Highlander: The Immortal Quickening

[Nightsworn]

Yung agreed to go to dinner. He was not sure of the menu items Sam had offered, but he knew it had to taste exactly like chicken, his mind sunk back to a time when he would be lucky to get a bowl of rice and laughed at the oddity of complaining about getting any type of food at all. He was very quiet and reserved, but his actions were swift and deadly.

He could feel several immortals around and his mind was in a pure defensive mode. He was hoping no one attacked him, today was not a good day to kill someone. He had gone in killing frenies before and had once killed 40 people before he knew what had happened. He was astute with the blade, it was an extension of his inner being.

Sam had invited someone to dinner with them. She was a little bit eccentric and seemed a little bit odd and loud. Yung would mostly just watch the two of them and keep his eyes open during dinner. He hesitantly agrred to dinner and told Sam he would meet them outside of the hotel. He excused himself and went to his room to wash up before meeting them outside.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam

Knowing that Kama had major issues with "personal space", Sam resisted the urge to link arms as they walked to the restaurant on Calle La Paz. Instead, she crossed her fingers and hoped the younger woman wouldn't wander off and get lost -- or worse -- into some sort of trouble. Back home the locals side-stepped her but kept their eyes peeled all the same. Here? There was no telling what could or would happen, and Sam still didn't know what Kama was doing here. Or Yung, for that matter.

"The Café Museo was once a refinery," she said as they entered the bright, airy restaurant. "The stone walls are the originals, too." Thinking that maybe no one cared about stuff like this besides herself, Sam told the waiter that they needed a table for three.

"Three?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face. Sam looked around for Kama. Where had that girl gotten off to now?

"There." Yung gestured with his head in Kama's general direction. She had wandered over to one of the refurbished refinery machines that were scattered throughout the room and was inspecting its every detail.

"Yes, three" she repeated to the waiter. "Please." Turning to Yung, she shrugged. "She'll be along soon. What kind of trouble can she possibly get into here?"

Their table was in front of one of the immense windows that fronted the building and gave them full view of the street outside. At least, Sam thought, no one would be sneaking up on her again like Yung had in the hotel. She was really getting rusty. And out of touch.

"Are you going to try the llama?" she asked him, refusing the proffered water and ordering a glass of white wine instead. Sam needed to relax and she also needed to know what the hell was going on.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Wander off?

Her?

Well, maybe she had a habit of exploring her surroundings…for long amounts of time, without caring where she was going. What most people didn’t get was that she was thinking the entire time that she wandered. It was like, suddenly she’d look up and have no idea where she was – just the dull ache of having been on her feet for too long. A nature walk in the steel and concrete skeleton of the city.

As they approached the café, she gave the place a quick scan. Seemed decent enough – Sam usually had good taste. Usually. Some of the things in her store….ick. Proves that money can’t buy style. Hm. What was that? Oh, yeah, one of the refinery machines. As she peered at her distorted reflection in the shiny metal, she ran her fingers along its cool curves. A refinery of what, was the question foremost on her mind. Probably nothing really other than beer, but still….

Pressing her body against the machine, she let the cold bleed into her skin. Resting her cheek against one of the curves, her eyes narrowed slightly as they caught their own reflection in the metal. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something odd was happening here, despite the temptation of a nude Orlando and Johnny. And why was everyone on edge? What could they sense that she couldn’t? What connected them but left her out? Turning to rest her forehead against the slick surface, she closed her eyes for a moment.

And most importantly, why couldn’t she remember?

Damn being so impulsive.

Why had she thought that this would be a good idea? Surely there had to be something past the hormones?

Not likely.

Pulling herself away from the machine, she paced back over to the table where Sam and that other guy was sitting. From the looks of him, all you would have to do is, like, accidentally spill water across him and he’d judo-chop the back of your neck. Feeling a chill rush from the soles of her feet to congeal at the base of her brain, she staggered slightly.

Odd. That had never happened before.

All the more reason to be really, really careful here. Maybe tonight some incense and oils to get her chakaras back in order, consorting with the stars and the like. More than ever, she needed their guidance. Besides, they were the only ones that really listened to her. Someone else had, too….But…She shook her head, almost violently, sending streamers and streaked pink hair flying.

It was one of those things that she wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if it had actually really happened…and she couldn’t invest her time and energy in a dream. Especially if it was one like this: part wishful thinking.

Taking her seat, she glanced down at her hands, and the many silver rings. Her brows knitting for a moment, she straightened out one on her pointer finger. Maybe it had something to do with the photo – she’d have to give it a closer inspection when she got back to her hotel room.

Something was missing.

She was just about to do something, too….something about food. Something that was etched in her brain all the more as she found herself chewing on the edge of the tablecloth.

Oh, yeah. What did Sam suggest, since it was obvious she’d been here before. “Anything good on the menu,” she asked around the tablecloth in her mouth.

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

Thomas attempted to pursue the child, despite her having disappeared into the throng. Numerous children broke and ran, all seeming to be identical siblings, clothing and hair all too similar to allow him to differentiate. He fell back on his tracking skills, and chose one in roughly the middle. A leap took him over a table full of wares, then he was rushing headlong into a group of shoppers, ignoring the shouts and curses of those he was jostling. Careening aside, he upset several baskets of bulk coca leaves, then was tossed off of his feet by the wayward cane of one of the sellers. He crashed to the ground, rolled, and regained his feet, ignoring the bruises and the telltale seeping where his water bottle had apparently broken. His hands reached for the tomahawk strapped at the small of his back, then thought better of it. It was one thing to raise attention by being simply an ignorant foreigner, but to show a weapon in a public place was stupid and unforgivable. Time to take a different approach.

A child ran past on the lower level, shouting excitedly while looking over it's shoulder, something clutched in it's hand. Thomas considered the stairs, chose speed over convention, and leaped the banister, falling neatly into a table full of clothing and party favors. His ankle twinged at the abuse, but he knew that it would heal shortly, and he powered away in pursuit, screaming a war cry as he did. People were finally learning, and he found himself with a small amount of room in front of him as he headed in the direction of the child.

The short tunnel opened into one of the outdoor sections of the market, and he fought through more shoppers and merchants, ignoring cries of dismay and the multiple flashing toys and household appliances for sale. A food cart blocked his way, but he slid past it, knocking over the several filthy glasses of tea that were on it. His target was running flat out now, ignoring the impulse to look back. He was amazed at the speed the child possessed, but figured that he could hold his own against her (him?) in terms of sheer endurance.

