_{Afternoon, Wednesday, 27 October 2004.}

The fall in St. Louis was a rather pretty time. The leaves were scarce on the limbs of the many Oak, Burch, and Elm trees of Cornerstone’s wooded grounds. They created a multi-colored carpet throughout the yard. Red, yellow and brown bits of color shifted and danced as the wind played with them.

The flower garden had been prepped for the first frost. Sparse in its appearance, it still had a tranquil beauty as nature made ready for its slumber. Soon the blanket of crystalline white snow would cover the grounds. Only the many Evergreens stood resistant to the changing climate.

_{Wednesday evening, Oct 27th 2004}

Raven was standing in what used to be the small storage room off of the library. She had converted it into an office, and now that the scented oils had cleansed the area, it would also function as a ritual space.

On the eastern wall was a small wooden table. She placed the red and green candles on the table, one of them in each of the back corners. Between those two candles she placed the black one.  The candles would represent Fire. She had already lit her hand-crushed incense. The delicate aroma drifted from the antique brass censer and began to fill the room. The incense represented Air. In the center of the table was a flat, circular stone which had a pentagram etched on it. The stone pentacle would represent Earth. She had collected water from the creek that bordered Cornerstone’s property and placed it into a small bowl that she now set upon the table. This would of course represent the element of Water.

Raven looked out the window and watched as the lunar eclipse turned the full moon from a pale-white to a pumpkin orange. She waited for the color to deepen to an eerie red as it plunged even further into shadow. “The blood moon,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

She placed a bowl filled with a murky liquid on the altar. As she lit the red candle, she said:

“I invoke Gangida, great protector!
May we look after your treasures, as our bodies are your treasures!”

Raven sprinkled a couple of herbs into the bowl with the murky liquid. She lit the black candle and said:

“Nullify disease as it approaches his body.
Arm his blood with guards to slay all intruders!”

She added a few drops of Pieran’s blood to the strange mixture, and then Raven lit the green candle as she said:

“Gangida, grant protection from all imbalances in the heavens.
From the earth, from plants, from air;
From his past and from his future.
Protect him from east to south, from west to north!
May his body be rendered healthy under Gangida's protection!”

Raven took a white object and placed it in the bowl. She watched it sink below the dark liquid, and then covered the bowl with a deep blue cloth. “28 days,” she whispered to herself. She hoped Pieran had that much time left.

The eclipse came to an end, and the moon returned to normal. Raven felt restless and knew she needed to clear her head if she was going to get any sleep tonight. She made a batch of her favorite tea and took it with her to keep herself warm while she went on a walk around the grounds.

Pieran’s pain had reached an all new level in bad and he was exhausted beyond anything he’d ever known.  He spent ninety minutes getting dressed, taking care to look his best.  He even took a shave and with his straight razor in trembling hand, performed the most meticulous personal hygiene in his life.  Not a nick.

It was late but that didn’t guarantee there’d be no owls in the mansion.  Avoiding his neighbors would be tricky since Iain didn’t need sleep and Johnny kept chronic watch.  Alexis was an insomniac of sorts so he’d have to creep past her as well.  He planned his exit through the kitchen; if he was caught wandering he could claim a craving for classic PB&J with milk.  Nobody would doubt the word of a boy scout, even an overdeveloped one - except possibly Iona with her damned telepathy.  It was frustrating: there were just too many gifted people in Cornerstone to make his departure easy.

On the other hand that was a good thing.  Pieran didn’t have any really great gifts himself which meant that Cornerstone didn’t really need him.  Therefore: adieu Captain Dunsel? No great loss.

Fortunately, reaching his beloved panel truck was easier than expected since his left arm was now fully paralyzed and the pain searing through his nervous system threatened to topple him.  Even his analgesic self-disciplines were running on fumes.  He fumbled with the keys, fighting away the blurs, but a familiar aroma of spiced tea in the cool air made him freeze.

“Careful. You go sneaking off with the truck without permission and you’re liable to find yourself grounded.” Raven rounded the corner, her ever present thermal mug in hand.

“There’s somewhere I must go,” Pieran said, “something I must do now and alone.”

“You should be in bed, you’re in pain.”

“Pain is a thing of the mind, doctor. The mind can be controlled.”

Raven shook her head. “That’s assuming you have one.  Right now, I’d say you’re way out of yours.”

Pieran simply turned away from her and unlocked the driver’s door.  “I… I have to go.”  He tried to pass the keys to the hand on his injured arm so he could open the door with his good arm, but the keys slipped from the limp, unmoving fingers and fell to the ground.

Raven snatched them up before he had a chance to react.  “You’re half paralyzed, you’re in no condition to drive!”

“Raven please,” he implored her.  “There’s something I must do.”

She studied his face.  With a look of defeat she said, “Alright, but I’m driving.”

---

Creve Coeur Lake looked much the same as when they last saw it, but calmer now and without demon debris.  Pieran was eerily withdrawn as his eyes scanned the lake’s placid black surface.  He moved closer toward it.  Raven tried to help him, but he shook his arm free and she let him go.  Though his gait was labored, he moved curiously well.  She remained near the truck, its headlights burning the midnight oil.  He stopped half way between the vehicle and the lake, standing silent and motionless for a long time.  “The scene of the crime…” His words were a barely audible whisper.

Raven rubbed her arms and shivered against the cold.  The dark air was chillier than at the mansion.  Pieran didn’t seem to notice.  “My father’s father was a structural engineer,” he said, his voice stronger now.  “When his son was a boy he would read to him The Adventures of Tom Swift.  Later my father would read the very same stories to me.  In fact my middle name, Thomas, was my father’s first name.”

Raven smiled slightly.  “So your love of books was born in your childhood and your tool savvy comes from your grandfather.”

Pieran looked over his shoulder and smiled a friendly smile back at Raven.  “You like knowing the origins of things.”

She nodded.  “Things, artifacts, relics.”

“That’s me,” he said.  “A relic whose time has come and gone.”  Pieran returned his gaze to the lake as he continued to speak.  “A twenty-two year old Cheyenne native called ‘Stands In The River,’ was murdered by the Whites at the Sand Creek massacre of 1864.  He was an exorcist, healer, and spiritual warrior who fought wind devils and evil spirits.”

“81 AD.  Flavia Silvanus, twenty-seven: a ‘voice mystic’ whose melodies could charm the birds from the trees.  Her speeches opposing Rome made her a criminal and she was sentenced to death.  Titus cut out her tongue and dropped her in the Coliseum where his leopards devoured her.”  Pieran paused, deep in thought.  His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again.  “So many others…”

A small zephyr stirred the fallen leaves.  They danced lightly around Pieran’s feet before resting on the ground with gathered attention.  Raven too watched and listened intently as he continued speaking.

“Pieran Thomas Swift, thirty years old; neither a wizard or a doctor, neither a soldier or a priest.  An urn containing - not the cinders, but the souls of heroes and heroines past.  From their voices he gained wisdom, strength, and character.  But one repays a teacher badly if one always remains a student.  So he became the Captain of their ship, and they were his constant companions.  Together, they made war when that was the occasion; sang, wrote poems, and smoked a pipe when those were the occasions.  They ventured on a journey to quell the evil that preyed on mankind.  Through him they fought, loved, and fulfilled destiny.  Through them he lived what some only dream of.”

Raven frowned as she took a few tentative steps behind Pieran and began to close the distance between them.  She wasn’t comfortable with the direction his thoughts and words were taking.

“Pieran sought to fuse the souls within him into one voice, one wisdom, one conscience united.  It was his Holy Grail.  But, like the champions dwelling within him, his quest was cut short.  A winged demon resembling an angel lured him with an embrace that folded around him like a feather bed - it was soft, warm, and made him feel safe.  His spiritual collective had never given him that.  But the angel was a deceiver.  Her blade struck his body and her venom poisoned his heart.  With one blow, thirteen eagles fell.”

His pain was ferocious and every word taxed him.  “Much is expected from whom much is given.  But I can’t anymore, Raven.  I lost the Grail here at Creve Couer.”  Pieran clutched the silver cross that hung from his neck.  “Hope was lost.  Only one thing remains.”  A quick tug snapped the neck-chain and, with a pained yell, he hurled the slender pendant toward the lake.  He was too weak to throw it far.  It landed at the lake’s edge with a small splash.  He whispered in a harsh, raspy voice, like reeds rustling in the wind, “If the enemy be unconquered, deny them victory.”

“Pieran, what are you doing?”  Raven stepped into his view, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

He was exhausted.  His words came haltingly and with great suffering.  “I should have died on this battlefield.  It was my time, but she made a mockery of me.  I DO NOT ACCEPT IT!  I will not live as her crawling decrepit creature.  I will not suffer her mocking laughter through my veins.”  He shouted at the lake with a great and terrifying voice.  “Do you hear me, Erinyes?  I decide how I want to live!  And I decide how I will die.  My name is Pieran Thomas Swift and I will be damned before I let you swallow these spirits.  They belong to me; I decide their fate, not you, not anyone!  And if I should fall into hell for it, then may my teeth be forever at your throat.”  He lowered his arm to reach for something while his gaze remained fixed on the lake.

Raven’s eyes followed the movement of his hand to his boot sheath, the one he’d carefully crafted with a needle of deer bone.  The repaired sheath now housed a wicked looking, oriental dagger.  “Pieran, no!” Raven exclaimed.

He retrieved the Japanese Tanto and gripped it in his hand.  “Here now eagles, fly once more.”

“I am not going to stand here and let you kill yourself!”  Raven grabbed his hand in an attempt to disarm him.  She briefly felt the warmth of his skin and the coldness of the weapon in her grasp, and then time seemed to stand still as she was flooded with images…

Running.  She was running across a roof flooded with rain, the dagger held tightly in her hand.  Strands of dark hair whipped across her face.  The hair felt strange to Raven - too long.  The exit lay just ahead, but so did the Thing that was hunting her.  Raven crouched behind an air conditioner casing.  She needed a distraction.  She whispered something to the impassive steel of her final throwing star and, with a quick flip of her wrist, hurled it toward a jumble of steam pipes.  Her shot was perfect, slicing into rusted metal.  The pipe erupted in a geyser of steam.  She heard the Thing snarl and move toward it.

Seizing her chance, Raven raced toward the exit, only to find the door fused and frozen shut.  A glob of acrid gel dribbled from the lever and onto the roof, hissing as it spilled into the fresh rainwater.  She looked back toward the venting steam.  A monstrous shape pushed its bulky mass through the roiling clouds and would soon be upon her.  There was nowhere else to go.  Raven wiped the flat of her blade on her pants, cleaning the Tanto of the oily black blood that still dripped from it - evidence that she had succeeded in defeating one of her targets.  Now she readied herself to plunge that same weapon into her own heart.  Defeat on her terms was an honorable escape and far better than capture and death at the clutches of the demon clan she’d come to slay.  Yet as Raven lifted the blade, she saw a flash of something long and thin cross in front of her.  A slimy appendage hit her arm with terrible force.  She heard the crack more than she felt it as her arm snapped, and the dagger fell from her limp fingers.

The image abruptly shifted, as if someone had changed the channel.

She was standing on the same roof, but the sky was darker now and broken by lightning flashing in the clouds.  A beautiful Japanese woman with long, black hair hung in the ropey coil of a proto demon’s tendril, held aloft over the edge of the 40-story Tsuchihana Building.  The woman’s right hand dangled lifelessly from an arm that was bent in a painful and unnatural way.  Raven once again held the Tanto, but her hand felt different now - larger.  Looking down she saw that her skin was covered in dark scales and the fingers that gripped the dagger now resembled claws.  Raven shifted her gaze from the weapon she held to the dark smear on the woman’s pants.  The thoughts that raced through Raven’s mind were alien and hard to understand, but the emotion was unmistakable - pure hatred.  Raven shouted something in a guttural speech no human tongue could imitate.  The woman simply looked at her captor with a crooked and sardonic smile.  Raven knew in that moment that she wanted the girl to die a horrific death, now and at once.  She lifted the helpless girl into the sky and with another unintelligible phrase, shouted an unholy invocation.  A bolt of lightning shot from the clouds, incinerating the human female.  Raven savored her screams.

The images stopped as abruptly as they had started, but the feelings they brought forth lingered with Raven.  Her hand was still entangled with Pieran’s as they both gripped the dagger.  She looked at his face.  A crooked, sardonic smile formed on his lips.  Then with strength she thought he no longer possessed, he pried her loose and tossed her aside like a doll.  “Pieran, stop!”  But then Raven realized, Pieran was no longer the one in control.

He took the blade of the Tanto and wiped it across his pants, in a gesture that looked all too familiar to Raven.  “I will not let you kill him!  This is his life, not yours!”  She aimed her fist at Pieran and shouted, “Epausa!”  But nothing happened.  “Damn it!”  Raven felt helpless as she watched him press the point of the deadly blade against his heart.  “Rakurai!”  The Japanese word for lightning screeched from her lips, a scream of desperation and rage.

Pieran froze and looked back over his shoulder, sudden fright filling his eyes.  Then, all at once, whatever had seized him vanished.  His knees buckled as he fell to the ground and the dagger dropped from his hand.  Raven rushed to his side, taking the weapon and throwing it as hard as she could outside his reach.  But she needn’t have bothered.  His last reserve was spent and he collapsed against her, racked with heartbroken grief.

“I am going to find a cure to this hellish poison and you are going to stay alive long enough to let me do it.”  Raven sounded almost angry as she held him in her arms.  “So everyone lurking in that head of yours better be paying attention, because I don’t want anymore trouble out of any of them.  No more noble self-destruction. You people want more opportunities to slay demons?  Then you leave him the hell alone and let me do my work!”

His sobbing diminished and she could feel the tension leave his body.  He relaxed against her and she spoke gentler, mopping his brow of icy sweat.  “As for you, Pieran Thomas Swift, here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished:  If you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Pieran turned his head to look at her face, his tired, wet eyes wide with surprise.

