then again.... "There were no daggers found at the scene."
Galen decided to take a stab at finding out if he was holding back something. "You aren't telling me everything, are you?" True, there was a knife found at the scene, but Cameron might not know that. If he was holding something back, this might be a good way to get him to say something. It was a questionable tactic, but he'd used far more questionable techniques in the past.
Cameron shrugged and kept his usual calm. He knew that Galen, a detective, was most likely trying to pull something. They always did, no matter who they were questioning. It was one of the best ways to find answers. Cam remembered how he found out about Jack’s first boyfriend; she slipped up when he asked how he was… not initially knowing that she actually had one.
“I’ve told you everything I can about the girl, anything else would only be in speculation. And I’ve told you everything I dare about the thugs.”
Galen rubbed his chin in thought. Everything he dared? That could mean a lot of things. They always had to be so stubborn when discussing the odder things about the world, even if the public was manipulated to behave that way. "Why? Afraid I won't believe you if you told me everything?" Giving a disarming laugh, he decided to take another chance. "What, you aren't going to tell me that Vlad the Impaler was around, are you?"
Cam smirked despite himself. Either this detective knew of the uglier side of life so well that it was just second nature to him now, or he was as ignorant of it as the rest of the population and had no idea how real the things he joked about really were. He wouldn’t be laughing then.
Cameron leaned forward, elbows to knees, cupping his face in his hands. With a sigh he lowered them till fingers rested on his mouth, tapping it briefly before peeling them away and linking them comfortably in front of him. “No. Not that exactly. I’m not afraid of you not believing me, I just wouldn’t want to subject you to…”
He paused in thought, taking a deep breath. “More afraid of the effects it’d have on you if you did believe me. These… people aren’t the regular type you expect to wander the streets. And you’ll never find them wandering around openly during the day,” he added hesitantly.
That told Galen all he needed to know. Cameron knew about the supernatural; he wasn't trying to rationalise them away (and thought this was too bad, sometimes wishing he could rationalize them away). Most importantly, there were several vampires there who would have likely been dusted. It would certainly explain the timing on the story that Reah was telling and he had heard through the monitor.
"They probably have some sharp, pointy teeth as well, don't they?" he asked. The slight change in Cameron's pose confirmed his suspicions. "My partner wouldn't believe this conversation has any place outside of horror fiction. Some of us are more... open minded, shall we say?"
Cameron sniffed. “I find it hardest trying to work out whether I’m better off knowing or if I’d be better off not. But, can’t change the past! As much as I wish they didn’t exist, let's just say that I don’t just carry a gun when I’m on night patrol.”
Cameron shook his head as his mind still tried to wrap around what he’d seen her do. “That girl’s just bloody lucky! I just don’t understand how she knew. Well, I know how she could know! But how she could…” He gestured with his hands whilst trying to find the right words. *What the hell was she doing? Any sane person would run! Not jump straight in!*
"Most people tend to just swallow the explanations they're given, and forget about the few parts that don't make sense," Galen said. It really would be better some days not to know. Of course, there would still be much Cameron did not know - unless he was an agent, but that was doubtfull. "There are others who make it their living to hunt those things. They eventually get used to it after a while. But the story we're getting is starting to make much more sense."
He paused in thought for a moment. The easy, simple solution would be to do nothing - there was enough circumstantial evidence a jury just might be tempted to convict. The easy thing was to let the courts take care of it. But he'd done enough to enough innocent people to not want to see that happen. Which meant trying to find the real shooter. "Let me be frank. There are those who would prefer that these kinds of things remain hidden. Even to the point of seeing an innocent person fry than it being used in an insanity plea. How far are you willing to go to save a person who is probably innocent?"
Cameron tried hard not to break his calm, but despite efforts he knew his eyebrows were at least halfway back on his head. Aside from that, he was as passive as a morning breeze! *Okie dokie!* “You’re not trying to tell me that….” He paused, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “She hunts those things?” he questioned in disbelief. At Galen’s silent answer he shook his head muttering under his breath, “Insane!”
*Okay… okay…. O-kay!* He took a breath, trying to regather his thoughts. Think straight. *Oookay. OK…. This girl is weird! Okay, okay.* “Okay!” One last shake of the head should do it. “She is an innocent…” *As innocent as she can be!* “I am an officer of the law and as such it is my job to protect the innocent!” *This is good! Rational thinking. This is me, focusing on me!* Cameron turned over what he was going to say next carefully in his head. He needed to make sure the decision he chose was the right one!
*People who make sure to keep these things hidden…. Fuck! Who the fuck else is involved in all this? Silencing innocents to hide the truth from other innocents of the public?* Immediately images of his sister and niece popped into his head. The ones he was protecting from the truth….
“I…” He suddenly exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as another thought suddenly hit his mind just as he was about to make his decision.
"Your job is also uphold the law," Galen said. Serve and protect. It was the same moral quandary of conflicting obligations he'd dealt with for years: go outside the law to protect the public by concealing the truth. "I'll be honest, it doesn't look good for her with the evidence and her statements right now. Protecting this innocent may involve - let's call them unofficial channels. Then having to conceal those same channels."
Galen could see the quandary playing its tug-of-war inside Cam. But Galen thought he knew what was right, and could give him a push in that direction. "The other option is to change your story. She was the only one there. You're a cop, so the jury will believe you. Though it does mean sacrificing someone to keep them a secret. Can you live with that possibility?"
Cameron‘s mind was racing. Yes, his job was to uphold the law, but the reason he also became a cop was out of his need to protect his sister. Then his niece. Then the public also gave him a greater sense of responsibility more so now than when he first began.
*She hunts these things. Gets rid of them. How many others are there? Can’t be many.* Ducking his head into his hands, they brushed uncertainly through his hair. *How many vampires would there be if these hunters didn’t exist? How many more deaths? I saw her take out fucking four earlier with her own bare hands!* The question tumbling around in his head now, that wasn’t that hard to answer, was if he feared his sister and niece knowing of their existence? Or being killed by it? *Could I live with that possibility?*
“No.”
After what seemed the longest still in time he’d ever experienced, Cam finally answered Galen, staring squarely back more composed and certain than he’d ever been in his entire life.
“I want to clear her.”
Galen's mind was spinning. It should be possible to clear her name, but what exactly would they need to do? He considered it for several minutes before speaking again. "Right, here's your story," he said. "You saw the four people attack her. She had the knife for self-defence - you saw her stab one. That explains the blood. They fled the scene shortly after that. Also explains why she was still there when the police arrived."
That would at least get one thing out of the way. There was still the problem of the weapon. If the victim had any stab wounds, they were screwed, and he no longer had the ability to play with the autopsy reports like he used to. *What did James say about the rival gangs in that area? The Rooks and the Kings...?* The victim was wearing Rook's colours, which meant that the shooter was likely a King. "First thing we have to do is find the real shooter. Or at least the weapon."
Cameron shook his head regretfully. “Like I said earlier, I didn’t see anyone! Only heard.” He scratched his chin, seeing himself neglecting to shave and growing a healthy stubble in the near future. “The only person with the first clue would be the girl.”
"I've heard her story; she didn't get a good look, either." Galen paused in thought. There was a possibility. "I'll talk to her," he replied, scribbling his number on a piece of paper. "Call me in about 30 minutes to an hour after you leave here - I'm going to talk to her, see what else she can tell us. Might have a better idea where to go from here. One thing, keep my partner out of the loop on this. This is unofficial." His mind was racing, thinking of plausible stories to use. He would have one eventually. A line from a movie jumped to his head unbidden. *Every time I try to get out, they pull me back in.*
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Tuesday 20th September, 2005...0222
Galen finished up with Cameron quickly before showing the officer out and telling James that he wanted to go speak to the girl they picked up. James offered to watch on the monitor, but Galen told him that was all right. She was probably still stewing in there. Cup of coffee in hand, he prepared himself and wondered if she would remember him from that night.
The heavy door opened silently, shutting with a thud behind him. Reah stared daggers into Galen’s back while he dropped the manilla folder on the table. Just to be on the safe side, he casually walked to the camera and pulled the cord out of the back. “So we can talk in privacy,” he explained, sitting down across from her.
Reah watched him with a quizzical expression of intrigue. *What’s he trying to pull? My new best friend?* He seemed vaguely familiar though…. What from she hadn’t the slightest, other than it being something recent.
“Privacy! What? Do you plan on attempting to beat the truth out of me?” she interrupted snidely. *Keep me bloody waiting forever will you?* “I already told your cocky little friend the truth, so there‘s no point in getting yourself mashed into a bloody pulp over it.”
Galen didn’t blame her for the hostility. He would be too, going through one of James’ sessions. The man was utterly relentless, and had a nose for telling when something more was going on.
“Look, I’m putting my ass on the line for you,” Galen said. “I know you’re innocent, but the circumstancial evidence is bad. Do you want my help or not?”
She raised an eyebrow speculatively. “Ok. So you know I’m innocent? Now that is interesting! What the bloody hell has suddenly made me so innocent that I’m a charity case? Seriously! I want to know! Since the last time someone was in this room I was clearly guilty!” She quirked her head to the side and stared intently at Galen, trying to delve into his mind and find out what was going on. “Enlighten me.”
Galen hated it when people went hostile, but you soon got used to it. Especially with people who were very clearly either guilty, or not guilty but still being raked over the coals.
He raised a finger. “Point one,” he said evenly, “The autopsy report hasn’t come back yet, but I have a distinct feeling there will be a lack of stab wounds, and no gun was found on you.”
As he raised a second finger he continued, “Two, I have a witness who confirms your story - including the ending you are going to give me about how you stabbed a thug in self defence before they fled, which will nicely explain the blood on you.”
Galen’s face remained passive as he played the trump card. “Finally, I know that the ‘thugs’ who attacked you react very negatively to having bits of wood shoved in their chest, and a dislike for garlic. Which is why your story has a few minor holes in it.”
Oh good! Her stalker did see and has now come to the police! Precisely what she wanted! “Who is it?” she uttered low in the depths of her throat, head still poised questioningly.
At Galen’s silence she slammed the bench, then paused, calming herself. *That’s definitely not going to get me anywhere other than under suspicion. I hate waiting, but if I have to…. I will find out!*
“Unconscious,” Reah suddenly said as she remembered where she’d seen this guy. Smirking she leant back. *This guy's nearly as shady as me!*
“Ahem….” Clearing her throat she continued, disregarding the last two points to keep herself from smashing the guy's head in. “Excuse me. I just get a little emotional when I’m being falsely accused for murder. But if you want more proof of my innocence, as a fellow gun user and a detective, you should be aware that when you fire a gun it leaves a residue on the shooter's hand.” She smiled. “Therefore, not only did I not have a gun, but I hadn’t even shot one.”
In the back of her mind she was still stewing over whoever that damn witness was and what they’d told. How much had they told? She knew what they had to have seen. *Personal note: will have to kill witness.*
“I know the way some of these people think. With the other evidence, they won’t want a gun shot residue test - and if you ask for one, the prosecution will just argue that you had enough time to clean your hands.”
The frustration was almost tangible. Still, it would look better if he asked for the GSR, wouldn’t it? Just as long as the body didn’t have any stab wounds, then she was screwed even more.
“I’ll have a GSR done anyway, though. That will help - so will having an off-duty officer cooraborate your story.” Ooops, Galen thought as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Slip-up.
“The good news is I think it’s possible for us to find the real shooter; that will really do it for you. Bad news, though... well, bail hearings aren’t until tomorrow, so you would kind of… um, have to spend the night.”
*So it’s an officer who saw me. That makes killing them slightly more difficult and…” she halted as Galen continued to talk with news she did not want to hear. Leaning in closer, she peered at him through leering eyes. “What are you trying to say? I’m not sure what I’m fearing more. The suggestion of staying here in a cell… or the suggestion of staying at your house! Candle-light?” she said sarcastically. “Frankly neither appeals to me.” *Easy… I’ve been doing so well, don’t ruin it now.*
Galen cleared his throat pointedly. Young, attractive woman talking about his house... not unless she was red-headed and English. "I was talking about here, actually... yes, in a cell. There's nothing I can do about that. My partner would have my head - people have no clue about our fanged friends."
“Great story! Not my problem.” Her expression didn’t change, not a muscle moved in her body. “But it might be yours if you try and test my limits any further. Sounds funny doesn’t it? ‘Hi, I believe you're innocent! Congratulations! You’ve won a night in one of our luxury-less cells of great smallness!’” She shook her head. “It’s not going to work, and I have more than one good reason why.”
“Damnit, I don’t have that kind of power anymore,” Galen snapped, trying to keep his voice low. “I can only bend procedures so far now without getting in trouble. Which is your problem, because if I’m in deep shit with my superiors, I can’t help you. We’re doing all we can. Now, do you want our help or not?” He hoped she would just play it cool - remaining hostile would emphatically not help their case any.
Reah chewed the inside of her mouth where it was cut earlier that night, accidentally reopening it and filling her mouth with the coppery tang of her blood. Frustrated she shot up to her feet and paced backwards to stare at Galen’s reflexion in the mirroring glass. She didn’t like her ‘options’. “So, I have to stay here huh?” She watched him carefully.
“Looks that way, but we hope to have you cleared within a day or two.” Galen stood up and prepared to go when his phone went off. Cameron was calling him a few minutes early, then. “Sorry, I have to go. Just try not to kill anybody who pisses you off, ok?” With that, he plugged the camera back in and slipped out of the room. He hoped the temper Reah was already showing wasn’t indicative of how angry she really was.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
20 September 2005, 2345
A breeze picked up, hugging close to the ground, catching particles of dirt and soiled papers in a swirl that travelled through the dishevelled building three stories off ground level where Cam stood alone, tucking his hands deeper into his coat pockets, protecting them from the cutting chill that had been there to greet him in the morning when he first woke up.
The building had been uninhabited for the past ten years according to the file Cam had seen of it. It showed too. Floor boards were missing, even some of the beams that were supposed to support it. If you weren’t careful about where you stepped you could find the quickest way down to the next level before you knew it. If you were lucky; the first.
Cam had parked his car in a dirt car park a mile away from the site and had walked the rest of the distance. He hadn’t really stepped out of line before, but figured caution definitely couldn’t go astray.
Carefully, he made his way to the edge of what he’d come to call ‘the ruin’ (as he’d decided in the past few minutes while he waited with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him) and peered out through a crack in the timber at a figure moving around to the side entrance of the building, then turned back to take in his surroundings once again and listened to the creaks of the ruin as another made their way inside.
Galen had parked his car about 30 minutes away in an alley. Memories of previous encounters came back to him. They were always the same: dodgy places few would ever see you or public places everyone saw you but could be rationalised as the two of you being there as a coincidence. There really were no new plays left in the dodgy path; just variations on it, changes in the minor details.
He moved to the side entrance in order to slip inside the building, seeing Cameron in there already looking around. The officer's back was to him at present.
"You know," Galen said, causing the officer to spin around, "things were so much easier before. All it would have taken was a call to the right person. Now it takes meeting in run down buildings."
“It’s fun for the whole family!” Cameron said sardonically. “It fits well with that little tune my niece recently learnt; 'Don’t step on the crack or you’ll fall and break your back',” he recited and shrugged. “She’s cute. But it starts to grow a bit old when it hits around the hundredth time.” Completely off the topic, but the damn tune had been scored into his mind and since he got here it’d been stuck on repeat.
Shaking his head he edged about the remaining safe supported areas to walk and made his way closer to Galen so they wouldn’t have to yell. “How’s the girl?”
"She's a bit... well, angry," Galen replied, thinking back to what he heard about the previous night. He coughed in remembrance of what they heard happened. "Apparantly, someone she was in lockup with decided she was 'cute' and recieved a broken arm."
He shook his head slowly. That resulted from just a quick swat on the bum. They probably would have been picking up bits of the guy if he tried groping. As it was, they all kept their distance now. "Your stories 'meshing' have bought us enough time. My partner is letting me handle the 'interviews' alone while he goes over things like the scene and autopsy report."
Cam smirked, which received an odd look from Galen. “Sorry, but if you’d seen her the times that I had, you’d understand. She probably managed to do it in the flick of a wrist.” *Shit! Oh well, hopefully he’ll take it as something other than the extraordinary wrist flicking. I don‘t think it was that obvious.*
Cracking his head to the side to release the tension that had developed over the night, Cam stood quietly in meditation over the more important matters. “So we don’t have any more leads yet?”
"Officially, no," Galen replied, wondering how he knew about her enhanced strength. "Unofficially... there's a possibility, but we might have to be a little rough. Former contact of mine, goes by the name 'Salamander'. Usually had to rough him up, though. Up for a little legwork? Having a second person there would be helpful." Galen decided that now would not be a good time to mention the fact that Salamander was a six foot tall lizard.
“What’ll I need?”
Galen wondered how far this officer would be willing to go. What if it turned out the only way to save Reah would be to execute the real shooter, make sure he had the gun, and pay someone to conveniently ID the shooter as being at the scene?
Could he go that far? For that matter, could Galen himself stomach the possibility?
"Come with me. We'll use my car. Oh, you should also know that Salamander looks a bit odd. Just follow my lead and look mean."
***
Two hours later they stood outside a run down motel, banging on a door. "Come on, I know you're in there!" Galen was yelling. "Get off your hot rock and get your butt out here!"
The door to the motel room opened shortly, revealing the Raptorish form of the informant called 'Salamander'. "Yessss," it hissed, "What do you wissssh from me?"
Cam blinked… then again for good measure.
“Urm…” He turned to Galen, speaking softly, “You do realise this guy's a giant lizard right?”
"Pleassse," Salamander hissed back, "I prefer 'reptile'."
"Sorry," Cam regarded the lizard before turning back to Galen. "Reptile."
"He's new at this," Galen said, taking the oddness of the situation rather nonchalantly.
He just nodded at Cameron to indicate that yes, he was well aware that this guy was a reptile. "We need information. Shooting of a Rook earlier today, you know anything about the shooter?"
"Only what the paperssss tell me."
Cam could only stare at the talking giant lizard… reptile… thing.
It stared right back just as openly when it became obvious. “Yesssss?”
“Sorry, you just have this…” Cam intoned, pointing to his teeth then the reptile's where a piece of something was caught.
Salamander reached up to his mouth, finally noticing the bit of mouse caught on his teeth. He threw his head back to swallow it. "Ahhh, ssssatisssfying."
Cam shirked. That was just wrong!
"Sal, it isn't in the papers yet," Galen said, leaning against the door. "So, out with it."
"Kingsssss not my conssssern."
Galen had enough. There was one thing Salamander really respected, that was strength. He pulled a small club out of his pocket to bop the reptile on the nose, causing him to hiss again. "Out with it."
Cam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the fact that Galen just straight up and bopped him on the nose with a club, and he shook himself to get back some control.
Strange as the situation was, Cam despised looking like a daft moron. He’d moulded his life around handling things as they came along with careful planning, utter calm, and concentration, and he had no intention to give it up now… even if it was a six foot tall lizard. If vampires can exist, why the hell not six foot tall lizards?
“Excuse me, but I’ve been under the impression that you knew everything that goes down in this city. But if you’re just going to stand there feigning fucking ignorance, I’m not going to stand here just as uselessly absorbing it….” Cam turned about, away from Galen and the lizard who exchanged glances over Cam’s unexpected outburst.
The lizard made a choking sound when Cam suddenly whirled back around with a small lead pipe from off the ground, hitting him. “TELL US!”
Salamander hissed in both annoyance and anger at Cameron, but decided that this human was wothy of respect. Galen meanwhile noticed Cameron was looking a touch shocked at what he did. "Clarissssaa," hissed Salamander. "Clarissssaa Knight. King'ssss woman..."
"And where do we find Clarissa Knight?" Galen asked. Salamander was silent momentarily, before Galen motioned to Cameron. Cameron looked ready to slowly pick up on it.
Salamander gave them the address before anything else happened.
Cameron walked back to the car with Galen, wonderment plastered on his face. "So… you were planning on telling me that Sal was a giant lizard when?"
“I figured you would just pick up on it,” Galen replied. Besides, that was the way he got introduced to the occult. They didn’t tell you these little minor details; you just picked up on them, and learned to not be surprised.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
21 September 2005, 0035
Captain Patterson’s program to get ministers more deeply involved with the station was both controvertial and denounced as unconstitutional by several of the public action groups in the city. Still, he hoped there were some signs of success, and nobody had managed to stop him yet. “Thank you for coming, Father,” he said, clutching the hand of Father Reginald, standing there in his purple suit.
“Well, you know me, Captain. Anything to help bring these people closer to God,” he replied with a bit of smile on his face. “Besides, anything for Jimmy’s station. He knows that and you do.”
“I wouldn’t have called, except this woman shows some exceptionally violent tendancies and you have a talent with this things….”
“Lead the way, oh Miles Gloriousus,” replied Reginald with a flourish of his arm. Captain Patterson lead him down the hall to an empty cell. It was overly large and held only a young, petite, and to Reginald’s thoughts rather attractive blonde girl. “Stop the presses. She’s the violent one?”
Patterson nodded. Reginald shook his hand another time. “Well then Captain, I assure you that you will not regret this. Just let me speak with her.” The cell door was opened and Father Reginald entered, hearing the door click shut with a certain finality. “Good evening, my dear. How are you doing?”
Reah slowly raised her head to the sound of what could only be described as a sardonic voice, and was slightly surprised when she noticed it was a priest of a sort. The funny thing was though that the voice didn’t seem so out of place now with the guy, instead the purple robes did! His comforting smile seemed more like the devil's own grin, *Huh. Ironic!*
Swinging her legs off the bench she was lazing on, Reah straightened up and flexed her fingers in front of her. “Now this is the tricky part. Will my sarcastic or my realistic reply come off as the most offensive?”
She was so sick of being here, even if it had been only one night so far. The first half hour before she’d even entered the cell was bad enough! *That ‘dick’ better hurry up and find that damn shooter or I might just be forced to make my own way out. I managed to get my own private cell on my own, after all.*
“Just say what’s on your mind,” Reginald replied, smiling his smile. “Cap heard about your problems, the aggression… how one of the detectives working on your case can’t be found. Figured that maybe the comforting ear of a man of the cloth would benefit you. So, what do you say? Up for a little rap session?” While saying this, he’d managed to slowly move about to a cot and sit down. Laying back, he clasped his hands together with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
It screamed one thing: this man was at least a little off centre.
Reah watched him with an inquisitive eyebrow raised the whole time. Had the whole world managed to go insane in the few minutes she’d disappeared? Hostility seemed to be working better for her now than her previous, somewhat better attitude to the world.
People wanted to help her now… thought she was some deranged person with great problems all because she liked her privacy!
“What’s on my mind?” Reah asked with false enthusiasm beaming off her face. Reginald nodded with his smile to encourage her. “My ass is sore, this cell isn’t exactly what you’d call five star, I’m cold, I need a shower, and… if you don’t mind me saying… I’ve never been more innocent in my life!”
“Let me share with you a little revelation I’ve had,” Reginald said after carefully considering her words. “Guilt and innocence, it’s all a matter of timing. You just had bad timing is all.”
As it always seemed to do, Reginald’s mind began to wander to various things. He thought there was something odd about the girl, but couldn’t quite place it. Not for the first time, he was put in mind of crazy, mixed up world they all lived in and had to function in. Then he was suddenly struck by something about her. “You know, I don’t think dark red is really your colour. You might try something in a blue for a top next time, especially with those blue jeans….”
Oh the rebuttals that sprang straight to Reah’s tongue and forms of assault to her fists. If this guy wasn’t so ‘holy’ she’d likely use them… more than likely the most inconceivable ones, just for fun. Instead she just raised her eyebrows and stared at him. “A little off the topic I would have thought! But so long as we’re on it, I’d have to say that purple really isn’t yours!”
"Well, you know the way it is," he replied, keeping his voice even. "I like purple. It's neat. And this way, people get to call me the answer grape."
Unfortunately, there was only so far you could go with being surprised, and right now, Reah didn’t think she had the space to accommodate for anything extra. Although she felt it was possibly more being weirded out now than surprised. This guy was odd to no end.
“Riiiight. You know what? I think I can see the light again, thanks to you, and am now going to go over to my complimentary dunny there and take a piss!”
Reginald was used to the odd reactions he often got from people, and finally realised that he had just digressed. He was supposed to be her confessor after all, maybe. Assuming she even wanted to confess or repent. “I’m sorry. We seem to have gotten started off on the wrong foot.” Then, he found something spontaneously pop into his head as the logos spoke to him. “As far as Paul is concerned, you’re dead. You have nothing to worry about in that regard right now.”
Reah’s expression grew suspicious, mimicking her mood. “Of course…. I have no idea what you’re talking about. As you can see, I’m quite alive and intend to stay that way! I also intend to live my life outside a cell!” She intoned softly. *Where the hell did that come from?*
She looked harder at the priest - he shouldn’t know that. No one should. Something suddenly sprang to her awareness that she’d accidentally let slip by her, blinking as softly as she spoke, she checked again before questioning how this ‘man’ seemed to give off no heat at all! He wasn’t a vampire for more than one reason, and it wasn’t as though he sucked all the heat out of the air, because he wasn’t cold either. He may as well not have been sitting there. He just seemed to… stop!
Reah suppressed her want to be out of there now. And now meant now! She didn’t want to alert him. “Which is why hearing news of the detective working my case being missing has got my nerves a little on edge,” she calmly flowed out.
"Well, he's missing in the sense of the captain not having the slightest idea where he is." The logos was singing to him, speaking. God spoke Latin and thought in Greek, and for one moment, he felt that contact he'd had before, knew about his mission. To bring them all into contact with it....
3 and a half seconds later, he completely forgot about it.
"I'm sure everything will work out fine with the two of them on the case, even if things end up being a little weird. But you know, I can clearly see you're worried that they're all just jerking your chain. Am I right?"
Reah raised an eyebrow at that, confirming his suspicions. "Well then, Spock, you can relax." There seemed to be something else. The song of the universe receded into the background. He couldn't think of what it was. "There's something else you're worried about... need someone to talk to?"
Reah shrugged detachedly, “I just hope they catch the actual shooter real soon,” she replied monotonously, nodding ever so slowly.
"Oh, I'm sure they will... but I really do think you should take my advice about the top. The blue would just be so much more striking on you." He stood up and tapped on the bars for the captain to come get him out. "Ah well, if you don't want to talk, can't make you. Just don't worry... be happy."
Then he started humming the do-do-do-doooo line and sang softly, "Don't worry... be happy now..."
She let out her breath she was apparently holding and shifted positions on her bench uncomfortably. “Okay.” *I bloody hope his visit wasn’t an ‘subtle’ indication of my chances!*
Decidedly jumping to her feet, she stalked over to the bars and called over the current cop on warden duty by gesture.
“Never, ever bring that guy back!”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday 21st September, 2005...0524
It was something of a shock for everyone to see the detective who had 'vanished' early in the day - "I'm just following up a lead," he had said - to end up returning to the station with a female banger in cuffs. It was obvious from the pissed off look on her face, and the cut on the side of her face that she had resisted arrest.
Galen went through a good amount of the paperwork, waiting for James to come over to him. "A new suspect?" James asked suspiciously, wondering what his partner had been up to alone for the past several hours.
"The suspect," Galen replied, finishing up the last of the paperwork and going to turn it in. "Enough evidence against her to corroborate the girl's story."
"There's still a few holes in it I'd like to tie up."
"Don't worry about it. Trust me on this James; we got the real shooter in here. The arrest report I just turned in gets rid of any justification for holding her. I'm going to turn her loose." Galen started towards the holding cells, leaving a very confused partner to wonder what had just transpired. More than that: he wondered if Galen was hiding something, or even working with her to cover something up.
There was only so much one could do in a holding cell. You could sit….
Reah had mastered this activity, as there was nothing much else she could work on. She was already double over her level of tolerance, which had been initially reached earlier when they had some insane priest visit her. As far as she could work out, there’s no way they could ever have thought the guy would be a comfort to her, more a form of torture!
She wanted, needed out! She didn’t do well in small spaces, especially the sort with bars and a non stop chorus of the headache-giving rants of local drunks, insane ramblings of the local insanity chapter, and the whimpering of local punks who’d bitten off more than they claimed they could chew.
Reah’s demand for them to all ‘shut up’ lasted only momentarily.
When the door leading out of the holding cells suddenly opened, all forms of muttering and curses finally ceased again as they all waited to see who was coming, then re-started with trying threats… and of course, the whimpering adolescent.
Reah waited expectantly on her perch. They better be back this time. She couldn’t stand another minute in this atmosphere.
Galen checked his notes one final time as he watched the holding cell. A couple of harsh stares were directed in his direction, guilt by association for being a cop. "Reanna Kossinton?" he said, raising his voice. He called Reah over to him to let her out of the cell, before shutting the door. "Sorry that took so long. We finally caught the real shooter, so you're free to go now."
Reah forced a smile onto her face and refrained from kicking the man. "Why thank you. I don't need to tell you what an absolute joy it has been under the generous care of your station."
She took a sweeping glance at all the other cell occupants as she passed by on her way to the door. "Where is she?" *Get me falsely accused will she?*
"Don't worry about it," Galen said, trying to gently coax Reah away from the holding area. He recognised that look of anger. No way he was going to risk her going from falsely accused to guilty as sin. "Just trust me when I say that the evidence is rather overwhelming. No way in hell she's getting out of this."
For a moment, he wondered why Cam had seemed so interested to see her out... only Galen made him wait outside the station, trying to avoid any technical problems which could arise in that way. Besides, he'd left alone, he had to come back alone.
"Well considering she'd shot the bloody gun!" Reah's eye twitched with irritation as she clenched her fist, forcing her knuckles white, to the point of cracking. She hoped the bitch rotted in that cell. Although she found herself pitying the bead headed chick if she had to go through a visit by the priest like she had.
Reah shuddered; trying to shake off the feeling she remembered him giving her.
Taking a breath, she was still curious about who had seen her the other night, Reah calmed herself somewhat to a more pleasant, thanking tone of voice. "So,” she began slowly, “to whom do I owe a debt of gratitude?" She was going to find this guy one way or another.
Galen decided to pointedly ignore the question. If the other officer wanted to fess up to helping her, he would let the officer make that decision on his own. "There's an officer outside willing to take you home, if you're interested in the ride."
"Oh! Full catering service?" Reah piped up sarcastically. "Thanks for the offer, but I think," she glanced down and slapped her right thigh, "Yup! I have legs!" She rolled her eyes and continued on.
*So he's not going to tell me.... Fine! I'll do it the hard way.* "Did she put up much of a fight? Get shot at all? Cuts? Bruises?"