Unfortunately, he didn't have knowledge of the boltholes and hideaways in the area, and the child disappeared into a doorway. He ended at the door, only to find it bolted from within. A brief survey of the building showed only accessways on the street side, and the crowd watching him was growing. He might be able to convince the police he was pursuing a thief, but obvious breaking and entering would be inexcusable.

He turned awy, and began slowly walking away, catching his breath at the same time he listened for sounds of someone trying to escape. None came, and he settled for slowing his roaring heartbeat. Immortal or not, his body still made use of oxygen and nutrients, and he didn't know many people that could have made the run he just had, without some form of visible exhaustion.

The thought of nutrients reminded him that his stomach still needed to be attended, despite having procured some supplies, and he considered his choices. A cross street offered options, and he looked in all four directions briefly. Behind was definitely out, but picking one of the remainder would take him to several levels of variety. In one direction was the slums, poorer food choices, but higher levels of anonymity. Another was the higher class section, more choices and better quality, but also higher educated locals and better chances of running into the local constabulatory. the middle ground would be best, including the fact that it would take him into the church district. He hadn't missed the faint rumblings and tinglings that spoke of immortals, and he had met some of the less savory examples of his race that weren't above pulling mortals into the conflict as distractions.

He was coming out of a "restaurant" when he spotted them. His hands were full of cheap chicken, bought from a merchant who fried poorly plucked birds to a deep brown, then stacked the quartered fowl on his counter without benefit of pan or heat lamp. He'd been lucky, and the food was still relatively warm internally, suggesting a recent arrival on the display. But his reverie was cut short by the pair across the street.

They appeared to be locals, but their clothes were slightly wrong. Crisply cut and ironed, lacking the threadbare look that was the norm in this section of town. Their faces lacked the slightly dull look, mostly the result of chewing the stimulating coca leaves, and they were a bit hasty in looking away from him. He growled, and stepped away to allow the slope of the hill to carry him down. Shoes, freshly shined and still new enough to squeak, sounded on the rough stones behind him.

He gulped at the chicken, tearing hunks of flesh away as quickly as he could and swallowing furiously. He hated wasting food, even if it wasn't particularly flavorful or hygienic, but he needed his hands free. The remains of the first quarter were consigned to a gutter, and he fell onto the second, doubtlessly sounding like a ravening animal in his efforts.

The shoes continued behind him, matching him step for step, and definitely in quiet pursuit. Thomas smiled to himself. These didn't feel like police, since they would likely have brought their uniformed underlings with them, and they didn't look like professionals. What they might have, however, were answers, and he wanted those. The final strips of flesh parted from the bone, and he made a point of dropping to a knee to toss this trash away, wiping his fingers on a piece of dusty paper. The followers slowed, trying to look discrete.

"Gruss Gott! Wohnst du weit von hier?" The german tripped from his tongue with what he had been told was an atrocious accent, but it served it's purpose. He had acknowledged the two, and now they had to make a move. One did, though probably without consulting his partner.

A short, thick knife appeared in his hand. Thomas recognized it, less from it's shape, and more from the ugly red plastic handle. Russian, or a good copy. A bayonet for a Kalashnikov. Ugly, and not particularly a good weapon. It spoke of either poor planning, or perhaps a more limited support system than their clothing suggested. Sighing to himself, he began closing on them.

They turned and ran to an alley, apparently not eager to face him. Reputation, or ambush?

Ambush. He was halfway across the street when a motor revved. It was throaty, powerful, and well tuned. He turned to see the car suddenly powering at him, dust churning from it's tires. It was a local taxi, and typical of the breed. A street racer, low slung and over muscled, it's paint job lovingly maintained. It accelerated towards him, the engine howling as fuel was fed to it. No difficulties with oxygen for it, and it raced for him.

Thomas ran to it, closing the gap in smooth movements. A graceful leap lifted him above the menacing grill, and he rolled across the hood and up over the windshield. Momentum inparted spin, and he flew through the air, the car passing beneath him without giving or taking damage, and the driver was obviously confused by this. By the time it had been wrestled to a stop, Thomas was coming out of a handspring, and had assumed a ready pose. He took off in a ground eating run, sprinting into the alley, and smashing into the two toughs that had been setting him up.

Tough number one was still reaching under his coat when Thomas struck him, and the man fell away, squawking in dismay. The second lashed out flat with the ugly little blade, and the Shoshone decided to bring out something to up the ante. The tomahawk dropped into his hand, and he brought it across in a flat strike, the blade reversed. Bone crunched, the man screamed, and the bayonet fell to the ground. Thomas spun smoothly, and the strike was reversed to impact with the man's head, landing just behind the ear. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Pain seared the Shoshone, and he flailed blindly for the source of it. Something seemed to burn at the base of his neck, but it wasn't the bite of a blade. He fell to his knees, then rolled, screaming in pain. Something tangled about him as he did. Finally, there was tension, and he heard a plastic clatter.

He dimly recognized the trouble. Thin metallic filaments were spooled around him, and a plastic pistol, yellow and blue in color, was pulled along by his movements. That meant that the pain came from a pair of darts in his neck. But with the battery charge depleted, the weapon was no longer anything other than an annoyance. The blade of his axe severed the wires, and Thomas suddenly was moving, his features fixed in a snarl. The tomahawk lanced forward in an underhand strike, and the man's scream was cut short, his form lifted from the ground. Thomas shouted into his face, venting his rage as the blade was buried in the man, arcing up under his sternum. With a single wrench of his arm, he tossed the man off of his blade, and watched him hit the ground with a wet thump.

A bad move, killing him like this, but there was only so much reserve a man could muster, especially when he had been treated this way. The car was gone, and he'd just killed a mortal. Not good. With a sigh, Thomas began quickly sorting through the pockets of the dead man.

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

The fight had been a bad idea, even if it hadn't been his choice. He'd given in to anger, and had ended up killing a man. Even in a third world country, the event would be noticed. And, if the IDs he'd lifted were correct, the attackers were also foreigners, although he doubted their Argentinean claim. The hands spoke of moderate labor, but their skin showed no signs of serious time outside.

However, he did find some clues, items found squirrelled in hidden pockets. Slipping these items away in his own pocket, he made a minor effort to hide the body, then ran away, deciding to lose himself in a different section of town.