“From the book Illusions, by Richard Bach,” Raven said, almost smugly.  “I go to a bookstore everyday.  Did you really think I would not look up the book you quoted me?”  She smiled at him and, as he nodded, he couldn’t help but give her a weak smile in return.

The clouds in the sky that covered the moonlight, and the lack of decent street lighting, gave a spooky air to the outside of the abandoned warehouse.

A blond man in a long leather trenchcoat jumped down the roof of the nearest building, and followed the wall until he reached the warehouse's entrance.

"Sorry pal, this is a private party." The large, bald night watchman seemed to have appeared out of nowhere right behind him.

The man turned around: when he smiled, his fangs shone in the darkness. "I got an invitation."

Two of the three men inside the building protested loudly as the guard at the door introduced the newcomer, but the fourth one, a tall, thin black man dressed as a pastor, replied to their angry comments with a tranquil voice: "You must stop thinking of what you can get, and begin considering what you can give: only then will you be truly strong. Forgive them, brother, and welcome, to my humble house. Please, sit down and feast with us."

With an ample gesture of his arm, the pastor pointed at a big wooden table: three girls, all about fifteen, had been tied to as many chairs; a fourth one, naked from the waist above, had been bound to the four legs of the table. All of them were too terrified to speak, scream, or even cry.

"Don't go all 'prodigal son' on us, father: there's only enough for the four of us." Grunted the red-headed fat guy on the pastor's left.

"Yeah!" Nodded the black-haired man on the right, walking to the table and pulling the girl's hair so hard her neck seemed on the verge of breaking: "Sorry, bro, no young sweet lambs for you. Check in the back, there's usually some drunk guy sleeping there."

"Now, now, Matthew. Do not forget the prayer, before you eat..."

The man rolled his eyes, but then he let go of the girl's hair and took a cross from the table, lifting it above her. Well, not exactly a cross: its arms were twisted at unusual angles, and the bottom end was pointed and sharp.

He vamped out and began: "Help me, oh Lord, for I'm about to sin. In this second life you donated us, we..."

As the pastor and the redhead vamped out and joined in the prayer, the blond vampire slipped a hand inside his coat.

The guard, who had also vamped out, caught the movement and leaned toward him to whisper quietly: "Pay attention, bro... This is the best part."

The blond vamp whispered something inaudible in return.

"What'd you say bro?" Asked the guard, his eyes still pointed at the black-haired vamp, who was now pressing the sharp edge of the "cross" on the girl's naked torso, where a red drop had already appeared.

"I said..." Replied Iain, taking his katana out of his coat and decapitating the bald vampire in a single move: "I'm not your bro."

The remaining three vampire stopped praying and turned to him. The red- and the dark-haired ones were clearly furious, but the pastor had a sad look: "You disappoint me greatly, brother."

Before he could continue, Iain charged at the redhead, slipping under his guard and dusting him with a single left-handed hit with his stake. He spun, ducked below the other vampire's punch, and cut his head off.

As the dust settled around him, Iain pointed the sword at the pastor, who shook his head: "We shouldn't fight amongst us, brother. I can feel your hunger, and I can feel your pain. Let go of human morality, join us in the brilliant darkness, let your true spirit soar high, unimpeded by the weight of your soul. Ah, yes, I can sense your soul... I don't know how that could happen, but I do know that you were not meant to carry such a burden. I can help you, brother, I can make the pain go away."

Iain lowered his sword and lowered his eyes, taking one tentative step toward the priest.

"Yes, brother, come to me. Let me help you."

"Thank you, father..." Replied Iain, taking another step forward. And another, and another, until he was at arm's length from the pastor, who raised his hands to put them on Iain's shoulders.

Then Iain looked the vampire in the eyes and continued: "Maybe another time."

"I forgive you..." Breathed the pastor as he went poof, leaving only Iain, with his stake still raised, and four terrified girls.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Mon 12 Dec 2005.

"Hey Lex."

Alex blinked her eyes open, sitting up from her prone position on the floor.  Looking around she had no idea where she was; the floor was wooden, the walls a featureless magnolia and there were no furnishings to speak of.  Getting to her feet, she turned to look at the speaker; a short young woman with curly blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and an amused twitch to her lips.  Alex stared at the image in front of her, before regaining her ability to speak.

"Sarah.  You're dead."   She stated bluntly.

Sarah grinned in response.  "And you're dreaming."

"Oh.  Right."   Alex looked around the plain room, slowly turning on the spot to take in the lacklustre surroundings.  "Dreaming, huh?  And you're...  What?"

"I'd go with a figment of your imagination."

"So I'm talking to myself?"

"Seems that way."

"Huh."

A silence descended while Alex processed this information, quietly wondering if dreaming about talking to yourself was a similar qualification for madness in that same way that such an action was in the waking world.

After a while, Sarah cleared her throat.  "You could imagine a couple of chairs up, you know.  Maybe a sofa.  A sofa would be good."

"I can do that?"

"Sure, give it a whirl."

With a shrug, Alex glanced across at the centre of the room and thought of a ridiculously luxurious, expansive couch - the kind you sit on and then promptly get lost inside of for days.  Barely had she thought of it, and a deep green semi-circular sofa appeared, at which point Sarah sighed in contentment and dropped into its plush cushions.  At a loss of really what else to do, Alex followed suit, taking a seat at the opposite end and stretching out her long legs across the seats.

After another long silence passed, she finally spoke up.  ”Is there any particular reason for this visitation?”

“Yes, there is.  How shall I put this…?  You were given a second chance.  One that none of the rest of us were given, and you’re wasting it.”

Alex threw the other woman a sceptical look.  “How do you figure that?”

“Oh please.  First you go off on your own and nearly get yourself killed, which is why you’ve been dragged to whatever the heck this place is.  Technically you’re now on your third chance, and you’re just doing the same as before.  Trying your hardest to shut everyone else out and go it alone.”

Folding her arms like a petulant toddler receiving a good telling-off, Alex scowled in return.  “I am not.  I’ve made friends here.”

Sarah laughed incredulously.  “What, the dead guy and the dying guy?”

“Sarah!”

“Come on, Lex.  Seriously, take a look.  Pieran’s a safe bet, because you don’t really think he’s going to last much longer –“ she waved off the protest forming in Alex’s mouth before continuing, “so you can go through the motions of a friendship knowing that chances are, you’re not going have to risk any real kind of connection with him.  He’ll die, and you can be content in the knowledge that at least you tried.”

“I like Pieran.”

“I know you do.  But you like Johnny too, and you don’t go and have chats over cups of tea with him.  You keep him at arms length, just like everyone else.”

Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, Alex swung her legs off the couch and leant her elbows on her knees, avoiding Sarah’s gaze and examining her hands.  The last point was one she really couldn’t argue with, and she couldn’t bolt out of the room either, since no matter how hard she tried, no doors were forthcoming.  Trapped with a straight-talking figment of her own imagination.  This really was a nightmare.

“And then, of course, there’s Iain.  What’s up with that?”

Alex sighed.

”Well?  The only person you’ve spilled your guts too is a vampire, for crying out loud!”

”He has a soul.”  The Slayer-That-Never-Was protested weakly.

”Yes, yes he does.  Along with fangs, a bumpy forehead and general lack of a pulse.”  Sarah rolled her eyes.  ”Who am I kidding.  What are the chances you’d fall for someone normal, anyway?”

Alex’s eyes widened.  ”Oh, no.  No.”  She said firmly.  ”Its not like that.”

”Its not?”

”Its not.”

”Why not?”

”Why not?  What do you m - what about the fangs, bumpy forehead and general lack of pulse?”

”You can’t have it both ways, Lex.  Either him being a vampire is a problem or it isn’t.”

Sullenly, Alex remained silent, examining her fingernails with renewed interest, hoping that perhaps ignoring herself was the way to go on this issue.

”Want to know what I think?”

”If I answered, ‘No, for the love of god, no.’ would you keep quiet?”  Came the dry response.

”Don’t be daft.  I think that should things go past your comfort zone, you can just play the vampire card, back off, and save yourself any potential heartache.  Someone else you can play at being friends with, without risking actually getting close to them.”

”Well, thank you for that, Sigmund.”

”You should be pleased.  There are people out there that pay good money for this kind of thing.”  When no further response came from Alex, Sarah clambered over the cushions with a adorably clumsy gait and sat down next to her, resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder.  Almost on reflex, Alex followed suit and leant her head against Sarah’s.

”You’re a mess, Alexis Scarlett Taylor.”

A faint smile crept onto Alex’s face at the invocation of her full name.  ”No more scarlet woman jokes.”  She murmured.

Sarah grinned.  ”I’m not sure there’s any left.  But seriously…  We both know that you’re lonely.  I mean, you’re conjuring up imaginary people to talk to!  Go out for dinner with someone, or have a cup of tea with someone other than Pieran for once.  And you’re going to have to decide if him being a vampire is really a problem.”

”Now?”

”Not now.  But soon.  You don’t want to be leading another guy up the garden path, intentionally or not.”

Alex nodded slowly, staring ahead at nothing in particular.  ”I miss you, you know?”  She whispered softly, an admission she could barely stand to make, even if it was only to herself.

”I know, sweetie.”  The blonde replied, slipping her arms around Alex’s shoulders and squeezing.  ”But you’ve got a life to live and you’re not betraying any of us by doing that.”

The pair sat there for a short while, then Sarah spoke again, this time with a grin.  ”Actually, there is something that I want you to do…"

Raven opened the door part way and spoke in a quiet voice, “Pieran, are you awake?” She didn’t want to disturb him if he was resting. That trip to the lake had been a draining experience for both of them. Raven wrestled with whether she should tell the others about what had happened. If they knew, they could help keep an eye on him. But most of the house was doing that already, and Pieran had asked her to keep it between the two of them. She decided to respect his privacy - for now. That could change if she saw signs he was slipping again.

“Raven, it’s okay,” he groaned.  “Come in.”  Pieran’s body shook like an old engine as he rolled to face her.

He lay in his bed, circling the drain.  If he’d been sleeping it was too hard to tell, for sleep was a fair-weather friend to him now.  Yet in spite of it all he managed to keep his room tidy.  Only a half-finished flute atop his writing desk, together with the shavings of African Blackwood, small hand tools, oils, and polishing cloth betrayed his imperfection.  Two aborted attempts lay in their final resting place in his fireplace.

Raven stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her. “I have something for you.” She walked over and sat down on the bed next to Pieran. She handed him a scarf that was wrapped around some small object.

Pieran sat up as best he could and with his only good arm, shaking now as his left had done before it died, took the packet in hand.  “What is this?” he asked, gently shaking it loose from its wrapping.  It dropped from his hand onto the bed.  He recognized it instantly: his slender silver necklace with the silver cross attached, bearing a broken setting at its heart, like an unhealed wound.

His shoulders slumped and he smiled sadly, lifting the pendent from its chain and dangling it before himself.  “This is the third time you’ve brought an antique back to me from that watery grave.”

“It seemed too important to you to leave it behind.”

The delicate necklace measured time like a gleaming pendulum, hypnotic and beautiful.  He considered her remark while a rush of conflicting emotions filled his brain.  Desperate chances, fallen hopes, warm hearts, cold graves; crosses adorned them all.  It fit him to wear it.

His eyes shifted from the floating crucifix to Raven’s remarkably lovely face and for an instant --the alignment of her face with the cross--  was like its missing diamond had returned to the empty setting. “You mind helping me with this,” he asked?

Raven hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help Pieran. So far, she had been very careful to not come in contact with his necklace. It was obviously an item of significance to him, and after that night at the lake, she really didn’t want to handle another object that had strong emotions attached to it. She didn’t trust her mental control to suppress her psychic ability right now, so she pulled out her gloves and slipped them on. She’d gotten very adept at doing most tasks, including ones that required precision, while wearing her gloves.

Pieran leaned forward as she deftly manipulated the jewelry into place.  “In nothing do men so much resemble the gods as in giving help to their fellow creatures.  Thank you.”

She put the necklace around his neck and fastened the clasp. “There’s always hope, Pieran. You may not always be able to see it, but it’s there.”

Of those words he could say little.  For him, hope was like a rose, a thing of sinister beauty.  'T’is true nature gives the rose its bright attraction, yet, ‘neath its enchanting petals ready the deadly thorns.’  He thought better than comment, changing the subject to something that lent impish glee to his lips.  “You’d better be careful; all these kind visits.   People might talk.  Already, word on the street says you’re carrying on with a handsome young Spaniard sporting a right manly shank of hair.  Should I have cause for jealousy?”

“Perhaps he’s the one that should be jealous of you.” Raven returned Pieran’s impish grin. “His name is Marco Pelayo. I first met him shortly after we were brought to Cornerstone. He was shopping in an antique store and he had a couple of questions about a piece that the owner couldn’t answer. I just chimed in to help. He’s in town working on his next CD. There’s an old recording studio here that has unique acoustics that he wanted to experiment with. It turns out that this studio is a short walk from that bookstore that I’ve been visiting everyday. Marco takes his coffee breaks there.” Raven spoke as if she had discovered a rare treasure. “He likes old books.”

“Anyway, I helped him with the translation of a poem and he bought me coffee to say thanks. Before long, having coffee together at the bookstore became a regular thing that we both looked forward to. I’d love for you to meet him. I could bring him by sometime, if you’d like. The two of you could swap stories about your childhoods in Spain.”

“I would like that very much.  Bring him.”  He started to say more but a fresh wave of pain spread into his chest, cutting him short.

Although he tried to hide it, Raven saw the pained expression briefly cross face. “Well, I should let you rest,” she said as she stood. “I’ll check on you again later to see if you need anything.” She made her way towards the door.

“Oh, one more thing.  I don’t think  she  will trouble us again any time soon. That’s the good news,” he smiled.  “The bad news is:  I’m always wrong about everything,” he smiled again, a helpless smile now.  “That trick won’t work a second time,” he warned.  “She is probably the most dangerous of them all; ferocious, independent, powerful, and very cunning.  She is Kitsune for a reason.  Raven, I know you are working hard for me, and I love you.  But you must succeed.”