"A few cuts and bruises. Resisted arrest," Galen said blandly. He still remembered the event well. Technically she hadn't, but that was his story, and he was sticking to it. Cameron wasn't happy, but he would back it up.
Still, something seemed familiar about the smart-ass woman. He just couldn't place it exactly... aside from maybe the bar. That night kept coming back to him for some reason. And the weird dream about the creature, finding Tash and Victor in his apartment....
He couldn't take it any more as he started to lead her out. "I know this sounds like a line, and I'm not trying to hit on you, but... have we met before?"
Reah raised an eyebrow at him. "Let's hope not," she answered levelly. It wasn't as though the man wasn't good looking, but, call her crazy, there was just something about being falsely accused of murder that had the tendancy to turn her off people. "Nothing against you personally of course."
She sighed, "Lucky for you... I think we have met once before." She smirked, darting a knowing glance his way. "Needless to say, you were a little... dead to the world at the time! I think that's how I'll put it."
Galen wasn't quite sure exactly how to take that. "Don't think I've ever heard it put that way before," he replied. Though he probably would have passed out at some point from the drink, wouldn't he?
A memory came back to him... tequila test?
"I don't remember much that night, so might be someone else. Everything gets a little hazy until the pounding headache the next morning."
Reah watched him sideways, quizzically. *I don't know what time your night starts, but two pm definitely ain't mine!* "Well, I imagine you wouldn't remember much from the position I last saw you in. All those arms flying about," she shook her head, "I can only imagine the sort of damage that did to you!"
A sour taste enveloped Reah‘s mouth with the memory of an image of the black man’s head being grasped by some massive hulk of a ten armed blue thing. "You looked shockin'! Lucky you weren't torn apart!"
"Torn... apart?" Galen was confused. She must have really had a lot to drink. Or something else at the time. *Note to self: girl may be drug addict. That would explain hostility. Withdrawl.*
He wasn't really sure he wanted to know what she had seen at the time. "Dare I even ask what you had to drink before you saw me? I'm surprised you could even stand."
"Drink?" she exclaimed in confusion, *Ok... what-the-fuck?* "I'm surprised you could stand! In fact," she paused, "from memory, I believe you couldn't!"
*I have only seen this guy once before in my life! Unless... * This was bad for her brain. She hoped this wasn't going somewhere else. "What do you remember of me?" She'd figured she was safe with this guy. *Bugger!*
It took a moment for Galen to try to rack his brain. That night was rather jumbled. "Well, um... I remember drinking at a bar, and talking with you. Something called a tequila test. Oh, and we both hit the floor at some point, I think."
Reah stiffened her upper lip in thought, *Big bugger!* She sighed, *At least this one should be easy to fluke. * "Ah!" She started in a tone of sudden recognition. "Well, that solves that mystery..." She smirked. *A girl can have a bit of fun at least out of this! Falsely accuse me will you?* "I know who's number that is that I found in the ass pocket of my jeans!" She emphasised the 'ass' with much pleasure.
Ass... pocket? Galen stopped in shock. Ok, so technically they were serparated at that time, but nothing had happened... had it? Nothing could have, he had got up alone that day, and certainly didn't find any blonde girls in his apartment.
"Woah, woah... I... what?" he stopped as he realised he was stammering, and tried to compose himself. Maybe try to think on what happened later on.
"No, no, nothing happened, nothing could have happened….”
Reah smirked. She wasn't evil, not at all! She would never ever play off the uneasiness of others for... "Really now?" Up quirked her eyebrow. *So maybe I am evil. WHO CARES? Stick an insane priest in my cell will you?* Slowly she turned her head to reguard him properly, pursing her lips with thought.
She chuckled lightly, "Don't worry tiger. I won't tell anyone."
For a moment, Galen wished he was one of those people who was able to just deal with his problems by permanently removing them. But he wasn't, he was trying to change. "Tell, tell anyone what?" he asked cautiously.
Panic rose up inside of him. *Oh god, don't tell me... I didn't, did I?*
Reah could almost burst! The guy was just sooo easy it was delicious!
Containing herself (with much difficulty) she composed her most serious face and stared him down in a silent interogation... dragging out the pause as long as she dared before he fainted from sheer panic. "You... don't remember? At all?" She sniffed, flicking her head away in disgust. Although, it was more of a breather in her case as she bit her lip to control the amusement bubbling within her.
"Remember what?" Galen asking in confusion. He was hoping that this was all nothing more than a prank on her part, maybe get back on how long it took. What if she was telling the truth? What would Kate say? "There's nothing to remember. Hell, I woke up alone the next morning, so nothing could have happened, especially since you passed out before anything would have been able to..."
“Able to what?” Reah whipped her head back around. “Was I passed out? I don’t think you were exactly in the position or state to judge!" A heavy breath escaped her lips, contracting her chest! Filled with emotion and inspiration she continued, "I left, Galen! I owned and ran my own store before it got blown to bloody hell! My friend had gone missing and you offered a shoulder to cry on!" A genuine sob escaped her when she brought up Sam. "But no. I shouldn't blame you. You're a guy... Just like the rest of them."
*I'd like to thank my mum, my dad, for all their help and support!* She was pissing herself within!
He had of course no idea at all what to say to that. It seemed that now she was saying: (1) she'd gone through more crap than he was, (2) they both had gotten very, very drunk which lead to (3) he bonked her. All of the colour had drained from his face by this point.
"But, but, but...." he stammered out. There was something wrong here, if he could just put his finger on what was wrong. Which didn't seem to be happening. His body slumped against the wall and he sat down.
This was just too much fun for her to just straight out admit she was taking the piss out of him... But she also knew that point in time when you had to ease up on the torture before you killed the person. In this case, she had her money placed on a heart attack.
Sighing, she made a move to continue her emotional, pushed to the very edge, damsal in distress passioned speech... then hesitated momentarily as her gaze caught on him. Moving in closer, she bent over to gaze deeply into his own. "Wait," she paused, "You have hazel eyes!" She smirked cunningly, "My bad. The guy I was with had a striking green set."
*Take that you over egotistical bastard! Oh, and by the by, what do you think of my well rounded cleavage?*
He breathed a sigh of relief before the fury came up inside of him. Oh, he couldn't blame her for being upset, but it wasn't his fault. *Fuck it. Next time, I'll just let her fry.* It had to have been a joke done entirely for revenge. Without saying a word, he pushed past her to stand up. "Get out of here," he finally said, his voice more controlled than he thought possible. Bloody woman, trying to drive him over the edge, then distract him with cleavage at the end.
Reah’s foot dropped back reflexively at the sudden shove as she soaked up Galen’s little temper tantrum. The word smug written in capital letters plastered across her face. Every ounce of rage emanating off him was like a divine warming mug of hot chocolate she soaked up hungrily through a Tim Tam, sending shivers down her spine at its glorious sensation.
With her smug grin of sweet victory, she slowly turned about on her heel, marking her territory with a confident satisfaction. Her gliding exit of pure radiance filled the air, making her presence known even after the door swiftly closed behind her and she entered the chill morning air.
Born again.
Lullaby...
Thursday 15th September, early evening
Deja vu. He had been here before. The endless stretch of corridor. The eerie feeling in the air. The distant door. This dream.
The door. He remembered he had to reach it now. To find the source of… the music. It played again all around him. Or was it in his head? He couldn't be sure. It was too loud but so quiet that he could just make out the tune. Lullaby. He started his move towards the door.
He got nowhere. So he ran. Ran to nowhere once more. The door never came a millimetre closer. He turned back. And back again - BAM. The door was in his face.
Then the music. Lullaby. What were the words? He couldn't remember. Then the laugh. A little giggle. Of someone who knew more than he did. A child perhaps.
He braced himself. For the impact. He touched the door. Light wood, hollow inside. Easy to open. But would he awake? He wanted to see the other side. *1,2,3-*
The door slammed open. He looked around frantically. The door leading out of the room was rapidly closing. He saw the back of a little girl quickly disappear. Her hair was the most exquisite red. He ran to the door just as it slammed. Rattling hard at the handle, he found it locked and cursed heavily. There was a giggle from beyond the door. He yelled and pounded his fists in vain onto the door, but there was no further response.
He looked about the room. Pretty. Plain but pretty. Old; it was very old. Or was it? He couldn't really tell. The dust that caked everything made it look a lot older than it probably was. There was a vanity table with a three way mirror on it. A small but ornately carved box sat upon the table top. The man walked over to touch it.
It was most definitely a work of art. And perhaps a little familiar. He didn't like that. Then the lights went out. A window that he had previously ignored, as it was blinded up, was clear suddenly and showed a room filled with light.
On the other side of the glass was a bathroom. Not a tremendously huge one. Quite plain. But it was in use. A young woman lay in a bath facing away from the widow. This could be his chance. Someone to talk to. Even in dreams, people can be guides. He beat his hands upon the steamed up glass and lattice. There was no response, but it was very deliberate. The bath-woman was ignoring him. The way her hands grip the side of the bath had changed. Tight. Like fear. He tried again, angry this time. BANG BANG BANG! The glass would break soon. BANG BANG BA-
And he was awake. Sweating on the bench as he waited for the taxi that would take him to the docks. The night was cold, so he breathed into his hands. *Moving on.*
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
"Destiny at 120 B.P.M."
17 September 2005
10:22 P.M.
The Queue at Lotus Lands
Fate waited.
Music boomed out on to the street from mammoth speakers inside, a bass-driven heartbeat machine-gunning along at 120 beats per minute from the structural-iron and corrugated-steel ribcage of the renovated warehouse. As the doors camera-shuttered open for brief periods, the sidewalk was fleetingly bathed in hieroglyphs of laserlight, the patrons that entered looking like aboriginal natives snapshot-painted in complex, luminescent tribal markings.
The alleyway that served as an entrance to the club was strewn with refuse and graffiti, but the total effect was one of deliberate chaos, a sculptured sort of Urban Decay that screamed of contracted professionals. The gang symbology employed was aggressively vague and impersonal; the distribution of trash looked too random to be accidentally placed. Fate had been a passive observer of rave culture since its inception in the early 90s, and the one constant he noted in The Rave Dynamic was the pervasive sense of spontaneity that promoters tried to cultivate. Raves were spur-of-the-moment points of convergence that flew in the face of modern time micromanagement, covert gatherings strung together by gossamer threads of connectivity, Underground Networks putting The Word out to the Faithful. An MDMA-stained, goodtime Genesis, the DJ playing God to His Flock of outlaw believers transported to a recreational-pharmaceutical beatitude that couldn’t last. Carpe Noctum. Tomorrow is the time for serotonin-depletion and recovery, but tonight the music plays and heads and nerve-endings are singing. Rigid social protocols bordering on religious rituals to celebrate God, The Psychotropic Molecule.
Fate had seen it all before in his SD days: lines of people congregating to worship the impermanence of their existences with drugs and music as Sacraments, Christ Transsubstantiated in a bass-driven bit of neurochemical legerdemain. He smiled at the idea. Time meant nothing to him. He would be and be and be, and they would die and die and die, begging a re-conceived God for a stay of execution, their finiteness ultimately tainting every thought, most of them driven to churches to reconcile their losing relationship with Time and God. He pitied the finite, the mortals that had to clutch at buildings and gatherings to resolve life with clarity and meaning. He, Fate, simply was, and his ideals of clarity and meaning were exponentially harder to grasp…
The place stunk of things that observed no limitations, a place of hunters and predators, a place of beings that preyed upon the mortal and misguided. A Vampire haven, blended chameleon-seamlessly into the illicit shroud of Urban Nightlife, the socio-architectural equivalent of a Venus Fly-Trap. Everything back to Ishida, as usual. Fate was getting used to the horrible consistency with which the predatory instinct manifested itself, and was happy to disrupt the laziness of Business As Usual whenever possible.
Life and un-life drifted past, made scenes or entered quietly; beauty shining like a diamond or ugliness concealed in coal black hoods; desire and/or a desire for solitude blurring past in erratic patterns, a kaleidoscopic whirl of circumstantial input. Biz moved in various strata. Pills, pursuits, and declarations of love arced through the crowd like the firing of neurons.
Fate waited as quietly certain as a destined Deus waiting to emerge, inevitably, Ex Machina…
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Blake and Ronnie were on a new street corner, offering their particular brand of ex tempore jazz to a different bunch of random, would-be Patrons of The Arts, patronage rendered in the form of cash donations to the eternally-hungry maw of Ronnie’s bucket/Bass drum. It seemed an ill wind had blown the humble, ad hoc Aeolian duo naught but Philistines on this, their latest night of improvised offerings.
Ronnie, during a lull in the performance, and with the unabashed honesty of the young, said, “Man, these people got their pockets locked! Tough crowd tonight, Pop.”
Blake, Zen jazzman counterpoint to Ronnie’s youthful exuberance, answered, chuckling, “Ronnie, my boy, not everyone harbors a deep enough appreciation for jazz to flip their hard-earned money into our pockets. Remember that. And remember that we ain’t here just to pry greenbacks from generous souls, either. If’n you’re going to get anywhere you want to be, you’ve got to hold the love for the sound dearer to your heart than any amount of money can wrangle. You want money, be a banker. You want to add beauty to this ugly old world, you shut up and bang them drums, come what may. The Lord provides, kiddo. If’n He didn’t, my ass would’ve been in a paper bag like them winos by now,” he said, by way of rebuttal.
“I know, Pop—I just got a problem with those that stand there and seem to feel it, and then walk away when I get off the bucket. Somethin’ for nothin’ an’ all.”
“They felt it anyway, kiddo. Anyone that stops to listen can’t be all bad. Trust me on that one, bein’ as I been poor and blind longer than you been walkin’ this earth. Take that cat Fate last night, for example,” he said, wanting to broach the subject.
“The guy that stood around listening for, like, two hours or something? What of him?”
“Sayin’ that in that tone of voice tells me you ain’t willing to accept what you felt when he showed up.”
Ronnie, surprised by Blake’s insight, offered, almost defensively, “Yeah, he had a presence about him, but I’m gettin’ used to weird people stopping to listen. So he flipped us a twenty. Weird guy with money to burn is all.”
“Ain’t that simple, kiddo. You know as well as me that he ain’t like the rest of the weirdos that give us time and twenties. You just can’t say it.”
“Say what, that he scared the hell outta me with the way he looked at us, that he burned hot as the sun, that he seemed as far away from us as Pluto is to the Earth? Is that what you meant?” Ronnie said, trying to shoehorn something tangible out of the old man.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, m’boy. Could be that man Fate is a Guardian Angel come to watch out for us. Could also be he’s a Demon from Hell come to steal our souls,” Blake said, feeling the impact his words had on his young protégé. “Were he a Demon from Hell, though, he probably would’ve taken us when the crowd dispersed. One old, blind man and a young man ain’t much of a match for someone who burns like he does. Better we think of him as an Angel that’s going through growing pains, asking questions of his Boss that we can’t even think about, a pure heart that is maybe fighting through a confusion that we mere mortals can’t even speculate upon,” Blake said.
“Funny how he just left like he did, now you mention it,” Ronnie said, grasping the thread of Blake’s monologue. “Like he saw what he needed to see, and had to get off to other business or something.”
“Now you’re perhaps considering in the right direction,” Blake said, moistening the reed of his sax to punctuate the end of the discussion. Ronnie took his cue and began laying down an odd three-four beat, expressing his uncertainty percussively. Blake took it up without a moment’s hesitation…
Fate, at the door of the club, scoped the bouncers thoroughly. *Vampire Beef to discourage the potentially courageous,* he decided. Neither one read as hot as Fate would’ve assumed, both apparently recent inductees into the Mosquito Club, chosen mostly for their size and disposition, the thinking, Fate speculated, that largish types would have the mixture of durability and intimidation to keep out the hunter types. Funny how they didn’t notice Fate’s lack of pheromonal output when they allowed him in for a nominal charge, glaring at him unknowingly through beefy, recently-turned eyes. Fate, fastidiously dressed in the same black activewear that had at no time seen sweat, sashayed in coolly and confidently. He had seen similar scenes in his days, and definitely knew how to become anonymous in the dynamics of crowds…
“Lotus Lands,” a drug-influenced title that screamed permissiveness in neon phrasing, exceeded Fate’s understanding of would-be Babylons. Everywhere he extended his awareness, radar-blips of Vamps On The Make bounced back, the Revenants taking no pains to hide their sanguine intentions. Occupied as they were, most wouldn’t know of his presence until it was too late to influence the outcome in any useful way.
In the beginning, Fate tried his hand at subtlety, homing in on Vamps that were encumbered by chemical endowments, their undead neurochemistries too slowed by feedings to notice his predation. Those—and they numbered three—were dispatched by simple dermal contact, the assumption of energies transacted in pulses of light that thrilled those in attendance. The reality of elimination somehow lost most of those there, the chemicals blunting their powers of observation; there was a body there that was then not there. So be it. The lights were pretty…
The crowd, predominantly mortal, flowed and undulated like a mass organism guided by the beats and breaks of the DJ, writhing with lust at every transition between tracks, the friction of the needle on the vinyl provoking a metaphorical orgasmic response that shuddered through them in visible waves of Ecstasy. Stormflashes of skin. Sinuous movements reminiscent of peristaltic action. Strands of photochemical plastic carved impromptu electron clouds out of the dim lighting. Kisses, hugs, and contact within the solidstate shell of noise.
Fate, moving at 120 BPM, his body hyped on Vamp essence, found himself enjoying the musical output of the DJ in his Elysium of the booth: wild, up-tempo trance records provided a cadence by which Fate could operate in his role as Death, eschewing the Pale Horse that Death rode in Revelations, dancing, enjoying the feel of his physiology while contemplating the eventual assumption of every last one of the Vamps in the place. That seemed to be in keeping with the basic ruthlessness of the universe, and Fate was happy to oblige.
He, between throbs and frequency-manipulations that issued forth from the mammoth speakers, attempted to lapse into a Mushin state, but found it difficult. How could he assume a No-Self stance while aware of the Self at every moment? Many enemies flickered around him, baring their spirits in naked declarations of Need, their physiologies begging satiety in blood and anonymity. So many asking to Feed the Monkey, unknowing and unconsidered, coal shoveled into the freighttrain of Fate’s relentless Engine.
120 beats pulsed in every strobelit minute. Fate there, saving up his energy for one Definite Moment to make his intent known, begging upon himself the violence that the Revenants were sure to offer.
120 B.P.M.
That, by any respectable mathematics, ciphered out to two beats per second. More than enough space to Get It Done, he decided.
Fate went for the microphone, the exits to the building glowing in his head, the avenues of escape for his prey delineated in flowcharts that ended at the dimly-visible “Exit” signs. How many would try to eliminate him? How many would run from him? How many would vanish silently with little fuss? He was there to find that out.
“Selectah!” Fate said, grabbing the mike in a smooth usurpation of auditory power. “Lick shot! Koam strahng wit’ de riddim, an’ let meh see the monstahs fall until de eye de’my bleed,” laying the Dancehall patois down tungsten-dense as the DJ’s queued record came to a screeching halt. Fate dropped the mic and moved.
The DJ, assuredly mortal, stood in gape-mouthed horror as the lithe black man swiped his mic and offered to be the focal point of the anger that was sure to be welling up in his listeners. The DJ, nee Scott Rivers, known to his faithful as DJ Morpheus, had never seen anything like this before. He knew that the proprietors of “Lotus Lands” were a bit sketchy, but he made it a point—out of a well-developed professional lack of curiosity—to ask too many questions. Their checks were always good, and the crowd was always On. And that was that. This, however, was entirely outside the realm of his four hundred bucks, and DJ Morpheus had the survival skills to recognize the deviation. He ducked and cared not for the music.
A group of six Vamps clustered together overestimated their potential effect, and rushed Fate straightaway. He took a moment to grin before jacking his system into Full Mean Overdrive, and had a tenth of a second to remove his coat, accepting the rush of the most proactive Revenant like a career Toreador, swirling his jacket around and through the charge, temporarily factoring him out of The Equation, blasting forward to block a right jab and a left Haymaker simultaneously, the dealer of the Haymaker grabbed and spun into the jabber, Fate pirouetting on a foot attached to a body that cared naught for continued survival, giving them an improvised lesson in Existential Square-Dancing, whirling tangentially out of the spin to deliver a thrust kick to one of the more reticent members of The Undead, adding a pair of hard body shots to shatter ribs and stun, both hands helically coming together to remove one (1) head from one (1) animated body. Dust. Fate breathed without need to center himself.
Another came strong with a right hand. Fate blocked that with his left hand, and followed it with a stiff slap to the base of the neck with his right, feeding in the moment of contact, his spirit singing, letting a left-hand shot into His Space, blocking it and applying a Leopard’s Paw straight to the ribcage, piercing that fragile organ with a rib. Re-dust. Spinning away and re-setting in a combat stance. Many ran, including previous combatants. The exits flooded with bodies attempting to leave the place. Fate, still in a position to defend himself, had a moment to appreciate his effect on the Vamp haven, grinning and selfless. Several seconds passed. The music was still not playing. All quiet in The Rave Scene, and what would the mortal members make of it? He, Fate, still gigged the same tinge of recreational pharmaceuticals in the bunch that stayed, and chuckled internally at their collective ignorance of substantial Happenings—several dead, and still the partygoers wanted parts of their bodies rubbed or touched. What, Fate wondered, was The World coming to?
DJ Morpheus, after an allocation of time that he pensed to be appropriate considering the basic strangeness of circumstances, decided to pop his head up. He, quite unexpectedly, met Fate’s eyes, and Fate thought to have A Meaningful Dialogue with him, unbeknownst to DJ Morpheus.
“So, me chile: ya’ considah yaself an entahtainah?” Fate said, continuing as he started, the Dancehall patois emanating smoothly out of his sated lips.
“Uh… uh… yeah… the people like to hear me spin records,” DJ Morpheus said, terrified.
“Jah protect yah from meh? I’ an ‘I only be askin’ ta bettah understand yah relationship wit’ de Heavenly Faddah, seen? An’ why ya be caterin’ to de monstahs of de world wit’ ya’ recahds dat ya spin. Afta da blood dey is, seen? Amazin’ dat I’ an I’ be speaking ta ya’, Steppin’ Razor beggin’ truth outta one simple Selectah, wit’ all de evil goin’ roun’. Soun’ a bit crayzy, nah? You wit’ da recahds, and me wit’ de accountin’ a de souls. I’ an’ I be busy, seen? Busy as Jah, seen? All in de matmatics, seen? So many accounts to total up, an’ I’ an’ I be da one to do ahl de calculatin,” Fate said, trying to bridge the experiential gap between club DJing, his own inexplicable shreds of phenomenal behavior, and a Rasta’s grasp of Present Tense.
Fate, feeling Ragamuffin wit’ his own particular Energy-Based Eyrie-ness, stood and waited out the DJ’s answer. Morpheus had no equally-pithy return statement, and fainted dead away.
Fate left, his thought patterns including Jah, Blake, the dead Revenants, and the patois that accepted all things.
He learned nothing that he didn’t already know.
Silence waited for him. Meditation waited for him. Enemies already rendered dust powdered his descent into Selflessness and a slowing of The Demon…
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Thursday 15th September 2005 – 3:30am Bremen local time
Wednesday 14th September 2005 – 6:30pm LA time
Tash watched incredulously as Valerian turned his back on the doorway to Jade’s supposed place of incarceration and retreated back along the corridor. Then comprehension dawned. Sam. *Yeah, and it means he doesn’t have to face these traps.*
She turned to Sorrow and gestured at the door. “No other clues from fang-face – what a surprise,” she said sardonically. She started towards it, senses attuned to pick up anything from the other side, and stopped short. “Uh, Sorrow? Can you pick up anything from the door itself? I don’t want to fry myself, here.”
Sorrow relaxed. The muted drone from the fans of various computers assailed his ears, but he could discern no warning hum of electricity from the door as his eyes raked across the door examining it for any telltale signs. Finally he expanded his senses into the supernatural realms, ignoring the pain that warned him he was already pushing himself, for his reserves had not recovered from the struggle to find Jade some three nights earlier. There was nothing; either the door was shielded beyond his abilities to detect or it was safe.
"It looks safe." Sorrow reached for the door and pushed it open. Senses alert for the faintest danger, he walked gingerly into the room.
Tash rolled her eyes. "So much for letting me see if there was anything on the other side first," she muttered under her breath. "Bloody men."
"And there wasn't anything in here - I'd have heard it. You aren't the only supernaturally endowed individual in here."
The room on the other side was essentially carved out of rock. The walls were undressed stone. In the centre was a large box-like construction, surrounded by monitors and other equipment mixed together with what looked to be magical paraphernalia. Cables ran from the box to the wall they had just come through. To one side were a number of gas tanks, with hoses running to the box. "No prizes for guessing where Jade is."
Nothing seemed discordant in the room. No lurking presences. Still, Tash entered warily, her eyes darting around the room and placing every shadow. The only aura in the room was Sorrow’s. Nothing showed through the box. No sense of life. No sign of an aura. Nothing. But although she trusted Valerian in nothing else, if he said he’d felt Jade in here she trusted he was right on that.
She peered at the displays on the monitors. Heart rate, respiration rate, brain wave activity…
“Not many other choices,” Tash agreed. She took a tentative step toward the gas tanks. “What do you think? Disconnect these first, or try to open the box?”
Sorrow inspected the tanks, "Oxygen, according to the label. Let’s open the box."
A quick perusal of the box revealed a ladder leading to the top. Sorrow climb up to the top and found a large hatch set into what was now obviously a holding cell of some sort. "Ok, there's a hatch up here. It's pretty large one so I'm thinking they just lowered her in. I can't sense anything but... You want to have a try?"
"I've not been able to feel anything yet, but I could try a more direct approach,” she offered while holding up a gloved hand. Sorrow shrugged as if to say ‘up to you’, so she peeled off the glove and laid her bare hand gently on the side of the cell.
The dull greyish-looking box turned out to be more cream-coloured up close. The cold touch of metal met her palm. She could see the man – Gemmel, Valerian had called him – standing in almost this exact spot, staring at the tank. Anticipation – trepidation…
Tash stepped back and replaced her glove, staring up at Sorrow who was watching her intently from the top of the tank. “I couldn’t sense Jade,” she began and saw his face set grimly, “but Gemmel was thinking about her while standing right here. And he was thinking of her still alive. There was something else… I don’t know what. Some plan he had.” Tash shrugged, “I might get it from touching him, but not from this box.”
She scrambled up the ladder to join Sorrow at the hatch. “Traps,” she reminded him.
"Yeah, I know, and if you were going to put one it'd be right here but I can't sense anything."
Tash scanned the hatch with her eyes, her ears and her mind. Nothing. "Ok," she sighed, "I can't find anything either. Damn, you were right before. I wish Ian were here now."
She glanced at Sorrow and queried, "Here goes nothing?"
Sorrow flicked the catch and started to push at the hatch when he caught sight of her. "Shit !" He rolled away and stood atop the box, facing the witch. Her face was painted in blood and a series of incantations scorched the air. He leapt forward and drove his fist towards her face. His attack was met with a crisp block and her incantations continued uninterrupted. Sorrow felt a tugging at his being, a tugging that turned to a clawing pain as her words poured forth. He struck again, was blocked, knocked away the counter and thrust his open palms straight into her shoulders. The witch was thrown off the edge of the tank and Sorrow stepped to the rim to look down on her. With a snarl he launched himself downwards to deliver a skull crushing punch.
Tash dealt with the vampire’s attacks as best she could, given her surprise. She really wasn’t sure where he’d come from. It was almost as though he’d risen up out of the tank as she crouched near the opening. She parried the first blows that threatened to break every bone in her face, only to have her counter-strike blocked. The creature, its face contorted in the demon mask they all wore when in frenzy, thrust at her shoulders and knocked her off-balance, toppling her from the tank.
One of the things Matthias had taught her early on was how to fall. She went with the momentum of it, rolling on impact with little more than a bruise. She quickly reacquired her target and saw him leaping towards her, saliva flying from his snarling face and bloodlust burning in his eyes. She used the impetus she still had to propel her to her feet, her fingers gripping a precious vial of holy water. As the vampire landed with a ‘thud’ and turned to face her, close enough for her to smell his undead stench, she smashed the vial against its chest. She leapt backwards, bringing forth a stake to finish the job as steam started to rise.
The witch flowed out from under his strike - she was fast and skilled. Sorrow turned to face her and she smashed a vial of some evil smelling potion against him. The fluid dripped down his clothes and he gagged at the smell. Moving back, the woman raised her knife and set herself against his attack.
*The knife has to go first.* Sorrow attacked; his initial rage at this creature’s temerity had passed and now Sorrow had slipped into his methodical killer guise. His only wish was that he had a praentath in his hands so that he could adequately punish this bitch.
Sorrow glided forward. The knife was a short-range weapon that meshed with his hand-to-hand style perfectly, so what followed was fast and furious. He pushed her back gradually. Skilled as she was she couldn't deal with his combination of power, speed and ability. "You don't get hers... you don't get mine! Not for your filthy rites!" Sorrow dropped low and drove his elbow into her stomach. But was forced back by the thrust of the dagger. *Concentrate! What happened to getting rid of that thing first?*
The vampire advanced on her, the steam dissipating slowly. It snarled, “I’ll take your blood… I’ll make her mine! She’ll be my filthy bitch!”
She tried to fend him off, but he was faster and stronger than her and she had to keep giving ground. She held onto the stake, waiting for an opportunity, then he drove forward, doubling her over with an elbow deep in her solar plexus. But it brought his chest close to her – too close. She smiled and thrust the stake at him, but he twisted at the last second so it only penetrated his shoulder. Still, it seemed to give him pause for a moment.
“You won’t get her,” she cried, brandishing her cross. Her other hand drew forth her second stake. “I made a promise to keep Jade safe. I promised Sorrow…”
She called out some further incantation and Sorrow felt the liquid on his chest start to heat up. In her left hand she brandished some sort of gris-gris. The kris lay on the floor between then but before Sorrow could react she drew a second knife from her belt.
*That's it, time's up!* Sorrow advanced, heedless of the burning pain the priestess’ potion caused his skin. The gris-gris was brandished again but Sorrow ignored it. A quick double feint put her off balance and Sorrow's left hand caught her right wrist. His right hand smashed into the middle of her forearm and the bone snapped with an audible crack.
Her stake clattered to the ground as burning agony engulfed her arm. Tash bit back a scream, knowing that if she didn’t hold it together she’d be the main course. The vampire brushed aside the cross she pushed towards him and Tash felt panic rise. She backpedalled as fast as she could until she fetched up hard against a wall, the jolt sending fresh pain lancing through her arm.
“Damn! Why didn’t I bring Sorrow in here with me? Two of us could have handled this thing no worries,” she muttered furiously.