Affluence had never been his forte, but he was capable of handling himself in richer society, and had enough money available to him to grease the needed palms in this town. With luck, he could find some safety in the richer section. The poncho was removed and hidden away, and he quickly stashed the weapons. His concession to the new look was a pair of expensive sunglasses with red lenses.

He was moving along, matching his pace and bearing to those around him in the banking district. His stance now spoke of power and wealth, of an indifferent importance, rather than the meek third worlder, or the running foreign tourist.

He was passing a restaurant when the tingle rolled through him again, this time stronger than before. While he couldn't guarantee the feeling, his experience suggested multiple Immortals, not a single being suddenly closing fast. Thomas carefully walked around the block, concentrating on the feel, then looked to the restaurant.

Well, it couldn't hurt to get a real meal.

 

[Why]

..............

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Aidan

Aidan combed his long hair with extra effort (that wasn't right, was it?) and groomed and trimmed his beard (that wasn't right either, it had been ages since he had a beard). The king had ordered, well suggested it in his way, that everyone look their best today. This was to be their finest day, so naturally they should look their finest as well. And they had an auidience as well. The enemy was up on the cliffs watching as they went about their morning grooming. Cleaning hair and faces, tending to weapons, polishing armor and shields. Today was to be the best day. Aidan reached over...

He awoke with a start, not remembering drifting off into the short nap. Aidan rolled out of bed and rose to his feet. He changed his shirt and took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure he was presentable. He tucked his broadsword under his coat and quietly slipped out of the room. His stomach was telling him it was time to get something to eat.

He walked around til he found a place that seemed adequate. As he neared he he got that old familiar feeling, and took a quick look around. There were a few possiblities in the crowd, but no one seemed to be paying him any particular attention. Aidan stepped into the restaurant , where the feeliong grew even stronger, and seperate. There were three in here, and he quickly spotted them. Two females and one male. The male was oriental, and with a measured glance Aidan realized it was not someone he was familiar with. The first female looked young, aside from the multi-hue storm of her apparel, and slightly.... well, vacant was the best word. The second female was someone Aidan was familiar with. He wasn't sure if it had been too long, or not long enough.

"Hello Sam," he said under his breath, his lips barely moving.

He was deciding on the protocol of the situation. They would obviously have felt him enter the restaurant, in a moment they would probably pick him out of the crowd as well. It would be polite to at least say 'hello,' and would be a step in the right direction of avoiding any unwanted confrontations. With a small resigned sigh, Aidan began to pick his way slowly over to their table. Giving them time to see him, and assume he was not an immeadite threat.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam

The air was fairly crackling around her, and Sam was getting just a tad annoyed with it all. First there had been Yung, and the way he'd suddenly appeared in her room without her realizing. Then Kama -- and the gods only knew what it was about that one. Or maybe the gods had nothing to do with any of it, she thought as a tall man who was obviously NA came striding into the restaurant setting the short hairs on the back of her neck on end.

"Hey, Yung... " Sam said without taking her eyes off the latest arrival. "Get a load of... Yung??" The space that he had occupied a moment ago was quite vacant, though she hadn't seen him leave. "Kama, did you see... Oh, nevermind." Yung had obviously slipped off somewhere while her attention was directed elsewh...

"Hello, Sam."

Talk about a small world. Looking up into steel blue eyes that she well knew could be as cold as the North Sea from where he hailed and in the next moment as warm as the Mediterranean, Sam tilted her head and grinned. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine... Slainte, Aiden. Please, sit. And you... " She nodded toward the erm... man who had walked in just ahead of this one.

"My, my... This is getting kind of cozy, isn't it?" Glancing toward Kama who was fiddling with the tablecloth again, Sam added. "We were just about to order. I don't think they serve humble pie, though I figure someone should be eating a platter full right now. I thought you were... "

"Dead?"

"Something like that. We'll eat first, but I have a gazillion questions. Yeah, I'm still Turkey Nada revisited, but I think you'll agree that something big is going on around here." Turning toward the other who had just approached, she extended her hand toward an empty chair. "Please do. We may be strangers for a moment, but I think we have more in common than any of us had expected. My name is Sam. Kama and Aiden," she indicated the others with a nod of her head. "And you are?"

"Thomas," he answered quietly accepting the chair she had offered.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Kama

Ugh.

Mysterious people. Her interest dropped below sea level, and once more she found herself asking just why she was here. What was up with all of this? It felt like everyone was in a play that she hadn’t gotten the script to.

And frankly, she was tired of it.

She pushed her chair out from behind her. “You know, I don’t really feel like eating anymore,” she said, scratching at her nose ring slightly. She didn’t know why, but the little stud had always usually served as a calming stone for her. Scooting away from her chair, she pushed it back in and headed for the door.

As she stepped out into the street, she almost gasped. It suddenly felt like a great blanket had been lifted from her shoulders, that she could breath now. The force of it was enough to bring her to her knees. Crouching on the street, she took one long gasp after the other, her knees shaking. What in the Sam Hill was going on? She hadn’t noticed anything before about it being harder to breathe....how could her body just suddenly change up on her? Tugging her shades off, she folded them and placed them within a pocket, her wide brown eyes frightened and angry. She was tempted to sock herself in the breast, just a reminder to her body to get with it, but that would hurt. Besides, the last time she’d gotten hit there...well, maybe that was the reason why the right one was smaller.

Inching closer to the wall, she shakeingly placed a hand on it, using it to help her up. As she slowly worked her way up, she removed her shades again. She couldn’t image being caught without them, having to face the world with her own eyes. Please. Even when she slept she wore a pair. Blowing on the lenses, she studied her distorted reflection for a moment before wiping them off with her sleeve, and placing them back on her nose. Tilting her head upwards, she sighed. She needed some sort of lift in her life.

Patting down her pockets, she stumbled across an old and battered pack of cigarettes. She’d supposedly quit a while ago, except in times of extreme duress. Like this. As she lifted a bent cig to her mouth, she patted around for her lighter as well. Damn. It would just figure that she would have a cigarette, but no lighter. In frustration, she ripped it open, catching the dried bits of tobacco in her palm. Scrutinizing them for a moment, she popped them into her mouth like tic-tacs, and swallowed, immediately grimacing.

Well.

Either way, it got in her system.