Raven gave him a very confident look. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Dren turned toward the van toward downtown, normally he would have preferred to drive the cool car but for a job like this it was best to take something more, generic, less detailed and much darker. So far he’d been pretty tight lipped about the plan, telling Johnny just enough to let him know it was a quick B&E… for what and for why were still up in the air and as they drove past a police station Dren flicked his clove out the window, almost defiantly ”We’re gonna ‘ave a small window t’pull this off.”

Johnny nodded, nothing to himself that there was something Dren wasn't quite letting him in on. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it was quite positively not a good sign. "And exactly where do I fit into this broken window of yours?"

Parking the car down an alley, about a block away from his destination, Dren pointed toward the city hall annex saying ”Yer th’decoy.” hopping out, he went to the back of the fan and opened it up to open the two duffle bags that were stashed under the seats.

A quick look around and he unzipped some black rope, goggles, a lock pick set and a shoulder holster with a gas powered dart gun. ”Dinna ask t’many questions… but ‘ere’s th’plan...”

"All of this would be so much easier if I were a girl with a cute smile," Johnny muttered by himself a quarter an hour later, watching Dren sneak off into the darkness. Or if the Irish had his Guiness cut off for five minutes.

He spent a slight minute frantically arranging his hair while Dren got into position, before he approached the two front guards with a nervous pace, looking around himself in distress. As he got closer, he pretended to just now notice them, and walked relieved over to them, smiling.

"Thanks God somebody's out at this time of day...night," he said, pointing at the two of them. "Johnny Harrison, Richard from Stars and Stripes, 'trust you've seen me around, the doctor who was desperately in love with the twins, yes?"

“Can I help you?” one of the boys in blue addressed Johnny, the other turned to answer the phone…right as Dren made his move for his entrance.

"If you can keep a secret," Johnny said, lowering his voice and looking around as if to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, "I suspect the reason they cancelled it was Jade got pregnant with the director. But, to be quite honest with you gentlemen, I desperately need a favor. I seem to have misplaced my cell - I could tell you where, but then I'd have to kill you - and really need to make a call to Jennifer." He displayed a slight unease, throwing a cautious look in a direction quite different from Dren's.

The guard on the phone seemingly looked directly at Dren in the shadows, but as Johnny spoke again, his interest was drawn to the young deco… doctor.

"Did I just say...? You wouldn't mind forgetting I just said Jennifer, would you?"

Dren moved like a cat, blending with shadows, and came around to make his move… until the phone rang. Pausing behind the plant that remained between he and the guard turning to pick up the phone, Dren hand’s opened in preparation to quick draw the dart gun. Already calculating the distance between he and his target, the angle he’d have to hold the weapon and the placement of his tranquilizer as well as the potential direction the second guard would move and if his odds of hitting said guard would be better standing up or sliding back across the floor.   All these factors were tabulated, indexed and organized by priority even as the guard picked up the phone, having turned to completely face the Irishman who was too proud to wear a mask…

The guard lifted the phone and turned back to listen to Johnny’s story as he placed the phone to his ear. Dren didn’t have time to proper thank the little shyster at the moment but it was now due, and Dren always paid up what he owed.

Moving quick he darted around the plant and to the front desk, dangerously close the guards but noiselessly. From there he slipped between the front desk and the metal detector and made his way to the stairwell.

Johnny tapped his fingers against his watch, eyeing the guard on the phone with interest. "Cute Nokia. I used to have one of those - true, two years ago, excellent for making calls, just lacked the wow-factor of my recent purchase."

"Look Buddy, do you have a problem? Need ta file a complant? I can't just be shootin the breeze all night." said the officer on watch.

The other desk Sergeant finished his phone call and hung up. "Have you been drinking tonight?" he asked. His face was stone, his tone slightly annoyed.

"Complaints, no, drinks, no more than I can count on one hand. Alcohol makes me all slippery-tongued, so it's all cigarettes for me." As if reminded by his own train of thought, Johnny went on: "I could really need a cigarette, when you mention it, but what I really need is to make a phone call - take pity on a double-booking idiot, would you...?" He resumed to detail exactly how bad a mess he had gotten himself into in the most interesting manner he could.

Dren scanned the halls with a small hand mirror before moving out and quickly darting under a security camera. He finally saw the door he needed but realize he was going to have to take a long way around to avoid direct line of sight. As he inched his way he hoped Johnny was providing a decent distraction and finally made his move to the door he needed. Pressing himself again it he opened his picklock set and began to work away at the doorknob with his eye close going on feel for the tumblers. Ears remained open and notified him that an elevator was approaching the hall a few feet away… that gave him a hole 40 seconds.

click the tumblers aligned with just a barely audible sound.

Ding! the elevator announced its arrival to the floor. “…saw that new movie Open Water last weekend. That’s just gotta suck, knowing your miles from anything and the sharks are eyeing you for dinner. Two uniformed officers stepped out of the elevator and turned left. Each had a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a bag of Krispy Kremes.

“I heard that it’s a true story and it happens all the time! So glad I am in a state that don’t have any creatures that can just eat a man…” Their voices and footsteps faded as they went down the hall to the break room.

Dren pulled back on the door as he pressed it closed with the shoulder. The constant reversal of force gave him the utmost control and as he door gently pressed against the frame he shifted his body weight into it before slowly releasing the knob putting the door back into place. Gently he locked it again, and sat by the floor, quiet and unmoving waiting for the coast to clear… this was the vital part of the mission. Hours of video footage, drive by casings, requesting a divorce record that didn’t exist under a fake name just to get inside… it had all come down to this.

Dren stayed low as he moved through a labyrinth of filing cabinets. Using a small glow stick that required him to almost press it against the draws as he scanned for the one he needed he started to skip whole sections knowing time was of the essence.

I should have a lash for this… wonder if I can get a few with some lowlight goggles. This would go by much faster if I had some lowlight goggles.

Dren refocused his concentration as he found the virtual treasure chest… placing the tiny glowing stick in his teeth he got out his lock picks and went to work on the finest lock that city government funds could provide – this was going to be easier than he thought.

Dren snuck back up the stairs to the main floor. He waited just a second to insure the coast was clear. Two detectives were heading out of the building. Dren then made a quick dash for the door as the two exchanged pleasantries with the desk sergeants.  As Dren slipped behind the group, he gave Johnny the high sign and into the darkened shadows he went.

Johnny also used the detective’s distraction and quietly walked away, back toward the car. As he rounded the corner, Dren appeared from the bushes. He quickly got into the car and the two drove away.

It was a quiet ride back to the manor. Dren was a like a Zen master, in deep reflection as to what he had just done. The file he had acquired was in the back seat. Dren was itching to read it, but there was that matter of discretion, not to mention that it was rather dark. The contents could wait until a more private time, back at the safety of the manor, preferably locked up in his room.

Johnny parked the car in the garage. As they went to exit the vehicle Dren reached for the file. They got of the car, but as Dren shut the door, the contents of the file spilled out onto the floor of the lighted garage. Johnny could clearly see the name on the papers: Pelayo, Marco.

Dren dropped to the ground using his hand to cover as much of any identifications as he could, trying to slide the papers on top of one another he tried to scoop them into the folder hoping Johnny wouldn’t read anything too incriminating, ”Dinna worry, I got it.” he said as he pawed the pages together.

"Name seems vaguely familiar," Johnny commented. "Think I threatened to kill him, once. Bound to be something juicy on him, what with all the paper and all." He carefully kept the what in the world is this maniac up to now-thoughts away from his tongue.

Sitting comfortably on the couch, a nice girl on his side... Yeah, life was good.

"Penny for your thoughts." Alex didn't lift her head from Iain's shoulder: she just glanced up sideways to him.

"I'm thinking... I love your accent." His arm around her shoulders, Iain let his hand caress her upper arm.

"Really..." She smiled.

"Mh-hm. It's terribly sexy."

She raised her head, still smiling: "Is it..."

He smiled back: "It's like a siren's song. Can't resist it."

Her smile widened: "Then don't..."

They began kissing passionately. Iain's kiss continued down her cheek, on her neck...

GROWL

Alex's eyes widened as the bite of the vampire drew the life from her... Up until the last drop.

The vampire lifted his head, his fangs shining with the blood of the woman now lying lifeless in his arms, and he smiled.

---

Iain sat up on his bed, panting heavily.

"What the..." It had been several months since the last nightmare, he'd thought they'd disappeared completely. Apparently not.

"Trouble sleeping, brother?" The vampire priest was sitting on Iain's chair.

"You are dead." He stated matter-of-factly.

"Aren't we all?" He smiled.

"And that is my chair. And this is a dream. Just a nightmare inside the nightmare."

"Oh, no, brother, this isn't the nightmare... Your life is. How can you be so blind? You have been blessed with immortality, with freedom, with a chance to do everything you want. And you waste it with these... Sheep."

"They happen to be my friends."

The priest chuckled darkly: "Oh, yes, especially the Irish one."

Doing his best to ignore the ghost of the undead, Iain just replied: "Go to Hell."

"Been there, done that... Nice place, really. A little hot, but then again, so is California..."

"Are we done yet?"

The priest's smile became an evil grin: "We are just getting started, brother."

---

Silence.

Too much silence...

Something was missing.

Nobody's breathing. I'm not breathing.

For the past six years, breathing had somehow remained part of Iain's reflexes. Though he couldn't tell for sure if he still used to breathe when he was asleep, when he was awake he unconsciously kept the air flowing in and out of his lungs even though it didn't serve any real purpose anymore.

Lying in bed at night he used to listen to the sound of his own breath - for lack of a beating heart - until he fell asleep.

That sound wasn't there anymore.

"We are just getting started, brother."

He jumped down the bed, turned the light on and looked around for the owner of that voice.

The room was empty.

Tracking down personal information on the internet was by no means Johnny's forte. He went through the obvious google-searches and made a few attempts at browsing the most common free mail-services, but being equipped with not much but a name made things hard. At least he isn't named John Smith, he told himself, tapping in yet another URL into his Firefox.

”Grrrrreat, he’s a bloody Saint compared t'me.” Dren expressed while dropping the not so heavy file down on the desk by his propped up feet and started to rub his nose. His eyes ached from reading and his lunged itched from ‘hunger’. Taking out his pack he lit up and took a long drag and then spoke through smoke enveloped breaths ”Only 'as three parkin' tickets tha 'e’s paid fer an' one ticket-“ Dren coughed a bit to clear his lungs. Then opted to finish talking first ”Sorry. 'e got a speedin' ticket but t'was dismissed.” he leaned back and shrugged lifting the clove to his lips but not ready to jump back in ”Other than a trespassin' charge tha' was dropped in’04, 'e’s lived a dull life compare't'jus' tha' one weekend alone tha' landed me in a Jamaican Jail Cell.” finally finished Dren took a not so long drag and simply waited for that relaxing feeling to over take him.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:40, Mon 23 Jan 2006.

"Sounds a lot like my results," Johnny agreed, nodding in agreement. "But there's this one detail that I'm only telling you because I know you won't use it for any unfair personal leverage because you're not that kind of guy." Stern glance to underline the point. "He's sending a rather substantial monthly amount to some or other singleparent. I think I can add two and two, but the four sounds out of character."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:02, Sun 22 Jan 2006.

”D’ya ‘ave an address?” Dren covered an area of the file with his hand to prevent Johnny from peaking and simply said ”If it dinna match th’one I’m coverin’, then I won’t say ‘nother word ‘bout it.”

"How about I say two nine oh seven two? Do-" He paused to cough rather violently. "Seriously, I've been in here for half a minute and this air's killing me already. Learned to smoke like a dragon in Jamaica too?"

Dren glared as he put out the most recent cigarette only two thirds down ”Dinna y’start either. I was shootin’ vampires an’ putin’ out magical candles wit’ m’bare ‘ands jus’ a few days ago. I dinna need a lecture about th’risks o’anything I choose t’do t’take th’edge off.”

"Candles. Painful reminder. But, on the other hand," Johnny said, lifting his hand partly in artistic suspense but mostly to wave the smoke out of his face, "if you're going to keep your lightning reflexes blitzy and sharing rooms with people whose lungs aren't quite black yet, you might consider cutting back, or, gasp, smoke filters. I'm not talking about premature death, I'm talking about premature old age and a voice which could saw wood." Johnny shrugged. "God, how three years of med-related studies makes you a mom."

_{Wednesday November 24, 2004}

Nearly a month had passed since the encounter at the Arch. The members of Cornerstone passed the time working on personal pursuits or took the occasional stroll through the various cemeteries on general Vampire patrol. Things had settled into a kind of routine.

November began with the bright colors of autumn, but soon they all turned to varying shades of brown. Morning frost would greet the day on the rolling grounds and twice there was a nice thin crust of snow. The ground became hard and crusty as it was heading into its frozen state for the upcoming winter. The Swan pond would twinkle in the morning as the rays of the sun danced off the crystalline crust of ice that formed in its shallow banks.

Pieran’s health continued to wane. He moved about the house less and less. If it were not for his heartbeat and ragged breathing, he would appear to be more a zombie then human.

_{Wednesday November 24, 2004}

It was just after sunrise when Raven quietly entered Pieran’s room. She sat on a chair next to his bed and watched as he slept. Normally she didn’t like to wake him, but today was different.

His nose twitched slightly, registering an aroma that disturbed his unconscious sleep.  “Golanv; lekadem!”  His lids fluttered open as he awoke with a painful start.  “Raven –what’s happening?  Where am I?” He fought to come awake.  His eyes, shot with blood, focused blearily upon her face, soft with the early morning glow.  He absently drew his bed covers higher on himself while struggling to sit upright for his guest.  “I’m sorry.  I was dreaming.  What can I do for you?”

“I have something for you.” Raven smiled as she produced a finely crafted smoking pipe. It was made of ivory and carved in the shape of a dragon.

‘Okay, this is different,’ he thought.  ‘She woke me up to give me a pipe.  A damned beautiful pipe.  But a pipe nonetheless.’

