Title: Late Night Drink
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Ivan, Tabby, Rick, Calvin, Solomon
Prompt: Table 5 - 014: Fill
Word Count: 1344
Rating: G
Summary: The Nephilim share a drink.
Warnings: Drunkeness.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
A bottle filled with a clear liquid rested on the wrought-iron table next to a glass jug dripping with condensation. A hand placed a glass on the table, lifted the pitcher, and sloshed water into the glass and over the tabletop.
“Hey, careful there. Maybe Ivan should pour for you,” Rick said, sipping from his tumbler.
“I can pour my own damn drink,” Calvin slurred as he set the pitcher down.
“Ivan’s got his hands full anyway!” Tabby chirped from her position sprawled over Ivan’s lap.
“I wouldn’t mind.” Ivan made a half-hearted attempt at dislodging the Khatronian.
“Ahh, lookit ‘im,” Tabby said, pointing at Ivan’s face. “He’s all red!”
“Just the alcohol,” Ivan muttered and succeeded at pouring Tabby to the flagstones. The four of them were sitting on a patio overlooking the Klein mansion’s spacious acreage, where they’d been relaxing since the party at Iolaphos had wrapped up and they’d gone off their shifts.
Calvin watched blearily as Ivan poured the bottle’s contents into his glass, the liquor mixing with the water and turning a milky white. “S’weird. Weird stuff. My head feels full of ... of... what’s that black candy from Earth?”
“Licorice,” Rick said, smirking.
“You’ve probably had enough.” Ivan eyed Calvin as he set the bottle down.
“Not had enough ‘til I get that sight outta my mind.” Calvin noisily gulped from his glass and winced. “Ugh. Why Daegal of all people?”
“Coulda been worse!” Tabby pulled herself back onto the bench next to Ivan. “Coulda been...” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Solly-man.”
Calvin gave her a bleary look of horror and Rick pointed two fingers at her, derringer-like. “Don’t call him that.”
“Heehee, sorry.” Tabby grinned and proceeded to refill her own glass.
“I dunno,” Calvin muttered. “Might not be so bad with uncle. Sorta... stayin’ in the family, y’know?”
“Staying in the family? What, you’d share her with your brother?” Tabby gestured at Rick.
The violinist smirked. “Technically we’re not brothers. Besides, women aren’t my preference.”
Tabby stared at Rick for a moment as if trying to decide what to do with the new information, but decided to chug the contents of her glass instead.
Rick narrowed his eyes at the Khatronian. “Speaking of having too much, aren’t you and Ivan about ready to pass out? You were sharing a bottle of vodka when we came out here.”
“She drank most of it,” Ivan said, pointing at the giggling Khatronian who was again refilling her glass.
“Hey, Calvin. I’ll race ya.” Tabby held up her tumbler.
“Don’t,” Rick warned.
“You’re on.” Calvin held up his glass in salute, then the two began guzzling their drinks. Rick rolled his eyes.
Two glasses slapped down on the table and Calvin slumped back in his chair. “You got the light... from the console to keep you... lifting you up... they shine like... little angels.” He made half-hearted grabs at something invisible.
“Ooookay, when he starts quoting classic sci-fi shows, it’s time to quit.” Rick stood and reached down to Calvin to get an arm around his shoulders. “Do you remember what you were drinking about?”
Calvin screwed up his face as Rick pulled him into a more-or-less standing position. “Obviously... to see catgirls fall over.” He pointed at Tabby, who’d fallen over into Ivan’s lap and was now snoring.
“Good. Time to go in, then.”
“Aww....”
“You’ll be all right out here?” Rick asked Ivan.
“Yeah.” He waved at Tabby. “This is the quietest she’s been all night. Think I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”
Rick smirked and he and Calvin disappeared into the mansion. Ivan leaned back against the bench, gazing out to the horizon. The sky was lightening, the eastern edge growing rosy. After the bustle of the evening, the pre-dawn morning was soothingly calm. Absently he scratched Tabby behind one ear and she made a sleepy noise that might have been a purr. Ivan tilted his head back, enjoying the breeze as he allowed his mind to sink into the haze left by the alcohol.
A door further down the patio opened and closed, and Ivan roused himself reluctantly. He opened his eyes, then straightened his head when he saw Solomon walking across the flagstones. The mafia boss glanced at him for a moment, dropped his eyes to Tabby, then met Ivan’s gaze again before turning away. Ivan carefully lifted Tabby and slid out from under her, resting her gently on the bench. He stood and walked over to join Solomon at the edge of the patio overlooking the pool and garden.
“Sir,” Ivan greeted cautiously.
“Ivan.” Solomon’s voice was at its usual cool level. “Is our little thief asleep?”
“Yeah, the sleep of the dead drunk.”
“Good.” The older man brushed his fingers over the reed-like thalla flowers. “I have a request of you. Do you think you would be able to calculate the trajectory of the bullet that struck me?”
Ivan rubbed his stubbly chin. “Possibly. I could get a rough angle from the difference in entry wounds from you and Tabby, but I’d need to get some of the surveillance feeds of the plaza to get more detailed ballistics.”
“What about the file that the Homeguard undoubtedly have created regarding the incident?”
“It would certainly help,” Ivan said. “But how? Could Ishan pick up a copy?”
“I doubt Ishan could get access to the entire file--he’s not highly enough placed in the department.” Solomon turned to look back at the bench. “But we do know someone who excels at getting her hands on things that don’t belong to her.”
Ivan also turned to look. “Tabby? You think she could pull it off?”
“She’d better. As soon as she’s sober, I want her to start working on getting the files.” Solomon offered Ivan a grim smile. “About time she started earning her pay, yes?”
Ivan shifted on his feet slightly. “Sure. I’ll let her know when she wakes up.” Solomon nodded and turned to go back inside. Ivan took a deep breath and said, “Sir, about this evening....”
Solomon paused, his body stiffening noticeably. “Yes?”
Ivan’s courage flagged, but it was too late to back out now. “Would... you like to talk about it?”
Solomon hesitated for such a long moment that Ivan thought he would never reply, but finally he sighed deeply. “There’s really nothing to talk about. I had simply forgotten how zealous youth can be.” He turned to offer the younger man a wan smile and Ivan was shocked to see how old Solomon suddenly appeared. “After all, I’m one of the ‘bad guys,’ am I not?”
“Not to those who know you,” Ivan said loyally.