“But...seriously, what the fuck is going on here?” she addressed the stars. Let’s see. Closing one eye, she reached out with her left hand, fingers splayed. Whatever constellation she saw first, she’d ask. “I believe in a thing called love,” she muttered softly. So where was the said yellow star? Opening both of her eyes, she stared into the vast band of dark above her, running a hand through her hair.

How ironic. The scales.

“Alright, Libra.” Or at least she thought it was Libra. Close enough. “Help me weigh my options. I go in where I obviously don’t fit in, or I go back to my room to investigate the photo. I need one measly little thing to tip this scale, buddy, and I need it fast.”

She folded her arms behind her back, leaned against the wall, and waited.

 

[such_a_bad_man]

Henri Duvalier

The streets of Potosi are alive like any other day. This makes it all the more difficult for a motorcycle to maneuver through them. The people out and about hear the throaty rumble of its engine, but the taxis, cars and delivery trucks have nowhere to move to getout of the way. Rush hour in a South American town; a larger cluster fuck you'll never find. Those who lift their eyes to look at the rider look upon a face that is entirely out of place.

His face is entirely European. He isn't the typical gritty biker you'd imagine roaming the Interstates of the US. His skin is slightly pale, a sign of his inability to get a tan. Aviator goggles protect his eyes; nothing worse that a kamikaze bug striking your cornea and causing you to wreck. A simple lid helmet caps his skull and compliments his goggles. The rider frowns at his inability reach his destination easily after covering so many miles to get to this town. He'd yell and shout like those around him, but his gift has taught him that there is always time. Thereis time enough for everything. This 30 minute delay will not steal much away from his life. What is 30 minutes when compared to 600 years? He grins at the frustration on the faces of the drivers around him as he leans back in the "saddle".

Finally, the traffic inches along enough for him to roll into the parking lot for the hotel that marked the end of his journey. He roars his engine up the front drive and dismounts. He pulls a dusty duffle off the handlebars and slings it over his shoulder. The valet outfront looks at him curiously. The man in the faded jeans and "aged" leather jacket does not look at all like the usual clientel of the hotel. He walks past them with a confidence and stride that belie his heritage. No one would suspect that this man was once trained to be a member of high society by the way he looked, but his manner shows his history. He steps up to the front desk, removing his helmet and peeling his goggles off. The man at the desk looks the new arrival up and down. He frowns slightly and asks he he can help him, sure in the fact that this man must be in the wrong place. He asks, "Can I help you?" His Latin accent lays thick on his question, much like his superior attitude hangs in the air. The man looked up at him as he pulled a smooth leather wallet out of his interior jacket pocket. He answered back in smooth, gliding Spanish. Those around him might think that he was a native speaker. He runs a laundry list of needs for his room from the size to the accutrements and then slides a platinum business American Express card across the desk to the employee. The man at the desk is lightly shocked and gingerly takes the card in his hands. He walks to the credit machine to check if he can afford such a room. A few minutes pass and the desk employee returns; his attitude is noticeably different. "Mr. Duvalier, I am very sorry about my atitude. If there is anything I or the staff here can do to make your stay here more comfortable, do not hesitate to ask."

Minutes later, Henri steps through the door of his suite. It was exactly what he had asked for. The windows looked out at the Bolivian mountains outside of Potosi. He waited for the bellboy to bring in his bag and tipped him well. When he was finally alone, he sat down heavily on a chair in the main room. He reached back into his jacket and pulled out a manilla envelope. He opened it like he had many times already. Dumping the contents onto the table next to him, he picked up the item that had drawn him here: one long, narrow stilletto. He turned it over and over in his hand, a memory from centuries ago there in his hands. He then looked at the letter that it came with. It wasn't much of a letter. It only listed a city and date. He had made it to the city with days to spare. He sat in his room, wondering what to do. It hit him right about then. That familiar feeling at the back of his head. The rush of sensory information that couldn't be processed by any organ. His "kind" were here. So he wasn't alone after all.....

He cracked his door, looking out. They must not be on this floor or the ping in his head would have been louder. He looked out the window, down into the square. An asian man had a woman on his arm with a small woman running up and down the stairs around them as they walk calmly down the street. He watches them stroll down the street, heading into what looks like an old refinery building. He feels the familiar twitch again and looks back to the exit of the hotel as he sees a man of obvious Irish heritage walking out. It was simple to spot him. He stood out amongst the simple latin people on the street like a sore thumb.

Since he was among his people, he thought it was only fair to go introduce himself. He gathered up his things before opening his duffle. He tossed clothes and other items out onto the floor before pulling out a curious item wrapped in velvet. He peeled the wrapping back to reveal the walnut wood scabbard for a swoard that had to be 2 inches wide and about 4 feet long. The hilt was done in iron bent and wrapped around the blade in beautiful metal work. Those who know blades can tell that it is designed to catch a blade in the hopes of disarming a man. He slides it inside his jacket, making sure that no part shows beneath the bottom edge. He slides on a pair of sunglasses from a case in the mess he just made. Checking himself in the mirror, he walks out the door.

 

[stalwartone]

~Thomas~

The group was getting interesting. he nodded to the introduction, then took a chair, smiling as much as he felt was proper. This wasn't The Gathering, as he'd come to understand the concept. But there were an uncomfortable number of Immortals here.

The one, Kama, suddenly took off, a look of terror in her eyes. Thomas' eyes followed her out, his mind briefly considered chasing her, but held off, afraid of causing any more of a scene.

"I'm guessing she doesn't know?' He looked to the one that spoke to him, Sam, as she'd introduced herself. He didn't elaborate any more, not in public, but the terror seemed to fit. Young, freshly immortalized, and not given the benefit of a teacher.

With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket, and removed the locket. "Am I to assume that everyone has been.. invited.. here?"

 

[LongshanksSierra]

"Am I to assume that everyone has been.. invited.. here?"

Invited. That was a novel way of putting it. Aidan would have used the word baited instead. Although it had been a long time since anybody had tried to gather a bunch of Immortals in one place for the purpose of hunting. The last person who had tried had an overly optimistic view of his swordsmanship.

Still, possible danger aside, Aidan's curiosity was aroused. And there was the hoplon. If someone was using it to bring him here to take his head, well they had an overly optimistic view of their swordsmanship as well.

Then there was Sam. Boy the dance card was full tonight. It took a measure of self-control to keep a wry grin from working it's way across his face. Aidan wasn't sure if anyone else here had as... checkered a relationship as he had with Sam. The Indian seemed to be a stranger, and Kama the Vacant One seemed to have enough troubles as it was without Sam adding to them, the Oriental guy who had dissappeared, well no use worrying about him at the moment. Aidan would certainly have to watch Sam closer this time around. Which, in all fairness, wasn't an unpleasant notion in and of itself.