“Why didn’t I…?” Tash frowned. There was something important she had to remember, she was sure of it. But there was no time to think. The creature was almost upon her. It was move now or die.
He reached back for his sword then discarded the idea. *I won't sully Hizashi with this thing’s blood!* Grabbing the woman by the throat he hauled her upright and pulled her hand away from her broken arm . Replacing it with his own, Sorrow dug at her flesh and ground the splintered ends of the bones together. "Time to die, bitch!"
Tash writhed in pure agony. The white-hot pain blotted out almost everything else, except the knowledge that she was about to die here and leave Jade unprotected. A part of her stayed alert enough, however, to feel affronted at this vampire’s tactics. *Didn’t worry about that damn cross at all! And was it reaching for something on its back? Looked like it was drawing a sword…*
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes opening wide. Reality snapped back into focus and she felt the vestiges of some psychic force leave her mind. It wasn’t a vampire – Sorrow was gouging his thumb deep into the shattered ends of her forearm. The torture was almost unbearable, but she knew he was fighting a monster of his own. How to get through to him?
Gritting her teeth, knowing she had mere seconds before he decided to break her neck, Tash lifted her left hand to her mouth, pulling off the glove with her teeth. “Sorrow,” she gasped as she planted her palm firmly on the side of his face.
Sorrow and Tash were in Jade’s flat, the smell of antiseptic lotion strong in the air. Sorrow's voice was low and filled with fury, "Like you handled the one who did that." He thrust his arm towards her throat. "A couple of seconds more and he would have crushed your larynx and you'd have been dead.”
Sorrow took a deep breath. "How many will you save when you're dead Tash? How many innocents will die, not because you didn't hunt every night, but because you did?"
The colour drained from Sorrow's face as the image of a blood-painted face wavered and was replaced by Tash. His hand leapt from her arm as if he'd scalded it. "God, Tash I'm..."
Tash crumpled against the wall, her face ashen. "Yeah,” she gasped, “I tried to kill you, too... Ow..." She closed her eyes, the pain and nausea finally winning out now that the need to survive was no longer imperative.
Ignoring the pain from his pierced shoulder Sorrow helped Tash to the ground. "Let me see." He ran his fingers gently over her forearm and frowned in concern. "It looks like a fairly clean break though I doubt I helped matters with the grinding. We get it set and some pain killers in you and it'll be fine."
Sorrow's smile didn't reach his eyes, which were still filled with concern. "I need to get Jade out of that thing but I'll be as quick as I can. Don't go anywhere."
He turned back to the tank and negotiated his way up the ladder and back to the hatch. The catch was still undone so Sorrow simply placed one booted foot against the edge and pushed. The hatch rolled back and Sorrow was forced to cover his mouth and nose. Peering into the gloom he called out, "Jade?"
"Don't go anywhere," Tash muttered. She slumped on the floor cradling her shattered arm, "As if."
Jade's dark eyes were glazed over and eerily blank, swamping her deathly pale face as Sorrow waded gingerly into the water and lifted her gently into his arms. Her long hair hung in limp, wet strands down to her back and the weight she had lost in the last few days made her look terribly fragile. Her lips moved wordlessly, as if in prayer to exorcise some inner demon that nobody else could see.
Other than that, Jade offered no indication that she was aware of what was happening around her. Even as Sorrow carried her out of the tank, the sudden presence of light and cacophony of sounds had as little effect on her as the foetid air within.
"Jade?" Sorrow repeated. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he slipped out of his jacket and wrapped it around Jade tenderly. Cupping her face, Sorrow tilted her head to look at him, worry and fury mingling in his eyes when she stared right through him, not really seeing him at all.
He looked to see Tash watching the proceedings with a worried frown on her face. "Oh god, Tash... What have they done to her?"
Tash tried to shift a little and hissed at the sudden, sharp pain that speared through her. “Well,” Tash hated to say it, but… “we know they’re pretty good at mind control. But I’m sure we can undo whatever they’ve done. They haven’t had her long.” She tried to sound hopeful.
A wave of agony passed over her and she tried not to let it show in her eyes, but Sorrow suddenly made a face, “Sorry, Tash.” He laid Jade down gently, wiping away a strand of hair from her face, her unseeing eyes gazing into the distance. He kissed her lips tenderly before getting to his feet with a heavy sigh. Fishing through his gear he came up with a pair of white tablets.
“You’ll have to dry-swallow them, I’m afraid. But they’ll help with the pain.”
Tash took them with a wan smile, “I don’t care if I have to inhale them through my nose at this stage. Thanks. Go take care of Jade.”
Sorrow looked over his shoulder at the barely recognisable shell that was his lover. He seemed to sag where he stood. “Tash,” he began.
“Go look after her.”
Sorrow nodded grimly before turning back to Jade. *Less than four days. They've only had her for less than four days!* His fists clenched as he remembered the way Jade had looked the last time he had seen her, vibrant and alive; so different from the corpse-like state she was in now.
Not quite knowing what to do, Sorrow knelt beside Jade, searching her for signs that she'd been physically hurt. He almost wished she were... His job had been such that physical injuries were part and parcel of his life. Mental trauma, however, was out his league.
Suddenly Jade jerked, causing both Sorrow and Tash to start. Even as Sorrow reached for her, Jade attempted to scrabble backwards. Not from him - her eyes were not focused on him, Sorrow realised. He followed the direction of her terrified gaze to the two figures standing at the door.
A satisfied smile curled Valerian’s lip. It faltered momentarily when he saw the state Jade was in but soon reasserted itself, broader than before. Samantha stood beside her sire, looking a little blistered and sore but, Tash noted, disconcertingly healthy. The fledgling must have had a good infusion of blood – her cheeks could almost be said to be rosy.
Tash shifted, willing the painkillers to kick in quickly. She edged closer to one of her fallen stakes, not liking the expression on Valerian’s face. He looked like all his Christmases had come at once.
“Well done, the both of you. I see you managed to cleverly disarm any traps in here. And my dearest Jadyn.” He moved with feline grace further into the room. “It is I – your loving father. I told you I was coming to rescue you, did I not?”
"Blood of my blood..."
The whispered words were little more than a croak from Jade's lips but Sorrow recognised them, just as he recognised the terror in Jade's eyes. He gathered Jade up, effortlessly ignoring her struggles and strove to keep his words flippant. "I beg to differ, Valerian. With all your big talk, I must say your "rescue" was sadly… lacking… especially towards the end, when you seemed more concerned about the fate of your childe than the life of your daughter."
As he spoke, Sorrow swiftly carried Jade over to where Tash sat. The pointed looks he gave the flare gun hanging from Tash's belt and the oxygen tanks lining the wall behind her said it all, before he strode forward, placing himself between the vampires and the women.
"I think, since Tash and I did most of the work," Sorrow's smile was wolfish and did nothing to hide his sarcasm, "you have no right to lay claim to any of the hunt's 'spoils'." He didn't think he needed to point out that he was referring to Jade; the snarl that peeled back Valerian's lips told him that the vampire had understood.
Tash let the threats and sarcasm continue between the two patriarchs. She had to smile at Sorrow’s protective gesture, but she also had to admit that of the two of them he was in far better shape. Hell, not only could he stand up, he could even walk! The sharp pain had dulled to a deep, steady ache, a sign that the painkillers were finally doing their job. She eyed the gas tanks along the wall. Oxygen, Sorrow had said. The thing about oxygen, she mused, is that it makes things highly flammable.
Rolling her head she checked out the vampires. Sam seemed to be fascinated by the slanging match between Sorrow and Valerian. Perfect. She twisted her body to grasp the nearest gas hose with her left hand, found the valve and turned it full on. The flexible piping needed little encouragement to tear loose, pouring rich oxygen into the room.
The squeaking of the valve was the sound Sorrow was waiting for. Tash unclipped the flare gun one-handed and aimed at the vampires as Sorrow stepped to one side, allowing her a clear field of fire. Words seemed superfluous at this point, so Tash simply squeezed the trigger. Valerian noted the danger he was in, but too late to avoid the stream of fire that played over him and spilled back onto Samantha.
Their screams rent the air as Sorrow ran back to Jade and Tash. Tash dropped the flare gun from nerveless fingers and held the hand up to him. “Help me up - I can walk myself. You’ll have to carry Jade.”
"Let's go!"
Knowing that they didn't have much time before the whole chamber went up in flames, Sorrow heaved Tash to her feet before scooping Jade up, pressing her close to the shield of his body. He cast one last glance at the two vampires prancing around in their attempts to beat the flames off their bodies - saw the flesh practically melt away from what had been Sam's beautiful, porcelain face, heard the agonised, animal howls - before turning towards the chamber opening and leading the way out.
The corridor beyond was deserted but as he and Tash limped along Sorrow kept his eyes peeled for any vampires or guards that may have survived Valerian's earlier killing spree. His shoulder burned where Tash had stabbed him with her stake and blood dripped steadily down his arm, soaking through the jacket he had wrapped around Jade. It was too quiet, the silence was almost deafening. So focused were Sorrow and Tash on getting themselves out, they jumped at the sudden sound of Jade's voice.
"He lives."
Her eyes were looking directly into Sorrow's, actually seeing him for the first time but they were dark with despair and full of fear. "He lives," she repeated softly, "and he'll kill you both. He'll kill you both and make me watch. His anger, I feel it inside me. It's almost as if I can feel him burn..." Eyes fluttering close again, Jade lost consciousness.
Tash glanced over her shoulder at the chamber they’d just left. It had gone quiet in there now, the screaming no longer assaulting her ears, but that sense of cold evil remained. “Damn, she’s right. I guess it was too much to hope…”
They picked their way over the corpses littering the hallway, the pale, drained faces staring accusingly at them as they passed. The witch on the stairs still lived, her breathing shallow but regular, and Tash sent up a silent prayer of thanks. In the main part of the building they found nothing but bodies, most with their throats ripped out. Cartons had been torn open from the explosive bullets – the place looked like a bomb had hit it, Tash thought.
Though she and Sorrow moved carefully through the debris, nothing and nobody seemed to block their path. “I guess whatever survivors there were fucked off,” Tash observed. She was beginning to move with difficulty. The effort of putting one foot in front of the other was growing steadily greater. Lead weights seemed to have attached themselves to her feet. Through her pain-filled haze she noticed that Sorrow seemed to be struggling with the burden he carried, too.
“Sorrow, we need to get out of here,” she said, “I mean, right out. I somehow think Valerian’s not going to let us use his jet any more. We need the Foundation for this… you’ll have to ring Victor.”
The chilly night air greeted them as the trio finally exited the building. Their breaths formed little wisps of mist as Tash and Sorrow decided how exactly they were going to leave the vicinity. Valerian's limousine was nowhere in sight, so Sorrow jerked his head towards the direction of the main street. "My mobile's in my pocket but I think you should be the one to call Victor. We shouldn't linger around so we'll walk as you talk. Tell him we'll need for him to get us a plane, preferably with medical equipment and personnel on board."
"No," Tash replied, sagging against a nearby wall, "You'd better call him. I... can't... stay..." The world spun crazily out of control and suddenly Tash's eyes didn't seem to want to work any more. The last thing she remembered was the feel of cold concrete against her back.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Reah hadn’t expected to end up in a good mood after leaving the police station, but as luck would have it she did. Although she definitely didn’t expect it to last very long.
From what past experiences had taught her, whenever she reached a high, a painfully severe low wasn’t far behind in following her up.
Knowing this and being used to it, she’d trained herself to accept what seemed to be the inevitable and wasn’t going to let depression cut in to take away the small moments in life she did get to enjoy.
Pacing briskly down the path, Reah smiled to herself as she replayed her performance and its results back to herself. Chopping, changing and focusing on different parts, making it even more pleasing, her smile came upon her even more genuinely. Wicked with some of the prospects she’d envisioned.
The chill of the morning air hadn’t a chance to break through the warmth her little victory had filled her with… small as it was, it gave her a hope.
Piece by piece she was going to pull together all those tiny pieces of life that sparked within her. It was exciting in a strange way… the things she used to take for granted. No matter how small the odds, she was going to rebuild her life.
Yet, just as quickly as her hopes had manifested, they were struck clean apart at the sight of what she could only assume was her lift.
“You?” Reah didn’t think she’d be far wrong if she took a blind stab in the dark that this was her witness. It took nearly all of her concentration to keep from killing him right then and there.
“Morning Miss Kossinton.” His voice hesitated momentarily in answering before pulling himself up. There was another slight pause before he leant across to put his hand on the door handle of a car, pronouncing in a sturdy voice, “I… have your lift ready.”
Reah didn’t move. This man knew about her, she could hear it clearly in his voice and see it in the way he stood. He’d barely have to lift a finger to reveal her to anyone! Why he was risking giving her a lift she couldn’t begin to imagine… it’d be too easy for her to get rid of him.
“Miss…”
“Don’t bloody call me that,” she quickly cut in, “I haven’t earned any respect. You don’t even know me half as well as you might think. Or do you think it‘ll get you off easier?”
He adjusted his position to stand more upright with more defences. Reah couldn’t remember his name for the life of her… only his face from her first night back. Memories bubbled within her again, closer to the surface than before. Pain like no other, as though she wasn’t with her body, like it’d been torn from her.
“I was merely being polite. But I’ll apologise for being humane if you wish.” Reah glared at him. Whether he’d done it on purpose or not, it cut deep into her personal doubts.
“Now if you’ll give me the pleasure, I have your lift ready!” He forwarded again.
Reah conceded. It merely made her job easier. “I’m sure the pleasure will be all mine, Mr…?”
“Just call me Cameron, since we’re so against formalities.” He smiled, *The scrawny worm.*
She flashed up a grin as she lowered herself into the passenger seat.
“And don’t worry, I won’t be trying to rape you or anything,” his confidence and smile had her wanting to skewer him like a shish-kabob right then and there. “My car has a direct satellite link camera set up in it that transmits straight back to my station!”
Reah’s teeth gritted against each other, her grin held solidly in position as he promptly closed the door shut.
When he finally slipped into his own position, turning the ignition on he spoke up, “Now, what gets me is what could make such a beautiful woman roam the streets at night.”
Reah could have cut his throat then and there when he suddenly continued, putting her off track, “What did happen to you that night I found you? Is your head better?”
Reah didn’t know what to think let alone say. Had she been asked, she would have sworn he was going to probe into the vampire incident. She wasn’t too sure what game he was trying to play now.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Flashback, date unknown
…throwing her far back till her airborne state diminished and she thudded, skidding along the ground grazing her side and arm with Meh’s hand still holding it - crushing it more appropriately - as she soaked up the same blow. Meh was shaking too; her hand seemed to burn right into Reah’s. She wanted to pull back like it was a blue flame, but Meh’s grip was too strong for her to compete.
They slid into a tumble, cursing painfully in strained gasps, when they hit something in the last few metres, dealing several awkward blows to her left shoulder that dislocated it and continued to rip at it till they came to a complete halt.
Face down, teeth gritted against the pain shooting throughout her body, Reah barely noticed the concrete that scraped against her forehead and nose as she breathed deeply, trying to dull the pain and control herself.
“Ow, fucken ow!” Reah spat, dust instantly clinging to her now wetted lips. “What the bloody hell was that?” She shook off Meh’s frozen grip by hitting it against the ground.
Reah still hadn’t registered the sound of soft murmuring in the background. Her ears were still ringing and heart still going in a sixty-four beat from the mind crushing blow that seemed to come from nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time.
Both physically and mentally Reah was wrecked. She was in no condition to keep hunting tonight. Though some good did come out of being slapped that hard! It certainly put an end to the thoughts that were raping her mind just before. Perhaps it was some sort of wake up call from above to shut the hell up!
“She seems a little… vindictive….”
“Oh! So Meh must have found her.”
“I believe she’s got the potential given time…. And yeah, Meh did.”
“She looks as though she could use a glass of water.”
“Erch. Wunderbar! Anozer Meh!”
Still oblivious to the voices around her, Reah attempted to push herself up, wincing when her left arm refused to cooperate and transferred all her weight to her right arm as she heaved herself up.
Meh groaned at her side, “I heard that.”
Reah quirked her head toward Meh in confusion after she seemed to speak to no one in particular. “I didn’t say anything!”
“Huh?” Meh opened her eyes and rolled around, scraping over the ground, to stare tiredly up at Reah. “I never said you did.”
Reah shook her head. Meh would forever be a mystery to her. *And what did she say about liking me?* Her eyes slowly peered back toward Meh cautiously and filled with concern.
Meh coughed violently, rolling onto her side and spat blood onto the pavement.
*Pavement?* Suddenly struck Reah as odd now that she noticed it, and blinked. She could have sworn they were in the park. Whatever had hit them must have hit them bloody hard.
“…needs some help.” A hand rested on Reah’s shoulder causing her to jump on edge at its suddenness.
Reah stared wild eyed up at Sea-Doc before her eyes managed to focus better and realisation of who it was came home. “Bloody hell, you scared me. Don’t you ever….” Reah trailed off as she noticed the sight just over Sea-Doc’s shoulder.
A good forty people - if you could call some of them that - were sitting back, some of them exhausted beyond any help, some of them passed out altogether, but all eyes that could be spared were staring at her in their own special way.
In her whole life she’d never seen such a gathering. Some of them were just too misshapen to be human, grotesque, enchanting, hulking, fine, stumpy…*What the hell is that?* Reah stared at what could only be described as a mechanical arm that seemed to be replacing the right arm of some freakish dwarf type creature with a braided beard propping himself at Sea-Doc’s side and offering Reah a… comforting face?
“Hello. Your name is?”
Reah’s breathing intensed, growing heavier and more erratic as she continued staring at the creatures surrounding her, tripping backwards over a still coughing Meh on the ground before she’d even realised she’d jumped up and backed away till the solid cold ground hitting hard on her ass brought it to her attention. Even then it was still foggy.
“Reah?” Sea-Doc stepped forward over Meh, concern touching her voice.
Reah scurried like a crab as far back as she could till she hit an opposing wall, then she tried to scurry up and into it, “Wha… wha, w-w-wha… what the…? Ssshit! Bloody…”
“It’s ok! You just need to relax.”
Reah’s head was swimming in an ocean of confusion. It was stormy, and she was drowning…. She needed to breathe. Breathe.
“Reah?”
“WHAT?” Her eyes shot wide open as she stared wildly around the room. “WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON? WHERE AM I? WHO ARE YOU? WHY DO YOU HAVE A MECHANICAL ARM? WHY DO YOU HAVE TWO MECHANICAL ARMS? WHERE’S HALF YOUR HEAD? WHY THE… WHAT... WHY...?” She gripped her throbbing head and slid down the wall to the ground to stare inquisitively at a particular particle of dirt because it suddenly seemed the only natural thing that made sense in the room.
“Reah, you need to calm down. You’re safe. It‘s ok.”
Laughing breathlessly, overwhelmed, Reah continued to stare at her dirt particle. Getting greedy she took in another particle of dirt sitting next to it, claiming that one too. “I’m dreaming… slightly different to the usual, but hey, I guess everyone has to change sometime!”
“You’re not dreaming, Reah. This is as real as you.” There was a pause in Sea-Doc’s words as Reah’s laughter turned into a silent sob before cutting off into concentrated breathing again. “You already lived in a world of unnatural creatures, why are these people so hard to accept?”
“Well,” Reah sobered momentarily, “for starters, there’s a guy over there with a computer…”
“All natural.”
“Plugged into his head!”
Sea-Doc frowned, “Also natural for his profession.”
“Not in any of the professions I know of!” Reah shot her gaze savagely around square in Sea-Doc’s eyes so suddenly that she had to step back at it. “I’m in some dream or something, unless…” she trailed of silently muttering, “It has to be some sort of secret government agency, who... for some reason wanted… me… cos I’m… potentially a… threat?”
Sea-Doc looked at her with worry deeply creasing her forehead.
“WELL WHERE THE FUCK AM I?” she burst out with confusion digging its jagged nails painfully into her brain.
“I feels like I’m on fire!” A very weak Meh sounded up in pain to no avail. No one paid her any mind, even Aral’s attention was completely on Reah as she stepped over her.
“You’re in LA, Reah.” Sea-Doc sighed, glancing sideways for the best words. “But I’m afraid that anything else I tell you at the moment would more than likely too hard for you to accept.”
“You think?” Reah took in her observers once again. A couple more had passed out since she’d last looked. Others seemed as healthy as ever suddenly - a couple of them moved around some of the unconscious ones briefly brushing their hands across them.
“A bucket of water might be ni…”
“Reah,” Sea-Doc pressed on tenderly, “for now, I’m going to need you to trust me.” Reah’s head nodded about with great sarcasm buried in bewilderment. “I’m being serious!"
“Now you know you lived… live in a world filled with creatures that others could only believe existed in fairytales. You faced them down. I know, I saw it.” Her voice turned sour on her last, “But you‘re in a time now where… let me start again. These beings behind me are as natural as you and I.” She sighed, “Now, it’s not easy to explain what just happened. Where you are is easy to answer… when it is, on the other hand….”
She sighed again, “I’ll explain that to you later. For now, just try to accept these people as equals, not some form of demon enemy.”
*Easy for you to say!* Reah still tried to contain her thoughts. *Something like losing your keys! Just think back to where you last saw them….* It wasn’t working as she’d hoped.
“They’re…”
“Everyday citizens like you and me.”
So insecure. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and the fact that she was now had her questioning her mental health. *You’re hallucinating Reah, that’s what it is! Somehow you must have smoked something and now its affecting you.* Lifting her eyes slightly, she stared in wonder, *Something that’s extremely potent!* Burying her head back in her hands, she rocked herself steadily trying to shake herself out of it.
“Reah!... Reah!… Reanna? Hey!”
“What?” Reah slammed the dash and stared brutally at the driver. It was bad enough she hadn’t killed him already. She was still uncertain of the full reason she hadn’t! Then he goes ahead and interrupts her...
“Don’t threaten me,” he replied composedly to the savage growl rumbling in Reah’s throat. “You’d just zoned out….” Cameron hesitated a moment, “You’re not on drugs are you?”
“Pull the car over.” Reah snarled the order.
The car continued to steadily roll along the smooth road, giving no hint of even slightly edging off to the kerb. Even as Reah stared down his side profile, she could see every muscle in his features working not to strain. The severe drop of his adams-apple was a clear giveaway.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” She curled her right fist around on the dash, fingers sprawling out to tap rhythmically.
After another slight pause, Cameron checked his mirror dutifully and pulled over, double parking.
Reah smiled nonchalantly at the side of his head as he continued to stare blandly ahead at nothing. “Good choice.” The passenger door flung open, belting into the car beside them. Cameron still stayed motionless as she swiftly lifted herself out and slammed the door shut.
“I’ll see you later,” came Cameron’s voice from behind, whipping her attention back after she’d manoeuvred herself out of the car's way, eyes blazing as the car just shot off into the night without a backwards glance.
“Bastard!” She screamed at no one and booted the parked car in front of her, setting off its alarm.
After glaring at the heated rubber tracks just burnt into the road by his car, Reah balefully spun about, coat flaring around behind, and stalked off back to Poplar.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
September 25th.
4:30pm
It was a afternoon like every other afternoon, like every other day. Tarix had come home from her afternoon shift and thought of what she could do. “Perhaps I could go out and watch a movie.” But going alone didn’t seem an idea too thrilling for her. She thought of asking someone, but the only people she knew was a man too old to date and a sister waiting for her moment to kill.
*Oh what’s the use, my life will remain boring.* She decided it was time to change that. She grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table and began to plan an adventure, a three-hour maximum adventure. Something that would be new and different. But before her plan could go further the phone rang. She hesitated but picked it up after four rings.
It was Thule, and he asked her whether he could come over for an early training session. *Asked? He ordered!* She looked at her watch and found that she had an hour left before he came by. She sighed, and decided that a lot of things could be done in an hour. She looked down at the paper lying in front of her and her eyes fell on an ad about a sale in a furniture store. *What the hell, it's as good as any adventure.* And without a further thought she grabbed her purse and rushed out the door.
*****
As the bus stopped, Tarix got off and dragged the five plastic shopping bags and the somewhat large packed wooden table. It took her some time to get all her bags off, and when she had finished the bus driver was glaring at her.
She then realised she had forgotten to pay her fare and hastily got back up, apologized for the delay, paid, and rushed back out. Swinging the plastic bags over her shoulder with one hand and grabbing the rest of the stuff with the other, she started to drag it across the pavement to the building.
She pushed opened the gate with great effort, and once again started to drag her new possessions along the ground. *Hope these aren't too fragile.* She came up to the entrance and realised that she would now have to climb a lot of stairs.
She groaned from the thought. *Hey, I may be half a demon, I may be training, but I am NOT he-man!* She rethought that, *Or woman!*
As if on cue, her new neighbor emerged from the alley where the inhabitants brought their garbage. Darian quickly noticed Tarix's present predicament and rushed over to her aid. "Hey Tarix, seems like you could use a bit of help," he said smiling.
She turned around and saw Darian standing there. *All right, I may not be she-woman, but wishes do come true!* She gave him a bright smile, and breathed a sigh of relief "Thank you, yes I do need a bit of help. Ok, maybe more than a bit."
Darian was glad to run into Tarix. Too much of his time of late had been devoted to sulking, and the loneliness of his existence had been gnawing away at him.
Yet every time he talked with his neighbour he would forget his current worries and woes, and just be lost in the moment, enjoying the company of someone -a friend- something he did not do much in the past two centuries.
"You sure bought a lot of stuff. Redecorating the whole apartment?” His small talk definitely needed to be worked on.
Tarix smiled. "Well yes, I have bought a lot haven't I? I guess I got carried away, but my place was so empty I could hear my own voice echo ten times over..." She realised she was starting to babble and stopped.
Darian grinned back and bent down to pick up the big box.
"Here let me help you with that, it's a bit heavy…" Tarix said, and started to help him but broke off as she noticed a bit of blood on his knuckles.
Her eye went round in worry. "Oh my, what happened? Do you want me to look at that?" As Tarix reached closer to touch the wound, Darian twitched and stepped back a bit.
"Umm, no, it's nothing really. Just, um, had a bit of an accident..." He let out a nervous laugh. "Never feed a bunch of squirrels that close by, they can really gang up on you." He tried to smile and change the subject by carrying the box towards the stairs, as Tarix eyed him suspiciously.
*Squirrels? Here? Perhaps demon squirrels?* She decided to drop it, and picked up the rest of the bags and followed after Darian.
*Squirels!? You have got to think up better excuses,* Darian thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.
Once the pair finally reached the top, Darian put down the hefty box, and rubbed his now bulging biceps. "How did all of your 110 lbs hope to lift this all the way up here?" he teased playfully.
"With a lot of grunting and pushing and lifting and a lot of trips up and down the stairs, not to mention a lot of achy muscles. Then collapsing in the middle of my apartment in a big heap and waiting for my energy to return,"she replied, grinning. "But what about you? You always a squirrel enemy number one? Or do you not give them enough nuts?" she teased back.
Darian's mouth smirked nervously for a moment, finally erupting into full laughter. As if it were contagious, Tarix joined in the merriment of the moment.
Once the chuckling had subsided, the young man's face began to blush. "Hey if your're not too busy sometime soon, maybe you would like to join me for like supper or something?," he gently asked, his voice full of timidness.
*What am I doing? I don't have time to date... but there is something special about this girl. Something different. I mean, what could be the harm in taking a little personal time?*
Tarix's face also blushed a deep red, and she couldn't help but think about that boy she had dated in New York. *Damn him, not everybody can turn out like that.*
She was about to say yes, when she heard a distinct sound of someone's throat being cleared. They both turned around to find a man in his forties with grey hair and a disapproving look on his face. Tarix's face, if it was possible, flushed even deeper.
"Thule," she finally managed to reply, "Um, I was just um, just umm." She motioned towards Darian, "Um, meet Darian, he's my new neighbour." She turned around to Darian. "Darian, this is Thule, um, a friend of mine."
Darian eyed the elderly man with a twinge of suspicion. *What’s an old guy like this doing being "friends" with a young girl like Tarix?*
However, not wanting to be rude or offend Tarix, Darian politely extended his hand to Thule. "Nice to meet you sir."
Thule once again suspiously looked at the young man from head to toe. Then ignoring the outstretched hand he glared at Tarix. "It seems you had forgotten we had planned an early training today. I came earlier and no one was here, so I went to the restaurant, they hadn't heard from you either. Perhaps next time you would like to warn me?"
"Oh," Tarix gulped, "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten.” She motioned at her things lying on the floor, “I um, went out to get some furniture." She motioned towards Darian, "He was kind enough to help me carry the heavy stuff."
The young man's gaze turned stone cold as he quickly withdrew his hand. *Who does this guy think he is?* "So Mr. Thule, what exactly do you two do in your training sessions??" Darian inquired, his tone cold and demanding.
In his many years, Darian had witnessed a lot of dirty men trying to take advantage of innocent girls, and it disgusted him considerably. Although he wasn’t sure what Tarix and this man's relationship was, he was going to make sure that the girl was safe.
Tarix looked at both the men. The tension between them was thick enough to be cut with a knife. *They both seem ready to fight over me,* she thought. *It would be quite comforting if it weren’t so serious.*
Thule's face remained blank. *But you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that he doesn't like Darian,* Tarix’s thoughts continued.
Thule cursed himself for letting that slip by, *Must be those damn emotions.* He tried to cover it. "I don't think that's any of your business young man." He was about to retort further but decided to save it for Tarix, and he gave her a cold stare too.
Contempt oozed from Darian's eyes; if looks could kill, Thule would have been long gone. Although every fiber in his being encouraged him to let the old fart have it, the pleading look Tarix gave him forced him to restrain himself.
"Well then, I guess you don’t need my help any more Tarix," he said as he turned to enter his apartment across the hall. "If you need anything or whatever," -icy glance at Thule- "remember I’m always just across the hall."
Thule watched as the young man opened his door, took another worried look at Tarix and stepped back in. *Worried? About what? Something about him is not right, I better have a little talk with Tarix.* He looked at her, feeling a little calmer and motioned her to open the door.
"I still haven't got my key back from Alaric," he said, and watched as Tarix quietly opened the door and stepped in. He followed her, closing the door behind him.
The door [b]clicked[b] behind Darian, who now made his way to his small kitchen. *I'd better keep an eye on that creep,* he thought to himself as he poured a glass of water.
Just as he brought the liquid up to his lips, he was hit with a sudden realization. *She never gave me an answer about going out!*
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Fish, Hope & Trick
September 28th
2:30 AM
Streets of LA
*How the hell am I going to get this smell out?* Darian thought as he thankfully exited the Downstream fish packing plant.