The smile softened a little, becoming a bit more genuine. “Thank you, Ivan. Get Tabby inside before she catches a cold and get some rest yourself. We have busy days ahead of us.”
“Yes sir.” Ivan watched Solomon enter the mansion before stepping back over to the bench. He wasn’t wholly surprised to see Tabby’s eyes open and gazing at the sky above. “You heard?”
She nodded slightly. “Yeah, I heard. Not going to be easy.”
“This from the woman who decided to rob the headquarters of the Nephilim?”
Tabby smiled faintly. “I got caught, remember?”
“I remember. My life’s not been the same since.” He offered a arm to her. “Here, I’ll help you inside.”
“You’ll have to carry me. My balance is shot. Something in that last bottle did it to me.”
Ivan raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but tucked his arms under her back and knees anyway. He lifted her with a grunt and began making his way to the back door.
“You know,” Tabby murmured as she rested her head on Ivan’s shoulder, “under that scary exterior, there’s a very troubled and lonely soul in that man.”
“Solomon?” At her nod, Ivan shrugged slightly. “I guess that’s not surprising, considering where he is and how he got there.”
Tabby didn’t reply, and Ivan glanced down to see that she had fallen asleep again.
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Prompt 036 - Regret
Title: Impending Storm
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: J. Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 036: Regret
Wordcount: 1455
Rating: PG
Summary: Daegal visits his wife’s grave
Warnings: Some adult language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Huge thunderclouds overshadowed the cemetery, compressing the air before them with heat. The bruised light cast a strange pallor over the rows of graves and the lone visitor striding among them. The tall man wore the dark gray uniform of a Gray Guard, a member of the armed force that protected the people of Altena. But right now there was only one thing on his mind as his feet traced a familiar path to the mausoleum. He stopped at the middle of the wall and his hand reached out to rest against the marble. Fingers lightly traced the words that read, “Katherine Daegal.”
Guardsman Daegal studied his indistinct reflection in the polished stone. Had it really been six years? His mirror image didn’t look like it, the polished stone blurring the signs of age on his face. Katherine wouldn’t have liked the changes. But then again, those six years had been spent hunting the ones he held responsible for her death.
The voices laughed and chatted, belonging to friends and comrades that had come to celebrate the Gray Guard’s 90th anniversary and Daegal’s promotion. Katherine smiled at him and leaned close to whisper in his ear, promising their own private celebration later in the evening.
He drew his handkerchief from a pocket and carefully wiped away the dust and pollen. At this time of year it got everywhere, blown in from the wide plains around Angelli. The light continued to drain, swallowed up by the lumbering storm. Daegal shook the dust from the cloth and used it to wipe his face. The air was stifling, laying on the world as heavily as stone.
The conversations stumbled and Daegal glanced up to see what caused it. A figure stood in front of him, one arm raising. The party-goers twisted out of the way as they realized the newcomer had a gun. Daegal gaped in disbelief, and then he saw the mask. Two dead snake eyes stared back at him. A Guild Assassin.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling over the plain to the city. Daegal used his reflection to adjust his uniform cap, ensuring that it rested perfectly over his hair. He also used it to spy the figure approaching him from behind. His hand dropped to the steel shield pinned on his jacket, tapping it once. A second tap followed lower down, against a slight bulge at his waist.
The figure didn’t speak, but the startled cries of those around it spoke for it. Daegal’s hand reached for a weapon but he had none, he never thought he would have needed one here. Katherine shouted and pushed him. The gun barked once, twice. She fell against him, gasping, and the figure, the Assassin, melted away into the crowd.
Daegal turned as the newcomer reached him and wasn’t wholly surprised to see the robes and face-wrap of an Antarean monk.
“Peace, brother,” the monk greeted. His voice was gravelly and bore a strange accent. “I saw you from the chapel and thought I would offer a word of comfort.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary,” Daegal said, shifting uneasily. The monk’s eyes were an unusual acid-yellow, slitted like a snake’s. There was something else about the monk’s covered face that bothered him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.
“Comfort is hard to find these days, is it not?” The monk peered at the inscription. “Your wife, I take it?”
“Yes,” the Guardsman answered, his brow furrowing.
“I am sorry for your loss.” The monk inclined his head slightly. “It is troubling times, is it not? The attack in the plaza....”
“Terrible,” Daegal conceded, his voice guarded. “Terrorists will stop at nothing to disrupt the lives of innocents.”
“Ah, but not all who were wounded were innocent, were they?”
Daegal paused, his sense of unease growing. He adjusted his jacket, and the tiny bulge moved surreptitiously up his chest to his sleeve. “As far as I know they were.”
“Ah, you consider Solomon Klein to be an innocent then?”
“Of course not. What does he have to do with anything?”
The monk shrugged. “He was wounded in the attack, curiously enough. Though I suppose it could happen to anyone, innocent or not. But did you know they did not catch the gunman who shot him?”
“You are making some wild claims,” Daegal said, his voice carrying a warning tone. Just how much did this man think he knew?
“I think they did not catch the gunman because they could not see him. An assassin, one would think. But would it not interest you to know that Solomon Klein has been marked as Untouchable? Who would be so bold as to wear an assassin’s skin?”
Daegal turned on the monk. “Just what are you--?” He stopped at the inexorable pressure of a blade at his throat. Impossible, the monk’s hands were still resting at his sides. Then Daegal saw the tail that extended from under the robes, arced up along the guardsman’s body and hooked over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the monk and realized what was wrong with his face. There was no bump where a nose should be, just a flat plane. Flat, like a mask. A mask with snake eyes, made of living flesh.
“Who the hell are you?” Daegal growled.
The monk slowly lifted a hand and pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing a grin made of ashen fangs. “Does it matter? But I suppose it does to you. You already guessed as to my nature, yes?”
“Assassin,” the Guardsman hissed.
“Correct. But did you guess that I am Siko, lieutenant to the Guild Master?”
Surprise washed over Daegal, followed by anger and no small amount of fear. The second-in-command of the Assassin’s Guild didn’t reach that position by sitting around doing nothing. The blade at his throat was testament to that.
Siko’s grin widened. “No, I do not plan to kill you today, Guardsman J. Daegal. I find you... interesting.”
A shiver passed down Daegal’s spine at the way the assassin lovingly hissed the word. “Then what do you want with me?”