If Aidan was smart he should probably follow the little guy's lead and dissappear too.

Still.

Still, at the moment the curiosity to stay was stronger than the threat of potiential danger. When you had been around as long as Aidan had, anything that seemed vaguely interesting was worth a little risk.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"An interesting piece, Thomas" Sam remarked as she watched him pull the locket out. "It has significance for you, I take it. Mine was a photograph of a Schiavona and an invite to a scavenger hunt." She chuckled. "How could I resist?"

Her gaze travelled, unbidden, back to Aidan. Like metal to lodestone, she thought. She could almost see the wheels churning. He would be last to lay out his cards. Of that she was certain. Sam sighed before turning back toward Thomas, though her thoughts were in another place, another time -- long, long ago. Did he remember, she wondered? Then again, how could he forget?

"Kama is her name," Sam said by way of explanation and a partial answer to Thomas' question. "And no, she doesn't know. I've watched her for a while, but I don't think I am the one who should... "

Aidan tried to stifle a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort and she glared at him. "Do you think me incapable then? And here I thought I had been mentored by the best. At least that's what you told me when... "

But that, too, was for another time. Later they would have plenty of time for catching up and she would have her say then. She always did.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Apparently Sam didn't want to rehash old memories right now. It was probably a smart move on her part, their last parting had been less than favorable. It hadn't been that long ago either, well not by Aidan's standards, and in this very region. But it had been at least long enough for Aidan to put it aside at the moment.

So the Indian had been brought here by some connection with that locket of his. Sam by that schiavona, was there a personal connection there? That put things in perspective a little better. Whoever organized this little game knew something of each of them. In fact he probably knew a bunch about them. Which was a little problematic for Aidan, he preferred people not being that informed about his life. Things were simpler that way. That little tidbit was enough to confirm the idea that this might not end without some bloodshed.

"It looks like we all have something to look for, then." Aidan enjoyed the fact there was, in fact, a double meaning to his words.

 

[kitsuke]

Lao Jun

The world closes around me like a familiar glove. Looking out down the avenue I see paper lanterns, hung from buildings and power lines and lights indiscriminately. Tiny women hawk live chickens in huge voices, wrangling their customers to pay more than they want to. The smells wash over me and my eyes close to savor it. My ears and nose tell me I am back in Xu Chang, perhaps Jian Ye.

Then a horn blares. Oh yes, that's right. I am standing in the middle of the street like a damned idiot in San Francisco's China Town... damn. Nodding apologetically to the cab I hurry to the curb. Walking to Mei Fong's always brings back memories. That's why I do it at least three times a week, for at least ten years now.

Ten years already? I sigh heavily. Nearly time to move on again.

Arriving in the restaurant I hang my long overcoat on the hooks provided for regulars and seat myself at my table. The kitchens savory aroma reaches me as Mei Ling opens it's door and walks over to me. That sway in her hips would affect me a lot more if I hadn't known her since she was nine.

"You're late Jun." she says flatly as she sets a glass of water down for me. "As usual."

"And you are rude, Ling." I add, continuing our long tradition of adversarial meetings, "As usual."

Smirking at me she says in perfect Cantonese, "Welcome to Mei Fong. Would you like to order soup before your meal?" she blinks in a vapid way that makes me doubt my eyes. I had no clue she could do ditzy.

"What do you want anyway?" she continues in English, "The usual? Again?"

I decide to surprise her, "Tell you what, surprise me. I trust you."

The smirk stops as she is surprised by this. "Sure, Jun.", she says in a rush and hurries off before I can change my mind. Her backside makes me doubt that I have any memories about a scabby kneed tomboy from years ago.

Opening my paper I peruse the articles. It seems some idiotic rock star got high or drunk and wrapped his car around landscape in New Orleans. I'll bet his latest album goes double platinum by tomorrow. Nothing else happening of any note. Fluff stories all over the place. Maybe Ann Landers will be good today. I shudder as I think about if she had been around when I was with Liu... she and Chuko would have had invincible strategists for generations in their family if they had wed!

The kitchen opens again after a few minutes. The aroma makes me salivate and I look up as she unloads the tray. There seems to be an awful lot of it.

"Am I supposed to eat all of this?..' I trail off as she sets two plates out and sits across from me, serving up two plates of lunch. "Er, alright." This was new.

After a few bites Ling looks at me directly, "You never took me to the Fine Arts Museum like you promised.", she states.

What? When did I... Oh, wait. I told her when she was twelve that I would take her to see the exhibit that they put up. An anonymous philanthropist had donated a large sum of money and an extraordinary collection of items from ancient China. The art world had been stunned and Ling had wanted to go. As an anonymous philanthropist I had wanted to go along to see how the public appreciated it. I had promised her that I would take her when I went. Before we could go I had had to attend to some "business" in Germany. We never had made it after all.

"I'm sorry Ling," I begin, "but that was so long ago. You probably wouldn't be interested anymore."

"You said an upright and honorable man is nothing without his word." she says scathingly, "You promised me. Aren't you honorable?"

Ouch. Guerilla tactics of the worst kind. I give in, I'll take her.

"Okay, you win!" I say, holding my hands up in mock surrender, "Tell you what, if you are free tonight we can go. I don't have any business until day after tomorrow anyway. What say I pick you up around eight or so?"

I am graciously given permission to pick her up at that time and I finish my meal in bemused and perplexed silence. It really wasn't like her to play hardball. I just hope she'll dress appropriately for the museum. Kids do have weird ideas of "acceptable" nowadays.

God, I sound old.

Wait, I am.



... the next evening ...


The gutter is overflowing. It's raining again. Might as well live underwater. My shoes are soaked and so are the socks underneath. Damn puddle, ambushed me. Why the hell does she insist on living in this second story walkup on this horrible street is beyond me. The rent is way too much and I could certainly afford a better place for her. Oh well, it is her decision.

I'm early, about twenty minutes. Knocking on her door I am not surprised when she opens it not ready. Just the towel on is what takes me by surprise. Ling has picked up some curves that I have never had occasion to pay attention to before, and they are certainly abundant.

"Um," I begin brilliantly, "I'm early?" Like it's a question.