The expensiveness of LA life had finally caught up to him, forcing Darian to get a job; something that had not proved an easy task. Anything that involved long exposure to direct sunlight was impossible, so a nightshift was essential. Finally, after spending a few days searching he was “lucky” enough to get hired as the night watch men for a fishing packing plant. Even though the smell was enough to make a skunk gag, the pay was decent and it was only a half hour walk from his apartment.
*I don’t even know why I stay in this godforsaken town. Every mystic, witch, or wizard here ends up being some hippy new-ager, incapable of even basic magic, let alone having the ability to help me.* Despite his lack of success finding a cure for Sebastian, something inside him told Darian to stay in LA. Was it because he honestly believed that this town held the key? Was it that magical feeling in the air which he had felt when he first arrived? Or was it his neighbour Tarix, who he found himself thinking about more and more which caused the Fae to settle down for at least a short while?
Darian toyed with all these thoughts as he slowly trudged down the near-empty streets. At this hour his company usually only consisted of the slumbering homeless and the occasional insomniac out for a 3 am jog. However tonight, unbeknownst to him, Darian shared the evening roads with another figure. Loki silently stalked his prey from the roof tops, taking great care not to make the slightest sound that could alert Darian to his presence.
*Oh, look how cute he looks, all decked out in his iddybiddy little security uniform,* the trickster mused as he gracefully leapt onto the ledge of the next building. *You’re lucky I have other plans for you tonight, other than killing you; I mean it would be such a shame to get blood stains on the new work clothes.*
Loki continued his roof top surveillance until Darian had reached a totally empty alleyway; this was the moment he had been waiting for. Closing his eyes, Loki began to concentrate. Slowly, his sharp features melted away, as he altered his appearance to fit his desire. *Note to self: Thank the druids one more time for teaching me that little trick.*
Darian’s thought turned once more to the putrid smell emanating from his tight black uniform vest. “Man on man, do I ever stink,” he chuckled aloud.
Unexpectedly, Darian received a response to his verbalized complaint. “Not even 200 years ago, when there were no showers, did you ever smell quite so bad.”
The sound of that familiar voice caused Darian to instantly freeze in his tracks. Slowly he turned, hoping that his eyes would confirm what his ears were already telling him. His eyes widened as a sense of joy and confusion immediately washed over him.
“Sebastian! It... it wasn’t a dream, you ARE alive, and free!”
Darian had written off his previous encounter with “Sebastian” on his apartment balcony as an hallucination, caused by a mix of fatigue, frustration, and negative feedback from the spell he had attempted when he first arrived in LA. But now, now Sebastian was once again standing in front of him as real as the ground underfoot.
“Calm down Darian,” Loki said from behind his magical visage. “Yes I am alive, but as for being free, well that is a different matter.”
Darian’s smile seemed to falter for just a second, but then returned to a large beaming grin. “What do you mean that’s a different matter? You standing here means you’re out of the necklace,” he said taking a step closer to Sebastian.
“Wait, you don’t understand,” Loki responded, taking a stride backwards. “Darian, I’ve found a way to project my thoughts out of the necklace. With enough concentration I can temporarily walk around freely, but my real body is still inside the amethyst.” Loki had given a lot of thought into coming up with a believable explanation, and this was the best he could do.
Before Darian could shake away the feeling of shock, Loki continued to spin his web of lies, all the while relishing in the fun he was having. “I have to apologize for the night I appeared at your apartment. I didn’t mean to blame you for what happened to me, but the process of projecting myself can cause me to become disoriented and I say things I don’t mean.”
Finally, Darian regained enough composure to react to the totally mind blowing scenario. “Wha… did…" - brief pause- "I have so many things to ask, I don’t even know where to start. What’s it like inside the gem?”
Loki's mind danced with laughter; he could not pass up this opportunity to cause some serious psychological damage. “Well,” Loki/Sebastian began, lowering his face and grimacing, as if trying to block out some painful memory, “it can be pretty bad. Sometimes its like being in a sea of nothingness, other times it’s excruciatingly painful as if my body is being torn apart hundreds of times and then getting put back together. You can never really know what to expect inside that amethyst.”
Hearing the agony that Sebastian supposedly had to go through struck Darian like a bullet to the chest. “Seb, I don’t know what to say. You know I’m trying to find a cure, but nothing seems to work. If only you hadn’t…”
Sebastian interrupted: “Hadn’t what? Hadn’t told the druid to spare you and not me? You know that I would do the same thing over again if I had to. But don’t worry, I think I’m really close to finding a way to get out, but I’ll need your help.”
“You know I would do anything,” Darian eagerly responded, his voice full of optimism.
“Just remember you said ‘anything’ my friend. I’m getting weak, and I can’t keep the connection to this world much longer,” Loki gasped, pretending to be in pain. Loki fell to his hands and knees, and tucked in his head so Darian could no longer see his face. *Time to make my big exit.*
Slowly, the trickster began to hum a soft unearthly song, its notes full of potent hypnotic magic.
“Seb. Sebastian, wait. Don’t leave yet, I have so much I need to know.” Darian was so overwhelmed that once again he did not realize what was going on before it was too late. His eyelids became heavy, his muscles began to relax, and soon enough his mind drifted into unconciousness.
“God are you a chump,” Loki said, rising to his feet while shaking off the appearance of Sebastian. “You know Darian, you’re going to die soon,” he said, standing over the inanimate frame of his adversary. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you….You’re going to kill yourself.” Insatiable laughter rang out into the dark LA night, as Loki once again vanished onto the roof tops.
Several minutes later, Darian’s eyes languidly opened as he once again regained consciousness. Despite the feelings of vertigo that plagued his head, he rose to his feet and frantically searched for signs of his friend, but the dark alleyway showed no indication of another being. *He’s gone, Damnit!* Darian subconsciously clenched his hands into fists in a desperate attempt to quench his anger. *Why the fuck did I black out again?* He cursed himself for not having the answer.
No longer was his friend’s appearance a simple hallucination; this time he was sure of its validity. Despite the feeling of utter bewilderment, Darian was somewhat content. Sebastian had told him that a cure was almost in reach, and the fae was eager to do what ever he could to help. His brain and heart raced as he tried to process all his thoughts and feelings; the dreadful fish smell of his clothes was now the last thing on his mind.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
By The Blood of the Golden Cross
September 28, 2005
Liquid
Uptown LA
12:36 AM
Silence surrounded Liquid on the outside. It was a fortress built to keep out the unwanted, both human and non. Cameras were placed on each corner of the cubic building. Its perimeter was monitored at all times of day, all in keeping with Management's policy of knowing what goes on at all times at all places. To the uninitiated person, this place was just another concrete building. It resembled a warehouse. The only difference was that Liquid flashed in purple frazzled neon lights. It was kind of odd, though, considering it was located in Uptown LA. After all, this was not a working-class sector. Its overbearing bluffs and rolling hills were much for plain people. Most of all, the sector was encompassed enjoyingly in a theme of secrecy.
The inside was a different story. Music ruptured and filled the club's atmoshphere and every inch of the building. Nobody could be heard. That was the point, though. One went in there to seek solace from the grind, despair and annoyance of everyday life. Getting to know someone was not the point. Liquid made the trendiest LA clubs look like a high-school café. All people did and were encouraged to do was smoke, drink, get high and fuck. No questions were to be asked. Management liked it this way. Everything was watched. It was pure entertainment and business for them. If anybody steered from the house's rules, they would be dealt with in a 'quiet' manner that usually ended with a close-up of a brick wall. Male or female.
The police didn't know about the activities in this place. On paper, Liquid was a model establishment. No complaints were ever filed. No crimes in progress were ever called in. The police weren't even necessary. Men and women of all shapes and sizes stood in each corner of the club. Their bodies served as their only weapons. At times, people wished they had arms instead. They were the means to Management's end. It was the same end all the time. Disrupt the balance of the club and consequences. Severe. Quiet consequences. Offenders were either afraid to talk or unaware of where they were to do anything. For Management, it was a way to enjoy making money, lots of it. LA is the city of vice. Uptown LA defined vice. They knew this and capitalized on it. Names were unimportant. One got in based on the look of despair on his face.
Tonight was like any other night. Men and women filled every room and hall in the cubic labyrinth. One room in particular was hosted by vampires. It was the same room that spawned the newest trend in LA where humans inject themselves with heroin and then feed themselves to vampires. Another room hosted fight clubs. There were even rooms where people read poetry. The only string was that to enter a room, one had to be intoxicated in some manner. One could still freely roam the halls or the dance floor. But, people were not here just for that.
12: 43 AM
"You can't go in."
"Why not? I really need to. Please," pleaded a twenty-year old
man. His hand scrambled in his pocket for any bills that he may have had.
"Hahaha," laughed the entrance guard. "Leave," he said sternly.
The man left and someone else emerged from the front of the line. The camera above the entrance extended its lens and focused on the grey-clad, expressionless individual. His left hand fiddled with a glistening object.
"Let him in," a voice said to the guard over the communications link.
"Name?" he asked.
"Kieran," he responded dryly.
The guard continued looking at him. "Kieran what?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Does it matter? It's just Kieran, mate," and he brushed past the guard.
Trance filled the stairwell air as Kieran made his way to the bar. The bartender just looked at him. “JD. Straight up,” ordered Kieran as he leaned against the bar. He finished six glasses before he left to wander around. His head throbbed as he made his way through the halls. The flashing blue and purple lights didn’t help. *Bloody hell. I need to get some sleep.*
He had heard about this place from some local thugs at work and figured he’d give it a shot. He had to break the routine. He kept fiddling with his cross as he made his way through the crowds. “Unnn,” he muttered silently, his head throbbing even heavier. DING! DING! “And your winner by a knockout… Liam O’NEILL!!!!!!!” Bottles and empty soda cups were thrown at the ring. Some hit both boxers, including the ring announcer.
Kieran sat this time at another bar and drank some more. He was on his thirteenth glass of whiskey before he decided to change. He ordered a rye and then fell to the floor. The music pierced his cranium as if it were made of soft tissue. The throbbing became heavier. He hadn’t either gotten much sleep since he came to LA. “Nnnnnn.” “I’m sorry me lad, but no one was found here alive. God bless ya. I’m here if ya need me son.”
“Get up,” ordered a corner man.
“Wh…What?” Kieran asked dazed.
“Get up,” the corner man repeated as he went to pick up Kieran. He didn’t have enough time as Kieran instinctively thrust his feet into the man’s chest, throwing him off balance and onto the floor. Kieran got on his knees and hands when another corner man elbowed him in his lower back and pinned his head to the floor with the other arm. Blood trickled from Kieran’s mouth. His head throbbed even heavier. He kicked up his leg into the man’s groin and pivoted his body to the side bringing a hard right to the man’s temple.
“Keep this Kieran. It will bring you faith wherever you will go. Lose this cross and you will lose all that is represented by God and your family.” “Thank you Father. I could not have done this without ya. They won’t understand, ya know,” replied Kieran. “God bless ya Kieran and may God be with ya. For I know He will be with your parents. Goodbye me lad.”…DING! DING!…”I’m sorry me lad. There’s nothing left here.”“Unnnnh,” he groaned still crouched on the floor. The music, the dancing, the inebriation continued among all this vertigo.
Kieran took the fallen man’s limp head and pounded him with more hooks. The unconscious man just continued to bleed without resistance. Five other corner men calmly made their way to the scene. Two of them pinned Kieran’s shoulders to the ground while two others held down his legs. A crowd of girls high on ecstasy continued to dance around them as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Two guys fighting over a drink were escorted to an unknown room by other cornermen. “Aaahhh,” cried Kieran as the fifth corner man brought a heavy blow with his fist to Kieran’s midsection. Whomp! Whomp!
Two men picked him up while the others returned to their respective spots. His whole body throbbed now as they led him down a flight of stairs. “Dammit Kieran! We need ya here. What can ya possibly find in Dublin or in the ring that ya can’t find here?” asked Robbie, Kieran’s father. “I need to be my own man, ya know. I’ve slaved my whole life for this farm. I just want a short break. I want this. I NEED THIS.” “This is all Father Aidan’s doin' isn’t it? I’ve heard stories about him ya know, Kieran. I swear it, that man has brought nothin' but darkness to this town since he arrived from Prague. CURSE HIM,” he shouted as he brought his fist down hard onto the kitchen table. “Robbie! No! Please, stop it,” pleaded Kieran's teary-eyed mother. Kieran picked up his bag and headed outside, closing the door behind him. Blood trickled from Kieran’s nose and still from his mouth. The throbbing lessened though.
“So...? Where… you lads takin’ me?” The men didn’t so much as flinch to the question. Kieran tried to struggle out of their grip much to his dismay. The stairway seemed to never end. “Pah,” as he spat blood onto one man’s face. “Unnnh,” he let out as one man’s fist connected with Kieran’s shoulder.
Another elbow was going to hit Kieran in the head but was met with Kieran’s knee. “Aaaaaaaaahhhh,” the man cried as he winced in pain. Kieran’s knee had cracked the man’s elbow. “I’m sorry me lad. If ever there’s anythin’ I can do? I promise ya I’ll find your family’s killers. My team of detectives are doin’ everythin’ they can. Your dad and uncles were fine lads, ya know, mate.” “Yaaarrgggaaaahhh!!!” screamed Kieran as he threw a fist hard into one of the remainig wooden columns in the church. Blood dripped slowly from the bottom of his fist. Crack! Kieran’s head hit the other man hard into his head dropping him to the stair. “Aaaaaahhhh. Fuuuuuccck!!!!!” cried the first man as Kieran lodged a knife into each of his shoulders. He then spun around and brought a knee up to the second man’s chest. “Aakk,” he coughed silently with the little air that he had left in his lungs.
“Me lad. Are you all right? Your hand is bleeding pretty bad there.” “I know. I’m fine, Detective Keane. Thanks, really. CURSE EVERYBODY!” he unclenched his fist and a small, blood-soaked object fell to the ground, unbeknownst to Kieran and the detective. Kieran’s hand still dangled from a chain the upper half of the golden cross that Father Aidan gave him.
Kieran hobbled down the stairs. The combination of the lack of sleep, the alcohol and the blows to the body rendered him weak and unbalanced. Kieran was slightly conscious of where he was. The whole world around him seemed to be a vertigo. He opened the door and was led to the rear exterior of the club which overlooked a bluff raising sixty feet high. The thought of more men coming to finish the job did not cross Kieran’s mind. He needn’t have worried though. Liquid’s long, rear stairway was the only unwatched area of the club. Panting, Kieran found his way to the front.
2:17 AM
All was quiet as Kieran made his way around. He walked along the side of the street some more. Liquid was surrounded by trees and more cubic complexes, some of which were glass and some of which were brick. He was totally unaware of his surroundings. He didn’t even remember where he had left his motorcycle.
Inside Liquid, 2:18 AM
“What of our little friend?” asked one member of Management.
“He escaped. Disabled 33 and 54. Not to mention 21 and 48 right over there before. He’s on foot. Unbalanced. He’ll collapse very soon. I’ve assigned 26 and 34 to him,” answered a corner man, also referred to as The Black Ace.
“Very well,” replied another member of Management. He got up from his crouching position holding the bottom half of Kieran’s blood-stained cross. “Very well,” he said again.
Outside. Azure Road, Three Miles from Liquid, 2:20 AM
26 and 34 tailed Kieran by twenty feet. “Let’s go in. He’s been there long enough,” said 26. “Hunnnh,” he uttered quietly. Snap! 34 fell to the ground.
“Sorry boys, he’s mine.” Estella then snapped 26’s neck.
She approached a slumping Kieran in a manner of seconds. “I’m here my love,” she said as she held him gently.
“Unnnn,” he mumbled. He tried to mouth something.
“Shhhh!” she whispered into his ear.
“Hunnnh,” Kieran winced in pain as Estella sank her teeth deep into his neck.
________________________________________
Guest-Starring:
Monica Bellucci as Estella
Willem Dafoe as Detective Keane
Adrien Brody as Father Aidan
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
September 25th
5:45pm
Tarix decided the best way to handle this sensitive situation was to use Thule’s weapon against him, and that was remaining calm. When she entered her home she tried to act as calm as she could, ignoring what had just happened and went around as if nothing had happened. She put down the shopping bags she was carrying and politely asked Thule to give her the table that he had now carried.
It seemed as if he was waiting for her to confront him but she remained quiet and to his surprise she started to go around putting up the new furniture settings she had bought. She had bought a few extra rugs, and pictures and posters for the plain walls. When Thule remained quiet as well Tarix decided to take these things out, admire them in a loud voice and ask Thule whether he liked them. Most of the time he just shook his head.
It wasn’t until after Tarix had hung all the pictures and posters and finished putting the rugs and was about to head off to construct her new wooden table that Thule seemed to run out of patience.
“Tarix? Is it ok that we have a little chat?”
She looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. “Sure Thule, what seems to be bothering you?” She knew very well what was bothering him.
“It was just that…” Thule stopped there and tried to construct his words so that they come out subtly, “This new neighbour of yours. I just wanted to know how long you’ve known him?”
“Oh, you mean Darian. I’ve known him for a few weeks. Why?” Tarix innocently asked.
Thule sat down on the couch and motioned Tarix to sit down, like he usually did when they engaged in a serious conversation. But rather than Tarix obliging she just slowly headed for the kitchen.
“By the way Thule, I know you must be dying for a cup of the tasty tea I always make for you. Be back in a little while,” she said, trying to stall as much as she could. This was not because she didn’t want to face him, it was only because she wanted to try her best at unnerving him. She took her longest fifteen minutes to make the tea and brought it to him.
“So what was it that we were discussing?” she asked, more innocent as ever, sitting down across from him.
Thule collected him thoughts once again. “I just wanted to know your relationship with your new nei… with Mr. Darian,” he asked, quite directly.
Tarix smiled politely and said in return. “Well that is quite nice of you, Thule, to be worried about me. I believe it's quite cute too. But I think that my social life is not much of your business. Would you like more tea?”
“It is a lot of my business. You do not know who this person is. Your safety is my full concern at the moment. You may not take your life seriously but I do. I have only trained you for a few weeks, a month at the maximum, and you still have a lot to learn. Look Tarix, you are free to have a social life but until I feel you are ready, I’m afraid your social life becomes a lot of my business.”
He looked back at her. Even though his words felt like he cared much about her well being, his face was still a blank. “Also, I don’t think I would like more tea, my cup is full as it is.”
It was at that time that Tarix knew that she had had enough of this stupid emotional control nonsense. *To hell with you Thule.* She got up, suddenly shaking with anger, took her empty cup and smashed it as hard as she could on the floor. Trying to control her voice she said, “I don’t give a damn what you think Thule. I am very happy that you care a lot about me. But if you trust me enough you would also trust my judgment. I still don’t give a damn about your worries, and I don’t give a damn about your business. You already control most of my life. I think I have the full right to control what’s left of it, social life or lack of it.”
She could hear her words in her head at if felt to her as if they didn’t make much sense. Before Thule could say anything more that would upset her even more she decided it was time for him to leave. “I think I have had enough training for today Thule, I would appreciate it if we end it here.” She walked to the door and opened it for him.
He stood up and stayed there for a while. After a few moments he started to leave, thinking it would be better to carry this conversation at another time. He exited the door and before he did he heard Tarix say, “And also I would like to take a day off tomorrow. I think I might go shop a little more or something. Good bye Thule.” And the door was shut behind him before he could do anything.
He decided to leave it alone. *She may need some time alone with that temperamental nature of hers.* He headed towards the stairs. He shot Tarix’s neighbour’s door a stone cold look and headed downstairs.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
September 29 - 9pm
Bowen shuffled down the alleyway. Alleys weren't his favourite places, but they were necessary for fast travel between the high streets.
There was a noise behind him. Just the kicking of a small stone. That was ok. People walked down alleys all the time. Just like Bowen was doing now. Then there was another sound. Like the clearing of a throat.
"’Scuse me?" came a gruff voice behind him. Bowen looked around. There were three men behind him. Tall, well built. They kept to the shadows, even in the dark of evening.
"Yes?" Bowen replied. He didn't like the way this looked. Someone after his wallet. Not good.
"We - that's me and my brothers here - were wondering something."
"Oh yes? What might this be?" Wallets. People these days just couldn't get enough of other people's money.
"If we could kill you. And possibly have a drink while we're at it. That’s all. Nothing big."
"Er. I don't think I can help you there." Bowen turned and ran. It was the best temporary solution he could think of.
This didn't last long. The men caught up with him faster than he expected. Bowen felt a bang to the back of his head and was knocked to the ground. He tried to get up, but a large hand on his shoulder pulled him off the ground and slammed him into the wall.
*Shit.*
"What do ya think bros? Snap and drink, like a can of beer, or alive, kicking and warm?" The tallest of the three breathed heavily into Bowen's face. Bowen tried his hardest not to retch. This guy needed a tic tac or at least some gum.
"Warm! Warm! It's fucking freezing out here!" A shorter but no less smelly member spoke forth.
"Yeah..." sneered the third.”We haven't had it warm in a while."
"Uhuh." The tallest agreed. He stood closer to Bowen; so close Bowen could see into his dark eyes. Then the eyes changed. As did the face around it. Lumps and bumps formed, creating a picture of extreme ugliness. The man opened his mouth to show a line of ghastly but nonetheless dangerous teeth.
"Shit… what the hell?" Bowen whispered to himself as he tried desperately to get further away from the mouth that was closing in on his neck.
She spirited through the night after the creature that she was pursuing, keeping her distance so as not to be seen. The exhilaration of the hunt took over as she continued swiftly down the deserted and dilapidated street.
A small side street ran parallel to the road she was on and she quickly took the nearest alleyway to reach it. Jess pulled the crossbow from her back and loaded a bolt as best she could as she continued to run.
She saw the vampires were now four and they had been chasing someone down an alley. The footsteps of the demons no longer sounded, but now came voices. She turned down the alleyway to see the three vampires, fairly young looking men, their faces already distorted. They held the man pinned to the wall, preparing to feed.
The bolt flew swiftly through the air hitting the tallest vampire in the back, turning him quickly to dust, just as a huge moan escaped his lips. Jess stood poised, ready for battle.
“You guys really should be quieter when feeding; you know I could hear you a mile off.” She grinned and immediately one of the two vampires ran for her, the other holding the man, preventing him from leaving.
The charging vamp threw a round-house kick at her midriff, causing her to fall off balance, sending her to the ground. She quickly rolled up onto her feet and sent a punch flying into his nose.
Bowen struggled under his captor's firm grip. He was aware that a third party had entered the equation and was causing havoc. He looked over forcefully and saw a young woman battling like he had never seen. Bowen tried for a shin kick. It worked. He was let go for a second and took this chance to get away from the ringleader.
“Run!” Jess screamed to the man who had just managed to free himself slightly. She grappled with the vampire for a while before finally spotting the right moment and plunging the stake into his chest, dusting him instantly.
"Uh." Bowen stood aghast. What had just happened? People didn't just evaporate like that. The woman must have some sort of powers. But she was still in danger. Possibly. He couldn't tell. But she had helped him. It seemed only the right thing to do.
He picked up a damp plank of wood and walloped one of the two remaining two men round the head as hard as he could.
“I said run, you idiot!” she shouted at the sight of his attempts. Her heart was beating heavily now. Jess grinned at the vampire; he was small but pretty powerful. She kicked him with all the power she had left, causing him to crash into a pile of cardboard boxes and trash cans. She cast a quick glance towards the other vampire, praying it hadn’t killed this guy she was supposed to be saving… yet.
She heaved a sigh of relief at the fact he wasn’t dead, but he would be soon if she didn’t hurry up. Her firm grip pinned the creature against the wall, struggling to keep him there. With one swift movement he was killed.
Bowen threw fist after fist at his attacker but it wasn't working. Even the plank seemed to have no effect. This seemed it. Bowen was rather annoyed. He was just making progress with Mantheana. It wasn't going to end now. But what to do?
Jess sprinted full speed down the alley and threw a kick at the vampire's body. It knocked him slightly off balance but other than that had not much effect. Bowen had been knocked off and was lying on the ground helpless.
“Okay,” she started to speak to the vampire. Punch. “Why won’t you die already!” Punch. This time he was knocked off balance, although in the process grabbed at her stake and managed to free it from her grasp.
She held the vampire with a firm grip now, sitting on top of him, her hands on his throat. She looked around for a weapon, still keeping her grip on the vampire. “Get the plank,” she said to Bowen, sighing. “Break it in half first.”
Bowen did so as quickly as he could, stamping on the wood twice before it would snap into a pointed shaft. He looked at his ally for more directions.
Jess continued to struggle as she held the vampire down, almost losing him for a moment. “Good. You did biology?” Jess paused and looked to Bowen. “Shove it in his heart.” She grinned cockily at the vampire then back at Bowen.
"Um." Bowen really didn't like the idea of out-right killing something, but at this point it seemed his only option. He lined up the wood, closed his eyes and thrust it in as hard as possible. He felt the resistance of the ribcage, and the body take the weight of the wood. Then, nothing. He opened an eye.
Jess stood up, brushing the dust off her jeans. She studied the man, cocking her head slightly. “You should be more careful.” Slowly she walked towards the alley wall and picked up one of the stakes that was on the ground. “Here, take this. Same as what you just did. Only if they show their bumpies though, don’t want the police after you.” She smiled and held out the stake to the man. “Jessica Travers.”
"Bowen Shore. Thanks. Erm. If you don't mind. What the hell just happened?" He grinned sheepishly, as if expecting it all to become clear that there was a totally logical explanation.
Jess gave Bowen a quizzical look. “You know you’re not meant to ask these sorts of questions. You go ‘oh my God, those horrible men almost killed me!’ and then I tell you it’s all okay and they can’t hurt you any more. But since you asked…” She cut off giving a sort of ‘sure you want to know?’ look.
Bowen looked at the wood, and the dust and felt his aching arm.
"I'm not sure I want to know. But… if there are people that I need to protect, people I care about, from things like that… I think I need to know."
After playing the thought over in her mind several times she sighed then nodded. “Very well, if it’s best you know… vampires. They exist. Like I said, just be careful.”
"Um. Are you sure?" It was true. Bowen knew it was true. A lot of things he had seen now made sense. But the humanity in his head told him to deny it.
Jess just smiled reassuringly, she couldn’t think of anything else she could say. How many times had she had to be told before she finally accepted it? Jess also knew she had gone totally mad and into denial, becoming possibly one of the most difficult children to handle she’d ever known. “It takes a lot of getting used to. I know it’s hard to deal…”
"No. Thank you. I'm sure you are doing a lot of good out here. Thank you." He clutched at the pointed wood. Then he remembered why he had been going through a dark ally in the first place. "I'll see you around. Good luck." He waved to Jessica and started his walk down the alleyway once more.
“You be careful!” she shouted after Bowen before waving him off. She turned around and began the walk back to her apartment, picking the crossbow up as she reached it.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
September 29 - 9:30pm
Bowen walked quickly, mulling things over in his head. What would he tell Mantheana? The truth? That Vampires existed and there was a whole host of things that she needed to worry about and protect Maria from? Or was it best to let her know what she was in for? This was a tough discussion. He felt like he needed a flower to pluck the petals from, telling him to tell her or tell her not. Yes, no, yes, no, yes. No. Mantheana was feeling stressed at the moment. He wouldn't tell her just yet. Later.
He walked up the steps and knocked on her door.
*******
"Vot happened to you?" Mantheana inspected the matted blood in Bowen's hair.
"Oh That. Er. It's nothing." Bowen's head throbbed. He knew it wasn't 'nothing', but he didn't want to bring up the subject of how he'd acquired his various injuries.
"No, it is not. Let me look at that." She guided him to a chair and sat him down. Her delicate hands searched through Bowen's messy hair until he winced, telling her she had found her mark. Combing the hair away with her fingers, Mantheana found a small gash at the back of his head. There was dirt in the wound.
"I vill get some antiseptic, and ven I get back, you can tell me vot happened." Mantheana stepped gracefully out of the kitchen and upstairs. Bowen was left to look around the room uncomfortably. He could smell pasta, and observing the washing in the sink, suspected that it had been Mantheana and Maria's meal. Thinking of Maria, he looked and listened to find no sign of her. She was a quiet child.
Maria could be talkative at times, and enjoyed to play, but she still was quiet. She did not long for the friendship of others and was quite contented to read or play with her dolls for long periods of time. It could sometimes be quite unnerving. Little girls were usually louder. Some might not be, if they were shy, but Maria wasn't shy. She was just quiet. Polite. Just… unnatural.
The door to the kitchen opened. Bowen opened his mouth to talk to Mantheana, but was stopped when he saw that it was Yasha. The monster of a canine gave him a fierce stare. This was his territory. Yasha was the dominant male of the house. Bowen had met Yasha before, but it had always been in Mantheana's presence. He wasn't sure that he entirely trusted the 'dog'. Yasha opened his mouth, showing a row of long yellow-white teeth that glinted nastily. The wolf-pet moved stealthily closer to Bowen.
"Er. Good Wolf. Dog. Thing." Bowen boldly reached out a hand to pat Yasha on the head. He was greeted with a mild growl, and he left his hand hanging in mid air. Yasha sniffed at the hand warily. A hand could pet, but a hand could scold also. The uncomfortable silence of competing males reverberated around the kitchen.
Mantheana walked in. In a fluid movement, Yasha was around her heels. He glared protectively at Bowen as Mantheana walked forth, holding a first aid kit in her hands. Everyone, everyone was protective over Mantheana. Yasha, he could understand, but Maria was just as protective over her mother as Mantheana was over her daughter. Even the babysitter, whom Bowen had only seen once, had bestowed nasty glances upon him the night he made Mantheana cry.
Bowen wondered why everyone did this, and realized that he himself was intending on protecting her tonight, if only from the truth. There was something fragile and delicate about Mantheana which begged not to be broken.
Bowen inhaled quickly as the TCP stung the back of his head.
"Now how did you obtain this?"
"Er… I… I was mugged. Yeah, some guys just came out of the shadows. They were after my wallet I think."
"Oh goodness. Are you all right? I mean apart from your head?"
"Yeah."
"Liar. Vot else did you hurt?"
"Arm. My arm."
"Well take off your coat, and let me take a look at that." Bowen complied, removing his long and tattered overcoat, and rolling the sleeve of his shirt up as far as it would go. An interesting bruise was forming on his forearm. Mantheana traced her fingers over it, applying pressure until Bowen called for her to stop.
"That looks like a nice vun." Mantheana put some cool cotton wool over it to ease the pain, and continued to clean up his head.
"How did you get avay?"