He took it in hand, inspecting its bas relief with evident appreciation.  “Raven, this is lovely but...well, there’s bad news: because of my poor health my doctor has made me swear off smoking.  At least before breakfast.”  He looked at her quizzically.  “I don’t understand...”

“I’ve been studying those books we got from Priestess Ninti. The Solerites knew how to infuse items with various enchantments, including healing enchantments. I’m nowhere near Ninti’s level but, I think I’ve come up with something to counter most of the effects of the poison. It’s not a cure. A cure would require me to remove a curse and… I haven’t figured out how to do that - yet.”

“If you begin and end each day with a smoke of this pipe, the paralysis, the weakness, and any other symptoms you have should diminish to a negligible level in a short time.”

Pieran considered that for a moment.  Counter most of the effects.  Paralysis/weakness should diminish to a negligible level.  Not a cure.  Symptom control.  Pain management.  Palliative care.  In other words, hospice.  He was slow to show delight, even with relief at hand.  He once smoked for pleasure.  Now he would smoke for pain.  What would the Surgeon General think?  It sure put a new torque on the whole dependency habit thing.

He wasn’t ungracious.  It was only that he was frustrated.  After all, Raven was doing her level best.  He knew that.  He too had been doing research; during his convalescence he’d had little else to do and in that time he could only find one theme echoing like old thunder through the books, scrolls, and tablets: No one survived Erinyes poison.

Then again, said the optimist, maybe no one before him had been given enough time.  No victims before him had Raven on their side.  A smile began crawling to his lips.  She was not only his angel of the morning –his own messenger, but she was also his shield maiden and more than that, a newfound sword.  Oh brave new world that had such people in it!

He couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.  “I’m not so sure about this,” he said.  “You would pluck out the heart of my misery, to re-write Hamlet.  After all, I have a good thing going.  This morning I awoke to a beautiful woman sitting beside my bed.  That’s never happened before.  Another beautiful woman, Alexis, visits me with tea and snacks.  Johnny putters around my care.  Dren has made me breakfast.  A vampire cuts loose to have interviews with me.  How Anne Rice is that?  I’ve even had a famous musician show me the magic that will make my flute give Mozart pride...provided I knew how to play it.  You would take all that away from me?

“Still, you did go to all this trouble,” he added, eyeing the long-tailed, draconic meerschaum.  “It would be unmannerly of me to refuse such an elegant and thoughtful gift.  Will any kinnikinnick do for smokes or do you have some special, wacky tobaccy in mind?” he added with a boyish wink.

“Technically yes, you can use anything you want. I think your doctor would recommend something herbal and low in carcinogens and addictive substances. As for the wacky tobaccy, probably best to save that for when you’ve stocked up on munchie food and have no plans to operate heavy machinery.” She smiled at him.

_{Thursday November 25, 2004}


Faintly, the sound of copper pots clanking together could be heard emanating from the kitchen. The sizzle of sausage mixed with sage and onion wafted out and snaked its way up the Grand Staircase. Someone was up early and cooking.

Alex was also up early; it seemed lately that she had been avoiding sleep with even more fervour than usual, rising earlier and going to bed even later than before - if she even reached her bedroom.  It wasn't at all unusual to find her dozing in one of the mansion's many rooms come daybreak for the past few weeks.  Her whole temperament seemed somewhat subdued of late as well; she was slow to smile, her temper seemed to have packed its bags and gone on an extended holiday and there was a general air of disinterest about her, as though her mind was constantly occupied with something else.

Despite all of this, it was obvious that she was training harder than ever, frequently spending time working out in the gym, on the grounds and presumably in town as well, considering how exhausted she appeared when returning some evenings.  It was also obvious she was taking care to eat well and generally do everything one should to care of one's body and keep it in prime condition - except maybe the whole sleeping thing.  In an endeavour to put it all to a practical application, she joined as many patrols as she could, constantly trying to improve and stay sharp.

Last night was one of the rare occasions Alex had actually managed to force herself into her bed, albeit reluctantly.  She had awoken before the sun had risen to find several broken objects spread about the floor and felt as though she hadn't slept at all, a half-remembered nightmare lurking in the corner of her mind.  Seeing little point in going back to bed and repeating the experience, she had showered and dressed herself in blue jeans and a plain, fitted white shirt.  She was hungry, and upon catching the smell of cooking sausages, decided to wander down to the kitchen to see what was available, sweeping her hair back into a loose chignon as she descended the stairs.

Stepping into the kitchen, she murmured a quiet and half-hearted, "Good morning." before opening the refridgerator to find herself some fruit juice.

The kitchen was not exactly like Alex had last seen it. Several pots of the copper cookware set were missing from their usually neatly arranged hanging hooks and were now lined up on the center island counter, along with a couple of cookie sheets, the roasting pan, and a couple of baking dishes. The spice rack, normally alphabetical, had several holes in its display. The missing spice bottles now lined up behind to the pots, in alphabetical order. Beside each spice were little ceramic bowls, each with a measured portion of that spice, ready for use. On the wooden cookbook rack, a book of recipes stood proudly, like a musical score set for the conductor. A small stack of additional cookbooks lay beside the rack, waiting their turn in the holder. The coffee pot was making that gurgling sound that signified it was almost done brewing.

Iona was standing by the stove, poking and stirring the meat with a wooden spoon.  She was nicely dressed in a yellow cotton top and designer jeans that were feminine, but not flashy. She wore a white apron with a cornucopia pattern on it. A matching bandana was tied about her forehead to keep the hair out of her eyes and the food as she worked. She held the skillet handle with a pot holder that was fashioned to look like a turkey.

“Oh, Hi Alex,” she said with a bright, cheery smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to get an earlier start this year. There will be a few more for dinner then I normally get the chance to cook for this time. I have always wanted to do the whole Norman Rockwell, scene and now I get my chance.” She absently hummed a tune as she stirred.

As she pulled her head out of the refridgerator, a carton of orange juice in one hand, a blank expression hovered on Alex's features; it was quite clear she had no idea what Iona was talking talking about.

"Huh?"

Iona checked the temperature setting on the double oven set. “Oh c’mon. You know what day it is. It’s the day we get to put aside all those diet plans and feast.” She said with a devilish wink. Noting that Alex’s expression did not seem to change, Iona went on.

“Not had your coffee yet I see. Successful survival of a harsh winter, followed by a bountiful first crop. A celebration for our forefathers?” she hinted. “Its Thanksgiving silly! Marking the first year out from under the tyranny of British oppress… Oh!!” Iona suddenly covered her mouth as she realized what she was saying, and to whom she was saying it to. Her face went red with heat as she was suddenly flustered.

“Oh, oh, I didn’t mean … That is not to say that You are… I am so sorry, I … I forgot.” With a slightly mortified look on her face, she awaited Alex’s response.

Normally, Iona's flustered state would have given Alex some cause for amusement; a grin, maybe even a light-hearted laugh, especially as there was no real way she could take offence at what had been said.  Today, however, it didn't get much of a reaction at all, except a tiny shrug.

"Oh.  Right.  Thanksgiving."

That matter sorted out, Alex returned to the business of finding herself some breakfast, doing her best to avoid getting in Iona's way.  About to open a cupboard, she stopped, turned and looked at Iona again.

"Will this involve Dren and Iain at the same table?  Because that didn't go so well last time..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:00, Tue 31 Jan 2006.

Lured by the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, Raven entered the kitchen. “Wow, Iona. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. It’s been so long since I’ve had a family-style Thanksgiving celebration that I hadn’t even taken note that the holiday was coming up.” Raven surveyed the array of food and cooking supplies. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

"Yeah, can't wait for the rematch..." Iain commented, entering the kitchen with a half-smile, dressed in a dark-blue T-shirt and black jeans.

"Top of the morning, ladies. Everybody's up early today..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Tue 31 Jan 2006.

"Risen and shining it is, Iain," Johnny agreed, remaining in the doorway so he wouldn't have to worry about getting in Iona's way. He always hated people getting in his way when he cooked. He haphazardly supported his weight on one hand, carrying a scarce stack of paper in the other. "In my hand, I carry medical documents of utmost importance. Normally, the Oath of Hipocrates and the extreme dullness would prevent me from sharing any of this with you, but - as part of the Thanksgiving festivities - I will spice this day with paraphrases of wit gone dry. As an apertif - Iona, somebody in this room has reported he doesn't care much for the taste of garlic. Of course, my medical ethics prevent me from actually naming him." Johnny's eyes met Iain's glance.

Iain smiled sheepishly: "Ah, right, thanks for reminding me. Well, I guess you are all familiar with the myth of garlic being the bane of vampires? Its powers have been grossly exaggerated by fiction, but vampires tend to steer clear of rooms full of it, because of the foul smell - as do most humans, come to think of it. More to the point, it turns food from 'almost tasteless' to 'definitely bitter'."

An instant later, on an afterthought, he added: "Except green garlic: it seems to be an exception, for some reason."

"That must explain why I have so much trouble making out with girls," Pieran said brighty from the kitchen door.  "I eat garlic by the whole!  Maybe you'll have to direct me to some of that green stuff, Iain."

He smiled -no, beamed to everyone in the room.  Pain no longer creased his face, sweat and shakes stung him no more, and his pallid color had gone from Saran Wrap to his more natural olive and tanned pink, minus the tan for now.  "Hey," he said smartly, "I'm back!"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:33, Sun 23 Apr 2006.

Dren stood at the top of the stairs, far from sight with an unlit clove hanging from his mouth. He remained there only long enough to hear the pleasantries being exchanged below before decided… he wasn’t about to ruin them.

Turning he headed, ghostlike and noiselessly up to the top floor of the mansion, past his room and out onto the screened porch that rested up against the laundry room. Sitting to watch the shadows of the mansion he reached down for the tucked away bottle of scotch and with one hand, smoothly unscrewed the top, then pour out a generous amount into the nearby glass before lighting his clove and enjoying the silence around him.

Alex stared at Pieran for a moment, then actually managed a small smile.  She didn't know how he had suddenly fought the poison back, but she was glad that he had.

Grabbing some fruit, she wove her way through the people now occupying the kitchen toward the exit, pausing briefly by Pieran.  "Its good to see you're feeling better." she said softly, again mustering that small smile before ducking out of the kitchen and heading to the media room to eat her breakfast.

Raven smiled at Pieran. "It’s nice to see you up and about, Pieran. How are you feeling?"

Iain considered for an instant following Alex, but the image of her dead body in his arms stopped him.

"Praise the Lord..." He smiled, then, looking pointedly at Raven and Iona, he added: "But let's not forget the ladies."

He knew the two of them had been working on a cure for Erynies' poison/curse/whatever: apparently all that effort had finally paid off.

"It's good to have you back, Pieran. Now, if you could manage to stay away from vengeful spirits, just for a little while... Everyone in this room would really appreciate it."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Thu 02 Feb 2006.

“Damn, there goes my bid for a seat on the Senate.  Thanks, Iain.”

He noted the passage through which Alexis had made her exit but thought better of saying anything.  He'd catch up with her later.  His attention then turned to Raven.  “Worlds better than I was two days ago,” he replied, “and not quite as great as I will be tomorrow.”  He shot her a mischievous wink but then his tone turned abruptly meaningful.  “I won’t forget all that you did.”  He saluted her with his characteristic salaam.

"A salute to you also, Mr. Hope. Your tireless efforts champion you.  You have my thanks with devotion and all that I can give.  Mòran taing," he closed, his head nodded humbly, a salaam from his hand.  It was clear that he gave his thanks like a prayer.

"Now, may I help Iona in the kitchen?  Otherwise, there's a place on the grounds I want to visit."

Iona was about to comment, but was saved by the timely arrival of Raven and Iain.



“Well, I have a lot of things already to go, but I could use some help with the pies later. Thanks. Oh, and after I get the Bird stuffed, I would like a hand getting him into the oven. 26 pound turkey’s are heavy! Maybe I can rope one of these big strong men into that…” She tilted her head and batted her eyes in an obvious flirt as Johnny joined the group.

When Pieran entered, her eyes flashed brightly. “Pieran, you look so much better.”



“No, no. I have things well under control. You just enjoy this day of Thanksgiving. Just don’t be late for dinner.” A thought seemed to cross her mind. Iona turned toward Raven.

“Raven, you must invite Marco to join us. There will be more then enough food for all. He could watch some football with the guys in the media room. American football that is. I will have a relish tray ready right after the parades and before the game. Maybe Dren would share some of his Guinness beer with him. It has got to be better then sitting in that hotel room all day.” It was clear that she liked to play matchmaker, even if this was not quite the match she had worked on before.

Without further need for a prompt he took his leave to the outdoors, heedless of the autumn chill, pausing as he exited just long enough to place his hand softly upon Raven's shoulder, punctuated with a gentle, warm smile.

Sat in the media room, munching half-heartedly on an apple, Alex idly looked out of the window when she heard the door shut.  Outside she could see the retreating form of Pieran, walking toward some unknown destination.  The apple promptly lost what little flavour it had possessed as she stared at his back, trying to decide what to do.  She needed to talk to someone or she was going to go mad trying to work it out on her own - Sarah's midnight visitations had convinced her of that much.  Pieran had been one of the few people she had seriously considered confiding in, and here the opportunity was presenting itself.

Jumping up from the couch, she too left the mansion, though the autumn chill was positively balmy compared to what she was used to back in England.  Jogging up behind Pieran, she easily fell into step with him, her slender hands playing with one another in an unusual display of nerves.

"Pieran...  Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked hesitantly, with a backward glance toward the mansion to check they didn't have company.

Her accompaniment was unexpected but fully welcome and it shone in his face.  “My heart is yours as long as you wish, m’lady,” he replied.  His voice was soft and deferential, with that peculiar accent of Spanish and English.  He’d been bearing on pain so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.  “I was just going to the stables.”  Her wringing hands and telling glance toward the mansion did not escape his notice.  “But if you prefer a finer scent, the chapel is before us.  Or perhaps we shall just walk?  I surrender the moment to you.  Fair thee,” he finished, a comely smile upon his lips, his hand gesturing upon the path(s) before them.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Iona. I’ll give him a call in a little bit. Thank you.”