She opens the door to let me and I can feel her smirk burning into the back of my skull. I lay my coat across the arm of her couch and remember my soaked shoes.

"I need to use your dryer for a bit if you don't mind. Stepped in the middle of a lake on my way up.", I already know the laughter is going to start now.

"The door in the kitchen, that's the laundry room.", her voice is surprisingly soft, and even though I can tell she is amused she seems reserved. So I go back and toss my socks in her dryer and then my shoes. What the hell, I can buy six more pairs tomorrow.

Walking back in the living room I hear her in the back humming softly to herself as she goes about the various feminine "getting ready" rituals. A large curtained bay window lines one side of her place, out of mild curiousity and boredom I draw it open.

Oh. This is why she insists on living here. Even at night the Bay is beautiful. The lights of the city and the bridge reflecting off of it in a softly undulating visual symphony of blended lights. Further out than that the darkness of the waves eclipses stars low on the horizon for a moment and then reveals them aagin, a sort of celestial peek-a-boo game with the unfortunates stuck on the surface of this ball of mud. Enchanted with the view I quite lose track of time...

 

[Stardust Memory]

Ling

Ling studied herself critically in the mirror, turning this way and that, even looking over her shoulder to see what his view of her from behind would be. Her raven hair was lustrous and twisted into a chignon held in place by an ivory comb. She thought it made her look older. More sophisticated.

Her dress was black silk, a hand-embroidered dragon trailing from the edge of its mandarin collar to the hem and there was a thigh high slit in the side that showed off her high heeled and black nyloned covered legs to perfection. Ling smiled. She looked good. Very good. Better than that Soong Li who was always putting the make on Lao Jun.

They teased her about him. They always had. The way she looked at him with those puppy dog eyes of hers, pushing everyone out of the way to wait on him when he came into Mei Fong. Always hoping to catch a glimpse of him on the days when he didn't come into the restaurant. But Ling didn't care. She knew something that her family and friends did not and she had known it from the first moment she had laid eyes on him when she was nine years old.

Ling walked quietly across the living room, coming to stand beside Jun as he gazed out over the bay. "It is beautiful, isn't it?"

The look in Jun's eyes as he turned to answer her was everything she'd hoped... and more. "Wassa matter? Cat got your tongue?"

 

[kitsuke]

Lao Jun

My rapt attention has been turned from the bay to a beauty that is much younger, yet still ancient. She could be carved from the same jade as Diao Chan or Sun Shang. Her hair is perfect in the comb and then dress now enhances what she already abundantly has. I smile at her remark and lean down to kiss her on the cheek.

She ambushes me. I am not sure exactly how it happens but somehow she turns her face and snakes her hand behind my head so I cannot draw back in surprise. We share a much different kiss then I had intended, my lips meet hers and she is soft. I try to pull back but feel her hand. She is vulnerable, this child, but so am I. I kiss her anew with feeling, slipping my hand around to the small of her back and pulling her to me. Thoughts rush in my head. I should not be doing this. I can't not do it. She is more yielding, yet aggressive than I imagined she could be. Her lips part slightly and brush mine and I return. Her taste is heaven. The noise of the city recedes as we embrace and for many long moments we stand locked with each other. Eventually I feel wetness sliding down her cheeks and pull back questioningly. She is crying.

"What is wrong, Ling?" I ask a bit yet not fully confused.

Dabbing her cheek with a kerchief she looks at and with no logic whatsoever replies, "Damn you, now I have to fix my make-up."

Bemused I watch her retreat to her boudoir and wait the few minutes it takes.

"Jun, I'm ready as soon as you are.", came to me from across the little apartment.

"Her Imperial Majesty, Princess Yu!", the stuffy old man announced. He had a title, regrettably I could not recall it as Yu entered the room. Clad in the blue silks of the righteous dragon she glided towards the dais. Her face was serene as she proceeded and her hair trailed down her back in a long cascade, nearly touching the floor. The adoration of nearly every male in the court was readily apparent.

Is this the girl I have been protecting nearly her entire life?


Is this the girl I have been protecting nearly her entire life?

Long black hair drops straight down her back, molding temptingly in the dim light of the place. A dark green gown, probably pure silk by some obscure designer, hugs her body. A slit up to the knee on one side reveals a calf, firm and toned by the rigours of work at the Mei Fong. She wears no stockings or nylons, but then again she has never needed them. Her shoes are small heeled things with straps. I couldn't begin to imagine how those must feel after a day of work. She seems to be doing just fine though. The, um... let's be blunt, the chest region of the dress hugs to her even more shapely curves than I had suspected, hinting at what lies undrneath while only revealing what the neckline, moderately deep as it is, chooses to. A small gold chain is wrapped around her neck, a tiny clasp hangs from the front of it amost seeming to point downwards and distract one's attention. She wears little makeup, a touch of eyeshadow, a hint of lipstick. Not that she has ever needed it. Her family has always been handsome. Every several generations they produce a child who is simply stunning.

My mouth has been open. I know because I feel like a neglected barn door. Wordlessly I cross the room and take her coat from by the door, draping it over her bare shoulders. Shrugging into my own overcoat I open the door for her and spread a large umbrella just outside the door, waiting for her to pick up her small handbag and lock her door once we are outside.

A short walk to my car and we are off to the museum. I don't know yet if I trust myself to speak, so I simply smile at her and drive.

 

[Stardust Memory]

Ling

We were going to the Legion of Honor, one of the two Fine Arts Museums in San Francisco, Jun had said. It wasn't the Chinese Exhibit he'd stood me up for, but it was almost as good. The exhibit was called "The Courtly Art of the Ancient Mayas" and it was opening night.

I watched him as he drove, the memory of his kiss emblazoned on my lips. I wanted... more. And, if I was not mistaken, so did he. Men. They could be so pigheaded sometimes.

"We're here."

Those were the first words he'd spoken since... I sighed as Jun pulled up front and one of the valet's ran up to take the car while he walked around to open the door for me.

I swivelled smoothly across the buttery leather of the seats, extending one leg before the other, almost laughing aloud as Jun cleared his throat awkwardly. I had heard my sister and her friends giggling about the power women held over men, but had never truly understood what they meant... Until now.

"You like?" I asked with a twinkle in my eye.

"Yes," he replied. "Mayan art is quite remarkable. Their sculpture is... "

I held out my hand and he took it, tucking it protectively under his arm as we walked toward the entrance. "...unprecedented for aesthetic excellence and majesty."