“I wished to pass on the message that you have been deemed Untouchable. You interest me, as I said. In six years you have eliminated more assassins than any other living being.” The yellow eyes narrowed. “And you have learned some tricks, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Siko chuckled. “I am sure you have kept a memento or two from my Snakes. And the fact that you were an accomplished sniper in the Guard is not hidden knowledge. I wonder if anyone will be able to put the pieces together?”
Daegal pursed his lips, glaring at the assassin. “If there’s a point to your rambling, please get to it.”
“But you would rather wait until your comrades arrived, yes?” Siko slowly reached out and rested a talon on the shield. “No doubt you hope that one of your snipers will shatter my skull.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed, no.”
Siko flashed another grin. “Not today. My schedule is full.” The tail and the blade attached to it pulled away.
Daegal hissed a breath out, forming a command word as he extended his arm. A white-scaled snake shot from his jacket sleeve and sunk fangs into Siko’s tail. The assassin hissed and slapped his tail against the wall of tombs, knocking the medriki free.
“Sneaky indeed, Guardsman!” Siko cried as he stepped back. “I admire it!” He gathered his legs under him and made a leap to the top of the mausoleum.
A shout reached Daegal and he looked over his shoulder to see Guardsmen running to his position. “Shoot him!” he screamed, gesturing to the dark figure.
Siko’s amused laugh floated down, followed shortly by the cracks of gunfire and the rumble of thunder. Daegal rushed away from the building, craning to see the top. Nothing.
“He vanished, sir!” one of the Guardsmen said.
Daegal bit off a curse. “Make a sweep. Get the forensic teams out here and cover the whole damn area.”
“Yes sir.”
Daegal strode back to the marble wall and reached down. He scooped up the dazed medriki, stroking its head gently. Inevitably his gaze was drawn back to his wife’s tomb as another peal of thunder rolled. Why today, of all days? Did the bastard know?
I wonder if anyone else will be able to put the pieces together?
No, he’d been very careful. Siko was right, he had picked up some tricks. But more importantly, he knew how both the Gray Guard and Homeguard worked, and knew how to circumvent their procedures.
The situation had indeed become more interesting.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: J. Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 036: Regret
Wordcount: 1455
Rating: PG
Summary: Daegal visits his wife’s grave
Warnings: Some adult language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Huge thunderclouds overshadowed the cemetery, compressing the air before them with heat. The bruised light cast a strange pallor over the rows of graves and the lone visitor striding among them. The tall man wore the dark gray uniform of a Gray Guard, a member of the armed force that protected the people of Altena. But right now there was only one thing on his mind as his feet traced a familiar path to the mausoleum. He stopped at the middle of the wall and his hand reached out to rest against the marble. Fingers lightly traced the words that read, “Katherine Daegal.”
Guardsman Daegal studied his indistinct reflection in the polished stone. Had it really been six years? His mirror image didn’t look like it, the polished stone blurring the signs of age on his face. Katherine wouldn’t have liked the changes. But then again, those six years had been spent hunting the ones he held responsible for her death.
The voices laughed and chatted, belonging to friends and comrades that had come to celebrate the Gray Guard’s 90th anniversary and Daegal’s promotion. Katherine smiled at him and leaned close to whisper in his ear, promising their own private celebration later in the evening.
He drew his handkerchief from a pocket and carefully wiped away the dust and pollen. At this time of year it got everywhere, blown in from the wide plains around Angelli. The light continued to drain, swallowed up by the lumbering storm. Daegal shook the dust from the cloth and used it to wipe his face. The air was stifling, laying on the world as heavily as stone.
The conversations stumbled and Daegal glanced up to see what caused it. A figure stood in front of him, one arm raising. The party-goers twisted out of the way as they realized the newcomer had a gun. Daegal gaped in disbelief, and then he saw the mask. Two dead snake eyes stared back at him. A Guild Assassin.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling over the plain to the city. Daegal used his reflection to adjust his uniform cap, ensuring that it rested perfectly over his hair. He also used it to spy the figure approaching him from behind. His hand dropped to the steel shield pinned on his jacket, tapping it once. A second tap followed lower down, against a slight bulge at his waist.
The figure didn’t speak, but the startled cries of those around it spoke for it. Daegal’s hand reached for a weapon but he had none, he never thought he would have needed one here. Katherine shouted and pushed him. The gun barked once, twice. She fell against him, gasping, and the figure, the Assassin, melted away into the crowd.
Daegal turned as the newcomer reached him and wasn’t wholly surprised to see the robes and face-wrap of an Antarean monk.
“Peace, brother,” the monk greeted. His voice was gravelly and bore a strange accent. “I saw you from the chapel and thought I would offer a word of comfort.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary,” Daegal said, shifting uneasily. The monk’s eyes were an unusual acid-yellow, slitted like a snake’s. There was something else about the monk’s covered face that bothered him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.
“Comfort is hard to find these days, is it not?” The monk peered at the inscription. “Your wife, I take it?”
“Yes,” the Guardsman answered, his brow furrowing.
“I am sorry for your loss.” The monk inclined his head slightly. “It is troubling times, is it not? The attack in the plaza....”
“Terrible,” Daegal conceded, his voice guarded. “Terrorists will stop at nothing to disrupt the lives of innocents.”
“Ah, but not all who were wounded were innocent, were they?”
Daegal paused, his sense of unease growing. He adjusted his jacket, and the tiny bulge moved surreptitiously up his chest to his sleeve. “As far as I know they were.”
“Ah, you consider Solomon Klein to be an innocent then?”
“Of course not. What does he have to do with anything?”
The monk shrugged. “He was wounded in the attack, curiously enough. Though I suppose it could happen to anyone, innocent or not. But did you know they did not catch the gunman who shot him?”
“You are making some wild claims,” Daegal said, his voice carrying a warning tone. Just how much did this man think he knew?
“I think they did not catch the gunman because they could not see him. An assassin, one would think. But would it not interest you to know that Solomon Klein has been marked as Untouchable? Who would be so bold as to wear an assassin’s skin?”
Daegal turned on the monk. “Just what are you--?” He stopped at the inexorable pressure of a blade at his throat. Impossible, the monk’s hands were still resting at his sides. Then Daegal saw the tail that extended from under the robes, arced up along the guardsman’s body and hooked over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the monk and realized what was wrong with his face. There was no bump where a nose should be, just a flat plane. Flat, like a mask. A mask with snake eyes, made of living flesh.
“Who the hell are you?” Daegal growled.