Raven looked over the array of food and cooking paraphernalia. She wondered if Iona turned down the offers of help because she truly didn’t need it, because she took great joy in doing the cooking herself, or because she couldn’t stand anyone messing up her carefully arranged order and placement of things. The scientist was definitely the exception to the rule that 'messy cooks make the best cooks'. “At least let me help with the clean-up.” Raven started to gather the things that Iona was obviously finished with, taking great care to not interfere with the preparations of their resident Julia Child.

After having spent a while in the kitchen downing a quick and simple breakfast and passively observing everything which was going on around him, Johnny silently put his used plate where it belonged like a cat through a dogs' pen.

"You seem to be very well atop of things, Iona. I'll make sure there are plenty of, ah, shall we say, beverage, in the fridge, and see if there's enough chips around to get everyone through the game. But if I know a certain someone right, nobody's found room for anything but Guiness in there." He looked around himself for a moment, tongue playing across his upper lip as searched for the words.

"Anyway, I'll make sure the media room is in presentable shape for our special guest, I might head out to reinforce our stocks of liquid stupifier, so seize hold of me if there's anything you need."

"I don't mind.  Wherever." Alex replied, just content to be out of anyone else's earshot.  Their feet crunched along the gravel path for a few steps further until she spoke again.  "I, uh..." now she floundered for words, having planned to have this conversation for some time, but never really taking the time to think about how to actually start it.

"You...  You have those extra," what?  Voices?  That made it sound like she was saying he was crazy.  Souls?  Why was everything these days about souls?  If one made a difference, if too many was a problem...  Why couldn't things be simpler?   Realising that she had fallen into silence and that Pieran was waiting patiently for her to continue, she finished her sentence.  "Souls.  Right?"

Without waiting for confirmation she ploughed ahead, not wanting to loose what little courage she had summoned in order to talk about this.  "Do they just talk to you?  Or...  Can they do more?"

Hmm.  Well, at least it wasn’t a complex question like, ‘How do you make a paper kite?’  Still it was a powder keg question –loaded and incendiary.  Pieran liked those kinds of questions and he took some time before answering, allowing their walk around the grounds to drift wherever spirit guided them, to say nothing of carrying them farther from the mansion that so seemed to unsettle Alexis' nerve.

“I went to a bar one day," Pieran said at last.  His voice was soft and mild, an intimate conversation that would not disquiet the trees and gardens. "A man beside me started talking but he really didn't say anything at all.  I needed him to be quiet because I was stalking prey at the time.  In the end I missed the kill thanks to his incessant babbling.”

He paused to help set the stage.

“Alex, to me, the soul is conscience, a creature of perpetual evolution.  The medium through which Soul evolves is consciousness, which is thought, memory, knowledge.  In short: experience, time, the past.  The medium generally perishes at some point and so the Soul must seek a renewed medium through which to resume its evolution.  Some of its past lingers, like a dog that has run through mud –when it’s time to return home he carries some mud back to his master.  It is a measure of Soul’s evolution; it’s learnings.

“For example, when a child learns something he graduates to something higher.  In the same way, as Soul evolves, it changes the consciousness it works with so that it does not need to return to the basics; it evolves beyond its current understanding.  That’s the whole point!

“And so, in a sense, Soul informs consciousness.  And then consciousness, guided by this spiritual compass, moves in the direction that best offers what Soul is seeking.  Well, sometimes.  I'm being deliberately simplistic, of course, but we're only just 'opening the book,' so to speak."

He paused, picked up a fallen leaf and looked at it, turning it round by its stem.  It was bright with the colors of autumn -gold, green, red and orange.  It smelled like fall and felt of both leather and paper.  He handed it to her so she could play with it also, bidding her to smell it, and to feel it tickle across her lips.

“Anyway, there resides within the consciousness of Pieran Swift, no fewer than a dozen Souls each with varying degrees of evolution.  Like skillful artists they are sharing a single palate dotted with colors and opportunity."  He nodded toward the leaf in her hand as they walked on, hoping she'd connect the dots.  "They ‘talk’ to me, commune with me, paint their portraits through me if you will, and I try and follow their guidance.  My behavior, my language, mannerisms, and ultimately my moral choices are their brush strokes upon the canvas of this body.  Can they do ‘more’ for me?  What more should they do?  If you heed the counsel of a wise Soul then nothing else need be done.  If you do not then no more can be done.  In other words, Alex, the ‘more’ is in your hands, not theirs.”  He smiled, eyeing her briefly, letting his point strike home.  "You, this body-mind willful consciousness with its attending four-layer bio-body suit is the Soul’s chief effective force in the world and if we do not allow Soul to use it rightly, really it is like the jabbering of that imbecile at the bar, telling a tale of sound and fury, signifying nothing; spoiling everything.”

That was a lot to digest so he paused briefly, returning with a more cautionary voice.  “In my case, the original tenant of this consciousness is the man in charge of the house.  But when forced by extremis, or incapacitated under certain remarkable conditions, my more dominate Souls take charge.  In other words, this ship is never without a man –or woman- behind the helm.  If the captain is unable to command the ship, the first mate takes over.  Believe me I know what I’m saying.

“So while there are some ‘perks’ to possessing a surfeit of Conscience, there is also a terrible price to pay…which is why I think the Powers that Be sometimes do us a favor by not giving us too much.

“Now then,” he concluded, his voice still more grave, “you must tell me why you are asking this question.”

Spinning the leaf by its stem between her forefinger and thumb, Alex stared at it as they continued to walk, letting Pieran's words sink in.

"Because I thought I was sailing solo, but it seems I might have a mutinous first mate?" she finally said, trying to appear light-hearted and failing miserably as her voice betrayed her.

Looking away and across the grounds, she figured that a more detailed explanation was in order.  With a heavy sigh, she began.  "A little while before we all got dragged here, I had a run-in with a demon.  I don't want to go into the gory details, but its enough to say that it died and its blood got mixed with mine.  Since then... she shrugged, again not wanting to entirely elaborate on the matter.  "Strange stuff started happening to me - like the telekinesis."  There was an obvious air of distaste as she spoke the last word, as though she found the very idea of it unpleasant.

"I thought, well, I hoped that was the end of it.  I mean, I couldn't find anything that hinted it would get any worse and things seemed to have plateaued out.  But last month, at the arch..." she shook her head.  "There was another one of those demons there and it could feel the one that I had fought - Kaphious, it called it."  Alex abruptly stopped talking, telling herself that the burning sensation running along the scars on her back was purely psychosomatic.  Frowning, she carried on.  "Who am I kidding.  It called me Kaphious.  It said that we were merged or something, tried to get Kaphious help him and it nearly did.  I nearly did.  But it wasn't me.  At least, I don't think so..." she trailed off.  There was something in Alex's eyes that said she wasn't really sure of this at all and with a final glance at the leaf in her hand, she let it flutter to the ground while she waited to hear what Pieran would have to say.

Pieran stood in his tracks, a grimace frozen on his face.  Unconsciously he rubbed the shoulder wound which was only just starting to heal normally.  He was crestfallen and sad.

“I understand, now.”  He paused again, weighing her story.  “But yours is a color of a different horse,” he said at last.  “You asked if my Souls can do more for me than just ‘talk.’  If they could I think I would have seen something by now.”  He felt awkward.  Still, he felt right about the 'more' being in his hands, not theirs.  He needed an illustration.

“You’ve heard me sing. I’m not a singer and you’ve been very kind not to tell me so,” he chuckled.  “I have no training in it.  The joy of song –the beauty, the delight: those belong to the Soul.  The notes, pitch and tone of song: they belong to the vocal chords.  I sing because it is an impulse of Soul to sing, not because I imagine myself having any talent in it.  That is the way it is for most of what I do; why I carry a bow or swing both European and Asian steel.”

He continued the pace of their walk, rallying now from her confession, and wishing to come to her aid.

“So my condition (if I can borrow that word) is spiritual.  But what you’re describing is mechanical.  It reminds me of a blood borne viral infection.  I don’t know much about that, Alex, I wish I did.”

He was quiet again as they walked together, two friends on a path.  He was moved –too moved to tell her how her confession had effected him, and at how honored he was that she chose to speak with him about it.  And then a new idea came to mind.  “Some say changes in our DNA may result from viruses.  Radiation is also blamed for changes in DNA and cellular behavior.  We hear about that all the time.  So it isn’t hard to suppose that you may inherit peculiar qualities as a result of exposure to the toxins of demonic blood.  But that is NOT the same thing as saying that you are necessarily becoming a demon; that its blood is some kind of diabolic viral mutagen hell-bent on replicating itself through you.

“Nor do I believe that you are possessed, if that’s any comfort.  Nor finally do I believe that Kaphious dwells within you –your ‘mutinous first mate.’  That his blood mingled with yours is known; my guess is your last foe smelled or sensed that blood within you.  He concluded that an ally of his was present and so, called you Kaphious by name.

“As for feeling like he was speaking directly to you, or for feeling an urge to ‘nearly help,’ as you put it, I understand that to some degree.  That’s why I mentioned song a moment ago; I am availed by the impulse to sing…and so I sing, even if I really shouldn’t try!  But talent or not, I know the joy of it.  And that is why I do it and why it is a reward to Soul.”

He paused and smiled as something came into memory.  “Iron filings!  Left alone they appear as a pile, or scattered about a sheet of paper.  (I played with them when I was a kid.)  But in the presence of a magnet they come to attention and can be directed, pushed, pulled, shaped, anything.  The enemy’s call upon the blood of Kaphious reminds me of the call of a magnetic field upon shavings of iron.  And in that same psycho-telekinetic way, you could have been directed, pushed, pulled, whatever…rather not unlike an hypnotic suggestion making you bark like a dog, when every sane man knows you are in truth nothing like a dog.

“The important thing to remember is that it isn’t Kaphious.  You are no more a demon than I am a wizard and I have a wizard’s soul!   But I can’t even pull a rabbit out of my hat.  (Don’t think I haven’t tried.)

“We’re alike; both vulnerable in some ways.  If I don’t puff the magic dragon twice each day I relapse into a pain that I cannot survive a second time.  I am like a diabetic dependent upon his insulin; if misfortune or enemies deprive me of my medicine I am in a world of some very serious suffering.

“You are vulnerable to the vicissitudes of hell’s blood.  You display psychokinesis.  All right, consider it a gift, like a guitar at Christmas.  Not fun at first.  But if you learn to make music from it, you could become a rock star.    But you shall not lose your Soul by that!   I swear it.  And that is all the difference in the world between you and a demon."  He smiled reassuringly.  “Now, tell me how I can help you.”

"I think you already have." she replied, and it wasn't a lie.  Pieran thought she was still plain old Alex, Slayer-That-Never-Was, and oddly enough that gave her hope, something she hadn't really expected to take away from this conversation.

His simple metaphor had been almost perfect in describing how she had felt that night, when the demon had tried to command Kaphious and bring what little telekinesis she had to bear; iron filings trying to respond to a magnetic field.  After all, surely she would have noticed or felt something by now, if there was more to it?  And if there was more to it, maybe she was better off trying to learn how to control her 'gift', as Pieran had put it, rather than doing her best to ignore it.

She shook her head and sighed again.  "This wasn't a part of my plan.  I'm not sure what my plan was, but I do know it didn't involve nearly dying several times, getting weird demon blood infections, being sucked into another dimension and - " having fuzzy feelings for a vampire?  Alex caught herself before she finished the sentence, wincing at the fact she had nearly blurted it out and feeling the colour creeping onto her cheeks at the thought of it.  She debated bringing that up as well, since Pieran had been helpful with the other major issue that had been plaguing her mind, but it didn't feel the same.  After all, demons and their associated side-effeects were easy; there was always some way to deal with them, however obscure it might be.  People...  Well, you could do everything right and still be wrong.  And that was if they stuck around long enough for it to be an problem.

"Can I ask you something else?"  She brought her hand up to her chest and tapped twice with her forefingers where a pendant would be resting, if she had been wearing a necklace.  "Who'd that belong to?" she asked, eying the cross around his neck.

Pieran startled at her question and he clutched the slender jewelry reflexively, almost protectively.  It lay in his open palm while the lyrics from that night echoed in his memory…

‘Oops! I did it again / I played with your heart / Got lost in the game.
Oh baby, baby / You think I’m in love / That I’m sent from above.
I’m not that innocent!’

He coughed lightly to regain himself.  “It belonged to…..a client.”  He shuffled his feet nervously.  “A girl interrupted,” he said from a faraway voice.  “Innocence lost.  She gave this to me as part of a promise I made to save her life from a monster.  It’s a long story.  It used to have a gem in the center; look see?  About ten years ago they re-cut the Hope diamond.  The chips went into some select jewelry; this is one of them.  I lost it along the way; probably damaged in a fight, somewhere.

“Anyway, I decided that what she asked me to do was too costly so I took a different path.  I did the right thing.

"But she died.  Then the monster that killed her took his own life.  In the end it would have cost less to do what she asked; the monster would still be dead, she would still be alive and maybe, just maybe…happy.  Like one of my Souls I carry this cross to remember her and to remind me that sometimes, even when you do all the right things, you still end up making a mistake.”

He sighed.  “This symbol means many things to many people.  To me it means humility and the truth that even gods may fall; it means sorrow, loss, and those two words more spoken in all the world –yes, even more than I love you:  ‘If only.’”

“I’m just a man, Alexis, an all too human man, with his qualities and his failings, doing only the best he can.  But you didn’t follow me out here to ask about my past.  My door is always unlocked; I’d like to hear more about your story, and about your past with this situation.  I also hear tell that you were a blitzkrieg in your last battle.  I’d love to have seen it.  Second to none!”  He smiled bright.  “Take my arm if you will, and keep my escort.  What more shall we talk about?”