Nodding, I hung on his every word, barely noticing the proctor as she handed me a glossy brochure detailing the pieces of art that would be on display. Heads turned as we strolled through the gallery and I was hard put to still the broad smile that threatened to spread across my face. They were looking at Jun, I knew, and so was I.

It seemed most of the pieces revolved around several themes, though the focal point were recent archaeological discoveries from the ancient Mayan city of Palenque in Mexico. I longed to run my fingers over the engravings on a stela or touch the cool smoothness of the face on a censer, all the while listening to Jun as he described each piece on our approach.

As we came to stand before a remarkable portrait head of the Palenque ruler, King Pakal, I froze. Literally. I felt as if I had been dipped in ice, like someone had walked over my grave. Unable to shake free of what felt like an ominous premonition, I tried to pull us away. I needed to be outside. I needed fresh air. Air! I struggled to gulp down lungfulls, barely hearing the sound of Jun's voice as it faded into the distance. Don't leave me. Where are you going? I tried to take a step only to find that my legs were buckling and I was falling... falling... Jun!!

 

[kitsuke]

Lao Jun

The quiet air of the Legion enfolds us, almost like a cathedral this peace. Worked stone and giant murals line the hall about us as we wander through history, visitors at this window to the Maya. King Pakal gazes over us and I turn to tell Ling of his rule, like any good instructor should. Her arm goes limp in mine and she begins to buckle to the floor.

"Ling!", I whisper as I catch her and hold her to me, looking into her fluttering eyes, "What is it?" She recovers after a moment, steady, though still shaken. Clinging to me, her body shudders and tenses.

"I, I think I'm okay.", she says in the little voice I remember from recent years, "I would like to rest, though."

I am a bit worried about her. Usually she is a bit more abrasive after showing any sign of weakness. I don't know how rattled she truly is. Leading her to the next room we sit on a bench across from the jade and obsidian mask of Calakmul, the room dim to accentuate the highlights of the illumination on the mask. Resting her head on my chest as we sit together on this bench I fully realize she is a woman now. It may be that I knew her when she was not, but that does not change what she is now.

I kiss her forehead gently and tilt her face to mine.

"Feeling better?"

My mind flies to all the times in her childhood I rescued her from the messes she got herself into. Scrapes with bullies, the ones she usually handled the next time she saw them. Trouble at school, her grades slipping when she grew bored with their slow pace of teaching. Even a few close encounters with the law when she first realized I was a bit more than just an ordinary businessman and sought to emulate what she thought I was, or might be. In the past year and more she had not needed my help for anything, though. I miss that even as I feel proud of her for her self-reliance and independence. I suppose these things change as they have for the past few millennia anyway.

She looks so beautiful in this dim light. Her soft features blending into the semi-darkness around us. It is time, fighting my attraction to her is useless and perhaps it will all be alright tomorrow. For now I just know I must kiss her.

I lower my lips to hers.

 

[stalwartone]

~Thomas~

"It's more than just a game, I believe." Thomas hid the locket away, then pulled the identifications out of where he'd squirreled them, and dropped them on the table. "I was tracked here in town. After having been baited by someone who knows a great deal more about me than they should."

He allowed a moment, then tapped the table by the two fresh identifications. "Since we mysteriously have a number of.." he paused to take a look around the table, then furtively about the room. ".. our people here, I think we should be keeping our eyes out for anything seriously out of place. If this is one of our kind playing a game, I certainly don't find it funny. But if it isn't one of ours..."

He left the thought trailing away. To have an Immortal use mortals in The Game was immoral, but if mortals know of the history of this many Immortals, then the entire race was in danger.

He had to admit that whoever was behind it all, they had selected an excellent place to play their game. Bolivian authorities would turn a blind eye to illegal activity to those with American dollars, and those with enough dollars could purchase the services of the authorities' resources beyond simple anonymity. Public and private records, police and military contacts, equipment, transportation, weapons, communication, all would be available to someone with the proper impetus.

Plus, a region as about as remote as it got. If he.. well, if any of them lost their lives here, it would be a simple footnote in the annals of the Immortals.

"What would Ira say..." Thomas muttered to himself, not thinking at the moment that others were watching him.

 

[Stardust Memory]

Ling

Melting into Jun's kiss, I felt as though hundreds of butterflies had been set to flight in my stomach and I wanted... "Please, Jun" I whispered as our lips parted. "Can we go... home?"

His eyes bored into mine, wondering, I knew, whether I was okay or not. I still wasn't sure what had happened, but there was something here that had freaked me out... even if that wasn't exactly the reason I wanted to leave.

He put his arm around me as we walked, making me feel safer than I ever had. Jun had always been my hero -- and my heart -- but somehow, tonight, our relationship had shifted and I was both excited and terribly nervous all at once.

The ride back to my apartment seemed interminably long. What would I say? What would I do? How would I... I looked at him as he turned off the car and then leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "You're coming up, right?"

Jun hadn't spoken a word since the Museum and he didn't appear about to start now, but his nod was encouraging as he got out and came around to open my door. I couldn't help wondering if he was thinking the same thoughts as I was. If he was feeling the same...

I took his arm as we went into my building, riding silently up in the elevator. Once outside my door, I handed him the key, allowing him to unlock the door. I'd left a small light on in our absence and it cast a gentle glow around the room making everything seem a little more ethereal than it actually was. Daydreamer, they called me. Well, we would see what they had to say now, I thought defiantly, gathering up more courage than I ever thought I had.

"Jun... " I began quietly, only to find myself suddenly in his arms with his mouth -- our mouths -- ravenously devouring the other's.

I could feel him as he pressed against me, his need as great as my own. Emboldened, I guided his hand to my breast, holding it in place when he tried to pull it free. "Shh... " I whispered as my fingers wove around the nape of his neck and into his hair, pulling him close once again.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

"It's getting late," Aidan said without looking out the window or at his watch. "We should figure out what our next course of action is. Whoever it is that has organized this little game, I'd hate to just sit around waiting for him to make his move. I'd suggest we expend a little effort trying to figure out who invited us here and why." He looked at the other two. "Now I'd suggest sticking closer together or far apart. If neither one of you is going to be helping, I'd appreciate you staying out from under my elbows." The young ones could never help running around like impatient little children. Well, impatient little children with bright sharp swords.