"Er… Some one helped me. Quite a good fighter. Must've done self-defence. Sent those monste- men running."
"Yeys. Lucky help came along. There are some nasty… people around here. They vere just after your money? Nothing… nothing else?"
"Yeah." He wasn't going to tell her. Not just yet. There was a time and a place for all that. Bowen didn't like lying to Mantheana. He felt he was betraying the person he was trying to save. But he also didn't think Mantheana was ready for that, not after she just moved in. Heck, he wasn't sure that he was ready for it yet.
"Good." Mantheana was going to keep quiet. She wasn't too keen on lying to Bowen. She had avoided the truth towards him before, but this was different. Telling him the truth about what was out there, lurking in the shadows would mean that she would have to tell him about herself. Mantheana didn't think Bowen was ready for that, not when they had just met. She wasn't even sure that she was totally tuned in with the idea herself, even after all the years. Not yet.
The couple sat in silence until Mantheana snapped back for a world of concentration.
"That should do your head. The bruise should go down. Are you sure that vos all you hurt?"
"Urm. Yeah." Bowen rolled his sleeve down. Mantheana placed her hands on his shoulders and he held them there, the ice of her fingers soothing the dull throb of bruises. He was not going to mention how much his back hurt, or his left leg either. These were not things Mantheana needed to know about. Not yet.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
What's His Line?
Starring...
Colin Farrell as Kieran
Ryan Phillippe as Loki
September 30, 2005
Liquid
Uptown LA
11 :59 PM
The heat overwhelmed the streets of Upper LA. It was unusual, surreal, and intoxicating. People felt alive. Blood pumped heavily through their veins causing them to be more aggressive. More spontaneous. Their actions could not be pre-determined. The surge of reality was not to be mistaken for despair, though. People were still confused. Their lives still clouded their actions. This was simply a catalyst to disaster. Blood would be spilled.
The line-up to Liquid was long tonight. It stretched all along the club's perimeter. Hidden among the trees facing the club, Kieran stood there and took everything in. Fresh from his encounter with Estella a few nights ago, he could feel his blood flow fiercely throughout his body. His veins were on fire and an unspeakable energy surged throughout his limbs.
"This is fucking great," he thought aloud. The dark bags under his eyes were gone. His limbs weren't numb anymore. He wasn't even slouching in his usual position. His hands itched for something to play with. He took out a throwing knife and started fiddling with it. From time to time, he'd stroke it gently and slam it hard into the tree stump in front of him.
Watching had become a routine for Kieran. Every night in LA had been spent watching. Estella broke that routine. She breathed some wickedness into him. Now… he felt reinvigorated. He was out for some action tonight. He wanted answers, bodies. Anything. Tonight was as great as any he reasoned. The heat. The people. Liquid. He could smell the blood in the air. Suddenly, his restlessness stopped. Kieran moved closer to the edge of the brush and brought up his binoculars. *Bloody hell? Did he just change into somebody?*
Ten minutes earlier, 11: 49 PM
Inside Liquid
The constant rhythm of the techno beat was hypnotic, commanding the gestures of dozens of ravers hyped on Ecstasy. Tired of following the orders of the DJ’s music, a punk pushed his way through the crowd, making his way off the dance floor. The kid's long, blue hair was spiked in a large Mohawk, and black mascara accentuated his unnatural eyes. Unlike the normal blue, brown and green eyes of the human clientele, or the sickly yellow of the vampires, the punk's wild and fiery eyes seemed to glow a purple hue.
As he made his way to the closest bar, his large indigo orbs fell on a rather ravishing blonde, sitting alone on a leather couch. "Hey love, have you been sitting here waiting for me?" The question caught the girl off guard as she had not heard the blue-haired kid approach.
"I’m here with my boyfriend creep, so why not find some cheap hooker and get your jollies that way?"
A seductive smile washed over the punk’s face. He always did enjoy a good challenge. “A boyfriend, eh? Well I don’t see your beau anywhere around. Now, wouldn’t you prefer to be with a guy who would pay a little more attention to you?"
His comments were cut short by the "Ahem" of a deep voice behind him. The kid had not realized that the blonde’s rather large and brutish lover had returned from wherever he had been. And he did not seem the least bit happy that a strange guy was talking to his girl.
"Hey buddy, why don’t you run along before I kick your little makeup wearing ass," he threatened, seeming rather pleased with his "witty" insult.
The blue-haired boy's smile grew even larger, the threat of a beating seemed to excite him rather than scare him off. "Oh well, then, I mean, I wouldn’t want you to hurt me. I mean, whatever could I do to defend myself? Well except for maybe this." A quick punch to the boyfriend’s throat stung worse than the sarcasm in the punk's voice.
As the man fell to the ground, the kid turned back to the girl seemingly unaffected by what had just transpired. "Well, you know what sweetie, I don’t think I want to go with any girl who dates someone like that. I mean, I don’t hook up with losers".
Amidst the arguing and the techno music, the punk did not see a corner man approach him from behind. "Unnnh," he let out as the man's forearm forced deeply into the punk's lower back. The punk could feel the electricity from the tips of his nerves course throughout his body sending waves of pain to his head. The heat made matters worse. His blood burned.
"Move along quietly," ordered the corner man in a silent tone, barely audible over the deafening rhythm beats. Two other corner men stood ready ten feet from the tussle. The E-crowd did not notice a single thing. To them, it wasn’t even in the picture. They were just another two dragons in a scene of fire.
Tightly, but gently, the man escorted the hooligan through the tangle of sweaty bodies out to the exit. "Come on big guy. No need to be so rough and tough, I was just kidding," said the kid once the effects of the cattle prod wore off.
The corner man did not reply, but instead pushed open the doorway to a back alley and shoved the kid out. He followed the boy, once again raising his weapon in an offensive stance. "I’m going to teach you how to behave, you little shit."
The punk defensively rose to his feet and stared defiantly into the man’s eyes. "Now, that was really rude. You should learn some manners young man. You see, you're in the presence of greatness, dude. And a little respect should be shown." The punk's blue Mohawk began to shrink, and the colour shimmered to a dirty blonde. The black grunge attire changed into a mint green Lacoste shirt, and the black eye makeup simply disappeared.
The guard stood stunned, not knowing what to make of the events which just unfolded. Before he could collect his thoughts, the stranger with the purple eyes leapt forward, grabbed the prod from his hands, and proceeded to jab it in his midsection. The electricity surged through his massive frame inciting his muscles to convulge uncontrollably. The punishment did not stop until the corner man lay unconscious on the hot ground.
"What a shocking turn of events, eh buddy?" The stranger laughed to himself as he dropped the weapon to the ground. "Do you get it? Shocking? Well, you'd find it funny if you weren’t unconscious."
11:59 PM
The stranger started to make for the bluff. Dumbfounded by this turn of events, Kieran emerged from his hiding spot. Simultaneously, flashbacks of the previous night in Liquid's stairway came to him. He was torn. As much as he needed to know more about the club, he was perplexed by the beating the corner man took at the hands of the changeling. Nobody but he and the changeling escaped Liquid's "disposal". Furthermore, this was the first time that he saw the use of any kind of weapon. Thoughts swirled inside Kieran's head like a vertigo. *Maybe this bloke can be of use to me.*
This time, Kieran expected more corner men to pursue. Deep down, he wanted them to. The last few days had seen Kieran's aggression become more fierce and volatile. Clutching one of his throwing knives he darted to the back of the club and slowed his pace. He made sure to quietly step on the dirt and gravel patch so as not to alert the stranger with the change in wind velocities that heavy or loud steps would produce. He approached the changeling's back, "Not every day someone has fun electrocuting these blokes."
The stranger came to a stop, intrigued that a new player had entered tonight's game. "Well, you know, I wasn’t feeling the club tonight, so I had to find some form of entertainment". His eyes narrowed as he looked Kieran over. "So? What’s it to you pretty boy?"
Kieran slid his knife back into his rear pant pocket. *Does this bloke think he is for real?* He smiled and stared at the stranger. "Hehe, to start things off… mine eyes are either betraying me or I just did see you change into something else? Besides, I've got my issues with the club. Seems they weren't too keen on me at some time, ya know. Where ya fit in with ‘em, Management?"
Kieran could not steer his thoughts away from the changeling's pale green shirt. He tried not to laugh, which was surprising despite his ineptitude in that department. Something about him he found intoxicating, though. He could smell evil all around the changeling.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got no idea what or who management is." The stranger took a few steps closer to Kieran. Seemingly intrigued he said, "You seem a little nervous. I hope I’m not scaring you?"
Kieran just looked at him. *Bloke thinks he's a joker. Let's see if he'll laugh when I snap his neck.* "I don't care what your deal is. You wanna dress like Peter Pan, good for ya laddie. I just wanna know what you did to piss of those dark men. Usually, weapons don’t come into the picture. Hell, with me, they didn’t even use any. And I’m fuckin’ dangerous, ya know. It'll only be a matter of minutes before more of 'em show up here. Question is, can you dance without a cattle prod?" Kieran was enjoying the agitation he felt in his blood. He cocked his neck to side and then back. Rolling his eyes backward, he could feel his muscles tense up and his adrenaline peak.
The stranger let out a soft chuckle before he lunged forward and in a great leap, slammed Kieran into the alley wall. "You want to know if I can dance, 'Laddie'?" he mocked, as his hands clasped around Kieran's throat. "Well, be careful what you wish for," his grip began to tighten as he squeezed with inhuman strength.
"Ackk," Kieran let out. Breaths came to him in short bursts. His lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. Kieran was overwhelmed by the changeling's strength. *He's a fucking demon fer chrissake.* He elbowed the changeling's midsection and spun around landing
a knee into the stranger's ribs. It wasn't much. The strength was incomparable, but it provided Kieran enough time to strike him in the jaw with a hard right and then take out two knives. One of which was positioned ready to gut the stranger, and the other ready to slit his throat. "Talk, me lad. I'm feeling great tonight, so I’ll listen. Give me what I want, and perhaps I might be able to help ya out."
The battle was cut short by the sound of three corner men bursting out from the club’s hidden stairwell and into the alleyway. "One of them caused the trouble earlier, get him," he ordered as he advanced.
"Well, well! Looks like we've got a little company," the stranger said to Kieran as he quickly freed himself from the range of knives. Making his way to one end of the alley, the purple-eyed man seemed to blend into the darkness, disappearing from view. Before the trailing guard knew what was happening, the stranger reappeared in back of him, placed one hand on his chin, the other on his head and quickly made a twisting motion. The guard's neck made a loud "snapping" noise before he fell limp to the ground.
The cameras on each end of the south side turned towards the action. Back in the club, Management watched the monitors. "He has returned."
"Who is the other one?...There," another member pointed to the screen. "He keeps to the shadows."
The other two men rushed towards Kieran. He smiled to himself. He'd been looking forward to this all night. *Sigh. Blokes’ll never learn.* He threw a knife into one of the men's necks, rendering him fallen to the dirt gravel. Crack! Kieran's fist met the other man's skull. The man responded with a knee to Kieran's hip. "Ahh." *Goddamn.* His heart pounded quickly. His hip sent electric shocks all along his spine. The pain. Kieran fell to the patch and swept the man's legs and then cracked his thorax with an elbow. He got up and searched for the changeling. Standing from the shadows, the changeling called to him.
"Looks like I’m not the only one who can dance". Once again, a large smile plastered across his face. The stranger sensed a similar darkness in Kieran, something familiar to his own clandestine aura. "Now, normally I would have finished what I started and that is, take care of you like I did this guy," he pointed at the guard with the broken neck, "but, I think I’ve had enough fun for one night. Plus, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Seems we can make a pretty good team."
"I play alone. However, we can be of mutual assistance fella. See those cameras," Kieran pointed to the four cameras on the south side. "Something is hidden in that club. I was marked for some reason. I need to know what's in there. You help me out, I'm sure you can think of something fer me,” he nodded back. “Lucky fer ya, I don’t ask questions. Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit what your business is about.”
The stranger's eyebrows rose, indicating his interest in Kieran's proposal. "You know, it just happens that I’m in LA on "business". Maybe we could work out this mutual assistance you speak of," he said, his voice now calm, almost alluring. "Let me formally introduce myself, the name’s Loki,” he said as he extended a hand.
"Kieran," and he let out a quarter-smile. "I'll find ya when I need ya... Loki. A word to the wise, they’re always watchin’ ya around here." Kieran turned and headed for the bluffs. He didn’t even bother to turn around to see what was of Loki. He didn’t need to. Loki disappeared into the shadows the instant Kieran turned his head to walk away. For once, Kieran smiled somewhat. He knew that Management caught them together. He wasn’t the only one being studied now. *It played out well.*
At the bottom of the bluffs, Loki smiled. *Excellent. Things just got easier.*
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Something To Remember
Sept 30th, 2005
Darian's Apartment
5:45 PM
Annoying beams of late afternoon sunlight crept through the blinds of Darian’s bedroom window, preventing him from falling asleep. Now that he worked the nightshift at the fish factory it was essential to get his rest during daylight hours. This nocturnal schedule, however, was to Darian’s liking, since living in the sun of the day was harmful to his health.
After what seemed like an eternity of tossing and turning, Darian finally dozed off into an uneasy slumber; visions of his past slowly flooded into his dreams.
Fierce wind and torrential rain swept across the lush Scottish countryside, forcing the two young men to find shelter from the ravaging storm. The grass and foliage underfoot was slippery and slowed their escape from the clearing into the minimal safety of the canopy covered forest.
“Why do we always get caught in storms when we’re coming back from making deliveries?” Darian joked as he rushed out of the field.
Sebastian quickly followed behind, taking care not to stumble over the various roots and rocks which cluttered the beaten path. “Don’t tell me you're afraid of a little rain? And here I thought you were all grown up now,” he teased while jumping over an obtrusive tree stump.
“Whoever said I was afraid? I just don’t want my hair to be messed up when we get back to town. If all the lasses see me dirty, wet and full of mud, they may actually start paying attention to you instead.”
The trees over the trail did not provide much more cover than the open field, and the two continued to be soaked by the showering rain.
“This is ain’t better. Let’s get off the path and deeper into the woods. The canopy is thicker and may block out more of the storm,” Darian called as he veered to his left, making his way deeper into the timber.
“Wait, Darian, there's a lot of drops and…” The crash of thunder overhead caused Sebastian’s warning to fall on deaf ears. *Bloody hell, the kid never thinks does he?* he thought as he increased his pace, hoping to catch up.
Darian made his way deeper into the timber, paying no heed to the dangerous terrain. The energy of the storm seemed to invigorate his blood, causing him to push himself faster and faster. Despite the burning in his legs, he felt good. All his worries and cares seemed so far away, he even forgot Sebastian was in back, desperately trying to keep up. At that moment Darian felt totally alive, totally free.
While lost in the intensity of the moment he didn’t notice the severe drop in elevation ahead of him, and by the time he did it was too late. Darian’s arms shot out instinctively hoping to stop himself, but his hands only grasped air.
Sebastian desperately tried to catch his friend, but he was too far behind to do any good. He watched in horror as Darian tumbled out of view, praying to god that the drop was a small one.
“Help! Seb…Help!” the terrified voice of Darian called out.
Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his friend’s voice. *He’s not dead,* he thought as he rushed towards the edge of the cliff. His sense of relief was cut short as he saw his friend dangling from an outstretched root in the side of the cliff, roughly fifteen feet below. Beneath that, the fall seemed fatally long.
“It hurts so much,” Darian cried out, his voice full of pain. “I think my arm is broken.”
Dropping to his stomach, Sebastian desperately reached out his arm, but to no avail.
“Seb, it’s no use, I’m too far down.” Darian’s face winced in anguish, “I can't hold on anymore, my arm hurts too much.”
Sebastian’s mind raced trying to find a way to get to Darian. "Darian, just don’t give up ok, promise me you won’t give up.”
Finally Sebastian’s eyes fell on what he was looking for. Only a few meters away he saw a sprouting tree in the early stages of its growth. Jumping to his feet he rushed over and with one swift quick, snapped the thin trunk. He brought the branch back to the edge of the cliff and used it as an extension of his arm. “Grab on and I'll pull you up!” he screamed, hoping Darian had enough willpower left to do as he was told.
Mustering all his remaining energy, Darian took one hand of the root and grabbed onto the skinny tree trunk. Slowly, Sebastian pulled his friend from the precipice of certain death, back onto the safety of the stable ground.
“I didn’t think I was going to make it there,” Darian said, his breath coming in short spurts, the pain in his arm threatening to send him into senselessness.
“I knew you had it in you. I didn’t think for a second you were going to give up,” Seb replied, his voice full of relief.
A strange sound suddenly echoed in the background, even louder than the rumbling thunder.
BEEP BEEP BEEP…
Darian’s eyes shot open, his arm instantly reaching to the off button of the alarm clock. “Oh, just a dream,” he said aloud as he groggily got up from the comfort of his bed. Ever since his last encounter with Sebastian, he was continually having dreams of his past. *I wonder if it means anything?* His thoughts were cut short by the realization that he had to run off to work.
Several minutes later, Darian stepped out of his apartment and began to jog down the street in the direction of the fish factory. The clear afternoon sky had clouded over during his sleep and was now filled with ominous black clouds. The heavens suddenly rumbled as the clouds burst from their own weight, drenching the city of LA in light rain. Once again, Darian was swept up in the energy of the moment, his light jog increasing to a fast run. His mind cleared of all the confusing events of late - at this moment he felt free.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
WARNING! The following information is CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET
NOTE: BALANCE Logo designed by Jon Wofford
http://www.jonwofford.com/index.html
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Thursday 15th September 2005 - 9 pm
Victor watched over his shoulder as the ER nurse guided Tash back to the examination area. The receptionist there handed Victor a clipboard and asked matter-of-factly, "Patient's name?"
Victor slid the clipboard back and said, "Benjamin Franklin, the Third."
There were three $100 bills stuck under the metal clip. The clipboard returned empty as the receptionist said, "Insurance?" Victor just looked at her. She continued unfazed, "Cash then. Do you have ID as the responsible party?"
Victor handed her another $20, "My name is Andrew Jackson."
Victor lost sight of Tash as they drew a curtain closed. He started to walk around the edge of the desk and head to the back when the receptionist moved into the way. "Family members have to stay in the waiting room. Only doctors and patients are allowed in the examining room. And I know you aren't Dr. Ulysses S. Grant."
Victor slipped her the $50 on cue and darted into the back room unrestrained.
Tash could feel the scrutiny of the doctor as he looked her over. The more recent bruises had flowered beautifully on her face and body, and the old ones had barely faded. He prodded at the fingers that poked out from the temporary cast on her broken arm and seemed pleased with their warmth and pliability. But the silence extended for so long that Tash wondered if he was Yugoslavian too, like the medics on the flight home.
Finally the doctor cleared his throat, “And just how did you come by this, Miss…?”
Victor tried to be subtle as he slipped behind the curtain. He was so busy trying to listen to Tash and the doctor he barked his leg on an open drawer. The drawer cracked loudly and tissues and cotton swabs spilled onto the floor.
"She was skydiving." *Very smooth, Victor. Why don't you smack her once so he knows it’s domestic abuse.*
"Rock climbing," said Tash as Victor stumbled in and said something. The doctor looked at the two of them strangely before Victor's words registered with her. *Shit.*
"Uh," she paused, meeting Victor's eyes for a second, "basejumping, actually. You know, you climb up the cliff and then skydive off it..." *Jesus Christ, now we'll have the social workers in here too.*
Tash leant back on the pillow and sighed heavily. "Look, I've had a tough few days. I just want this arm taken care of, please." She reached out with her good hand and twined her fingers with Victor's. For all the hassle his insistence on a hospital was causing, she was still glad to be home. Victor squeezed her hand and smiled at her. Yep, definitely glad to be home.
The doctor touched the break and Tash's sharp intake of breath told him what he needed to know, "X-rays are in order and there is some fluid buildup inside your arm. I am concerned about bone fragments and clots in your bloodstream so I am going to have you stay overnight for observation.”
Tash and Victor simultaneously said, "No!"
The doctor looked at them with a puzzled expression. Clearly he was unused to being denied. "Very well, then I am going to schedule a follow-up visit with you for tomorrow afternoon. Does that meet your approval?"
Victor looked at Tash who nodded reluctantly. She was clearly not comfortable around doctors. Victor looked back to the physician, "Doctor, if you could do as much for her as you can tonight, I'd be glad to bring her back here tomorrow for a follow-up."
*****
---2 hours later---
"I didn't think I'd ever get out of that place," Tash said, holding Victor's arm tightly as they crossed the car park to the taxi rank out the front. Her brand-new cast held her arm immobile, and the painkillers they'd given her didn't make her feel as woozy as Sorrow's had. "Please, just let's go home. I seriously need some snuggle time."
Victor supported her as they returned home. He knew she was exhausted both mentally and physically by her ordeal. He felt helpless that he wasn't able to do more for her than basically soothe her jangled nerves. There were so many things she had gotten used to. Matthias as her backup and magical healing. A simple hunt-and-destroy theatre in St. Louis. Everything had gotten harder as the stakes had risen in LA. Victor wasn't sure even he could keep up with the rapid-fire assaults on his senses and sensibilities. There are only so many times in an immortal life you can actually stand to have your head cut off.
Victor gave Tash a comforting squeeze. They would be enjoying each other's company in silence and bliss soon enough. They rode in comfortable silence all the way to Poplar Avenue. As Tash was exiting the cab, Victor patted the cabby’s shoulder through the window like a comrade. Tash gave him a puzzled look and Victor smiled back at her. As the cab pulled away and Victor joined her side again he said, "Word is getting out. The Foundation is helping a lot of people. You actually saved this man's life while out patrolling last week."
Tash turned sharply and watched the cab retreat, surprise on her face. “I did? But… usually people either run for it or faint. I don’t remember him.” Shaking her head but with a small smile on her face, Tash faced the tenement building – her home. Hers and Victor’s.
"Let's get settled in," she said, "and then I'll tell you all about it." She grasped Victor's hand and met his unwavering gaze. "It's not pretty," she warned.
Victor had seen a lot of things, but he doubted it mattered. He would listen and comfort her. It was frustrating that he could do so little to help her but he would do all she would allow him to do. She had to heal in her own time in her own way.
Tash's joints must have been aching with the stresses they'd been subjected to and the drugs were obviously starting to kick in. Victor lifted her gently and carried her the last leg of stairs and unlocked the apartment. Ian rushed forward, "God Tash, what ran over you?"
"Ian," Tash said tiredly. She'd forgotten he'd be here. Nestling her head against Victor's shoulder she smiled at her friend. "Thanks for looking after Victor. I'll be ok. Just had a little run-in with some bad guys is all." Her expression turned sheepish, "Uh, I hate to sound ungrateful, but I'd really like to have some time with Victor for a while..."
Ian threw up his hands. He didn't say anything but he was over-emphasising his gestures a little much. Victor really had gotten tired of some of Ian's attitude. "Ian..." he started.
"Yes, Mum?" said Ian, who immediately held up his hand in surrender, "Never mind. I'll be upstairs." Ian dug the ring of keys from out of the drawer and closed the apartment door behind himself.
Victor tried to look hurt for Tash's benefit but he couldn't maintain it. He just shook his head. "Ian is a little tired of the secrets and the goody-goody thing I think. It’s not his style."
Tash laughed softly. "I was wondering - he's not usually so surly. So you're too much the goody-goody for him, eh? If only he knew..."
She craned her neck to kiss Victor's cheek. "You can put me down now, if you like. I think I can make it to the bedroom under my own steam." At Victor's surprised look Tash smiled again, "No, not yet. But it's the most comfortable piece of furniture."
"At least it won't have that huge dent in it like the last time I spent a week laying in it," Victor chuckled, "but I understand. I'll behave."
On her feet again, Tash supported herself with the wall on the way to her bed. "Well, I didn't say you had to be a total boy scout."
Victor mumbled something about not liking the taste of boy scouts as he followed her into the bedroom. Once she was settled and comfortable in the bed he lay down beside her. He traced the bruises on her arms and neck. He could read the bruises on her soul as well.
"He did that to you, didn't he? Valerian," Victor spoke softly.
She could hear in his voice he wasn't talking about the physical marks. She shivered and closed her eyes, seeing once more the expression on Sorrow’s face as he’d told her that Valerian had enthralled her. The dead eyes of the girl Valerian had sacrificed to find Jade. The look in the eyes of the mage as Tash’s bullet had ripped through her flesh.
“He did some of it,” she whispered. “Some I did myself.”
She opened her lids and turned pain-filled eyes to her lover. “I’ve touched the darkness, Victor. More than I ever have before. Well, voluntarily, anyway. Valerian was only part of it.”
Victor lifted her good hand and kissed it. “There is still so much more light inside you. Touching the darkness drives it back more than it darkens your light."
He reached up and poked a finger into the wounds in his neck. He rubbed a small spot on her palm with the yellow slime. "When I have been hurt you have spread slime to cover over the wounds and they have healed. You don't have the ability to heal like that but here is some of my slime anyway. Maybe it will help."
Victor held her hand and he could smell the salty tears rolling down her cheeks and hear the gentle splashes as they hit the pillowcases. He drank in her presence as they stared at each other in the dim light of the room. Words seemed to be caught in space between them, thick as it was with their love.
Tash watched the spot of slime dry on her palm and somehow things didn't feel so bad. Just being with Victor calmed her soul. But the images from these past few days would stay with her forever, she knew. Victor's deep brown eyes reflected his concern, and she had to smile at the memory of his earlier blue eyes. So different, and yet so much the same. She let her eyes unfocus and looked only at his aura. *Well, ok. That's different now too.* Instead of swirls of colour deep in a dark aura as he'd been when they first met, he now carried swirls of dark deep in a brightly coloured aura.
"Remember when you told me I was part of your Quest?" she asked softly, “That day I found you in the alley?” She traced her hand in the air around his head. "I don't think I can take the credit for this, but our being together has made changes - for both of us. If anyone can make me better, it's you."
Victor closed his eyes and listened to her breath and her heartbeat steady and strong. His life had been a long trial but right now he felt as if it was finally worth it. If this were the reward for a virtuous life then he would become a messiah for her. He opened his eyes and smiled, "Change is part of the world; it is change for good that is rare. I have seen the changes in both of us and it has always worked to make us stronger and better and to draw us closer."
Victor snaked across the bed until his face was right next to hers. "Change is pain. But that pain gives birth to such glory...." He kissed her deeply on the mouth and tasted the salty sweetness of her.
Tash felt the warmth fill her as the kiss continued. Contentment washed over her and her muscles lost some of their tension. Something stirred deep within her and she sighed. "I love you," she murmured and kissed his earlobe as he moved to nuzzle her neck.
He gathered her into his arms and felt their hearts melt into one. He gently touched her skin with his fingers as if some unseen and unknown power would work through him to wipe away the dark circles and angry red wounds. Her cast made hollow clonking sounds as it battered against his armor hidden beneath the shallow special effects of his glamour. But the spell was only a shroud to hide him from the unprepared or the malicious.
In her eyes he was a brilliant whirlwind of color that entwined with her pink-and-red highlighted aura and created a rainbow around them that illuminated the ether. They basked in the hidden light show that erupted around them, both unable to appreciate the spectacle the fates who watched them could see, but also acutely aware of how special was the bond they shared.
As Tash gently glided back into the space by Victor's side she exhaled the clouds of angst and pain that had burrowed into her. Victor was quiet in the darkness next to her. He held her good hand gently, the slime in her palm still sticky from where he had placed it. "I love you," she heard in the silence as the exhaustion that had chased her across Europe finally claimed her.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday 21st September, 2005... 0654
It really was a pity when innocents got caught in the crossfire. For instance, Reah’s apartment door frequently received the bulk of her rage whenever she arrived home after a particularly frustrating evening, or day as it sometimes worked out. Then there was the local neighbourhood who suffered, having their ears poisoned and ripped apart by her surprisingly extensive vocabulary of words some people have never even heard of or considered uttering before. The sheer volume she was able to project was nothing short of phenomenal!
Gripping the television, she heaved it effortlessly off its rest and was about to hurl it across the other side of the room when she finally realised that she did, in fact, have neighbours. Not to mention that it was her only TV and she just might want to watch it in the near future. Then there was the fact still standing that it was one of the last things left that carried an essence of Sam.
Coercing herself to put it back down on its stand she settled for slapping her head into the midst of the couch cushions and screaming into the bottomless pit trap for sound till not an ounce of breath was left in her, then she tried suffocating herself in their insufferable denseness. Her rage mixed with her lack of air causing light-headedness to quickly flood in enveloping her.
She needed to get rid of that officer, but couldn’t for obvious reasons. He was protected and killing him would likely end up with her under more suspicion and shit than now.
Her head felt clad with wool, thinking was near impossible. She had to find some way… find some way or… leave… end… herself… but not… before… she….
THUD
“Hey, you all right?” Meh stooped, extending her hand to help pull Reah to her feet after she’d numbly tripped over her own feet and fallen flat on the ground, grazing her knees through her newly torn pants.
Reah jerked back reflexively from the cool hand, “No.” *What the bloody hell is happening to me?* She’d just managed to calm her breathing before too, only to have in intensify again right now.
Meh frowned in confusion, “No you’re not all right, or no you don’t want any help?”
“Pick one.” Reah shot a glare back at her.
Meh’s eyes narrowed into a deadly glare she looked ready to act upon before Sea-Doc brushed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Meh’s gaze was never lifted or changed as she continued to stare down at Reah, but her hands dropped back to her sides and were now only clenched fists… no longer grasping her humming blade Reah had learnt was called a Vibro Sword, and Katana she so fondly called “Bob”.
“I’m sorry,” Meh seemed to struggle around the taste of those words and the fact they were coming out of her mouth. “I for-get that you are go-ing through a rea-lly hard time and need the space to fig-ure out where you be-long,” she said, very much in a similar tone to that of someone reciting a forced, unpractised speech. A glare shot at Sea-Doc when she’d finished confirmed where it had come from.
Submitting didn’t appear to be one of Meh’s strong points.
They’d been wandering the streets for a while now and Reah was finding it hard to wrap her mind around the environment about her. Even harder to understand was that they were only in the suburbs and it was just housing that surrounded them! Sea-Doc would occasionally point something out to Reah and explain it as best she could to her.
She wasn’t surrounded by as many creatures now as she had been earlier. In addition to Meh and Sea-Doc there was only two others - Aral and Bear. Sea-Doc had explained to Reah that Aral was a night elf and that Bear was a dwarf… in addition to also being Sea-Doc’s brother.