Alex hesitated a moment, then looped her arm around Pieran's with a faint, but genuine, smile.  "A blitzkrieg?  I think plain old 'mightily pissed off' is closer to the truth.  There should be some sort of memo sent out: note to demonkind - conjuring up images of Alexis Taylor's dead friends appears to be counterproductive."  The smile faded from her face as she spoke, for try as she might, Alex could not yet understand why everything had gone the way it had.  The last time she had faced the same kind of demon, every one of her friends had died and she had nearly joined them.  This time, they had come home whole and intact, with a few cuts and bruises to show for their trouble.  If she could fight like a dervish when she was taunted with images of her departed friends, why didn't she fight like that when they were right by her side?  Maybe that's exactly what Pieran had been talking about; despite doing everything that she could, doing everything right, that fight had been destined to go terribly wrong.  It wasn't hugely comforting, but at least it was something.

Listening to the repetitive sound of their feat striking the ground, Alex realised that they had once again fallen into silence.  It was an odd sensation, because even on noticing it, she didn't feel uncomfortable.  It left her some time to decide what she really wanted to talk about next, rather than blurting out the first thing that came into her head, just to fill the void.

"You know, I was eighteen when I discovered the big wide world.  And it was a lot to take in after what I'd been used to.  I didn't cope very well.  I don't remember most of it, due to the vast amount of alcohol and er...  other substances I consumed.  Well, that and the burning shame that makes me suppress anything I can remember."  She smiled awkwardly as another blush took hold of her cheeks, showing she really wasn't joking about being ashamed of that particular part of her past.

"There were men.  Far too many of them, actually.  But nothing that ever lasted longer than a night."  Alex frowned, paused and cleared her throat as her embarrassment reached new highs.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that most twelve-year-olds have had a more meaningful relationship with the opposite sex than I have.  Romance is always something that seemed like a nice idea, but I always figured it was something I could never have.  And...  Well, there's a chance of it now and I'm scared silly on so many levels its just not funny."

He listened, smiling all the while.  He recognized the voice.   Her Soul was talking, filtered by the fog of thought.

“I wasn’t born as I am now,” he said after a pregnant silence.  “I had my metanoia when I was twelve.  Talk about a lot to take in and not coping well!  In a metaphorical sense I died and was reborn.  That’s another story.  But I understand your view.  I suppose that’s not hard to imagine.  I haven’t had a romance….ever!  Too young before twelve; too old, after.  Oh plenty of crushes, sure, and a few one-to-three-night stands which shamefully served more for interrogation than lovemaking.  Today, my mistresses are the horses, the rising sun, the forest, the seas and seasons, the noiseless flight of an owl, a dray of squirrels, a skulk of foxes, and the way a leaf in her time dances silently to the earth."

His eyes roamed the woods and he inhaled deeply the cool air.  He fell silent again, allowing the soft breezes to tickle the flaming leaves and sway their tender branches.  He listened to a song of the earth, hearing its voice, nodding that he would repeat its message, obedient to its call.

“I want to tell you a great truth, Alex."  He pulled her nearer to him and his voice hushed for effect, falling like an archer's swift arrows into the heart of a lie.  "There’s a rumor which says that we are afraid of the unknown.  I want to tell you it is impossible.  We are not afraid of the unknown, we are afraid of the known coming to an end.  The known, as we were saying before, is the past, the familiar, the comfortable –experience, time, memory.  And when the known ceases we say we are gazing upon the face of the unknown and feel ‘scared silly on so many levels it’s just not funny.’  Then we make matters worst by thinking, ‘What if this or, what if that; supposing this, supposing that!?  My God, what will I do?’

“But theories, suppositions, thoughts; they are rooted in time, derived from memory and experience –the known.  And so it is the known that breeds fear, not the unknown.  Romance, like demon slaying, requires courage –the courage to abandon the comfortable known and to live in the mystery…to float in that terrible but forgiving place of forgetting; to cut your ties from the world and sail off into the unknown, into uncharted seas.  If you can’t do that, and many seem unable, then often love between you and he becomes a battleground; two ignorant blind armies clashing by night.

“It isn’t true that romance is something you were never supposed to have.  It is your birthright!  Seize it.  If you can do that, you’ll find romance everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the woodlands around them.  “You’ll be laying in its lap.  You'll be in it; part of it.  Romance in this fullest, true sense is every Soul’s quest.  It is part of the journey, part of the reason the Soul entered into the world.  But that’s a sermon for another day.

“Have you noticed how gentlemanly I am not to ask you with whom you have this fresh chance of love?”  He smiled to her the devil’s own grin.  “Not that I don’t already know,” he added.  “I mean, it’s fairly obvious it’s me!”  His smile became impossibly more devilish.   “Are you ticklish, at all?”  For an answer he tried poking her ribs between his thumb and forefinger.

"Not there..."  she answered with a sly smile, batting Pieran's hand away playfully.  "And of course its you!  But since I couldn't possibly compete with your other mistresses - the horses, the rising sun, and all the rest, I'll have to abandon that pipe dream and settle for someone actually attainable."

Alex brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, still easily smiling.  Suddenly she felt very silly for stewing on her problems for as long as she had, instead of talking it out with someone.  Whether her spirits would remain as high as they were once she was given the chance to mull over it again on her own was a different matter, but there was no denying the fact that this conversation had done her the world of good.

"Its..."  She shrugged, not usually so reckless with confessions of her feelings, but she figured that since she was in for a penny, she may as well go in for the whole pound as well.  "Well, its Iain."

There, she had said it.  Out loud, and to a person, no less.  At the same time, she felt suddenly liberated and terrified in the same heartbeat.  Now it had been spoken, it was like it was set in stone; there was no pretending she hadn't thought it, or that it was just the product of an increasingly weird set of dreams.  Nope, now it was real and she couldn't take it back.  Dammit.

"So, um, yeah.  I seem to be developing a bit of a thing for him."  She was blushing, again.  "I'm just struggling with the whole vampire bit."

Ouch.  “I imagine he is, too,” Pieran said, none too ironic.  Ouch.

“Well,” he said, after another infamously long silence, “you’re not asking me for advice and I wouldn’t give it if you did.  It’s your journey, after all and I can’t presume to know anything about…that,” he said, referring to her revelation -God love her for it.  Ouch.  (‘Where are you?’)

‘You’re on your own now, kid.’

Same old story.  He breathed wearily.  “The two things I’d be concerned with are power and that tattoo he wears.  From what I’ve learned the tattoo is what makes Iain more or less human.  If it should be marred or altered, it could make all the difference in the world, like the letter P changing into an R by the mere inclusion of a tiny little line.  These symbols make all the difference between events such as Peace and Riot.

“Then there’s that whole power thing.  Iain’s got it," Pieran sighed.  "The poor man.”  He sadly shook his head.

Pieran paused again, studying the light filtering through the trees, turning the world into mist and flame and earth.  Abruptly he offered the light a salaam and a gracious nod from his head.

“It isn’t true that power corrupts, only that power is corruptible; the corrupt -those who crave power- are the ones who corrupt it.  That’s the real story behind King Midas.”

He turned to face her, placing both of his hands upon her shoulders where he massaged gently, lovingly.  He looked in her eyes and his voice took on a caste of depth, as though he were reciting verbatim what his mistress had just told him.  “The sane are never tempted, Alex.  It is only the unbalanced who are tempted, who need discipline and restraint.  You see, the pure of heart have no need for power because they already have absolute power –a pure heart.  Only a rare few men are like that and I must confess that I am not among them.  So I know of where I speak.  Iain is not among them, either.  His tat tells me so.  It’s a mechanism, a crutch, and if it should be kicked out from under him, he will fall.”

He released her, smiled compassionately and taking her beside him, draped his arm about her as they continued to walk.

“The fastest way to attain power is to refuse it.  Learning that is Iain’s path and he may have to walk it for unknown ages.  If you are to love him you must help him stay on that path, for his good and yours for as long as you are able.  I do not have women fight my battles for me.  But I am thrice blessed when they fight my battles alongside of me!  That is what you will have to do with Iain, maybe even while your own battles are raging within…and out with.”

He released her once again and faced her, looking deep within her eyes.  “Can you do that?”

The light filtered from the window, illuminating Iain's desk. In the past few days he had spent some time redecorating the room once again, this time in black, to go with his recent mood, and was now working on one of his drawings.

Unsurprisingly, the subject was Alex. However, the context wasn't as obvious: she was fighting a group of vampires, wielding a two-handed sword, and was just in the process of decapitating one.

Even though Iain hadn't planned it, all the vampires had very similar features, and they all looked a lot like the vampire priest, the guy Iain had begun calling Father Peter - though only in in his head, as he hadn't told anybody about him.

Since the night he'd dreamed about Father Peter, Iain had lost his breathing reflex, and quite possibly his mind: the vampire priest's words kept surfacing to his memory, and so did the image of Alex dead in his arms, killed by the demon inside his body.

And I thought photographic memory was a blessing...

He dropped the pencil and stretched his arms.

Looking at his watch, he was startled to realize that noon had come and gone by a couple of hours.

He showered quickly, grabbed a black silk shirt from his drawer and went looking for matching pants, when he heard the door opening.

Except, when he turned around, the door was closed.

The dancing turkeys and marching bands of the morning parades gave way to the pre game show. Iona made good on her word and in a flurry of flashing steel, a veggie tray soon graced the Media room. It was garnished with a “turkey” centerpiece made of a squash, carrot bits for a neck, sliced radish to simulate wings and parsley for the tail. Two bowls of chips stood ready for dunking into the ranch, onion, and chili cheese dips.

Dren had settled himself into one of the big easy chairs, next to the portable cooler. Several beers were kept cold with ice, in easy reach of the Irishman. Soon the game would be on.

Dren double checked the mental checklist that only yeas of honing, trial, error and experience could forge. ”Oh.” getting up, drink still in hand, Dren crossed to the mini-bar and grabbed a short stack of coasters. Sitting back down he placed his drink on the entire stack for now and picked up the remote to find the predetermined station. As he thumb triggered the –power- he called out ”Pigeon! Th’ games’ ‘bout t’start!” he figured she’d be within earshot, probably on her way or in the next room grabbing last minute essentials. But time was of the essence and his heart was racing like a cheetah on the move with eyes glued on it’s prey… the prey in this case was the HD-TV.

Raven entered the media room dressed in a black skirt and a cardinal red blouse decorated with gold leaves. She may not have any of her USC memorabilia in this dimension but, she could still support her alma mater by wearing the school colors. “It’s a rivalry that dates back to the mid 1920’s,” she said to Marco, who followed her in. “The battle between the Trojans and the Fighting Irish. They play every Thanksgiving and whoever wins gains possession of The Jeweled Shillelagh for one year. And lately, that Gaelic war club has been feeling more at home in sunny California.” Raven and Marco sat down on the couch opposite the big TV. “We’ve managed to beat Notre Dame by at least 31 points for the past two years straight.”

Marco nodded to Dren as he entered the room. "Mr. Telarwin, it is good to see you again. Thank you for letting me join your holiday celebration." He sat down next to Raven on the couch. "You'll have to forgive me, my knowledge of American football is minimal but, I do enjoy a good sports competition. So, the Trojans are the defending champs?"

Dren smiled and nodded to Marco lifting his drink in a friendly salute _{”Dinna ‘ave choice…”} and then taking a drink from the beverage before returning his focus to the game.


”Yeah… inna word, ‘She’s winnin’.” Dren said gesturing to his partner in crime, in every real sense of the word in fact.

“Well, to be fair, there are a lot more shamrocks on the trophy then there are Trojans.” Raven took note of Marco’s puzzled expression. “Every time USC wins, they add a ruby-adorned Trojan head to the shillelagh with the year and final score of the game. When Notre Dame wins, they add emerald-studded shamrocks with the same information. For tie games they use a medallion combining both a Trojan and a shamrock. I think there are 42 shamrocks and just under 30 Trojan heads on the current shillelagh, plus 5 combined medallions. So, depending on how you look at it, he could be winning.” Raven shot Dren a quick smile.  “But we’re catching up.”

Dren shot back with "Were jus' inna slump!"

"It sounds like you are getting into all the confusingly boring details already?" Johnny commented, throwing Marco an understanding smile. "I just caught the last bit, and didn't understand a word of it. My theory's football's just rampant violence camoflagued as sports. Glad you could join us, Marco."

Pieran stood sliently, watching the television and listening to the range of sentiments passing between Dren, Raven, Johnny, and Marco.  He smiled warmly at the latter, nodding with clear intent that he should feel welcome.

Sampling the opening tease of Iona's kitchen work, he stole a last glance at tube.  "Enjoy your game," he said in general.  "I've been cooped up like a sick hen for too long; think i'll keep on the go for now. Ma'a sa-leh-ma," he said, and with a salute made good on his exit to deeper parts within the house.

"Bless y'u." Dren said while so focused on the TV it would be hard to tell if he was being his, not un-characteristicly mean self, or was smiply to distracted to know what Pieran was trying to say.

Alex smiled at Pieran as she passed him on her way to the media room; she was intending on watching the match to see what the fuss was all about, rather than any actual interest in the the sport itself.  Like a good deal of her countrymen, Alex operated under the belief that American football was some alternate version of rugby, albeit with more padding.

Waving a greeting at Marco, she took a seat and reclined in the cushions, securing herself a small supply of nibbles to eat during the game.

"Thank you Mr. Hope. It's nice of all of you to let me join you. As for those confusing details, I confess that I'm worried I'll embarrass myself by cheering at the wrong moment," Marco said with a smile.

Nodding to Alex as she entered the room he said, "Ms. Taylor, so good to see you again."

Alex looked over at Marco with a tiny, crooked smile.  "Please, call me Alex, there's no need for formality.  How've you been?"

Marco smiled warmly. “Alex it is, then. I have been fine. Busy; this current tour has me going from venue to venue all over town.” Marco’s voice was rich and full. He spoke with a Spanish accent, not thick, exotic would be a better term.

“But I still manage to find some free time for more pleasurable pursuits.” he said as he smiled and squeezed Raven’s hand gently.