When Aidan first got here, all he wanted to do was retrieve the hoplon and leave. Now, he had to find someone who was way to informed about his own past and kill him. Then there was also the problem he had to sort out with Sam. He had gotten along the past couple centuries comfortable in the fact she might assume he was dead. That fantasy was over, so he's have to deal with that little problem before he left as well. Then there was the Indian, time would tell if that would become a problem. Probably not, but one never could really tell.

It seemed like a lot of trouble for a bit of bronze, but Aidan had to be honest with himself. He needed to get the shield. He owed it to them, and some debts had to be paid.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam

Aidan had a way of getting under her skin like chiggers sometimes, and Sam found herself biting her tongue to keep from snapping. What was it with him anyhow? A couple centuries here or there didn't give him the right to treat her like a child. Especially not after...

Pulling some bills from her wallet, she set them on the table. "This should be enough to cover the tab. Me, I'm heading back to the Hostal Colonial and that hot soak in the tub I promised myself earlier. Thomas... " Her voice trailed off when she realized his mind was somewhere miles from the restaurant. Scribbling the name of the hotel on a piece of paper, she placed it in his pocket and stood to leave.

"It's still in the same place," she added without looking back.

Kama, it seemed, had found something else to catch her attention and had wandered off again but Sam wasn't in the mood to track her down. That one was like a cat and always found herself landing on her feet. They'd catch up later.

Sam walked briskly, avoiding groups of people and skirting entrances to alleyways between buildings. If someone had gone after Thomas, who was to say that she wouldn't be next. At any rate, she wasn't taking chances.

The clerk smiled up at her as she re-entered the Hostal Colonial, but merely waved and hurried up the stairs without saying a word. She just wasn't up to learning more about that man's family and the businesses they ran. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe she'd even go shopping.

Sam listened at the door of her room before unlocking it and letting herself in. Once she was assured that she was quite alone this time, she shrugged off her backpack and turned on the water in the tub, jumping when air in the pipes made a racket not unlike a machine gun.

Laughing at herself for being so skittish, she waited for it to clear and put the plug in. Her whole body ached from stress and aggravation, not to mention that less than luxurious ride into Potosi. Adding a capful of bubbles, Sam stripped down and climbed into the tub.

Heaven. If there was such a thing... this was it. Or close enough. "Calgon," she sighed wearily, "Take me away."

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Aidan felt the lock click as it opened. The familiar sensation pressed in the back of his mind as soon as he entered the room. She was... just... there. In the bathroom, probably in a bath as she had a weakness for doing. Her particular presence was familiar to him.

He closed his eyes.

She was waiting for him, her wet feet placed lightly on the tiled floor. Her sword would already be in her hand, if her training had held. He took the sword out from under his coat and held it out between his fingers in clear view of the doorway.

"Shit," her voice breathed out, barely audible.

"It's me Sam. I've come to talk." He stepped into the doorway, replacing the sword under his coat.

Her wet hair clung to her head, brushed quickly out of her eyes. It was shorter than it had been. A terrycloth bathrobe had been tied quickly to her lithe frame, apparently modesty had won out in those few moments.

"What is it?" She demanded her sword still held lightly.

"Clearing the air," he said "I think it's necessary if we're going to be working in close proximity. Especially in this town... again."

She let the sword dip, then placed it on the towel stand where it had probably been waiting earlier. She shrugged her way back out of the bathrobe before slipping back into the tub, apparently unconcerned of nudity in his presence. Which was just her way of making a statement and setting this meeting on her own terms. Once the suds welcomed her into their embrace, she turned her eyes on him. "Yes?"

He assessed her mood, and decided to be blunt. "I'm not going to kill you. Despite how things were when we parted ways, I'm not going to revisit the past. I consider the issue closed."

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

OOC - Bumping the story up just a bit...

IC - Thomas allowed the night to cloak him, using the darkness to shield him as he moved about, carefully skirting the few pools of light coming from buildings. Streetlights had long since given up trying to open the night, what with maintenance costs so high, and too many roving gangs eager to prove their worth by destroying property in numerous manners.

He wasn't sure what he was searching for. There had been something clawing at the back of his mind, but he had given up trying to completely sort out what was going on. Immortals gathering for something other than the Gathering , and evidence of someone with far more knowledge of their hidden lives than was good for anyone.

Still, there was something...

A shriek sounded from the distance, somewhere near the supposedly safe university area. In this depressed economy, only those with family money were able to afford a seriously higher education, and those families demanded security. If someone was in trouble from over there, there would be protective forces, possibly even military. Better he leave it alone..

Even as he considered it, a flare went off behind his eyes. He recognized it, fighting the pain and trip-hammer pounding in his skull, and giving up his intent to avoid this situation. Whatever the danger might be, he knew that he had a responsibility to check into this.

A new immortal had just been introduced into the world. Not simply a child with the potential, someone had just suffered a violent death, someone with a shared bloodline with himself.

It was a short run at his familiar ground eating pace. Even as he spotted what he was likely looking for, he slipped his tomahawk into his hand, preparing for combat. He hated the thought of using it here, but protecting the new immortal took precedence.

There were three figures ahead. Two were obvious street toughs, kids with more hormonal imbalance than good sense, dressed in leather and flashing the types of quick throw away weapons that were useful for brandishing or exacting small amounts of damage with. Only the most skilled or clumsy were truly dangerous with them, and he had a good idea of which category these were from. With a shout, he threw himself in between them, and concentrated scaring them rather than injuring them. A quick thrust with his weapon sent one falling back, clutching his stomach, then a spinning strike with the flat of the blade dropped the second. Reattaching the weapon, he grabbed the front of the third form's jacket, discovering as he did that the silent form was definitely female.

In a clumsy dragging trot, he pulled her body to the cover of an alley, then ran back for her handbag. The two toughs had started to make an attempt on that bit of evidence, then spotted the Shoshone moving back towards them. In surprisingly short order, they had managed to throw themselves back into their overpowered car, and thundered away, the engine rumbling a vicious thunder as they powered off. Thomas grabbed the bag from the ground, then hot footed it back to where she lay.

It wouldn't be too long, he knew. Energy was gathering in it's own strange way, and he could already sense the beginnings of rekindled life within her form. He spent a moment attempting to clear the worst of the blood away from her face, then had a sudden wave of recognition rush over him.

Impossible! She's been dead for years!

Trembling, he brushed at her face as he quietly spoke that name...

"Marie?"