The monk slowly lifted a hand and pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing a grin made of ashen fangs. “Does it matter? But I suppose it does to you. You already guessed as to my nature, yes?”
“Assassin,” the Guardsman hissed.
“Correct. But did you guess that I am Siko, lieutenant to the Guild Master?”
Surprise washed over Daegal, followed by anger and no small amount of fear. The second-in-command of the Assassin’s Guild didn’t reach that position by sitting around doing nothing. The blade at his throat was testament to that.
Siko’s grin widened. “No, I do not plan to kill you today, Guardsman J. Daegal. I find you... interesting.”
A shiver passed down Daegal’s spine at the way the assassin lovingly hissed the word. “Then what do you want with me?”
“I wished to pass on the message that you have been deemed Untouchable. You interest me, as I said. In six years you have eliminated more assassins than any other living being.” The yellow eyes narrowed. “And you have learned some tricks, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Siko chuckled. “I am sure you have kept a memento or two from my Snakes. And the fact that you were an accomplished sniper in the Guard is not hidden knowledge. I wonder if anyone will be able to put the pieces together?”
Daegal pursed his lips, glaring at the assassin. “If there’s a point to your rambling, please get to it.”
“But you would rather wait until your comrades arrived, yes?” Siko slowly reached out and rested a talon on the shield. “No doubt you hope that one of your snipers will shatter my skull.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed, no.”
Siko flashed another grin. “Not today. My schedule is full.” The tail and the blade attached to it pulled away.
Daegal hissed a breath out, forming a command word as he extended his arm. A white-scaled snake shot from his jacket sleeve and sunk fangs into Siko’s tail. The assassin hissed and slapped his tail against the wall of tombs, knocking the medriki free.
“Sneaky indeed, Guardsman!” Siko cried as he stepped back. “I admire it!” He gathered his legs under him and made a leap to the top of the mausoleum.
A shout reached Daegal and he looked over his shoulder to see Guardsmen running to his position. “Shoot him!” he screamed, gesturing to the dark figure.
Siko’s amused laugh floated down, followed shortly by the cracks of gunfire and the rumble of thunder. Daegal rushed away from the building, craning to see the top. Nothing.
“He vanished, sir!” one of the Guardsmen said.
Daegal bit off a curse. “Make a sweep. Get the forensic teams out here and cover the whole damn area.”
“Yes sir.”
Daegal strode back to the marble wall and reached down. He scooped up the dazed medriki, stroking its head gently. Inevitably his gaze was drawn back to his wife’s tomb as another peal of thunder rolled. Why today, of all days? Did the bastard know?
I wonder if anyone else will be able to put the pieces together?
No, he’d been very careful. Siko was right, he had picked up some tricks. But more importantly, he knew how both the Gray Guard and Homeguard worked, and knew how to circumvent their procedures.
The situation had indeed become more interesting.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Prompt 045 - Last
Title: Those Left Behind
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Alan Miller, Vega Tahann
Prompt: Table 5 - 045: Last
Wordcount: 1288
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing left but revenge.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Alan Miller stepped out of the building and squinted against the bright sunshine. At any other time the day would have been gorgeous, but the lingering stink of ash and death cast a pall over the small colony town. His gaze tracked to the west of the town, past the damaged buildings to a hill carved into terraces. Several figures moved along the terraces, either carrying wrapped objects or digging in the soil. Miller patted his pockets, idly searching for a cigarette.
Movement caught his eye and he looked to see one of his comrades approaching, her black body armor hanging over one shoulder. Katrina Taylor, the doctor of the small mercenary unit, looked wan and sunburnt. Miller finally found a cigarette and tucked it in the corner of his mouth as he began the search for a lighter.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” Taylor said as she reached him.
“There’s plenty of things that will kill me faster, Nine,” Miller replied. “Besides, I’d rather have this than the stench in my nose.”
“Here.” She pulled a lighter from a belt kit and handed it over.
“Get out of the sun for a while,” Miller ordered as his lit his vice. “We don’t need you collapsing on us.”
Taylor snorted but sat down on the sidewalk in the shade. “I know to avoid sunstroke. You weren’t the only one living in the South, Crowleader.”
Miller smiled faintly, bittersweet memories rising at her words. English words, at that, not Standard, the common language of the Confederacy. English, Earth, the United States, and other things that had changed or disappeared long ago. He exhaled noisily as he sent the memories back to the recesses of his mind. “How many more?”
“The last graves are dug. We just have to fill them,” Taylor said as she opened a bottle of water.
Miller scanned the figures on the hill. “How’s the kid holding up?”
A deep sigh answered him. “Despite the fact that he refuses to get any rest, he’s doing okay, physically. The antibiotics are fighting off the infection in his wound. Mentally, however....”
“He’s a wreck?”
Taylor nodded. “I can’t get him to talk to me, but you’ve seen the carnage around here. I don’t know if I can help him with that level of trauma.”
Miller grumbled a curse. “Where is he?”
“Up at the top.”
Miller nodded and started walking. He passed through the quiet town, though somewhere far off a bird (or the planet’s equivalent) was singing. He passed the ruins of five large trees in the central square, their amputated limbs tangled in a pile nearby. Miller did his best to ignore the dark stains that colored the trunks’ stumps and the dried puddles on the pavement beneath. A faint breeze stirred, kicking up dust and ash. Sweat was already gathering along his spine and Miller grumbled, eyeing the climb up the terraces.
He stamped out his cigarette and started up the path, nodding to his Crows as they worked their grisly task. Too many dead, he thought. What was it, over three hundred? Even the afternoon heat couldn’t melt the sick cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Eventually he reached the topmost terrace and the graves planted there. The boy - well, young man - kneeled in front of them, eyes pinned to the stone markers.
Miller crouched down by the boy and glanced at the markers. He blinked and took a better look at the middle one, the one the kid was facing. Two different sets of characters had been cut into the stone, the strange glyphs of Vkkuz and the swooping letters of Standard, both saying the same thing.
Vega Tahann.
“You plan on staying?” Miller asked, digging his pack of cigarettes out again.
“Everyone else has died. I may as well be dead also,” the dusky youth replied.
“Do you really believe that?” Miller balanced the cigarette pack on his knee and his hand dipped back to his belt.
“I have nothing left.” Vega’s voice was soft, hollow.
“Sure you do. But do you want to find out what it is, or just give up now?” He drew his pistol and held it out hilt-first.