Dren's mind blazed with fire and it took all amounts of restraint on his part to stay in his seat and drink his beer. "Ya ever play Six Feet Under?"

"Hey, everyone. Someone looking for me? I thought I heard my name..." Dressed in his usual dark attire, Iain joined the others with a half-smile on his face. "Mr. Pelayo... Nice to see you again."

Taking the closest free seat, he brought his attention to the TV.

Marco nodded at Iain as he entered. "Please, call me Marco. Alex is right, there's no need to be formal." He sent another smile in Alex's direction.



Marco winced as if he'd just bitten into something with a foul taste. "No, I haven't. They don't really cater to my style of music." The warmth was gone from his voice. "Rather unpleasant place, if you ask me. It seems to attract the worst sort."

Dren looked taken back a bit, but shrugged ”Well, I ‘ave a friend who frequents th’place. Knows th’manager an’ all, I could put inna good word fer ya. Personally I think a nice Thrusday, when they’er normally dead, especially early afternoon… Might b'good.” as if the thought just hit Dren snapped ”That’s actually a pretty good idea! I can talk t’m’friend if y’d like. We could make it like a business promo… Sponsors an’ all. Johnny, if w’bought some o'Marco’s music t'give as door prizes that’s a business expense – tax deductible, right?”

Johnny met the Irish' glance, more than the slightest bit uncomfortable, desperately trying to figure out exactly what kind of mischief he was up to. Though it felt like picking up a viper, he carefully replied: "Law's not quite my field of expertise, but that sounds about right. Wha'd'ya say, Marco?"

Fasten your seatbelts. Emergency exits on the right.

Marco smiled stiffly. "Thank you kindly, gentlemen, but that really won't be necessary. I have no interest in performing at such an establishment and, I'm certain that Six Feet Under doesn't want me there." He stood up. "I'll fetch everyone some refills on their drinks, if you'll excuse me." He walked out of the media room.

“Get him!” Raven yelled at the TV screen. “Crap! It’s like the Trojans are asleep out there!” The Irish had moved the ball 92 yards, the first time they had possession, and scored the first touchdown of the game. “I am so not loosing this bet,” she said to Dren, then she looked around as if noticing something for the first time. “Where did Marco go?”

Iain blinked in surprise: apparently, when Raven was concentrating on something, you could bring down the building around her without getting a hint of attention. "He... Offered to get drinks for everybody. Very nice of him, but I'll better go make sure he doesn't open the small fridge."

Halfway to the door, he turned to Dren and commented: "It's a good thing you like the guy: I'd hate not to be the only dead man at the end of the dinner."

“Well, the Irish do lead th'series an-” Dren glanced back up at the screen “Who's this Palmer kid?”


“He's comming right back.” Dren sat back hoping his luck would hold out, as it was looking he might achive a double victory today “Allright boys, dinna get over confidant now!”


“Dinna worry Iain... I like ya too... really I do.” With that sideways AND twisted remark Dren returned to the game.

Alex had returned Marco's smile, finding him a rather likeable sort and finding herself rather pleased for Raven.  Waving absently at Iain when he entered the room, her conversation with Pieran flashing back into the forefront of her mind and a very faint frown grew as she recalled it, staring unseeing at the game playing out on the television.  She felt strangely relieved when Dren chased Marco from the room, prompting Iain to follow him; now that she was cautiously entertaining the idea, just his presence set her on edge.

Popping another nibble into her mouth, she couldn't help but wonder if Pieran had the right idea by disappearing off elsewhere, although she hoped he would find his way back in time for dinner.  With any luck, Dren and Iain would be on best behaviour both in front of Marco and out of politeness to Iona, but there was the sinking feeling that being in the centre of an active volcano would be a calmer, less stressful situation than the upcoming meal.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:09, Fri 10 Mar 2006.

After the long drive of the Fighting Irish from Notre Dame, the Trojans struck back, but only managed to kick a 39-yard field goal late in the first quarter.  Defense was strong on both sides, but Notre Dame dug deep. Late in the second quarter, they drove 73 yards for a field goal of their own. They ended the half with the Fighting Irish leading 10-3. Things were looking good for Dren to win whatever prize he and Raven had wagered on the game.

The USC Trojan Marching band, in their bright colors of red and gold, trumpeted their own fanfare. The rapid beat of the drums set pace as the drum major, complete with belted sword and classic Trojan helmet, lead them onto the field with a high-stepped march. This was one of the few college halftime shows where most of it was actually televised. It wasn’t until after they had played three songs that the announcers began their recap of the games significant events.

Johnny attempted get Dren under four eyes as best as he could, looking around himself to see if Marco had actually snuck in without him noticing it. "So, have you actually given this any thought or are you just waving red cloth for 'im?" he asked under his breath.

Dren got to his feet and cheered in early celebration, then looking at Raven he smiled ”Ya wouldn’t be happenin’ t’know when th’next Full Moon is, by chance?” pointing at the scored he seemed to explain by adding ”I dinna want to have a hallow victory by drinkin’ coffee fer th'next 4 weeks, ya know.”


Dren patted Johnny on the shoulder, ”I’m a fighter, not a thinker. You play t’yer strengths an’ I’ll play t’mine. Most ya brainy types dinna like things not goin’ accordin’ t’plan. So if I dinna ‘ave a plan, things canna not go accordin’ t’it.” finishing off his Guinness he nodded ”If ya sit there thinkin’ about th’best place t’kick a guy, you’re gonna find a foot inna yer groin.” heading down stairs for a few more cold ones he smiled and added ”Somethin’ m’uncle Mike, used t’say.” before heading into the basement.

“It ain't over ‘till it's over,” Raven called out as she watched Dren leave the media room. Turning to Marco she smiled and said, “Have I mentioned how much I hate to loose.”

He returned her smile. "Yes, I believe you have, just once or twice. So if you win, he has to drink coffee for several weeks?"

“Not exactly. It might be easier if I show you. I’ll be right back.” Raven left the media room and headed up the stairs.

Everyone took advantage of the half-time break to refill drinks and munchies. Iona provided more snacks, with a stern warning to leave plenty of room for dinner.

While he waited for Raven to return, Marco wandered over by Johnny to make small talk. "So, which team are you rooting for?" Before Johnny could answer, Marco's cell phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open to check the caller ID. "I’m sorry, I need to take this." He stepped away as he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"What's wrong?"

"Don’t cry. Everything will be alright. I'll take care of it." The rest of the conversation was too hard to hear as he walked out of earshot.

"Of course." His eyes swept the room quickly, his brows lowering as he slowly sipped a drop of his drink. He then turned and stepped in the direction of the drinks before he apparently reconsidered and instead joined Alex - which, coincidentially, left him closer to Marco.

"Pretend to be talking to me," he nearly commanded her. "I'll throw in the occasional hm and indeed." He turned and nodded towards Marco, stealing a glance and straining his ears to catch the words. "Please don't ask why, because I won't be listening." He discreetly turned his full attention to the conversation he wasn't participating in, hoping Marco would neither notice nor take his call anywhere private. He wouldn't want to appear suspicious...

Alex glanced across at Johnny, lifting her eyebrows in a silent question that apparantly was not going to be answered.  With a half-shrug, she idly began chatting away about the game, asking the odd rhetorical question and occasionally gesturing at the action taking place.

"Hm." He nodded absently. "Indeed."

Johnny and Iain strained to listen in as Marco continued to speak into the phone…

“Podría escucharlo?” He paused for a moment, as if listening to something. “Es la primera vez que pasó?”

“Remember my friends I told you about. I think it’s time that you went to stay with them, just for a little while.” His tone was calm and reassuring as he slipped back and forth between English and Spanish.

“No se preocupe. Maria, it will be alright. Is there anything else you need?”

“Cúanto cuesta?

“A quél hora está la proxima recogida?”

“A qué hora abre el banco?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Sí.”

“No me molesta.”

The rest of Marco’s conversation was brief and primarily in Spanish. He ended the call and made his way to the room’s exit, nearly bumping into Raven as she returned.

She looked at his face for a moment. "Is everything alright?"

He showed her the cell phone in his hand. “Just a business call.” He gave her a reassuring smile as he re-pocketed the phone. “Unfortunately, today is not a holiday in Spain.” After giving her a quick kiss he said, “I’ll be right back,” He pointed in an easterly direction. “The restroom is this way, correct?”

"Yep, down the hall, on the left. Right before the patio."

After Marco left the media room, Raven turned her attention to the rest of the group. "Did I miss the kickoff for the second half?" She carried in her hands what appeared to be a wineskin.

Johnny noted Marco's departure, sensing it was drawing closer - that line's connection to the final dot. What was worse, the feeling it wouldn't be pleasant was keeping it company.

"And I who didn't think you took interest in the game," he remarked to Alexis, a playful smirk revealing itself in a corner of his lips. "Thanks a heap - let me explain everything...later."

Hurriedly, he turned to Raven, pointing at her with his left index as if to direct his full attention. "Second half? Not quite yet, I think - I'm sure we have yet another couple of minutes. We need to talk, now - somewhere private." Though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't quite resist letting all the graveness and urgency shine through in his voice. Maybe even a bit extra.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:38, Mon 27 Mar 2006.

Dren entered the room with 3 beers, only one of which was opened. Seeing Raven and her wineskin he smiled and closed the distance between himself and the pair of Raven and Johnny "Aaah, there be th'blessed beauty." amazingly enough the remark didn't seem directed to Raven more so than what was in her hand, stopping as if he suddenly remebered something he said, almost randomly "Now, what'd be great is if it were a full moon. Then I'd not only win  our bet, but I could drink ta it too!"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:34, Tue 28 Mar 2006.

Raven gave Johnny a puzzled look. Pointing at the TV screen she said, "But the second half is about to start."



"There's a full moon tomorrow night but, I have faith that my team won't let me down and you won't be needing it. I just got it switched back to coffee right before Halloween. I still can't believe I let you talk me into to setting it to water for our trek around Egypt. If you could just learn to appreciate Arabian coffee, it would be so much easier."

"I dinna like coffee 'les it's Irish, b'sides. Havin' it make water would've been perfect 'ad w'not been pulled 'ere th'same day w'left th'city. B'sides, there's no way modern man can produce a' Pale Ale o'that quality... b'live me I've searched!"

A streak of disappointment touched his lips. A thoughtful frown settled for a moment, before he shrugged it off. "Fair enough, let's do the public version instead," he said. "Dren and I've been looking into - heck, spying on - Marco's personal affairs, and for some reason he's hiding something from you." He paused the slightest moment, watching everybody's reactions carefully.

Dren looks from Raven to Johnny, then back to Raven, and back to Johnny before speaking in a hushed voice "I wouldn't call lookin' up a mans driving record, spyin'." to Raven he shrugged "These celebrity types are know for DUIs an' possession o'controled substances." Dren shrugged casually, then shook his head to indicate that Marco came up clean on both accounts.

Raven appeared aghast as she looked at Johnny. "You've been what?"



"Oh, would snooping be a more accurate word?" Raven glared at Dren. "I've let it go when you've done this kind of thing in the past. If you want to go digging into the backgrounds of potential clients, like Prince Abdu, that's one thing. My personal life is off limits."

She walked over to Johnny. "Whatever you think Marco may, or may not be keeping from me, is none of your business." She stepped in close and lowered her voice. "Do you think Marco knows everything about me? Like how we came to be at Cornerstone, and what we actually do here? Perhaps you should warn him about the secrets I'm keeping."

Johnny looked Raven square in the face, if intimidated at least failing to show it. Who would have known such temper could reside within an archeologist? bubbled on the surface of his subconsciousness, humoured, but hid it rather than come off as arrogantly mocking. "I realize I'm balancing on boundaries here, but I reserve the right to -" Johnny paused a slight moment, looking himself back over the shoulder. "- keep the intelligence updated on people who are invited here on a regular basis, because, well, they aren't quite your personal life anymore."

He spent a slight moment wondering whether he would have to listen to Dren rage about his non-nondisclosure before he moved on. "If I reserve you a two-and-a-half hour spot with my eardrums later tonight, there was a second period you so desperately wanted to watch?"

"No one likes a tattle-tale... 'secially an ex-con." Dren's tone seemed more of a warning, than an update as he moved to sit down in the media room again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:23, Tue 04 Apr 2006.

Raven's eyes quickly passed over the others in the room, Alex, Dren, and finally Iain. She spoke softly to keep her voice from carrying beyond this space. "So with a trained demon huntress, a skilled combat artist, and a vampire... you thought the musician might be the most dangerous person in the room?" She turned once more to Johnny. "You may have a point. I had no idea you were taking your role as Cornerstone's Security Chief so seriously. But I don't like how this was done behind my back. You should've talked to me first. I think I’m owed that small amount of courtesy and respect."

She stepped away from the med student. "So I take it this little secret that you think you've uncovered is some sort of potential threat to Cornerstone? Because if it isn't, then I don't want to hear about it from you." She rubbed her forehead, as if she felt a headache coming on. "There are lot of things I haven't told Marco about myself. If this relationship continues to go well, then perhaps I can share those things with him in time. But I want to be able to decide when the time is right. He deserves the same opportunity."

"Eye no one more closely than he who keeps his cards the closest," Johnny quoted, though nodding. "I had hoped to find nothing at all, and that this would never become a thing, or maybe that I could expose his grave In...cu...busish secret. Though he who lies about a dime stops not short of actual crime, he's got my green card, I just felt you should know he's, to be honest, a compulsive liar."

Marco returned to the room and took note of the obvious tension. “Is everything alright?”

"Everything's fine," Raven answered but, her voice betrayed her. She didn't sound fine. "I just need to get some air. It's getting a bit stuffy in here." She walked over and took Marco's hand. "Let's go for a walk."

Marco nodded and escorted Raven out of the room, towards the door that led to the gardens.

As Raven and Marco left Dren turned to Johnny "Not like 'er t'miss out on th'second 'alf? Why'd y'do that?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:24, Tue 04 Apr 2006.