That last bit had caught Reah by surprise. She’d figured she had to have heard wrong! For starters, Bear was a dwarf and butt ugly beyond anything Reah had ever witnessed - except for perhaps one of the… orcs?… she’d seen earlier. Sea-Doc, on the other hand, was one of the most beautiful woman Reah had ever met! And not just any beautiful. She was stop dead in the street, walk into a pole, fall flat on your face, wondrous beauty!
And then she found out that even Sea-Doc wasn’t human at all either! She was an elf that just looked human. Reah couldn’t work out for the life of her what she was being faced with. It was all too outrageous to be the truth! They had to be taking the piss out of her, for reasons she couldn’t think of.
Then Sea-Doc proceeded to explain why it was possible.
*Mutation and Goblinisation!* She shuddered. 'UGE (Unexplained Genetic Expression) babies' she’d called themselves as their parents were 'normal'. Reah didn’t want to believe any of it. What she wouldn’t give right now to just be faced with her more believable reality of vampires and demons. She could cope with that!
Finding out that you’ve somehow been mystically transported to the future was… is a big enough mind job on its own. She still couldn’t get herself to believe it, despite all the evidence surrounding her from every imaginable angle. *It’s just all too… no! Not possible!*
What the hell was she doing here? “Where the hell are we going?”
“If you’ll just be calm child, as my sister has already explained, we are headed towards our accommodation,” the dwarf cooly answered.
“And then where?” Reah’s voice was shrill, “What the hell am I doing here? None of this makes sense!” Her crazed eyes studied the dwarf's mechanical arm, disorientated. It was too much like the terminator… *Does the terminator exist here?* Head shaking, she just wanted out. *Why do they keep saying all these things! It could never happen! Even if it really is the future, it’s supposed to get better!* It was too much…. Too much of what had to be absolute bullshit!
Sea-Doc sighed in resignation to Reah’s incessant questioning that was comparable to that of an insect buzzing around a light bulb. “Tomorrow we’ll be leaving LA and heading back to Seattle. During this time you will be calming yourself and adjusting before I dare to load anything else onto your mind.”
“Seattle?” Reah didn’t need more games. They had a plan for her that they weren’t letting her in on and she didn’t like it. “Why the hell do we need to go to Seattle? How the fuck are we getting there?” She did not feel like a two day trip with these creatures.
“We’re going there because that’s where my clinic is, and we’re getting there via a sub-orbital.” Sea-Doc replied. At Reah’s evident expression of pure perplexity she added, “We’re flying.”
“Flying?”
“Not to mention it’s the best place to get Runs,” Meh muttered at the same time Reah queried.
“Huh?” Reah looked scantly confused at Meh as well whilst also trying to handle the whole sub-orbital, flying ‘thingy’ matter at the same time, “How am I supposed to fly? No ID remember? And what the fuck are you talking about runs? What runs? Are we going to LAX? What the fuck!”
Reah’s confusion was answered by some light chuckles and odd looks as if to wonder what she was on. “LAX? ID?” Meh stared quizzically at Reah along with the night elf, Aral.
“Trust me,” the dwarf replied, “You won't need to worry about an ID. In fact I doubt you’ll ever get one. Much like Meh and Aral… you technically don’t, and won't ever, exist. Just don’t get caught and you should be fine without a SIN.”
“Hey, I have a SIN!” Everyone shot Meh a criticising look. “I just misplaced it is all. Assholes,” she muttered, earning a satisfied sniff from the dwarf.
“Even if you knew where your SIN was it would probably be classifying you as dead anyway. Hence, my statement that you don’t exist, still stands.”
Reah made a note of just keeping her eyes on the pavement, they were talking about their sins now… *Does that mean they’re some sort of cult?* It wouldn’t surprise her if she suddenly found out that they were. *Ignore them Reah, you’re not… what the hell! And what did the dwarf mean by Meh being dead?* She was uncertain enough about her company and surroundings already, without having past concerns rise up again.
Sea-Doc’s head was lowered, eyes closed in deep thought while everyone else ranted on over the top.
“LAX.” She calmly spoke out of meditation with slow consideration of the term, “Was that an airport?”
Reah swallowed, nodding her head once, “Yeah,” lifting her gaze slightly till she could see Sea-Doc. “It is the Los Angeles airport.”
Creases marred Reah’s forehead as Sea-Doc sighed and slowly shook her head, “Not any more. Hasn’t been in a long time. Since before I was born!” She paused, “That’s why it took me awhile before I could work out what you were referring to.”
“What do you mean?”
“In about… the late twenties I think it was… around 2028?” She glanced at her brother for confirmation, “There was a huge earthquake that rocked LA, destroying LAX in the process.”
Reah’s mouth hung agape and she could only stare at Sea-Doc and her statement over something as major as LAX like it was ancient history! *And 2028?!?* She was caught by a couple of arms that belonged to Meh before she’d realised that co-operation between her and her legs had been lost. “Wha… what year is it?” *Before she was born!?! I’m not here… this is…. No. I couldn’t… this… can’t…. Urnngg!* She was straining to deal, small whimpers rolling in her throat. She felt hot, faint with what was trying to be communicated to her. She felt so weak and small… she wanted to throw up. It was impossible! Completely and utterly! How could she ever be expected to accept any of this?
“2060,” said Aral suddenly and unexpectedly with as little care as if she was discussing mathematics. It had to be the first thing Reah had heard her say since she’d met her! “You’ll have to learn to live with it.” She sighed, “That… or you could kill yourself.”
If the shock of the apparent year hadn’t frozen Reah as stiff as a pole, she would have felt a lot more unnerved at how lightly Aral had mentioned her last comment… and how much she said it as a seemingly logical course of action too.
Sea-Doc shot Aral a look that spoke greatly of her displeasure.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
30th September, Midnight, Undisclosed Location
This time he ran. Faster than before, fuelled this time by frustration rather than curiosity. His feet pounded on the ground as he raced towards the door - his destination. Focusing all his energy on the door somehow, after what seemed hours, he reached it. He heard the giggle, but hardly noticed the lullaby until it stopped when he forced the door open. He glanced around quickly and saw the window was once more dark and meaningless. There was a shuffle to his right and he turned, just in time to see the back of a little girl walk through the next door. Her face was not visible, but he could see she was wearing an exquisite little dress of black and grey, a dress of his era, no less. However, all this paled in comparison to the most exquisite red of her hair. Then she was gone, and the door slammed shut. He was awake again. He wondered if the dream would ever leave.
Daye, Drew and Chinaka meet for the first time at Bib
*** Wednesday, September 21, 2005 around 10 pm ***
Chinaka found herself surprised to be so nervous to see Drew. Part of it was that slammin' wet dream she had last night. Part was because she sincerely hoped that he could help her. Parasol's absence was wearing a hole in her life. Chinaka didn't know his girlfriend much.
*What was her name?* Hopefully, since she ran this boogedy-boogedy store, she might have some expertise in the matter. Chinaka was not above asking anyone for help at this point.
She sighed as she pulled the MG in front of the Bibliophile, and pulled down the visor with the mirror to check her face. It'd do. She jumped up on the seat and jumped out of the car, leaving the car door closed. She loved doing that.
Daye glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting the time. Drew's friend was supposed to be showing up any minute now, so she had better shut down the computer and close up the office for the night. She'd left the coffee on, and had a plate of Josh's best pastries set aside so they would have fuel for the research and discussion. She assumed that this might take awhile, considering there was a vampire involved, and wanted desperately to be able to bow out, but she couldn't leave Drew in a lurch.
Daye finished up what she had been working on and quickly made her way into the shop, where she found Drew laying on one of the couches, apparently dozing. Daye decided to wait to wake him until Chinaka actually arrived. Daye grabbed the pastries and coffee and set them on the table and then began to brew herself some tea. She would be able to hear Chinaka's knock from there.
Chinaka walked up to the door catching her reflection in the darker part of the picture window. She wore sensible clothes because she guessed she would be doing at least a little bit of research, but they were sensible clothes that showed her figure to its advantage. She wasn't the kind of woman who walked out of the house in any old thing. The yoga pants were comfy yet flattering and the baby tee was, well, baby tee-ish.
Chinaka cocked her head in appreciation at her reflection just as Drew's girlfriend set the pastries down and went to parts unknown. There was a couch and all she could see were Drew’s big-ass feet hanging over the edge. *Well, hell -- that's promising.* Chinaka smiled to herself as she knocked on the door.
Daye glanced up when the knock came. She could see the woman on the other side of the storefront window. Daye grimaced at the sight of Drew's friend, sexy and sassy in a tiny t-shirt and pants. The woman was really quite attractive, and Daye felt a stirring of the jealousy she'd experienced the night before when Drew had been on the phone with her. Tamping down on the negative emotion, Daye moved to open the door and let Chinaka in.
Daye unlocked the shop door and swung it open, smiling as pleasantly as she could. "Hello, Chinaka, please come in," she said, stepping aside to allow the other woman access to her shop.
Chinaka hated it when the beautiful girlfriends were nice to her. It so cut into her righteousness. This woman was beautiful, sweet and friendly. As a matter of fact, she was that way the night of the party; even to Parasol. Chinaka felt her soul kind of issue a "Jeez" and felt a bit ashamed about the sex-o-rama dream she had last night. She decided to focus on the problem at hand.
Her auntie Parasol.
"Um, hello... Look, rather than beat around the proverbial bush waiting for Bigfoot over there to wake up, I'll just come clean. I forgot your name and I'm sorry since you're here to help me.
Daye laughed lightly at the woman's obvious chagrin, as well as at her description of Drew, whose rather large feet were currently hanging over the side of the too short sofa he was napping on. It figured that Chinaka couldn't remember her name. Daye herself could barely remember meeting her, or anything else about that night.
"Amanda," Daye said, extending her hand, "I'm Amanda. And it's okay that you don't remember me, because to be honest, most of the night of the party is sort of a blur for me."
"Yeah, that's right. You were all Sleeping Beauty for most of it." Chinaka walked further into the shop and took a closer look.
There were a bunch of tables around the room with a laptop on the table with the pastries. Chinaka walked over to the pastries and picked one up, almost lost in what to say next.
She nodded to Drew on the couch. "Did Drew tell you my problem, Amanda?" There was something about Amanda's name that wasn't right or wasn't how she didn't remember it. "Do they call you anything for short A-mann-daah?"
"Drew might have called me Daye," Daye replied, following Chinaka after she locked the door. "Drew just said you were having a problem with your aunt, the vampire. She's gone missing, or something, right?" Daye asked.
*Note to self -- call this chick Amanda.* "Yes. She came by the shop one day and said she'd be gone for a while. Which I guess I shouldn't worry about... but..."
Chinaka reached into her bag for 'Phoe’s Listing'. "I found this in her room the night she left."
Chinaka opened the book and handed Amanda the note that Parasol left.
Daye took the note, quickly scanning it. *'Find the Cadre, Find God'?* Daye felt a niggling at the word "Cadre". Had she heard that somewhere before? There was something familiar about that name. Cadre?
"Well," Daye held the note back out to Chinaka. "I think 'Cadre' is where to start. I have this sneaking suspicion that refers to an artifact or text or something. We might find mention of it in the books I have here. Or I might find something in the Watchers' database. Where do you want to start?"
As Daye spoke, Drew stirred. As he awoke, he mumbled under his breath, sounding angry or hurt. Finally he sat up abruptly, a look of terror on his face. "Amanda!" he shouted.
Chinaka jumped three feet. "Crap." He was having one hell of a dream about Amanda, who apparently was pretty startled too.
Chinaka held her answer about where to start while she rushed over to Drew. She followed Amanda closely, wanting to see what was up with Drew and to have him see her too. Whatever the dream was, his face showed blind panic and terror.
Daye rushed over to Drew when he called out. He was staring ahead, seemingly not seeing the room around him. Daye reached out and gently took his face in her hands, drawing his attention outward. "Drew, what's wrong?" she asked.
Drew started at her gentle touch. Then he reached up to grab her wrist, looking at Daye with bewildered, heartbroken eyes. "Oh, God, Baby," he sighed, stroking her arm as he shakily stood up. "I had the most horrible dream."
Daye nodded sympathetically. "It's okay. It's over. Everything's okay."
Drew pulled Daye into his arms, closing his eyes and rocking her gently. He was obviously still shaken. Daye indulged him, forgetting about their audience.
Chinaka watched the heartwarming scene with a heart-pounding sense of deja vu. Wasn't that her dream or at least the start before it got all Behind the Green Door.
The edge of remembrance felt like a mallet in her chest; so much so that she had to turn away from the scene. She walked over to the table and sat down. She looked down at her feet as she spoke up. "Nightmare, Drew?"
Chinaka didn't wait for a response or answer from Drew. Wanting to get her mind from around the out of focus pictures flicking against the back of her eyes, she asked "What is the Watchers' database, Amanda?" She prayed Amanda would answer her and change the pressure in the room. "What's a Watcher?"
Drew's eyes flew open at the sound of Chinaka's voice. He stepped away from Daye almost guiltily as Chinaka asked her about the Watchers.
Daye didn't reply at first. She searched Drew's gaze, concerned and somehow uncomfortable with what had just occurred.
Drew nodded and smiled weakly, trying to let Daye know he was all right. She frowned, but turned towards Chinaka.
"Uhm... a Watcher," Daye sighed, suddenly very tired. "That's sort of hard to explain, but I guess I'll have to."
Daye walked over and sat down at the table with the other woman. She wasn't great at picking up feelings and the like, but she sensed an unusual amount of tension surrounding Chinaka and guessed that she'd been pretty disturbed by what happened with Drew.
Daye glanced over and saw Drew was sort of pulling himself together. A moment later, he came to sit with them.
Drew smiled sheepishly at Chinaka. "Sorry," he mumbled, grabbing a pastry from the plate and settling back in his chair with a nod to Daye.
"The Watchers' Council is a secret organization of men and women who make it their business to keep track of supernatural activities around the world. We sort of keep an eye on demons, vampires, stuff like that," Daye explained. "Oh, and we train and guide The Slayer."
Drew's smile warmed Chinaka immeasurably. Something was off kilter here but she couldn't get a handle on it. Since Chinaka didn't quite have the sea legs (why was beyond her) she remained in her chair.
"Wait a minute. Slayer? What's a Slayer? And 'we?' You're a Watcher?"
Daye took a deep breath, prepared for the questions she was creating with her explanation. "Yes, I'm a member of the Council," Daye replied. "I'm not a 'Watcher' in the sense that I watch a Slayer, but I am a field operative for the Council. They took me in and trained me after my mother's death. I was only 15 when I moved to their compound and began my studies.
"And as for The Slayer," Daye continued, "well, that's what we call the girl who is chosen to fight the vampires."
Chinaka was completely confuzzled. Her mind was working in pretzel patterns. "There's some chick out there whose livelihood is to kill vampires and there's an organization that... watches?"
At Chinaka's words, Drew guffawed. He couldn't help himself. She was so utterly confused, and the distasteful way she had just described The Council sent a picture in his head of a group of stuffy, old Englishmen peeking in the window of a girl's dormitory to watch them undress.
Daye shot Drew a quelling look as he chuckled. She couldn't however completely hide the small smile that came to her face as she watched him laughing.
"Sorry, Chinaka," Daye said quickly. "I realize it's a lot to wrap your mind around all at once. But, yes, there's an organization that watches, mostly, although sometimes we do interfere. We try to protect people from things they don't even believe in. And being The Slayer isn't a vocation, it's a calling. Slayers train their whole lives, hoping for the opportunity to arise to slay vampires."
That didn't quite make sense but Chinaka decided to relinquish logic. But something about Amanda being part of an organization that dedicated itself to killing her auntie bugged her. "Like my auntie?" Her annoyance was giving her a bit of her strength back. Drew was watching her with a small look of pity, which only served to annoy Chinaka more and she decided a stronger position was in order so she stood up.
"Could one of these Divine Chosen Watched Slayer chicks have gotten Auntie Parasol?"
Chinaka knew it was illogical and completely out of the realm of the reason she was here but she was so angry she could spit. *Oh, great!* Now Amanda was looking at her with that pitiful look. She turned to the stacks and asked, "Can we just look for what the Cadre is and then I'll go home?"
Chinaka was hurt beyond belief but didn't quite know why. She hoped Drew *I mean both of them* would just focus on the Cadre.
Daye realized that Chinaka had every reason to be concerned. And that perhaps she had handled things badly here. "We can look, of course," Daye tried to keep her voice soothing. "But you should know, The Slayer isn't in Los Angeles. There's very little chance that the Council has anything to do with her disappearance. As a matter of fact..."
Daye's voice trailed off as she grabbed the laptop and suddenly began to tap away at the keys.
"Aha," she let out a triumphant yell a few minutes later. "There is no chance that The Slayer or the Council had anything to do with what happened to your aunt."
Walking to the other side of the table behind Amanda, Chinaka stood looking at the screen. It looked like some sort of report. Chinaka scanned the screen and didn't see Parasol's name, which was probably a good thing. Relief washed over Chinaka just about the time that she looked up and saw Drew looking at her. He gave her another reassuring smile that melted Chinaka's fears. Suddenly, standing at Amanda's shoulder became very distasteful.
Chinaka walked around to the other side of the table nearer to Drew. "Good. Thank you,” Chinaka said coolly. "What about the Cadre? Is there a book I can buy or check out or whatever you do here."
She could feel Drew's body heat though he was at least five feet away. And again, the room's aura tilted.
Daye was disappointed at Chinaka's coolness. The Council may not have been perfect, but they were the good guys. She was a good guy. It rankled having this woman, this stranger, judge her. Well, nevertheless, getting information on the Cadre (whatever that was), would satisfy Chinaka, and then, maybe, they could start again on more even ground. Daye wanted to try and be this woman's friend, because she was Drew's, and Daye really wanted to make him happy.
*The Cadre,* she focused. There was something, some tidbit, at the back of her mind.
"I know I've heard of this 'Cadre' somewhere," Daye mused. "I just can't seem to recall."
"Maybe if I...," Daye rose, moving to the counter. She pulled out her herb pouch. There was a small memory spell she knew, one that enabled the person affected to focus more clearly on the sought after recollection.
"If you would allow me a moment," she murmured to Drew and Chinaka. Daye moved away from the table and settled Indian style on the floor. She pulled out various herbs, a candle, and some small crystals. Concentrating, she began to weave her magic.
"What. The. Frig! Wait a minute. Wait. What are you doing?" Chinaka was completely wigged. She turned to Drew. "What is going on?"
"Uh... yeah...," Drew grimaced, "I... she... we didn't tell you. The thing is, Amanda's a... uh... well, she's a witch. She's doing a spell, probably to try and help with this 'Cadre' thing, I bet."
"Witch?! I just accepted that there were vampires. There are witches?" Chinaka turned to see Amanda concentrating on the floor. She decided that she wasn't going to make the same mistake she did with Parasol with Amanda. Though there was something like itching powder surrounding this whole scene, Chinaka ignored it and watched as Amanda set about to help her. Again, Chinaka felt ashamed of herself. *Damn, when did I get bi-polar?*
She turned again to Drew and whispered "So will she melt if I throw water on her?" and smiled. Drew returned her grin and they both watched Amanda do her thing.
As Daye concentrated on her magic, Drew placed a gentle, reaffirming hand on Chinaka's shoulder. "I know this is hard to believe," he whispered, leaning close to her, so as not to disturb Daye. "I hardly believed any of it when I first learned about Amanda's world a few months ago. Still, it makes life pretty interesting."
Drew smelled like Zest soap. Chinaka wondered if Amanda appreciated a man that smells like Zest. Chinaka closed her eyes for a moment wondering how his sweat mixed with the Zest would smell. *Aaarggh!!* She shook her head against the thought, trying to concentrate on what Amanda was doing. Boy, she was deep into it. All to help Chinaka find out what the Cadre was.
Daye was completely enmeshed in the magical forces surrounding her. She envisioned in her mind a library, her library, her personal collection. Each shelf was meticulously organized into varying subjects. Over here were birthdays, and over there humiliations. There were texts on Paraphysical Physiology from her days in England, and dozens of volumes on Vegetarian Cuisine. This library was the cumulative storehouse for all of Daye's memories and knowledge. She scanned the shelves quickly, zooming in on one volume. It was a thick book, from her days in Alain Morstens class back in Ireland. He taught Paratheology. Daye skimmed the book, finding a reference to The Cadre D'Ames. Grinning, she shut the book and left the library. She opened her eyes inside Bibliophile, grinning up at Chinaka and Drew, who stood distressingly close to his friend, one hand on her shoulder. At the sight of them standing there waiting, Daye felt a strange, hot anger claw at her mind for a moment. She pushed it down.
*I'm not jealous of her,* she thought, rising smoothly to her feet. *So what if she looks like a chocolate truffle? Drew loves me... ME!"
Daye waged this battle with herself silently, while moving towards the laptop which still rested on the table.
"I think I found something," she said brightly.
"You did?!" Chinaka was enormously relieved. Though loathe to relinquish the air around Drew, she ran over to Amanda at the laptop. "What? What did you find? And also, I might ask, How? How did you find?" Chinaka felt herself virtually sparkling with the thought of good news.
Daye was quickly searching sources on the internet. "First off," she replied, "I don't want to mislead you. I found a possible lead on information on The Cadre D'Ames. I might be able to get a hold of a volume or two with information on the Cadre."
"Second," Daye continued, "I knew I'd heard some mention of this object before, so I cast a sort of 'memory-retrieval' spell on myself to help recall where I'd heard of the 'Cadre' before."
"And...?" This was worse than the X-Files.
"And," Daye said, turning from the computer with a flourish of her hands, "tada! There's a book, actually a couple of books, which mention the 'Cadre'," she explained. Daye walked over to the counter and grabbed a piece of paper and an envelope. "That's the good news."
Amanda really was amazing, Chinaka thought. She geecheed a lead for her. "So do you sell these books?"
Daye smiled apologetically. "That's the bad news. The texts are really rare. I not only don't sell them, I don't know for sure where I can get them."
"I'm going to have to start calling some people tomorrow morning and try tracking these babies down," Daye was feeling tired but buzzed about all she'd accomplished. "It might take a little time, but I can find the books. At least, I'm fairly sure that I can."
Chinaka grinned from lobe to lobe. "You can?!" Oh, thank you. Thank you, Amanda." Chinaka was two seconds away from crying. She looked at Drew and found him smiling at her warmly. That did it. She just burst into tears.
"I know Auntie Parasol isn't really your kind of, um, cup of tea." She sobbed again. "But she gave me everything. She put me on my path in life." Sob, sob.
"And I've been so worried..." Chinaka sank into a chair, covered her face and just cried.
It wasn't like her, but her emotions had been ping-ponging ever since she entered the shop. She couldn't control it; so she didn't try. Her shoulders bounced with her sobs and intermittent whispers of "Thank you."
"Thank you, Amanda. Thank you.”
Daye was shocked by Chinaka's sudden outburst. She couldn't believe how this woman, so strong, so together, had suddenly burst into tears at her announcement.
"You're very welcome, Chinaka," Daye said, moving over to place a comforting hand on the other woman's shaking shoulder. "I'm happy to help. Whatever Parasol may be, she helped us when we were attacked here. At least, that's what I was told."
"I don't care what species, or whatever, you are," Daye explained gently. "I help people in trouble."
"Yeah, Chinaka," Drew sounded almost frightened, "we're happy to help you, any way we can. Please, don't cry."
Chinaka's skin crawled where Amanda had laid her hand. She ignored it and tried her best to not flinch. Seeing Drew looking at her in such a concerned manner helped. This was really too much.
"Here's my card, Amanda." Her name felt like salt in Chinaka's mouth. Handing over the card, Chinaka kept her fingers from touching Amanda's. "Please call me." Chinaka turned to Drew. She walked over in front of him. He was taller and broader than Chinaka would have guessed. She pressed the fingers of her right hand to his chest. "And thank you, Drew for helping me. You got your girlfriend to help. If you hadn't I don't know what I would have done."
Chinaka couldn't wait to get out of there and walked as quickly as she could to the door.
Daye felt that red rage rising at the sight of Chinaka with her hands on Drew. In her mind's eye, she had a flash of memory, or vision, or something. Drew held Chinaka in his arms. The other woman was completely naked. She pressed against Drew and he laughed, luxuriously.
Daye could see them, writhing on the counter in Bibliophile's kitchen. She could smell the mixed scent of cleansers and sex. Daye felt suddenly, violently ill. She didn't see Chinaka leave, because she was too busy rushing for the bathroom.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
**** DISCLAIMER: this post occurs before the Loki/Kieran encounter. I do not think that it makes any difference but some people have pointed out to me that it could pose some problems in understanding time continuity. Personally, I don’t think it will pose that many problems. So, I guess, umm, when reading this, it takes place before that encounter...for those of you who did not read it, hehe, enjoy this one!! ****
Deep Red
September 28, 2005
Kieran's Apartment
2:30 AM
Kieran had lost a few pints of blood before his eyes shot open. He didn’t know where he was. His surroundings confused him. Everything around him seemed to be a swirling storm of lightning bolts and neon electrical currents. Somewhere in this maelstrom, a distorted image hovered over him. It caressed him. It dug into him. It picked him up and then buried itself into him. His eyes closed again, but opened just as fast as they closed. He could feel a warm, sticky substance trickling all over his limbs. It felt good, damn good, but Kieran couldn’t place where he was or what he was doing. The electrical currents now spread out through his body. The hovering figure was still there. A blurred cloud of pink, blue, and orange that kept changing shapes.
*Hunnh!* Kieran exclaimed as he finally noticed that he was also a blurred cloud. Only, he was an extension of the electrical currents around him. Blue. Black. Grey. Orange. Red. Magenta. His body felt like it was on fire. The tips of his nerves sent painful yet, in some perverse manner, pleasurable sensations to his brain receptors. He was conscious of the fact that he was enjoying this. Every so often he’d feel a deep penetration around his head and sensed more warm liquid trickling all over his limbs.
The currents then took on different shapes. Ripples started to form. The colours began to deepen. The currents now produced a sharp, unpleasant, ringing pain in his head. “Now,” he kept hearing repeatedly. The audibles varied from low to high. Each one sent a different sensation of pain to his head. “Kieran.”
The warm liquid stopped trickling. Slowly, pieces of the night’s events focused into Kieran’s mind. The corner men. The beatings. The hidden stairwell. The audibles hurt less and the currents began to fade. “Ahhhhh,” he let out. The pain in his neck began to sting deeper. Kieran realized that the warm liquid was blood. The hovering figure began to focus more clearly. The last thing he remembered was walking slowly along a street and… *The pain… the blood… Estella!* His body jerked up and his eyes shot open instantly, gasping for air as he came to the realization that he was in Estella’s embrace.
Their eyes came into contact. Words weren’t necessary. Estella’s mouth met Kieran’s. They locked into a long embrace, until Kieran slammed Estella against a wall. His blood flowed violently throughout his body. He could feel the tension in his veins. Hot. Tingly. What became unbearable soon became invigorating. The colours and currents were gone now. All the external energy transferred within Kieran’s body. His head still felt like a maelstrom. His limbs no longer felt weak. Quite contrarily, he felt even stronger.
Kieran looked at Estella; she avoided his eyes. Kieran noticed that Estella was bleeding around her clavicle. The energy. The strength. The reinvigoration. Kieran began to wonder.
Estella felt Kieran’s change in composure. She threw him onto the edge of his bed and lunged at him. *He’s sitting there. So helpless. Torn. Easy…* She stopped short of landing on him. Her fangs receded as she went to sit next to him. Expressionless. She stared out the window. It was still dark. None of the windows in Kieran’s apartment received any light inside.
“Why’d ya stop?” Kieran asked as he sat up, elbows digging into the mattress.
Estella now looked to the empty walls, taking in the solitude and despair of the apartment. Not a single frame or mirror hung on any of the five rooms’ walls. The closets were empty. She felt his loneliness. A loneliness that she shared since the day she left her father and family. Running away. Trying to find herself. She followed a path of destruction. Each kill and mayhem she constructed had filled a part of the emptiness. *But it doesn’t take away the pain. It’s only temporary. Each day is a new one, each kill becomes a search for the next one. What if…?*
She stopped thinking. She now looked at him and saw some of herself in him. An individual torn from the seams of a family, lost in a labyrinth of confusion. He was following a similar path of destruction. The pain resulting from such a loss was so unbearable. Yet, she knew they were both weak in will and in spirit. They couldn’t confront head-on the challenges of such a tragedy so they took the easy way out. Unleashing their despair on society, blaming everyone else for it. Vampires. Humans. Demons.
“Why do you continue?” she asked, now looking at him.
The question threw him off guard. Kieran wasn’t in the mood to emote. He never did, and especially wasn’t in the mood tonight. His adrenaline peaked too high to do so. He felt more aggressive. He took off his shirt and climbed on top of Estella. She didn’t respond. *Bloody bird. What the hell is up with her?* He ripped off her shirt much to her chagrin. Disheartened by her indifference, he lay down next to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Estella thought of Michele. *They both share the same reckless abandon…* “You really don’t care. You just go around causing mayhem, acting as if it’s a game.”
“Then what are we doin’?”
“Haven’t you stopped to think about anything? Aren’t you tired of this lonesomeness?”
“I’ve stopped thinking a long time ago.” Kieran got up and walked to a window. “Why with your sudden change? If memory serves me right, aren’t ya the one who killed all those birds in that club and tortured that ol’ poor bastard?” She didn’t answer. Moments of silence ensued before Kieran brought up another question. “Then why bite me? Why not some other bloke? Plenty of those sorry bastards over there. Fuck’s sake, that’s what the whole club’s about. Ya should go in there some time. Feast yourself to your heart’s content.” He kept one arm up against the window while looking out.
Estella began to weep at those words. *Feast? I’m nothing but a beast to him…To everybody…” She turned over and lay there for a few moments before she got up to run for the door.
Kieran stopped her from exiting. Estella didn’t resist. Most of her wanted to be there. “Then why don’t you? Become what I am. We can…”
“Shhh. Shhh…” Kieran brought a finger to her mouth. “Not ready, love…not interested.”
“But think of it...we can get away from all this. No need to…”
“I came here for a reason. I can’t get sidetracked,” he replied coldly. He looked at her and instantly thought of Aneszka, his murdered fiancée. *They are all alike - feeding, prowling…* he thought in disgust. Instantly, though, his coldness changed. He felt differently towards Estella. It was more than just her sharp resemblance to Aneszka. Her touch. Her mouth. He longed for the arms of his dead fiancée. But she was no more, like his family. He knew he had to move on. But he buried that thought deep inside of him, lost in his subconscious. Moving on wasn’t an option. He wanted answers. He knew that she was a part of this game. Somehow she was tied to Father Aidan. Like most things, Kieran forgot about the principal purpose. He involuntarily felt some connection to Estella. Father Aidan was now but a distant objective.