Vega looked over, his dark eyes falling on the mercenary’s weapon before returning to Miller’s face. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to be dead, then you might as well take this and put another hole in your head.” Miller’s eyes burned coldly into Vega’s. “Or you can pick yourself up and keep going.”
“Going for what? I don’t have anything.”
“Revenge. You have revenge.” Miller nodded towards the rest of the terraces. “If you give up, then the Masadii win. But you’re still alive. You can do something with it. So what’ll it be?”
Vega stared at the gun for a long moment, but Miller saw a smoldering in the young man’s gaze. A faint spark burned there, needing only a bit of care before it would erupt into flame.
“How?” Vega asked softly.
“We’ll teach you. Me and my Crows. We’ll give you everything you need to take what was done to you and throw it back in the face of those bastards.” The kid didn’t seem inclined to take the gun, which Miller took as a good sign as he replaced it in its holster.
“Why?”
Miller studied Vega, turning the question over in his mind. Why did he want to help the kid? Finally he smirked. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”
“Underdog?” Vega repeated the English word uncertainly.
“That’s what we are. The ones that are left behind, stepped on, and seen as no threat. Then we bite back, like a mad dog.”
The young man dropped his gaze to the ground, his brow furrowed as he considered Miller’s words. “Underdog,” he murmured. He looked over to the pack balanced on Miller’s knee. “Can I have one of those?”
“It’s not a good habit to start,” Miller cautioned as he pulled a cigarette out and handed it over to Vega.
Vega didn’t reply as he took it and let the older man light it. But instead of bringing it to his mouth, he carefully planted it in the ground butt-first before the gravestone, an unusual substitute for incense. Vega stood slowly, a grimace crossing his face as the wound on his back pulled. He began murmuring in the alien language of Vkkuz, the words susurrating in the hot air.
Miller watched him thoughtfully. It should be raining, the mercenary decided. At least that’s the way it was in the movies. The character would stand in the rain, gaze down at the grave or body or whatever, and make some oath as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. He swept his gaze past Vega to the stark blue sky and the shimmering heat waves. The heat and the brightness almost made it worse, making Miller’s head ache and Vega’s words sound all the sharper.
He looked back at Vega and for a moment he saw what the young man would become. A dark expression of hatred masked Vega’s face and every muscle of his body was drawn taut with rage. There was no doubt that he was determined to be hell on earth for the Masadii. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished again, a fleeting moment under Vega’s exhaustion. He turned to the mercenary, looking lost and alone.
Miller stood and looked down at the younger man. “C’mon kid. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Yes,” Vega agreed quietly and walked to the path leading down the hill.
Miller glanced at the gravestone one last time, his lips pursing before he moved to follow Vega.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Alan Miller, Vega Tahann
Prompt: Table 5 - 045: Last
Wordcount: 1288
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing left but revenge.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Alan Miller stepped out of the building and squinted against the bright sunshine. At any other time the day would have been gorgeous, but the lingering stink of ash and death cast a pall over the small colony town. His gaze tracked to the west of the town, past the damaged buildings to a hill carved into terraces. Several figures moved along the terraces, either carrying wrapped objects or digging in the soil. Miller patted his pockets, idly searching for a cigarette.
Movement caught his eye and he looked to see one of his comrades approaching, her black body armor hanging over one shoulder. Katrina Taylor, the doctor of the small mercenary unit, looked wan and sunburnt. Miller finally found a cigarette and tucked it in the corner of his mouth as he began the search for a lighter.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” Taylor said as she reached him.
“There’s plenty of things that will kill me faster, Nine,” Miller replied. “Besides, I’d rather have this than the stench in my nose.”
“Here.” She pulled a lighter from a belt kit and handed it over.
“Get out of the sun for a while,” Miller ordered as his lit his vice. “We don’t need you collapsing on us.”
Taylor snorted but sat down on the sidewalk in the shade. “I know to avoid sunstroke. You weren’t the only one living in the South, Crowleader.”
Miller smiled faintly, bittersweet memories rising at her words. English words, at that, not Standard, the common language of the Confederacy. English, Earth, the United States, and other things that had changed or disappeared long ago. He exhaled noisily as he sent the memories back to the recesses of his mind. “How many more?”
“The last graves are dug. We just have to fill them,” Taylor said as she opened a bottle of water.
Miller scanned the figures on the hill. “How’s the kid holding up?”
A deep sigh answered him. “Despite the fact that he refuses to get any rest, he’s doing okay, physically. The antibiotics are fighting off the infection in his wound. Mentally, however....”
“He’s a wreck?”
Taylor nodded. “I can’t get him to talk to me, but you’ve seen the carnage around here. I don’t know if I can help him with that level of trauma.”
Miller grumbled a curse. “Where is he?”
“Up at the top.”
Miller nodded and started walking. He passed through the quiet town, though somewhere far off a bird (or the planet’s equivalent) was singing. He passed the ruins of five large trees in the central square, their amputated limbs tangled in a pile nearby. Miller did his best to ignore the dark stains that colored the trunks’ stumps and the dried puddles on the pavement beneath. A faint breeze stirred, kicking up dust and ash. Sweat was already gathering along his spine and Miller grumbled, eyeing the climb up the terraces.
He stamped out his cigarette and started up the path, nodding to his Crows as they worked their grisly task. Too many dead, he thought. What was it, over three hundred? Even the afternoon heat couldn’t melt the sick cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Eventually he reached the topmost terrace and the graves planted there. The boy - well, young man - kneeled in front of them, eyes pinned to the stone markers.
Miller crouched down by the boy and glanced at the markers. He blinked and took a better look at the middle one, the one the kid was facing. Two different sets of characters had been cut into the stone, the strange glyphs of Vkkuz and the swooping letters of Standard, both saying the same thing.
Vega Tahann.
“You plan on staying?” Miller asked, digging his pack of cigarettes out again.
“Everyone else has died. I may as well be dead also,” the dusky youth replied.
“Do you really believe that?” Miller balanced the cigarette pack on his knee and his hand dipped back to his belt.
“I have nothing left.” Vega’s voice was soft, hollow.
“Sure you do. But do you want to find out what it is, or just give up now?” He drew his pistol and held it out hilt-first.
Vega looked over, his dark eyes falling on the mercenary’s weapon before returning to Miller’s face. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to be dead, then you might as well take this and put another hole in your head.” Miller’s eyes burned coldly into Vega’s. “Or you can pick yourself up and keep going.”
“Going for what? I don’t have anything.”
“Revenge. You have revenge.” Miller nodded towards the rest of the terraces. “If you give up, then the Masadii win. But you’re still alive. You can do something with it. So what’ll it be?”
Vega stared at the gun for a long moment, but Miller saw a smoldering in the young man’s gaze. A faint spark burned there, needing only a bit of care before it would erupt into flame.
“How?” Vega asked softly.
“We’ll teach you. Me and my Crows. We’ll give you everything you need to take what was done to you and throw it back in the face of those bastards.” The kid didn’t seem inclined to take the gun, which Miller took as a good sign as he replaced it in its holster.
“Why?”
Miller studied Vega, turning the question over in his mind. Why did he want to help the kid? Finally he smirked. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”
“Underdog?” Vega repeated the English word uncertainly.
“That’s what we are. The ones that are left behind, stepped on, and seen as no threat. Then we bite back, like a mad dog.”
The young man dropped his gaze to the ground, his brow furrowed as he considered Miller’s words. “Underdog,” he murmured. He looked over to the pack balanced on Miller’s knee. “Can I have one of those?”
“It’s not a good habit to start,” Miller cautioned as he pulled a cigarette out and handed it over to Vega.
Vega didn’t reply as he took it and let the older man light it. But instead of bringing it to his mouth, he carefully planted it in the ground butt-first before the gravestone, an unusual substitute for incense. Vega stood slowly, a grimace crossing his face as the wound on his back pulled. He began murmuring in the alien language of Vkkuz, the words susurrating in the hot air.
Miller watched him thoughtfully. It should be raining, the mercenary decided. At least that’s the way it was in the movies. The character would stand in the rain, gaze down at the grave or body or whatever, and make some oath as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. He swept his gaze past Vega to the stark blue sky and the shimmering heat waves. The heat and the brightness almost made it worse, making Miller’s head ache and Vega’s words sound all the sharper.
He looked back at Vega and for a moment he saw what the young man would become. A dark expression of hatred masked Vega’s face and every muscle of his body was drawn taut with rage. There was no doubt that he was determined to be hell on earth for the Masadii. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished again, a fleeting moment under Vega’s exhaustion. He turned to the mercenary, looking lost and alone.
Miller stood and looked down at the younger man. “C’mon kid. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Yes,” Vega agreed quietly and walked to the path leading down the hill.
Miller glanced at the gravestone one last time, his lips pursing before he moved to follow Vega.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Prompt 023 - Flash
Title: Sowing Suspicion
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Victoria Blake, Bethor, Corporal Nesda, Dr. Bajere
Prompt: Table 5 - 023: Flash
Wordcount: 1571
Rating: PG
Summary: Aftermath of the attack at the Plaza
Warnings: Violence, language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The crowd cheered, the noise sounding dull and distorted through Bethor’s auditory pickups. Victoria smiled to herself, absently patting the control bar her hand rested on. That was very good, Bethor.
The phrase received a 99.3 percent confidence level of being most appropriate in regards to the subject matter of your speech, the HOUND’s AI replied.
Excellent. The AI for each armorsuit wasn’t perfect, but they could learn with constant human contact. Bethor often reminded her of a grizzled old cop, logical to a tee yet often brusque. She ran the scanners over the crowd idly, curious if she would be able to spot a particular face....
The alert rang out and the neural implants immediately accelerated her thought processes. Bethor showed her a direction, a probable target, time to impact, and request for orders. Her command came at the speed of thought.
Intercept!
The armorsuit moved smoothly, artificial muscle and tendon propelling the front half of the HOUND into the air. The rocket reached Bethor a second later, detonating with a roar that Victoria could hear even through the insulated suit. For a brief moment the connection hiccuped, the optical displays vanishing into blackness. For that same moment, Victoria entertained the idea that the armor had failed and her brain matter was vaporized.
Then it passed, the optical displays returned, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her mental processes were still artificially accelerated, making everything outside seem to move slowly. Instinctively she commanded the HOUND to catch its balance, one huge paw slamming through the corner of the stage. Safety protocols kicked in, putting all of the unit’s forward weight onto the undamaged leg. A schematic appeared, damaged sectors flashing.
Pilot life support: stable. Central AI unit: stable. Sensor web: left coverage reduced to 85%. Structural integrity: at 92%. Damage to left shoulder joint: crippling. Forward motion reduced to 25%.
Send the trajectory information to Duma and Jael, Victoria ordered. She gave a mental command and the progression of time returned to normal. Over the comlink she barked, “Damara, Jackson - assist the Homeguard with your sensors.”
“Yes sir!” the other two HOUND pilots replied. Duma and Jael had been stationed nearby, in anticipation of some sort of attack occurring.
Victoria carefully moved Bethor, turning it to face the direction the rocket had come from. She wouldn’t be able to dodge another shot, but she could at least provide a smaller target profile - provided there weren’t shooters on other roofs. Her comlink crackled, the Homeguard advising her to move off the field due to the damage Bethor had sustained. She swept her gaze over the plaza, noting that the Homeguard had their hands full trying to control the panicked crowd. Med teams were moving through the stampede as best they could, trying to get to the wounded.
Anger bubbled up in her, her teeth grinding. Terrorists - they dared to attack now. They dared to challenge.
Damn the target profile! Bethor, give me as much forward mobility as you can.
Acknowledged. I must advise that such action will lower structural integrity.
This isn’t about structural integrity, Victoria replied, ignoring the objections over her comlink. This is about showing them that we aren’t afraid.
Bethor limped out into the plaza, turning to face the Angelo delle Spade and setting its feet. There wasn’t anything she could say to calm the people, but she could stand there, unafraid and challenging. She ran her sensors at full strength, sending information to the Homeguard and aiding them in their search.
She stood there for nearly two hours, a silent guardian. The wounded were moved to hospitals, reporters ran amok to find the latest news, and five shooters were located, including the one that had fired the rocket. She stood there until a large transport rumbled into the plaza, a vehicle big enough to carry a HOUND unit. Bethor slowly limped to it and climbed inside the protected cargo area, finally ending its vigil.
~~~~~~
The command center was a hurricane of activity, following a set order yet full of frantic energy all the same. Victoria walked into it, still in her pilot’s uniform with Dr. Bajere hovering behind her. She had a massive headache that the medics thought was a result of the jarring explosion affecting the neural implants, but she refused to rest until she had checked in on the investigation.
“Captain Blake, good to see you in one piece,” greeted a uniformed Rythul with short-cropped blue feathers.