Kieran let her go and walked to his bed. *I can’t lose someone else. Not anyone. I’ve had enough loss…* His thoughts were interrupted by Estella’s hands touching his shoulders. The touch. The sensation. The electricity in his veins. He hadn’t felt like that in years. All thoughts left Kieran’s mind. He kissed Estella. All questions left his heart. She kissed him back. All sorrows left her heart. He turned her under him.
6: 33 PM
Kieran awoke suddenly. He looked up at his clock and fell back on his pillow. He knew Estella was gone. It didn’t bother him though. His feelings were too muddled to do understand anything. Besides, he grew accustomed to the silence and solitude of his apartment. *Tonight’s gonna rip, bloody rip…* he thought.
He was already planning to go back to Liquid. There was something in there. Something besides people like him. There was something he needed. He got up and got dressed, deciding not to wear his jacket. He looked over at where Estella lay before he went out the door, not noticing the picture that was left on the hallway wall. A picture from the antique bookshop on Sunset Boulevard.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Reunions – Part Two
Previously on LA By Night…
Bibliophile – Los Angeles
Saturday, 24th September 2005
12:22am
Featuring Victor Garber as Jack Archer
Jack stood and began slowly pacing the floor. “It all happened such a long time ago that I hardly know where to begin. Your mother was a very special woman. She taught me how to accept certain aspects of my life, things that I couldn’t come to terms with. She helped me a lot and I loved her very much. When we had you it was the best day of my life, of both our lives. You made us complete. You were about four the last time I saw you. Look, I, I still have your picture…” Jack pulled his wallet out of his pocket and drew an old photograph of a young red-head girl sitting on the porch swing.
He glanced proudly at Kate as she looked at the picture. “If I had known that would be the last time…”
Kate smiled slightly at the photograph, feeling a sense of familiarity pinch at her memory. She carefully placed it down on the table. “So what happened between you and…? I mean, nobody would ever tell me about you, except to say that you’d abandoned us. Janus said that’s why my mother returned to England; because you left us.”
Jack suddenly scoffed at the mention of Janus’ name. “Janus, she was your mother’s closest friend, at least that’s what she thought. Personally I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”
Kate looked away. “I wish I’d had your good judgement. She completely fooled me.”
Jack sat down, taking Kate’s hand gently. “She’s good at that. She was the one who convinced your mother to return to England on some ridiculous pretence that Kadee owed the coven some kind of favour. I… I still don’t know what happened to her. When I came to find the both of you the coven elder - a man called Serapis - told me you had both died in an accident.”
“Serapis, I should have known…” Kate hung her head tiredly, “Is there no end to what those two were capable?” Kate wiped at her eyes as they began to fill with tears. “So Janus and Serapis killed my mother… it’s only fitting that they are both dead now.”
Jack frowned, looking into his daughter’s tearful eyes. “They’re dead? How?”
Kate sighed, brushing her hair back from her face. “It’s a long story, believe me. And not one that I wish to explain tonight.”
“Of course not,” said Jack softly. “I don’t know what else to say. After I returned from England I was a wreck. It took me a long time to come to terms with what happened. With what I believed had happened. It was only a few days ago that… well, someone told me about you. Of course at first I didn’t believe them.”
Kate sat up straight, frowning. “What made you change your mind?”
“Seeing you. Seeing you working here, looking just like your mother. That first moment I - well, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
Out in the street a car honked its horn. Kate looked up to see a cab waiting outside the shop door. “That’s my cab, I have to go home now, it’s getting late.” She rose to her feet and started putting her jacket on.
Jack followed her as she walked to the door and stepped out into the street. He waited while Kate locked up the shop and drew down the shutters. Just before she entered the cab he took her arm. “I’d like to meet you again, if that’s possible. We have a lot to talk about.”
Kate paused for a moment before nodding her head in agreement. “Yes,” she said as the climbed into the taxi, “I’d like that.”
[/]Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Spin the Needle
Palos Verdes
Along the beach
1:22 AM
“Huhhh, huhhh, huhhh.” The woman kept running while painfully gasping for air. Her lungs couldn’t take the pursuit any longer. Her attacker had been chasing her through trees, brush, alleys, and now the beach for a few hours. She looked back to see if he was still there. Nothing. She stopped and looked around some more trying to get a clearer peripheral. There still wasn’t any sight of him. “Whew,” she let out, relieved. Slowly, she knelt to the ground and tried to regain her strength. Her thigh muscles ached and her hamstrings tightened up. The burning sensation caused an extreme pain throughout her lower limbs and chest. She was succumbing to the cramps. It had been a while since she was involved in any kind of running. Unlike a close friend, she wasn’t too keen on training.
“Where are they?” she asked aloud, looking again to make sure that he wasn’t there. *Maybe he’s in one of those cabins.* She looked at the first one in her sight. She decided that she had to think of something else.
Earlier in the night, she and three friends were out walking in Palos Verdes with nothing to do. They had decided to shun the club circuit tonight in favor of watching the night sky atop the Abalone Cove bluff. That was their first fateful mistake. He had been lurking in the shrubs just before the mouth of the dense, dark, uninviting forest. Kate thought they would get some kicks by going into the woods to spy on some unsuspecting couple playing around in the dark foliage.
“You’re always too curious, Kate!” said Selina mockingly.
Selina was the sane one of the flock. She always proceeded with caution. It was the reason she now stood alone in the dark along the coastline. Her friends were nowhere to be found. She decided to continue walking, saving her energy for later. She knew that another pursuit was inevitable. The horror, she thought. *Those eyes. That stare…* She spooked herself just thinking about it. About him.
The attacker had positioned himself in the forest behind the bluff since the sun set. He had been following the girls for a few days until they cleverly lost track of him. His techniques were impeccable. His instincts were cunning. His mind diabolical. He knew their every move. They were thankful to their elder friend for that. She knew a thing or two about subterfuge. But, the attacker was too vigilant and the girls too reassured of their friend. He knew his goal and stuck to it, not once losing sight of it. They had forgotten him, now just a figment of their imagination. His mission: to dispose of them. All five of them.
Los Angeles International Airport
1:30 AM
The plane descended with relative ease onto LAX’s runway, much to Keane’s delight. He had never liked flying. In all of his forty-seven long years he had taken the plane only three times, including tonight. And each time he had used some form of painkiller to sedate himself. Keane suffered from occasional migraines. They just appeared out of nowhere, especially when the air pressure changed drastically. He found this out when training in the Andes with some soccer teammates. Never again he vowed. Luckily, he didn’t suffer from any jet lag.
“We are now approaching Terminal 33. Please wait until the flight attendant signals to exit the plane. Thank you,” said a voice through the speaker. Keane got up and took his overhead bag and jacket, drooping it over his arm. He wasn’t used to the warm LA weather. He smiled and thought of the cold ocean air from where he grew up in Northern Ireland. Such comfort he thought. The passengers proceeded to step off the plane and climb the stairs to go inside LAX and declare their presence in the country. He marveled at the velocity at which things were done in the US, even at 1:30 in the morning. Every one was busy. None of the glass looked empty behind it. Nothing but glass. He approached the arrival booth and greeted the official who stood uninspired behind the tempered glass.
“Passport?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, me lass.” He fiddled around in his jacket pocket for his passport. He wasn’t used to airport procedure. “Me name’s David Keane.”
The official looked at his calm, unwavering face. “Business or pleasure, Mr. Keane?”
“Both.” The official looked at him, one eyebrow cocking upwards denoting a look of annoyance. Not even in this terrorist age did she care what he was here for. He looks okay, she thought, looking forward to calling her boyfriend on her break in four minutes.
“When do you plan to go back to Northern Ireland?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’d say, what?…three-four-five-six weeks?!? It all depends if I find a certain lad, ya know.”
Palos Verdes shore
1:35 AM
Selina wasn’t afraid anymore. The serenity of the waves falling to the shore soothed her fears. It was relaxing. She pulled her sweater closer to her, taking in the comfort of the cool breeze. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in the arms of…
“Aaaahhhh,” she shrieked as she was tackled to the ground. Selina hadn’t even seen the attacker approach her from the foot of the beach. He punched her to her head and grabbed her hair, smiling at her.
She tried to wriggle freely from his grip, conscious now of the reality she was in. She tried desperately to free herself, but to no avail. His lower half had her legs pinned tightly together, squeezed, relaxing her muscles. If she tried to get out, her muscles burned more and more.
“You are all filth. The lot of you,” he said angrily through his soft accent.
“Nnnnh, nnnnh…get…” she turned and turned trying to swerve him off. She couldn’t. The more she did, the more her head swelled and throbbed. The blow caused much blood to rush to her brain, temporarily numbing her. Her eyes were hazy, not being able to distinguish clearly between the ebony sky and his dark sweater. His head was the only pale part of his body. She could make out his long, wavy black hair.
Her chest began to heave. Her lungs took in more air and suddenly she could feel her veins strengthen with the increased flow of blood. Her mouth and nose started to twitch. With her free hand she was able to throw her assailant over, sending him flying ten feet towards the splashing water. She got up with a lustful look in her eye. A wicked grin began to form.
The assailant didn’t feel threatened. He took a pendant from his pocket and threw it to Selina. It was Kate’s. She looked at it and for a second felt some remorse. *Poor Kate… will miss you love. I’ll bring him to her, she’ll finish him. Mmmmm…* Now, she only felt vengeance. She growled and approached the man.
He lifted himself up, ready for her attack. He was prepared. Years of combat training in the French Legion had not been all for naught. He relished his every role in the unit. He had encountered them before, he had told himself at the beginning. The West African desert had exposed him to many horrors. Many of them unexplained. He’d seen his comrades fall and disappear into the dark, into the emptiness of the cold night.
He looked at her as she approached him ever so slowly. The breeze blowing her straight, blonde hair to the left. She was tempting. Lustful. Beautiful. Her pale white skin glowed under the moonlight. She held up a finger to her mouth and bit it, seductively. Her gaze would succumb any normal male to her feet. The man just smiled back at her. He began to approach her as well until they were two inches from facing each other. Selina was serene. Her nerves spiked. Her muscles no longer burned nor twitched. It was the man’s turn to feel fear, she thought. But, Selina underestimated him. The Legionnaire was a man of the cloth. Fear was but a buried emotion to him. The horrors from the desert had taken his soul. It was in the Church that he had hoped to regain it. He fed on the lifelessness and cruelty of life. It was his spike. His vice. He was to purify the evil deeds commanded by the Devil.
“Are you not afraid? Do you not feel what you’ve made poor Kate feel? She is gone, no?” They stared at each other, circling in the sand, ready to pounce one another. Each waited for the other to let his guard down for one micro-second. The breeze’s currents played well into their strategies. Splasshhhh!!! The waves continued slapping the foot of the shore. “Tell me. How did Kate feel, friend?”
“She did not feel a thing.” He swept at her leg, sending her backwards. She landed on her feet and jumped up behind him. Instinctively, he turned around and blocked her advance with his right arm. With his left, he reached into his pant line and brought out a stake.
Los Angeles Police Department
1:47 AM
“Good evenin’. I’m lookin’ for Captain Thurman. Inspector Keane. Antrim DCU. He’ll know.”
“Yeah. Sure. Just a sec,” replied a patrolman. He went upstairs, leaving Keane behind. He found Thurman in his office. “Captain?”
“Yes,” replied a tired, yet stern voice. Thurman was angered and puzzled over the recent finding of yet another heroin-related murder. He hadn’t slept much in the last few nights. He mildly listened to the patrolman. *Dammit… the fifth consecutive one.* “Huh! What is it?”
“There’s an Inspector Keane downstairs waiting for you. Have no clue what Antrim is? Says you’d know.” He looked at the Captain who was clearly not paying any attention. Thurman had his hands against his cheeks and was staring at the five reports on a paper-stacked desk. His desk was organized in comparison to the other officers, but stacked and voluminous.
He looked up at the patrolman. “At this hour? Who is it?”
Irritated at the lack of comprehension shown by the Captain, the patrolman repeated his earlier call. “Keane? Hmmm. What’s he doing here? All right, I’ll be down.”
Thurman got up and walked onto the upper floor. It was a dead night for most of his units. There wasn’t much red written on the boards. It was inevitable though, he thought. *It’s all gonna start soon.* He sighed and made his way downstairs, thinking about the recent chain of events. He knew that a drug war was about to erupt. A bloody one. The tell-tale signs were all there. Silence, not a word on the street. Unmarked victims. Unaccounted killings. If messages were being sent, they were done privately, out of the public eye. The prize. Heroin. It was coming back in style, full-force.
Palos Verdes shore
1:36 AM
“Hahahaha…” Selina laughed. “You amuse me.” The attacker laughed in return, amused at the amusement displayed by the woman. He was easily amused. A good laugh before a fight was always good, he thought.
“How long are we going to go in circles, love?” she asked, pouting at the same time.
“Not for long, chère! Not for long. Your friend enjoyed it rather quick.” She expected for him to expect a move out her, believing that his comment would irritate her and cause her to be irrational. She didn’t count on him to make the first move, not caring how she felt. He jabbed at her while spinning to deliver a round kick to her midsection. Selina was good. She was unathletic, but she was fast when needed. Her problem was that she relied too much on her seductiveness. It obviously wasn’t working with her assailant. She avoided the kick and caught the man’s arm, ready to break it in half. He dropped the stake and kicked into the sand bringing himself high over Selina’s head reversing the arm lock. He kneed her in the back and brought her hard onto her knees into the sand. He was strong. His control of her body was tight. She couldn’t release herself from him, even with her increased aggressiveness. She growled and showed her fangs. The assailant bent her arm more, her fangs receding and her strength willowing.
He threw her to the sand and slammed his foot hard into her jaw and drew up another stake ready to plunge into her heart. She lay there doe-eyed. Waiting. The anticipation. She knew it was going to happen. She felt it. The inevitability stung her heart. In a good way.
LAPD
1:50 AM
“David! Holy shit! Never did I expect you to turn up in LA?” Thurman went up to him and shook his hand followed by a hug. They hadn’t seen each other since their days training together in the Andes. Good times, they both thought simultaneously. Thurman knew that Keane hated planes. *Something’s serious.*
“Good to see ya too Ed,” he said with a smile.
“Hahhh,” they both sighed. Work was on both their minds. It always was with them. Thurman was twice divorced. Keane never married.
“What brings you here Dave?”
“It’s startin’ Ed. I can feel it. I’ve been listenin’, readin’.”
He knew his friend. He knew what he was talking about. “I know. We’ve had five bodies in five nights. It’s too quiet. Too damn quiet. Something’s gotta give. The kids are spooked. Not in their usual corners any more.”
“I think it started years ago in Belfast. Slaughtered family. Messy. Never seen anythin’ like it. Couldn’t solve the bloody bugger. They reassigned me though, thought it was a dead case. But I kept tabs, laddie. Trade’s been spreadin’ throughout the Isles and South America.”
“You know of actual outlets?” Thurman was excited at the prospect of something concrete to wage the war on.
“No. Been followin’ unexplained murders that link with this particular one. And this particular feller, Kieran Harte. I lost him in Europe, but he reappeared in London and soon left for New York. My sources tell me he’s here. Where? I don’t know…”
“What does he have to do with all this?” Thurman was puzzled. He made a mental note to get a check on any Hartes living in LA.
“Nothin’ at the moment. He’s been more a curiosity to me. Ya should’ve seen him Ed. His whole family before his eyes. Dead. Heroin-related I know that much. Weird though. They had P’s powdered onto their chests.”
“Five guesses as to what the powder was.”
“Yea. Sally-up!”
“Seen that recently here. Same M.O. Any leads?”
“No. I don’t know much. Read about similar cases in Peru, Bolivia, Venezuela, and Brazil.”
“Central America?”
“Not that I know of. Been tracking Panama. But that’s about it. Costa Rica and Nicaragua have been quiet.”
“So how does your guy fit into all this?”
“Don’t know yet. He seems to be one of few survivors. They wipe out whole families, leaving nothin’ behind. I’m onto this only cause it made a pit stop in Belfast. I’m tellin’ ya Ed, there’s somethin’ unnatural about all this.”
“Occult?”
“Somethin’ like that. Anyways, I’ve been wantin’ to see Kieran for a while now. I’ve got a few questions for him.”
“Been in contact with the other survivors?”
“No. Kieran interests me. Lad was pretty wild when he found out. Such a vulnerable point in his life. Whenever such a tragedy strikes a lad at such an age, he either chooses two paths in life.”
“Redemption and vengeance.”
“Yea. Question is, which one has he chosen?”
Palos Verdes shore
2:28 AM
“Playful thing aren’t you?”
“Somewhat. Hahhhh, it’s okay.” Selina looked into the sky, unaware any more of the stake ready to plunge through her heart.
The man had his guard down though. For that one instant, he relished in the death of her. Crack!!! “Unnngh,” he moaned in pain. He could feel that the bone in his right arm was broken. The little chips of bone stinging the receptors in his arm veins. His eyes winced and he held his arm for a second, knowing full well that another attack was imminent. He had to gather himself. *Méchant putain…*
Selina was helped to her feet by three other women. “OOOH, he’s so violent. Where’d you find him? Where, where?” She was overly giddy.
The four vampiresses watched with lust at the pounding going on before their eyes. “He’s mine, love,” said Estella. “He’s very much mine!” she said as she grinned lasciviously.
“Unnnh,” the man regained some of his composure. He looked at his attacker. He noticed that Kieran’s face was unchanged and human. “You are not one of them.”
“No,” he replied dryly. Kieran lurked over him.
“Why are you saving her? She is not one of us.”
“There is no us. Léon, is it?”
“Yes. How do you know?” Léon flipped back and simultaneously kicked Kieran in the jaw, allowing himself some seconds of advantage enough to plan a counterattack to Kieran’s next move.
“Move’s yours, mon ami.” Kieran stroked his jaw with his hand and looked at Léon. Léon withdrew his left arm from his right. Ready for the assault. He knew it would be a defensive game right now. Kieran noticed that Léon was more than capable, even with a broken arm. They stared at each other. Kieran smirked. So did Léon.
_________________
Guest-Starring:
Willem Dafoe as Inspector Keane
Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
Wednesday 11th January 2006 – 11pm
A small wind blew a flurry of dust into Tash's face and she squinted through it. She'd just caught a glimpse of something ahead but wasn't sure yet. It could be vampire, or maybe just another depressed person. In this part of town depression was pretty much the norm, and their auras were so dark. She'd have to get closer to be certain. Feeling the comfortable weight of her crossbow on her back Tash advanced down the street, ignoring the pitiful scraps of humanity that lined it, intent on her quarry.
She reached the corner where the shape had seemed to linger for a moment before the dust blinded her and she rounded it cautiously, her senses alert. She felt no cold clasp of evil, and nothing was down here except scraps of paper and broken bottles.
"Hmm," she murmured as she thought to herself, *Nothing here. Keep hunting, I'll get something soon.*
The cool January breeze caressed Darian's cheek as he rounded the corner of yet another dark and depressing street. Often he enjoyed the late night walks from work to home but tonight was different, the solitude disturbing rather than comforting. It was as if he could feel something evil in the air, as if the chilling breeze heralded some horrible fate.
Darian paid no heed to the wind’s message, why should he? It had been almost three months since his last encounter with Sebastian, or any other supernatural force. October, November and December all came and went, and with each passing month the fae grew more and more discouraged. *No sign of Seb ever, no witch or warlock to help. Hell, I haven’t even run into Tarix in such a long time.* After a moment’s lament, the young man tried to discard these thoughts from his mind, instead replacing them with an equally depressing hypothesis.
*When I think about it, this city isn't much different than Scotland was way back when. The buildings may be much larger and the technology improved, but despite these advances there are still unfortunate people who live on the streets,* he thought as he noticed a homeless drifter sleeping on a pile of garbage bags. Darian continued past the miserable man, and although he was sympathetic for the poor hobo he did not give the sight any more thought.
Around the half way mark between the fish factory and his apartment the fae noticed something unusual. A little further down the road two scruffy looking men wearing dirty denim coats were dragging a helpless girl into a desolate alley. It was as if the wind's prophecy was coming to pass; something bad was about to happen.
He quickly followed, cautiously keeping to the shadows to avoid giving away his presence. When the dark side street came into view, Darian realized that the situation was worse than he’d initially thought. The ridges and fangs indicated that the two assailants were not normal street thugs; they were vampires.
*Man, they couldn’t just be gang members could they?* he thought as he extracted his two switchblade knives.
The young girl screamed as she uselessly flailed against her would-be murderers.
“Keep screaming little girl, it makes it all the better for us,” the lead vampire hissed as he prepared to take his first bite.
That was Darian’s cue to step in. “Hey leeches, don’t you think it’s a bit gross to bite a girl so young? I mean, come on guys - don’t you just feel like perverts?”
Annoyed by the unwelcome disturbance, the two vampires ferociously turned their attention to Darian. “I don’t know what your deal is pretty boy, but you’ve made a real big mistake coming here.”
Not wanting to start on the defensive, the young fae immediately leapt into action. Darian quickly rushed forward, driving his knee into the closest vampire’s stomach as he gracefully avoided the other vamp’s punch.
“Run!” he cried to the girl as he narrowly ducked another powerful blow, but he saw her slump to the ground even as he spoke. This distraction gave the bloodsuckers an opportunity to strike. Recovering from the blow he received in the midsection, the first undead brought his arm up in a brutal uppercut that landed painfully on Darian’s chin. The second beast was equally merciless, viciously landing a kick the small of the Fae’s back. Blood began to trickle from his lip as the vampires continued to pummel Darian from every side.
With the fight engaged in earnest, the limp form of the girl gathered itself and she rose silently from the ground, unnoticed. Loki chuckled to himself as he watched Darian’s efforts against the vampires he’d lured in here with the guise of the girl. Merging with the shadows along the wall of the alley, he pulled forth a long, sharp blade. *Let’s make it a little more interesting,* he thought.
The girl’s slim arm drew back and the knife flew unerringly to its target, burying itself deep in Darian’s shoulder. Her lips curled back in a feral smile at the sound of pain this elicited, then she stealthily returned to her prone position and waited for the outcome.
The vampires continued to relentlessly pound Darian’s bloodied body from all sides. *I’ve got to find a way to end this, or they’re going to beat me to death.* Taking advantage of a slight break in the attack, Darian jumped high into the air, landing on the other side of the alley. He then quickly (and painfully) brought his fist down on a nearby packing crate, causing the wood to splinter into several pieces. Before the two undead could react to his lightning swift actions, Darian grabbed a piece of the damaged crate and used the makeshift stake to dust the first vampire.
Seeing the remnants of his comrade being blown away in the wind, the other bloodsucker turned heel and ran, but it served him little good. Ignoring the now immense pain in his shoulder, Darian took careful aim and launched the stake at the fleeing creature. The fragment hit its mark, and the second leech exploded in a cloud of dust. Darian then turned his attention to the unconscious girl laying only inches away. *I hope she didn’t die of fright,* he thought as he reached backwards, extracting the knife from his shoulder.
Sounds of distress and conflict spilled out of an alleyway just ahead, and Tash heard a feral snarl of pain. She raced to the mouth of the alleyway in time to see a shape looming over the fallen form of a young girl. It pulled a knife from its shoulder and dropped the weapon to the ground. *Well, at least the girl got a few licks in first.*
Moving swiftly and quietly into the alley, Tash scooped up the fallen blade and pointed it at the... man? Not vampire, certainly. The aura was not quite human, though. *Demon, most likely.*
"Step back," she snarled. "My turn, now."
Darian turned to face the attractive black woman who had just appeared behind him and eyed the bloody knife she held. She must have been the one to throw it, helping out her friends. "Listen, I’m really not in the mood, so either you run now or I’ll kill you too."
*I hope she does run, I’m beat up pretty bad and another fight may not go well.*
Tash noted the spikes of pain in the creature's aura, along with the flecks of darkness. *Demon, then.* Her mouth curled up in a wry smile, "Oh, I don't think either of those will happen. I think it's your turn to die. Unless, of course, you want to just let me have the girl?"
Tash settled into a ready stance, sure that the demon wouldn't give up his quarry so easily.
"You know I’m not going to do that," Darian responded, standing defensively in front of the girl. "Don't say I didn’t warn you." Darian quickly advanced, aiming a roundhouse kick at the woman's temple.
Tash barely ducked in time, the blow was so fast. *Hmm, hyped reflexes. Ok...* Tash dropped the knife she held into her other hand and drew out her own knife from her wrist sheath. Advancing with both weapons, she feinted to the left and dove in with a vicious slash to the right, grazing the demon's cheek. She bounced back a few paces, getting out of range of his rapid-fire kicks and punches.
They played a game of cat-and-mouse for some minutes, Tash working on her opponent’s tiredness and constantly pushing at his damaged side, weakening him further. He landed several telling blows, though. At one stage Tash had to shake her head to clear the blood dripping into her eye.
Then she dipped under his guard and grabbed his wounded arm, twisting the shoulder back painfully. The deep knife wound opened further, pouring blood down his side and he bit back a cry of pain. Tash put her knee into the small of his back and pressed her knife to his throat as he collapsed to his knees. But something was wrong... The girl. Tash was staring right at the spot where she'd lain, and she was gone. *Good, run off like a sensible girl.*
With the vampire momentarily distracted, Darian was able to knock the knife from her hand... *Why is it wearing gloves?*... and rolled to his feet. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, and he wondered why she hadn't changed to vamp form with the blood running so freely. He followed her gaze and frowned. *Good, the girl's run off, at least,* he thought.
Fog began to cloud Darian's vision *I’m losing too much blood; I can’t keep this up any more. This vamp is good, really good, and in the condition I’m in, I don’t think the outcome is going to be good for me.*
Giving his opponent one last hate-filled look, Darian mustered what little strength he had left and leapt up onto the nearest roof. Jumping from building to building, the bloodied fae did not stop until he deemed himself far enough that the dangerous vampire would not follow.
Taking a moment to rest, Darian tore off his shirt and used the shredded cloths to create a temporary bandage for his shoulder. *I knew I’d hate this town,* he mused as he dizzily continued back to the safety of his apartment.
Despite the injuries the demon carried, it moved with astonishing speed and grace up to the rooftops and away. "Damn!" Tash exclaimed. Still, if she couldn't finish off the demon, maybe she could find the girl and make sure she was safe. There was no way the girl had got past them in the alleyway, so she must have gone out the other side. Expecting to have no luck, Tash was surprised to find the girl near the far end of the alleyway, looking shaken.
"Are you ok?" she asked the girl softly.
The girl's lip trembled. Mentally, Loki smiled. This had worked out even better than he'd hoped. In the girl's voice, he said, "Y... yes, thanks. That man..." the girl sniffed, "that man wanted to hurt me." Tears trickled quietly down her cheeks.
"Hush, it's over now. He's gone." Tash patted the girl's shoulder comfortingly. "Are you hurt?"
Head shake.
"Shall I take you home?"
Head shake.
"Really, I don't want to leave you out here. Let me get a cab for you, at least."
Head shake, then a reluctant nod.
Soon, the taxi disappeared down the street and Tash retrieved her knife and cleaned it, then frowned when she couldn't find the other knife anywhere. Eventually she gave up looking and continued into the night, looking for vampires to kill.
*****
A block away, the taxi sped on, now passengerless. The driver muttered to himself about chicks changing their minds. Hidden by the shadow of a doorway, the girl’s image began to shimmer, her long hair changing into short curls and her face melting back to normal. His lips twisted in a maniacal smile, *I really don’t enjoy taking the form of a girl, but in this case it was so worth it.*
Soon on the rooftop nearby, a voice from the shadows addressed Loki, "So, it seemed to go well. She believed you?"
Loki turned to see the figure of a twelve-year-old child standing before him. "My dear Deon, I would have received an Oscar for that performance.”
Deon's lips curled in a feral grin. "Good. I've been waiting a long time for this."
Ian The Nursemaid - Conclusion
Previously on LA By Night...
-- Ian is called to care for Victor while Tash is out of town -- Ian installs security for the building and especially the treasure room upstairs
Guest Starring Paul Bettany as Ian-- Ian is exposed to the "Supernatural" in one night and takes a drug to make him forget it all
-- Ian indulges his bad-boy nature with Reah
-- Ian gets a brush-off by Tash as she returns home injured and tired
-- He spends the night in the penthouse.
Friday 16th September 2005 - 9:30am
Poplar Avenue, Room 301 – Penthouse Apartment
"You know I don't deserve this? They're just using me?"
Ian kicked the foot of the couch. His bag lay on the seat, fully packed and ready to go.
"'Yeah, thanks for all your help, Ian. Now just piss off.' That's what they said, isn't it? Yeah, I come in and happily lend a hand whenever I'm needed 'cause I'm good ol' Ian. Best buddy. Right."
"Oh, give her a chance. She only just got home last night. And I saw how hurt she looked. Let's face it, she wouldn't want me around for the tearful reunion with her boyfriend, would she?"
"Hmph. Victor! He's no better. 'Don't leave your empties in the hall,'" he mimicked. "He just took me for granted too. 'Oh, that Ian - he'll do anything for his buddy Tash.' Well, I'm sick of it!"
Ian paced back and forth with each change of mind.
"They trust me. They’re treating me like harmless furniture because they feel so comfortable around me."
Ian switched direction again. "I am not furniture. I am a virtuoso of security, not a damned electrician. I need to show them that there is more to me than the bloody telly."
His eyes rested on the door to the bedrooms where the bulk of Victor's stash was hidden. Then he turned away from it.
"Tash is my friend and I do owe her. And I know she'd come help me out if I asked. And Victor's an ok guy - when he's not being a pain in the arse."
"And so how many times do I have to run to her beck and call? How much weird shit do I have to put up with for the sake of friendship? They bloody owe me for these past few days. I deserve more than a pat on the head and being told I'm a good boy."
Ian sat down on the arm of the overstuffed easy chair in the lounge and looked at the doorknob. Just thinking about weird shit made his eye twitch. But nothing specific could come to mind.
"It doesn't matter. I’ve always steered a wide berth around Tash's life. Why start analysing it now?"
Ian stepped up and walked to the very edge of the laser-scanning zone in front of the door.
"And she's steered a wide berth around mine too. She knows the score and it’s okay. Nothing I do should surprise her. In fact she probably expects it."
Ian's hands fidgeted in his pockets. He stood there for several minutes, the internal debate silent now but the feelings still roiling inside him. His eyes narrowed and he pulled out the remote control.
"One press of that button and I can get my own reward. For cryin' out loud, it's the least I deserve after the way they've treated me."