“Corporal Nesda - I’m glad to be in one piece,” she replied, managing a crooked smile. “What have we got so far?”
“A damned mess,” Nesda answered, motioning to the activity. He paused, eyeing Dr. Bajere suspiciously. “Civilians aren’t cleared for this area.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just here to ensure that the good captain doesn’t have a psychotic episode,” Bajere replied smoothly.
“He has clearance,” Victoria stated, shooting the scientist a dirty look.
“Right. Nothing you hear leaves this room, understood? Now, two of the five shooters - including the one whose rocket you caught - are proclaiming their allegiance to Reshco and declaring that we as an oppressive fascist colony will fall.”
“Great,” Victoria growled. Reshco was the anarchist organization that had spawned the Masadii. “What about the other three?”
“They aren’t talking. The interrogators feel that they aren’t part of Reshco, though.”
“Mercenaries hired for the job?”
“Possibly. There may be another answer.” Nedsa moved over to a console, murmuring to the tech sitting at it. The woman tapped keys on her console, bringing up ballistics and paused camera feeds. “We think we missed a shooter.”
Victoria blinked in surprise. “How? I watched as the ‘Guard canvassed the area, not to mention all the sensor sweeps.” She paused, mind running through the possibilities. “An assassin?”
“That’s what we suspect, since the data is pointing to the fact that he or she only shot once, and at a very interesting target.”
“I’m not interesting enough?” Victoria quipped.
“Only mildly,” Bajere remarked. “Not very.”
Nesda snorted. “It took us a while to find a good feed of the first shot. It happened at the same time as the rocket attack, and most of the news cameras were of course turning to look at that. We were able to pull a feed from l’angelo.”
“The statue has cameras?”
“They were installed to catch vandals,” Nesda explained, then nodded to the tech. “Start it, normal speed.”
The video began playing, showing a viewpoint from somewhere above King Blackjack’s head and looking out into the crowd. Silently the crowd cheered until a flash of light flickered in the left field of the view. There was a confused pause before the crowd began surging to the sides, turning away from the camera’s view. On the very edge of the screen black smoke drifted across from the explosion.
“Stop. Zoom in on the section you showed me and play it again, at 50% speed,” Nesda ordered.
Keys clacked and the view focused deeper into the crowd until the faces were large enough for recognition. Victoria scanned the faces, trying to figure out who it was Nesda was trying to show her. The people clapped and cheered - and Victoria recognized two faces suddenly. Calvin Rashaad and the violinist from the Point. Their faces registered sudden surprise and confusion - at the same time a young woman behind them threw her shoulder into the person standing behind Calvin. The movement pushed the man into view of the camera - and Victoria felt her breath catch.
“You recognize him, yes?” Nesda asked.
“That’s ol’ Devil Eyes himself, isn’t it?” Bajere replied brightly.
“Son of a bitch,” Victoria growled, her fists clenching. Solomon Klein’s face twisted in pain, as the people around him crowded close and began moving him out of the plaza. The technician paused the playback and looked at Nesda.
“We’ve studied the data and have concluded that Klein was indeed shot. Possibly the girl that pushed into him was shot also,” Nesda said.
“Thus why you think there was an assassin there,” Bejara said.
“Yes.”
Victoria took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to unclench her teeth. The surging anger was making her headache worse. “You are following up on this, I presume?”
“Quite closely. We’ve been trying to catch Klein for years, and this may open up an opportunity.” Nesda paused, his expression worried. “I just can’t help thinking of the ‘40’s and the gang wars before things settled underneath the Nephilim.”
Victoria growled softly. “I was a child then, but I remember the stories. The riots, the shootings, the danger of just stepping outside. Klein climbed to the top of the fighting and stayed there. And I’ll be damned if I let that man turn this city into a war zone again. Please keep me informed.” She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, her steps matching the pounding of her head.
“Captain,” Nesda called after her. When she turned to look at him, he said, “There... had been rumors, you know? Will they be affected by this?”
Victoria studied him coldly, noting the shush around them. “I wouldn’t care if il Diavolo himself had given me the HOUNDs. They - and I - serve the people and Titian 1. If Klein has decided to put himself above the people, then the HOUNDs will set upon him as an enemy of the state. Nothing will change that fact - do I make myself clear, corporal?”
“Yes sir,” Nesda replied, saluting her.
Victoria returned the salute and strode out the door, Dr. Bajere following behind with an amused smirk on his face.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Victoria Blake, Bethor, Corporal Nesda, Dr. Bajere
Prompt: Table 5 - 023: Flash
Wordcount: 1571
Rating: PG
Summary: Aftermath of the attack at the Plaza
Warnings: Violence, language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The crowd cheered, the noise sounding dull and distorted through Bethor’s auditory pickups. Victoria smiled to herself, absently patting the control bar her hand rested on. That was very good, Bethor.
The phrase received a 99.3 percent confidence level of being most appropriate in regards to the subject matter of your speech, the HOUND’s AI replied.
Excellent. The AI for each armorsuit wasn’t perfect, but they could learn with constant human contact. Bethor often reminded her of a grizzled old cop, logical to a tee yet often brusque. She ran the scanners over the crowd idly, curious if she would be able to spot a particular face....
The alert rang out and the neural implants immediately accelerated her thought processes. Bethor showed her a direction, a probable target, time to impact, and request for orders. Her command came at the speed of thought.
Intercept!
The armorsuit moved smoothly, artificial muscle and tendon propelling the front half of the HOUND into the air. The rocket reached Bethor a second later, detonating with a roar that Victoria could hear even through the insulated suit. For a brief moment the connection hiccuped, the optical displays vanishing into blackness. For that same moment, Victoria entertained the idea that the armor had failed and her brain matter was vaporized.
Then it passed, the optical displays returned, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her mental processes were still artificially accelerated, making everything outside seem to move slowly. Instinctively she commanded the HOUND to catch its balance, one huge paw slamming through the corner of the stage. Safety protocols kicked in, putting all of the unit’s forward weight onto the undamaged leg. A schematic appeared, damaged sectors flashing.
Pilot life support: stable. Central AI unit: stable. Sensor web: left coverage reduced to 85%. Structural integrity: at 92%. Damage to left shoulder joint: crippling. Forward motion reduced to 25%.
Send the trajectory information to Duma and Jael, Victoria ordered. She gave a mental command and the progression of time returned to normal. Over the comlink she barked, “Damara, Jackson - assist the Homeguard with your sensors.”