"And how have they treated me? They trusted me. Tash trusted me to take care of Victor. Victor trusted me to take care of his valuables. So I've been given the brush-off. They have other things on their minds."
He dropped his gaze to the remote in his hand and sighed.
*****
10:15am
Ian breezed into Apartment 205 and tossed his bag on the lounge floor. Tash was seated at the small kitchen table, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. Victor was still reading one of those dusty old volumes on the sofa.
The bag landed with a heavy thud. "So I guess my job is done here. Victor seems able to care for himself, and you are home safe and sound my love." Ian picked up the phone and started to dial, "Guess I'll call a cab and be on my way."
Victor set down the book, "Ian. Wait. Tash and I want to talk to you a bit."
Ian waved a hand, "No problem. The cab won't be here for another few minutes. I have time for proper goodbyes."
Tash walked over and hung up the phone, "Ian, wait."
Ian turned to her, exasperation in his eyes. "Why, what have I done now?" he asked.
"Nothing," Tash answered automatically. "Well, everything, actually. You really are a true friend, Ian. You've helped me out more times than I care to count and I really do appreciate it. We appreciate it.”
She laid her gloved left hand on his arm and guided him to the couch, gesturing for him to sit. She settled herself a little stiffly and awkwardly. The cast felt big and clunky, and her entire body seemed to be one giant bruise.
“Victor and I have been talking,” she began.
Ian felt his skin go clammy and his knees wobbled as he shuffled to the couch.
*What are they doing? No, this isn't right. They don't mean it; it’s a set up. They want another favour.*
*They really do care. Don't they?*
Victor smiled a bright, white smile, "I have to say I had some reservations about having you here. When Tash called you I thought that you'd get in the way. But you fitted right in. You helped and solved problems and took charge. And it means a lot to us that we have a friend like you."
Ian blinked and did his best to keep the incredulity out of his eyes. *See? They just want to butter me up for the next 'favour'. It's just words.* *Why am I being such a shithead today?*
"Well, thanks, Victor," he said, "It's nice of you to say that."
Tash could feel the dichotomy of feelings emanating from Ian and smiled gently. "I'm sure you've been feeling put upon, Ian. I've been asking a bit of you over the past few months, and usually with no warning. It must feel like I've been making demands on you, but since you're my friend I'm sure you understand. You know I'll always be there for you if you need me."
Before Ian could respond, she glanced at Victor quickly and continued, "But we don't expect you to go away with nothing more than a warm, fuzzy glow."
Victor pulled out a remote control from his pocket. "You installed a security system upstairs to protect some rare and valuable things for the Foundation. Even Tash has no idea how much is up there. I trust you with that secret. Help yourself to any piece you like. That cross you were admiring earlier, for instance. It’s Incan gold captured by the Spanish in the 17th century. Quite valuable and a worthy reward for your kind of loyalty."
Ian was sweating. He had not sweated like this since Grade Nine when Susie Martin showed him what was under her shirt, and then his teacher asked him what had taken so long in the bathroom. He could clearly see in his mind’s eye that very cross lying wrapped in his Calvin Klein underwear at the bottom of his bag.
Tash's eyes widened in surprise at the sharp thought she received from Ian. Then she had to stifle a giggle, putting her hand to her mouth to hide the grin as Ian retrieved his bag from the floor and opened it. *That’s my man. Pity I’m not an art thief like he thinks I am – we’d make a hell of a team.* But she soon had her mirth under control as the sadness and guilt continued to flow out from her friend.
Ian unzippered the bag and fished around, pulling out the lustrous, jewel-encrusted cross. He thrust it at Victor. "Actually, I've decided it doesn't go with the rest of my stuff after all," he said flatly.
Victor just looked at the cross. A small frown formed on his lips, "You still earned it, Ian. Keep it. If it clashes with your decor, melt it down. It’s just gold."
Ian dropped the cross with a heavy thud on the floor, "No thanks, Victor. You’ve taken all the joy out of opening the box."
Victor turned puzzled eyes to Tash in a silent plea for understanding. After 2000 years, he thought he was starting to get a handle on humans, but then they turn around and do something like this. Tash shot him a quick 'It's ok' smile and turned her attention to Ian.
She stood, ignoring the deep gouge the cross had made in her floorboards. “You don’t have to take anything if you don’t want to, Ian. Or maybe it would help if I told you categorically that you couldn’t take anything?” she winked.
One corner of Ian’s mouth twitched momentarily, but then the mask dropped down again.
“Ok, not the best time for jokes, maybe,” Tash observed.
Ian stuffed his things back in his bag mechanically, "No and it wasn't even funny. You don't get it. I don't want to take anything from you. Either of you. It would not make it even. I'd always feel like I owed you. What you said was more than I deserved. Friends like you guys are more precious than this." Ian kicked at the cross and even though his foot managed to move it a few inches, it was obvious the pain of connecting with it was considerable.
“Ian,” Tash laid her hand on his arm and he turned to face her. She held out her left arm and Ian embraced her gently, trying not to disturb the cast on her right arm. Tash couldn’t help but notice that for once, he didn’t even try to cop a feel. *And I’m sure just having Victor here wouldn’t stop him, either.*
“It’s not about who owes what to who, Ian,” she said into his shoulder, then pulled back to look at his face, “I’ve done things for you you’re not even aware of, and I’m sure you’ve done things for me I’m not aware of. That’s what it’s really about.”
Ian had an odd expression on his face, "I guess it all comes down to trust again doesn't it? You trust me. I trust you. What good would it be if I betrayed that trust now? I could not trust you ever again. And I'm not ready to give that up."
Ian hefted his bag over his shoulder again, "Keep the cross. If I want it, I'll just steal it again. Since you have so kindly given me an open invitation."
Tash grinned, "No worries. I'd give you a ride to the airport, but..." she glanced down as her plaster-encased limb.
"No worries," Ian echoed. "I might wait outside for the taxi, though."
"You know, sometime soon you should just pop over for a visit. No crisis. No need of electronic expertise. Just to hang together for a few days. Like the old days in St. Louis."
Ian winked in response, "I know a great old house with a treasure room we could knock over."
Victor made a "huff" noise that might have been a snort as he retrieved keys from the drawer. "I'll drive you, Ian."
[/]Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LA By Night…
· Victor has his head chopped off by the Kali doppelganger in the basement · Tash helps Sorrow to rescue Jade and they wind up in Europe with Valerian
· Sorrow breaks Tash’s arm after they trigger a psychic trap
Saturday, 17th September 2005 – 10:00am
The garbage men out behind the building were making a godawful racket again this morning. He had spoken to them about the clanging of the dumpster but they seemed to be doing it on purpose now. Tash was sleeping peacefully; her nightmares had not seemed so bad last night. It was good to have her home. But home was getting a little too small lately.
Victor rolled his head and one of the braces popped off. He felt under where it had been and felt the crinkle of the paper-like chitin covering the holes. *Almost all healed now. Should be safe to go out again.*
Tash stirred in her sleep and rolled over, flinging her good arm across Victor's chest. "Hmm," she murmured as her brain began to crawl into consciousness. "Good morning."
She stretched, feeling the deep ache in the arm that was encased in its cast. There still wasn't much of her that didn't ache, but at least she was all in one piece. More or less. She lay back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to muster the will to get out of the warm bed.
Victor kissed her, and she pulled him back in to make it last longer. He muttered "Crrfll" into her mouth as she tugged on his neck. Another brace popped off and landed on the pillow. Victor pulled free of her embrace and stood next to the bed.
"Looks like the 'scabs' are coming off. Good morning yourself. So what are we doing today besides sleeping until," Victor looked at the clock, "10 am?"
"10am? Really? Does that mean I have to get up?" Tash's tone was light and bantering, but there was an undertone to it. She really didn't feel motivated to do much of anything. Even though she'd bared her soul to Victor about everything that had happened in Europe it hadn't done much to ease her mind. She thought of the shattered shell that Jade seemed to be now and sighed. Was all that trauma she’d been through to rescue Jade to be for nothing?
Victor sat up and tugged lightly on Tash’s good arm playfully, “If you don’t we will have to redefine the role of Vampire Hunter to include weighing twelve stone and working from home.”
He walked to the dresser and selected his outfit for the day. The enormous trousers and Polo shirt seemed ridiculously huge as he tossed them on the foot of the bed. His glamour would see to altering the world’s perception of them as normal. Victor pulled on his pants and idly asked, “Why don’t we get out of town? Is there any reason we can’t drive to Cabo San Lucas for a weekend? Just the two of us on holiday.”
She watched him dress. The incongruity of his finely muscled form and the oversized clothing still amused her and she pushed herself to a sitting position as he pulled the huge polo shirt over his head. The outline of horns showed briefly before he tugged the shirt down over his chest, where it suddenly seemed to be a perfect fit for his human appearance.
"A holiday?" She pondered what that meant. A chance to get away from LA. A chance to get away from her usual surroundings and let her brain process all the things she'd seen and done in Europe. She nodded, "I must say, Victor, I could use one."
She looked down at her arm. "But maybe I should let this set a bit more first," she finished sadly.
“Maybe that’s best. You’d not tan evenly wearing that,” he said with a silly grin. Tash looked at him as if he were mad. He winked at her, “Then as soon as the cast comes off, we take some time off.”
Victor sat on the bed and pulled on his size-20 socks. “I walked to Cabo San Lucas once about 150 years ago. Nice place. Very quiet beach, beautiful view.”
"I think you might find it's changed a bit over the decades... but yeah, sounds lovely." Tash grinned, "It's a date."
[/]Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LA By Night
Darian and Natasha come to blows after being tricked by Loki and
Deon. Darian is stabbed in the shoulder, and makes his getaway
via roof top before Tash can finish the fight.
Wednesday 11th of January 2006, 11:43 PM
Darian stumbled into the lobby of the dark apartment building, thankful that everyone was sleeping soundly in their beds. It would be difficult to explain to another resident why his shirt was torn and why his shoulder was bloodied and damaged. The pain in his body had now become extremely intense and threatened to send him into unconsciousness. But Darian fought the calling of sweet oblivion and continued slowly making his way to the safety of his apartment. As he sluggishly climbed the stairs, his mind wandered back to the fight he had just had in the alley. *Had the girl gotten away safely? Where had that female vampire come from, and why was she so strong?*
After what seemed like an eternity of ascending, Darian reached the fourth floor. *Just a bit further.* He coaxed his unobeying muscles to continue carrying him, but they would no longer listen. With a painful THUD, Darian fell to the ground, only a meager five feet from his door. The fog in his eyes began to grow denser, obscuring the reality around him. How easy it would be to let himself drift into unconsciousness, but he had to keep going - he couldn’t risk being seen like this.
Tarix was on the floor in her training area. She had set up the candles like Thule had asked her and lighted them up. She then sat cross-legged in front of them, closed her eyes and started to let her mind drift into a meditative state. She felt her muscles start to relax and felt her raw nerves begin to soothe.
*Hmmm, Thule was right, this is pretty calming.* She even tried to hone out her senses but that was even more difficult. After several minutes of being deep in her meditation, she heard a loud THUD. Her eyes instantly snapped opened. *That came from just outside.*
Taking heed of Thule's warning, her muscles tensed up as she approached the door. She opened it a peep (just to be safe) and peered out. At first she saw nothing then her eyes fell upon a figure lying almost in front of her door. With in a second she recognized it.
"Oh my God." She flung the door open and rushed towards Darian, who was lying in a bloody heap.
"Darain, Darian?" she called out to him holding his head between her hands, trying to shake him awake.
The beaten fae could barely make out what was happening around him. He knew someone else had just arrived, but he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes and see who it was. Moments before the final wave of pain sent him into senselessness, he was able to mutter, “Please, you can’t call a hospital, you can’t…”
Although extremely confused by his plea, Tarix tried to get her neighbor back to reality, but it seemed to her that he had just passed out. She started to panic, looked around, and tried to think what to do next. She proceeded to do the only thing that came to mind; bring him inside her home. Gently she lifted his arm and put it over her shoulder. He seemed a little heavy, but lifting weights each morning had given her ample practice. Tarix slowly carried him inside her apartment and towards the nearest couch. He had been injured pretty badly, and the threat that whoever caused this might come back was enough to make Tarix rush to her door and lock it.
Minutes later, Darian's eyes began to flutter open. He could feel the throbbing in his shoulder (not to mention all the other places the vampires had hit him) but at least now he was able stay awake. He gazed around his unfamiliar surroundings of this strange apartment, filled with lit candles. *Where am I?* His question was answered as his gaze fell on Tarix, who was busy squeezing blood from a face cloth.
A mixture of happiness and dread filled his mind. *Ah shit, how am I going to explain this to her? I can't very well say, "Hey I just got beat up by three vampires trying to save a girl".* His mind raced, trying to think up a plausible excuse, but it was too late.
Tarix's face turned from worried to relieved to happy.
"Hey!" she shouted, "Well look who's awake. You gave me quite a scare, Darian." She took her wet face cloth that was in her hand. She reached up and was about to tend to one of the wounds on Darian's shoulder when she realized that it had somehow stopped bleeding and started to heal by itself. Stunned, she looked at the wound and looked back at Darian.
He knew what had shocked her. No doubt by now his enhanced healing abilities were kicking in, quickly closing his injured shoulder. The fae lay there, not sure what to say to her. "Thank you for what you've done. I, uh, I..." was the only thing that fell from his lips.
Hard as he tried, Darian could not come up with any excuse for why she had found him lying bloodied and beaten in the hall. To Darian's surprise he found Tarix smiling.
While he was trying his best to conceal the truth, a moment of clarity unclouded Tarix’s mind. *It couldn’t be, but… His purple eyes, the weird schedule he keeps, that feeling when we first touched hands months ago, the wound magically healing - it all makes sense.*
"You aren't human are you?" she said rather matter-of-factly.
Her simple statement hit Darian with the force of a sledgehammer. How could this simple girl, who worked at a normal fast food restaurant, come to such accurate deductions?
"How did you kn... unless…" It suddenly became clear to him, as if a light switch was being turned on in his head. "You aren't normal either, are you? Who are you really?" Now Darian was on edge. In his short stay in LA he had already encountered enough supernatural people, and none of them were very friendly.
Tarix felt suddenly alarmed. *Uh oh, Thule's not gonna like this.* She paused a moment, not knowing how to react. *What if he isn’t a friendly demon, or what if he’s a vampire? The last thought made her step back slightly.
"I asked first. Are you a vampire?" she blurted out.
“No, I’m not a vampire, although I’m not too keen on sun bathing either.” Taking a moment’s deliberation he decided that he had nothing to lose now, his secret was out. "I'm actually - *Why am I telling her this?* - well, I'm actually part faery." He stood, waiting to see the girl's reaction. Never before had he told anyone his dark secret.
She felt a little puzzled. *A faery?* She remembered having read a bit about them in one of those thick books Thule had brought her, although she didn’t remember them being as tall, or masculine for that matter.
She looked Darian in the eyes; he was quite nervous. *Maybe I am the first to know.* To make him feel better she decided to let him in on her secret too. *Oh, Thule's really going to kill me.* She didn't know how she was going to do it. Then an idea struck her. She saw a towel lying on the floor.
"Well, I am a Koolang demon." she said, and on impulse she raised her hand over the towel, focusing her power. Slowly the towel lifted up, floating between Darian and herself.
Darian wasn't sure what to make of the situation. *A Koolang demon?* His knowledge of demonic breeds was very limited, so the name did not ring any bells.
"So are you a good demon? You don't eat babies or, like, sacrifice helpless virgins do you?"
Tarix let the towel fall, and giggled. "No, I don't eat babies and ewwww."
Now that tension between the two had faded somewhat, Tarix inquired about his injury. "So, you wanna tell me what happened to your shoulder?" she asked full of genuine concern.
"This may sound a bit crazy, well I guess no more crazy than what we just discussed,” he chuckled. “I was out for a walk, and stumbled on two vamps about to have a midnight snack on this poor girl. I rushed in to help her, but a third hit me with a knife from the shadows. I managed to kill the first two, but the last one managed to get the better of me.
I fought until the girl got away safely, and then I made my escape also." Just replaying the events in his mind ignited anger in him. "Anyways, I made my way back here, but I guess the blood loss kicked in, and that's when you found me out in the hall," his said sheepishly. He did not like the idea that the last vamp had cleaned his clock pretty good.
"Well that’s a story and a half," Tarix replied, not sure whether to laugh or be concerned.
An awkward silence fell over the apartment, as both individuals weren’t sure how to react to the new “tidbits” of information they had just learned.
Finally Tarix spoke up, “So, what is the real reason you came to LA?" she asked, her curiosity growing, hoping he wouldn't think she was prying too much.
Darian wasn’t sure if he should tell her. Already he had revealed so much to this girl in a short amount of time. *But what if she can help? She did say she was a demon. Maybe she has knowledge of magic.* He quickly decided to let discretion go to the wind.
Darian's hand went up to his ever-present necklace. "Remember the night in the coffee shop, when I told you I was here looking for a missing friend? Well, he isn't so much missing as, well, stuck in this stone."
"Oh." Tarix's gaze fell on the pendant he was holding.
"A long time ago, me and my friend Sebastian were kidnapped by a druid to be part of some sick magical experiment. He combined my body with a faery, and he somehow trapped Sebastian into this stone. I've since spent all my time trying to find a way to get him back, but nothing I try works.”
Darian paused a moment and then, his voice full of hope, dared to ask the important question: “I don't suppose you have any demon abilities that could help?" He knew the chances were slim, but he had nothing to lose.
Tarix felt heart broken by his story, and even worse when she had to tell him “No,” she couldn’t really be of any help. “I am not much of a magic person. Hell, I don't even know how to use my own powers properly." She looked into his eyes trying to give him some sort of hope. "Look, if there is anything that you may need help with, please do not hesitate to ask me. You know I'll always be here for you."
Darian looked at Tarix with sincere affection. *Not only is she not freaked out, but she even offers to help me.* “Thank you, I really appreciate it. And thanks again for helping me. Who knows what could have happened if someone else found me? It's funny how fate works like that. Anyways, I think I’ve caused you enough trouble for one evening, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
Darian turned to leave, but Tarix stopped him before he left.
“I guess I really shouldn’t have to say this, but you won't tell anyone about my 'ethnicity' right? And of course, I won't tell anyone about you.”
The Fae winked and smiled gently, “My lips are sealed.” Darian closed the door, and once again Tarix was alone save for the dancing light of the candles. Slowly she looked down at her own neck where her pendant - the codex - also lay, and thought about how similiar both of their lives were. Both of their pasts hung around their neck. Slowly she blew out the candles and headed for bed.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Monday 16th January 2006 – 8pm
Claustrophobic brick walls are smothered with graffiti – dig deep enough and you could go back through archaeological layers to find the sixties buried under there somewhere. Discarded rag ends of humanity line the spaces between the buildings. Shadows lurk in every corner, rubbish is tossed along the alleyways and cul-de-sacs by fitful gusts. It’s the perfect place for two furtive figures to meet.
But Deon wasn’t there. Instead, he was in a brightly lit mall perusing the racks of the latest teen fashions. And there was nothing furtive about the way he greeted the man who entered the shop moments later. They left the shop and walked along the promenade, checking out the shop windows they passed and looking just like everyone else in the mall.
“So it’s done?” Deon asked.
A cultured British voice replied, “As specified. Confusion spell coupled with psychic dampening, all geared to the bio signature you gave me.”
The man stopped walking and held up a silver chain, upon which dangled a curiously shaped pendant. It caught the eye in a hypnotic whirl as it spun on the end of the silver links. Deon reached out and stilled it, wrapping his fingers around it as the man released his hold on the chain, letting it spill over the back of Deon’s hand. Deon gazed at it in his palm for a moment, his child’s eyes shining at this new toy he’d been given.
“And you can guarantee it will work?”
The man nodded, “Absolutely. I’d stake my life on it.”
Deon looked up, a feral smile curving his young mouth and making his eyes glitter cruelly, “Oh, but you already have, Ethan.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LA By Night…
·When Tash is 14 her family, including her 12-year-old brother Patrick, are killed by vampires ·Patrick was in fact turned and renamed himself Deon
Guest starring:·Darian is being tormented by Loki, a dark fae sent by the Order of the Fae
·Deon and Loki have teamed up to mess with Tash and Darian
Ryan Phillipe as Loki Cirroc Lofton as Deon
Tuesday 17th January 2006 – 2:15am
Tash shivered in the cold January night air. Puddles lay on the ground from an earlier rainstorm and she wondered if any other job in the world was so underpaid and so thankless. The woman she’d just saved from a pair of vampires had been barely shy of rude to her. Then she remembered that cabbie from when she’d returned from Europe and smiled. No, not entirely thankless.
She felt the comfortable weight of her weapons under her clothes as she continued to scan the area with all her senses. Something was a bit off with her tonight, she decided. Her mental impressions of the people around here seemed a little dull. A few neck rolls and shoulder shrugs helped loosen up her muscles, but did nothing for her psychic acuity. *Maybe I’m just coming down with something.*
A figure a block or so down the street caught her eye – it seemed to be beckoning to her. Cautious, she drew closer, scanning the periphery as she moved in case it was a trap of some kind. The figure was somewhat short and slender, and as she approached it resolved into the familiar features of…
“Patrick!” Tash stopped dead in her tracks, several feet away still. She frowned a little, but then as Pat took a couple of steps towards her that frown smoothed out and she smiled. Here was her little brother, safe and well after all.
Tears of joy welled up in her eyes and streaked her smudged face. “You, you haven’t changed a bit!” she exclaimed delightedly as she ran to embrace her lost little brother.
But Patrick didn’t wait to be embraced. He danced backwards, shaking his head. “Tash, please help me. A bad man is after me…”
He turned and ran and not even thinking once, let alone twice, Tash followed.
*****
Darian’s Apartment
The offensive odour of fish and sweat hung heavily in the air. “I’ve got to get a new job,” Darian said to himself as he made his way from the bedroom to the balcony. Opening a window never was enough to get the smell out; his only hope of ridding the foul odour was to open the entire balcony door. Moments later, Darian realized that his plan was far from perfect; although the fish smell steadily weakened, the freezing January air made the apartment a little too cold for comfort.
Deciding that a slight fish scent was better than freezing to death, Darian was about to close the door when his heightened hearing detected what seemed to be a scream from the streets below. At first he attributed the noise to an alley cat, or some other nocturnal beast, but a second scream disproved that theory.
*It sounds like a kid’s voice,* he thought as he grabbed his coat and rushed out onto the balcony. Without a second thought, he jumped to the far street below. Although the fall would be dangerous, perhaps even fatal to a human, it was child’s play to someone with his unique abilities.
As he landed gracefully on the pavement below, Darian scanned the alley for any signs of the person in trouble. Just at the edge of the small back street, he noticed a small boy, probably no older than 12, being chased by two men. Darian ran with all the speed his body could muster, hoping to catch up before it was too late. Not once did the strangeness of the situation ever dawn on the young fae: Why would a 12 year old be out this late?.
Several paces ahead of Darian, Loki - wearing the form of Deon - smiled sadistically as he continued to flee from his ‘assailants’. When he had finally reached the agreed upon meeting place, the trickster called upon his magic. What was seconds before a young boy's face was now altered, the visage of a vampire in its place.
"Oh shit," was all that Darian uttered as he finally caught up to the boy and his two ‘attackers’. The truth of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks: it was a trap.
Slowly the two men positioned themselves in a flanking position, and the kid took his place in front of Darian.
"What do you want with me?" Darian exclaimed in a tone matching the January temperature.
The small boy took a step forward and replied, "Oh just to have a little fun is all."
With that the two other men, who were also wearing their game faces, rushed at Darian from each side. Although he was able to dodge the attacker from the left, the man on his right landed a strong punch to his back shoulder, just inches from where he had received a knife wound several days earlier. Intense pain ran from the point of contact all the way down Darian's arm, temporarily stunning him. The vamp on his left took advantage of the moment and brought his knee up into the Fae's stomach.
Darian keeled over as all the air left his lungs. Although he expected to be pummelled even more, he was surprised when the kid ordered the two men to "Get out of here," leaving only himself and Darian. Once he had regained some form of composure, Darian realised that the boy’s face had reverted to human form.
"Uh oh. Big sister is coming, and you're going to be in trouble," the kid said as he exploded into sadistic laughter.
*****
Though she ran as fast as she could, Patrick was always ahead of her. “Quickly!” he called over his shoulder, “The bad man is starting to hurt me.”
Finally he rounded a corner, behind which Tash heard grunts and cries of pain. Fuelled on to greater effort, her eyes blazing, she spun around the edge of the building like an angry mother bear. The tableau imprinted itself on her brain in a microsecond.
Patrick – her little brother Pat – was there, blood running down his face as a man with clenched fists towered over him. Patrick turned fear-filled eyes to her. The man also turned his head towards her. Her eyes widened. That man… no, that demon.
“You!” she screamed, “This time you’re going to die!”
Behind the human mask of Deon’s face, Loki smiled in glee, daring a quick glance upward to where the real Deon had scampered to watch the outcome. Deon perched on the rooftop and stroked the amulet he wore. Now for the fruits of his labour…
Tash streaked towards the beast that was attacking her baby brother, her knife already in her hand. She slashed furiously at him, hoping to eviscerate the demon, but he danced out of the way and brought a fist around lightning fast. She barely dodged the blow, feeling the breeze of it as it passed over the top of her head. Dropping into a fighting stance, Tash began the dance once more with this creature.
"Is this your deal, you always show up after I’ve already gone a few rounds with other people?" Darian spat as he barely dodged another jab from the female vamp's knife.
As much as he played it cool, he could not ignore the twinge of fear in his heart - this girl was dangerous, that much was established last time they duked it out. Ignoring the fear he pushed himself harder, forcing his beaten body to react with lightning quick accuracy. Over and over he moved left, right, ducked and back stepped just to avoid his opponent’s deadly blade.
"Right," Tash huffed, "like a little kid is such a challenge."
"Kid?!" he spat as he dodge another blow. *These vamps are really screwed up. I bet the ‘kid’ is probably older than a lot of people,* he thought as he directed a kick to her temple. Darian realized he had to go on the offensive if he stood any chance of winning this fight.
Tash had no more time for speech, as the force of the demon’s renewed attacks drove her back. She got a few light cuts in on him, but then he grabbed her right arm and twisted. The newly healed bone and sinew protested and her knife clattered to the ground. Gritting her teeth in pain, Tash lashed out with her foot, catching the creature in the groin.
*Thank God this demon type seems to keep his genitalia in the usual spot at least,* she thought as he doubled over in sudden agony. She used the momentary pause to call out to Pat, “Pat, are you ok?”
“Pat?”
She twisted her head around frantically. No Pat. “Shit!”
The demon launched himself at her again, fury flashing in his weird, purple eyes. Tash found herself barely able to block the blows that landed on her; her right arm throbbed mercilessly. A new imperative was lodged in her mind, though. She had to find Pat. If he wandered around out there, God alone knew what else he might run into.
When she had backed up so far that she was pressed hard against the wall, she used the leverage to launch a vicious series of kicks to the fiend’s head. The final blow knocked him to his knees and Tash sprang forward.
*Damn! Dropped the blasted knife. Can’t kill it quickly.*
“Later, then,” she hissed and ran down the alleyway calling Patrick’s name.
Amidst the stars flying around in Darian's head, he could make out the female vampire running off in search of the vamp kid. Although he seriously wanted to somehow dust the bitch, some part of him was thankful she ran off. Who knows how the battle would have ended had it continued on? Trying not to give any more thought in that deliberation, he made a speedy return back to his apartment.
*I think I forgot to close the balcony door... What a night; take a few beatings from the local undead and come home to a freezing cold apartment. What a life I lead.*
*****
On the rooftop overlooking the alley, two Deons faced each other. The features of one blurred and remoulded to Loki’s angelic face. He smiled. “She seemed not to notice the incongruity at all,” Loki said.
“No,” Deon fingered the amulet he wore around his neck, “it worked – if you’ll forgive the pun – like a charm.”
Loki gazed across the rooftops towards Darian’s apartment. “You know,” he murmured, "I know how I want the next one to go…”
[/]sam and mariah making plans
***Monday, September 26, 2005***
“So, what does it mean?” Mother Mariah asked Sam, pacing her temple room. Sam knelt before the altar, making notes in a book, and occasionally stopping to read a passage from the leather bound journal open before him.
Sam hesitated. He felt smarter with Mother. He felt more capable. She had taught him much. She had shown him ancient magics, magics lost when the lost continent had fallen into the sea. He was grateful to her for the knowledge. Being with Mother had made Sam a better person. He knew that. But sometimes he still worried. Sometimes he was afraid. He was afraid he would disappoint Mother. She had put so much faith in him. If Sam failed her, Sam knew he would never recover. So when she asked him questions, especially questions as important as the one she’d just asked him, he liked to take his time, to find the right answer. Thankfully, Mother was always patient.
“Sam?” she said, prompting a response. When Sam looked up he could see that Mother had stopped pacing. She stood silently before him, waiting for his response.
“I think… I think it means you need a pure vessel, Mother,” Sam replied. “And the vessel must come from the blood of the… what does Paergoren mean again?”
“Guardian,” Mother replied. Her voice was full of frustration. “Are you sure that’s what it means?”
“Yes,” Sam’s reply was still hesitant. “That’s the proper translation. You must use a pure vessel from the blood of the Guardian.”
Mariah shook her head, her brow knit. “That’s inconceivable. How shall I get my hands on the child of the Guardian? She’s not even with child. How can I possibly have the vessel in time?”
Sam didn’t believe that Mother was talking to him. She was very agitated and seemed to be asking these questions of the air around her. Still, when she mentioned time he had a thought.
“Science,” Sam said aloud.
“What?” Mariah had resumed pacing as she mused aloud, but stopped at Sam’s sudden outburst.
Sam looked different, sort of fired up. He leapt to his feet and started to pace now. “Science,” he repeated, excitement evident in his tone. “I said ‘science.’ I think I have an idea.”
Mariah smiled indulgently. “Do you want to share it with Mother, Sam dear?”
Sam grinned at her. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “If this is going to work, we’re going to need to enlist some people from within The Brotherhood, though.”
“Like who?” Mariah asked.
“We need a doctor, and uhm, a geneticist to start off,” Sam replied.
Mariah’s eyes lit up. “You really do have an idea, don’t you?” she said, moving over to Sam and reaching out to stop his pacing. She was smiling, a smile filled with pride and joy. “That’s my boy, Sam. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Tell me, what are we going to do?”
Sam bent close to Mariah, outlining his plan for her. As he spoke, Mariah stroked his back. Sam was filled with a sense of triumph. Soon, very soon, Mariah would walk beside him. He could hardly wait.