“Yes sir!” the other two HOUND pilots replied. Duma and Jael had been stationed nearby, in anticipation of some sort of attack occurring.
Victoria carefully moved Bethor, turning it to face the direction the rocket had come from. She wouldn’t be able to dodge another shot, but she could at least provide a smaller target profile - provided there weren’t shooters on other roofs. Her comlink crackled, the Homeguard advising her to move off the field due to the damage Bethor had sustained. She swept her gaze over the plaza, noting that the Homeguard had their hands full trying to control the panicked crowd. Med teams were moving through the stampede as best they could, trying to get to the wounded.
Anger bubbled up in her, her teeth grinding. Terrorists - they dared to attack now. They dared to challenge.
Damn the target profile! Bethor, give me as much forward mobility as you can.
Acknowledged. I must advise that such action will lower structural integrity.
This isn’t about structural integrity, Victoria replied, ignoring the objections over her comlink. This is about showing them that we aren’t afraid.
Bethor limped out into the plaza, turning to face the Angelo delle Spade and setting its feet. There wasn’t anything she could say to calm the people, but she could stand there, unafraid and challenging. She ran her sensors at full strength, sending information to the Homeguard and aiding them in their search.
She stood there for nearly two hours, a silent guardian. The wounded were moved to hospitals, reporters ran amok to find the latest news, and five shooters were located, including the one that had fired the rocket. She stood there until a large transport rumbled into the plaza, a vehicle big enough to carry a HOUND unit. Bethor slowly limped to it and climbed inside the protected cargo area, finally ending its vigil.
~~~~~~
The command center was a hurricane of activity, following a set order yet full of frantic energy all the same. Victoria walked into it, still in her pilot’s uniform with Dr. Bajere hovering behind her. She had a massive headache that the medics thought was a result of the jarring explosion affecting the neural implants, but she refused to rest until she had checked in on the investigation.
“Captain Blake, good to see you in one piece,” greeted a uniformed Rythul with short-cropped blue feathers.
“Corporal Nesda - I’m glad to be in one piece,” she replied, managing a crooked smile. “What have we got so far?”
“A damned mess,” Nesda answered, motioning to the activity. He paused, eyeing Dr. Bajere suspiciously. “Civilians aren’t cleared for this area.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just here to ensure that the good captain doesn’t have a psychotic episode,” Bajere replied smoothly.
“He has clearance,” Victoria stated, shooting the scientist a dirty look.
“Right. Nothing you hear leaves this room, understood? Now, two of the five shooters - including the one whose rocket you caught - are proclaiming their allegiance to Reshco and declaring that we as an oppressive fascist colony will fall.”
“Great,” Victoria growled. Reshco was the anarchist organization that had spawned the Masadii. “What about the other three?”
“They aren’t talking. The interrogators feel that they aren’t part of Reshco, though.”
“Mercenaries hired for the job?”
“Possibly. There may be another answer.” Nedsa moved over to a console, murmuring to the tech sitting at it. The woman tapped keys on her console, bringing up ballistics and paused camera feeds. “We think we missed a shooter.”
Victoria blinked in surprise. “How? I watched as the ‘Guard canvassed the area, not to mention all the sensor sweeps.” She paused, mind running through the possibilities. “An assassin?”
“That’s what we suspect, since the data is pointing to the fact that he or she only shot once, and at a very interesting target.”
“I’m not interesting enough?” Victoria quipped.
“Only mildly,” Bajere remarked. “Not very.”
Nesda snorted. “It took us a while to find a good feed of the first shot. It happened at the same time as the rocket attack, and most of the news cameras were of course turning to look at that. We were able to pull a feed from l’angelo.”
“The statue has cameras?”
“They were installed to catch vandals,” Nesda explained, then nodded to the tech. “Start it, normal speed.”
The video began playing, showing a viewpoint from somewhere above King Blackjack’s head and looking out into the crowd. Silently the crowd cheered until a flash of light flickered in the left field of the view. There was a confused pause before the crowd began surging to the sides, turning away from the camera’s view. On the very edge of the screen black smoke drifted across from the explosion.
“Stop. Zoom in on the section you showed me and play it again, at 50% speed,” Nesda ordered.
Keys clacked and the view focused deeper into the crowd until the faces were large enough for recognition. Victoria scanned the faces, trying to figure out who it was Nesda was trying to show her. The people clapped and cheered - and Victoria recognized two faces suddenly. Calvin Rashaad and the violinist from the Point. Their faces registered sudden surprise and confusion - at the same time a young woman behind them threw her shoulder into the person standing behind Calvin. The movement pushed the man into view of the camera - and Victoria felt her breath catch.
“You recognize him, yes?” Nesda asked.
“That’s ol’ Devil Eyes himself, isn’t it?” Bajere replied brightly.
“Son of a bitch,” Victoria growled, her fists clenching. Solomon Klein’s face twisted in pain, as the people around him crowded close and began moving him out of the plaza. The technician paused the playback and looked at Nesda.
“We’ve studied the data and have concluded that Klein was indeed shot. Possibly the girl that pushed into him was shot also,” Nesda said.
“Thus why you think there was an assassin there,” Bejara said.
“Yes.”
Victoria took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to unclench her teeth. The surging anger was making her headache worse. “You are following up on this, I presume?”
“Quite closely. We’ve been trying to catch Klein for years, and this may open up an opportunity.” Nesda paused, his expression worried. “I just can’t help thinking of the ‘40’s and the gang wars before things settled underneath the Nephilim.”
Victoria growled softly. “I was a child then, but I remember the stories. The riots, the shootings, the danger of just stepping outside. Klein climbed to the top of the fighting and stayed there. And I’ll be damned if I let that man turn this city into a war zone again. Please keep me informed.” She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, her steps matching the pounding of her head.
“Captain,” Nesda called after her. When she turned to look at him, he said, “There... had been rumors, you know? Will they be affected by this?”
Victoria studied him coldly, noting the shush around them. “I wouldn’t care if il Diavolo himself had given me the HOUNDs. They - and I - serve the people and Titian 1. If Klein has decided to put himself above the people, then the HOUNDs will set upon him as an enemy of the state. Nothing will change that fact - do I make myself clear, corporal?”
“Yes sir,” Nesda replied, saluting her.
Victoria returned the salute and strode out the door, Dr. Bajere following behind with an amused smirk on his face.
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