“Second half snackies and nibbles” Iona called out as she burst into the room, tray in hands. An assortment of crackers laid out in the shape of a sailing ship was on one side of the tray. Mushroom caps filled with crab and melted cheese bubbled on a pewter plate, resembled the sea. A port wine cheese log had been shaped into a rough mound, resembling a rock with a crushed nut coating. And finishing up the tray was an assortment of bite sized fresh fruit chunks. She set her representation of the Landing at Plymouth Rock onto the table in front of the screen.

Iona smiled at her handy work and started to gather up the mostly empty first tray when she noted the thickness of the air. She looked around the room quickly with an accusing eye.

“Everybody getting along? Dren… Iain! You two aren't arguing are you? You promised to play nice!”
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:44, Tue 04 Apr 2006.

Deciding that the topic of Marco's record could wait, Iain smiled at Iona and replied: "So far we haven't had any casualties... However, now that out guest is out of earshot: anybody here speaks Spanish? I eavesdropped while he was on the phone, but I have no idea what I've heard, except for a name: Hector."

Alex rubbed her forehead, just above her eyebrows.  "Seriously.  Does anyone actually think that Marco is a demonic, magical or otherwise otherwordly threat to Mankind?" she asked, looking in Dren and Johnny's direction, figuring the two nosing into Marco's background would be the two most capable of answering.

“What!?! Marco is a demonic threat?” Iona looked both confused and wide eyed. “Okay, someone back up and tell me what that means.”

"It means that persons un-named have been sticking their noses into Marco's background, found out he has some secrets and when questioned, avoided answering Raven about whether Marco is a threat to Cornerstone."  Alex kept her gaze perfectly neutral, not looking at anyone person in particular.

"If he's not, I think its high time we all stopping sticking our noses into a grown woman's personal life."

Dren smiled a Alex, yeah she was hot, but that only bought 'tolerance' at this point "Th'day I start takin' advice from a woman. Y'won't be 'er!" holding up a recognizable cellphone to Johnny he added "An' yer 'bout as subtle as a train wreck! Y'got 5 minutes t'get what y'can off tha'. Last 5 er 6 off th'call log should b'nuff. Get it back t'me when yer done." then as if nothing happened he smiled to the rest and said "Now if y'll excuse me, I've got a game t'watch an' a bet t'win!"

Alex stared in disbelief at Dren, almost unable to believe the words that were coming out of the man's mouth.  Almost.

"Of course you don't take advice from women.  If you don't respect Raven's wishes, why the hell would you listen to me?"

Pushing herself off the sofa, Alex made for the door that would take her into the gardens; coming to the conclusion that if this was a typical Thanksgiving, it might be better for everyone if the nation abandoned the holiday.

"My God, did y'see tha'? I think th'room actually brighten'd when she left." Dren said to no one in particular.

Iona looked at Dren in disbelief as well. Her shocked look shifted to an almost evil grin as she imaged him lifted with her mind up out of the lounger and dropped unceremoniously onto his arrogant, sexist, Irish butt! She restrained her impulse.

  “Dren Telarwin! That was cold and mean, even for you! You are not the only tough guy in the room, need I remind you.” Her eyes flashed bright blue. “And what is so special about that phone that you have to be so cruel.?"

Now, Iona on the other hand was a different story... she still had a few brownie points lingers about... for now.

Lowing the beer from his mouth, eyes glues to the TV, Dren explained "Cell phones typically 'old, th'last few numbers y'called as well as th'last few y've recived. S'either we've got a log o' who 'e's been talkin' to, or 'e's a paranoid git who deleted th'las' person 'e talked ta..." jumping out of his char Dren howled at the TV "OH, what the hell was that!?! Y'leave yer brains in th'locker room?" sitting back down he shook his head scolding the TV "'ead back in th'game boys. 'ead back in th'game."

Iain entertained for a second the idea of beating Dren to a pulp, but Smithers would have probably made him pay the carpet cleaning, and bloodstains are so terribly expensive to remove...

"Dren. I think you need to apologize to someone."

Dren thought for a moment and shook his head with a shrug "Dinna know what y'mean." glancing at the vampire then to the rest of the house the returned his gaze to Iain and gestured to the path Alex had taken "Oh, 'er? Jus' bein' 'onest. Y'can't falt me for that... if it makes ya feel any bet'er y'can go an talk ta 'er." as he looked back to the TV Dren repeated the same phrase he'd almost seemed to coin when talking to Iain as of late "Oh wait... ya can't."

“I have to agree with Iain on this one. You have always had your snarky side, but this is not like you.” Iona said to Dren. Her voice was firm, but it had a soft edge to it.

“And I still want someone to tell me what the heck is going on with that Marco – demon comment! I doubt he really is a demon, ‘cause wouldn’t the house alarm go off if he was?  You boys are all spun up like jealous ex-boyfriends.” she shot a quick look toward Dren, then back to Johnny and Iain. “What is all of this really about?” she placed her hands on her hips as if to say she was not leaving till someone explained.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:50, Sun 09 Apr 2006.

Genuinely discomfortable, and for some time uncharacteristically at loss for words and action, Johnny put the strange cellphone down atop of the TV-set, handling it much like he would a poisonous viper. "The only thing I know for sure right now is that somebody is veiling the truth. A quick backgruond research turned up nothing incriminating, and he's got the benifit of doubt as far as I'm concerned." Johnny wrestled his glance away from the cell phone, resisting the urge to give in to Dren's suggestion, surpressing the feeling that something was indeed amiss.

"If anybody knows more than he's telling -" he said, directing his eyes towards Dren, "- he should get it out of his system fast, because Thanksgiving spirit is scheduled in fifteen minutes."

Dren shook his head and rolled out of the chair, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and putting his beer down he snatched up Marco's cell going to the call log explaining "'e's lyin' 'bout 6 Feet Under. Workin' a deal t'recover some property, an' m'friend Gonzo's th'middle man." scrolling through phone numbers Dren quickly punches them in as one long string of characters that he would sort out 10 digits at a time, later "Sounds like someone's puttin' heat t'someone 'e knows. Now, this may make 'im out t'be a 'ero t'some o'you..." backing out of a menue and into made calls Dren continued "But I've 'ad many a conversation m'self 'cuse I've cross'd th'wrong man once or twice... jus' tryin' t'see what company 'e keeps is all." the last part was clearly directed to Iona as Dren glanced from her to the door that Raven and Marco had ducked out of "B'sides th'obvious." as he put away both cell phones he smiled a Johnny "I dinna say 'e was a demon... but neither am I, yet I'm in arms reach o'one on a daily basis. Now, I've said m'peace, s' y'know what I know. But, what's yer angle Johnny? Y'flat out tell Raven we're spyin' on 'er new man, but dinna follow through when she leaves th'room. Most dinna borrow trouble, if they dinna intend t'follow through. What's wit' th'sudden change o'eart?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:02, Mon 10 Apr 2006.

"I said what I did partly because I have some respect, and I didn't feel like chasing ghosts any more." Hearing his own words, Johnny added: "I figure that phrase would have made more sense in more normal company. Mostly, though, I had a tiny inkling something wasn't quite right, and wanted to pass on that suspicion to she who actually has the data to work with." And back to watch.

"Wit' out anythin' solid t'go on... so instead y've not only tipp'd yer 'and but alienated th'one girl y'need t'keep an eye on." Sitting back Dren folded his hands "We're in Africa, it was hot. Th'kind o'heat tha' can boil y'er brain. Raven's carrin' a full backpack, prob'ly weighin' more than you, drippin' wet. We enter a clearin' an' she falls. Knee hit's th'tree trunk tha' tripped 'er. I turn around - dinna bother to 'elp her up, an' I jus' ask 'er Anythin' broken? sh'sucks it up an' stands, blood rollin' down 'er shin, t'prove t'me tha' she dinna need no one lookin' out fer 'er. Tha's th'kind o'woman yer dealin' wit'. Th'kind tha'd be insult'd if y'press'd th'issue tha'she's a woman an' needs a man takin' care o'er. She's tougher than most guys I've met, an' y've just insult'd 'er ability t'take care o'er'self... Hope y'dinna need 'er fer any favors any time soon."

Raven and Marco followed the paved path from the house, past the gardens and towards the swan pond. They walked in silence. Marco could tell something was bothering her, but he knew better than to ask. If Raven wanted to tell him what had upset her, she would when she was ready. He put his arm around her and held her close as they walked.

As they approached the Racquetball and Tennis courts Raven paused. "How about a little game of tennis? Smacking a little ball around might be just the thing I need to take out my frustrations."

"I’ll warn you, I’m a little rusty."

"I promise to go easy on you."

“With your competitive nature, I somehow doubt that. But if it would please you, I shall endeavor to provide you with as much challenge as I can.” He smiled at her.

Raven returned his smile. "Don't worry, with you I'll be gentle." She turned to head towards the indoor Racquetball building to get the tennis gear that was also stored there. "But I make no such promises about the ball. I intend to smack the hell out of it!" She stepped to the front of the building and opened the door. She mumbled quietly to herself, "Maybe I can imagine the ball is Johnny's head." Then in a louder voice she said, "Wait for me by the tennis court, I'll be right there." She walked inside the building.

Marco was going to offer to help her with the gear, and then thought maybe he shouldn’t. Raven didn’t always respond well to offers of help when she was in that kind of mood. He walked over to the outdoor tennis court and waited, grateful for the unseasonably warm and sunny November day.

Unrest.  Pieran’s mind had been flush with it since his chat with Alexis.  He deeply loved the woman, in his unique way, of course, and it was that love set him to meditation.  He’d been in the library for a bit before heading back to the fresh outdoors for sunlight, the smell of moist grass, the look of leaves floating gracefully across the swan pond.  He’d find some answers there.

He never reached the pond.  Marco’s phone call interrupted him.

Pieran didn’t mean to eavesdrop and wouldn’t have had some of Marco’s part in the conversation not been so singularly alarming.  It wasn’t only what he spoke but how he spoke.   The conversation was short, formal if not edgy, and hastily foreboding.  It did not conclude well and Marco sighed wearily as he pocketed his phone, returning to the football game, his game face in place once more.  Now, Pieran had a new dilemma on his hands: to reveal what he learned to Raven or first, to confront Marco.

He wrestled with that problem for only a short while, until he reached a decision.  Next he tried cook up a plan to sequester Marco as innocently as possible.

He never managed it.  The sound of footfalls distracted him.

It was Raven, together with Marco.  Odd that they should be leaving the game so abruptly; judging from her gait Pieran theorized that the Trojans were being trounced.  Raven was many things but not stoic enough to watch a futile and pitiless slaughter.

Unless it was Marco suddenly leaving the house under the guise of a professional excuse, no doubt.  If Pieran was going to have words with the young Spaniard he would have to do it soon.

And so Pieran move after them, delighting as they dodged the driveway and approached the tennis courts instead.  Raven ducked inside the utility building just moments before he arrived.  Anyway, he only needed a moment and wasn’t really going to interrogate the poor man, anyway.  But the iron was hot; it was time to strike.

“Lo siento,” he said, punctuating with a salaam.  “Do you mind if I see to you for just a second?”

Marco smiled at Pieran. “Of course not, my friend. What is on your mind?”

“I must apologize.  I was within earshot of your phone conversation out on the patio a few minutes ago.  I didn’t mean to overhear you and I would have been happy to ignore it.  But....well, truth be told, it didn’t sound very good.  I'm sorry....but I must ask, are you in some kind of trouble?  Can I help you in some way?”

Marco seemed surprised. “You overheard that?” He paused for a moment. “I can imagine how that must’ve sounded to you.” He let out a weary breath. “It is nothing. Or, at least nothing you need to concern yourself with. A friend of mine has run into a rough patch and I’m trying to help them get out of it, that’s all. I appreciate your concern. I just need time to work out a couple of details, and then everything should be fine.”

"I am glad of that," Pieran smiled.  "I pray it is so," he smiled again, placing an affectionate hand upon the other man's shoulder.

But a few things echoed in Pieran’s mind.  ‘A friend of mine has run into a rough patch and I’m trying to help them get out of it.’  A jump from singular to plural.  The cast list was growing over the span of a single sentence!  Coupled with the cast list he heard about on the patio: You, Me, Him, Her, and One Child possibly more, the list came to five so far.  And the name Marco used: Enrique Gonzales.  It was so familiar.  Why did Pieran know it?  He didn’t.  No, he decided, it was just familiar from his life in Miami with its large Spanish population.  There, everyone’s brother was named, Enrique Gonzales or a variation thereof.

“But, are you sure, Marco??  Really sure?  Because ‘harassing women and threatening children’ does not a ‘rough patch’ make, for such is the currency of evil men.

"As you know I lean toward the belief that events unfold largely by design.  While it may be that I accidentally overheard your words back there, I am dubious of the belief that we were 'accidentally' near each other when you spoke them, just as I refute the nearness of our growing friendship as empty happenstance.  There is meaning in today, and purpose.  So if you want to talk about it, even if just to bounce it off a friend, I’m here for you.  You see, there was something more in what you said back there; something that troubles me.  If I could but...”

And then it came to him.  “Wait!" he said, with abrupt alarm.  “This man: Enrique Gonzales:  Does he work at or hang around a place called, ‘Six Feet Under?’”

Marco nodded. “On that we agree.” Marco’s tone held just a hint of anger, but the emotion was obviously not directed at Pieran.



“I didn’t want to burden anyone with my difficulties, especially you while you’re still recovering. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything more to be done than I’m already doing.”



Marco abruptly turned to face Pieran. “You know this man?”

"Then it is him," Pieran replied.  He sighed and for an instant, his shoulder twinged a little, like it was sending him a message.  "No, I do not have...the pleasure of knowing him," he said with withering disdain.  "But I know and can vouch for some people who do.

Oh Marco," he shook his head sadly.  "Life really does unfold by conspiracy."  He eyed the young artist directly, his face lit with earnest compassion.  "We must talk.  You're in more trouble than you know."

Alex really had quite good hearing, and Dren had made no attempt to keep his comment quiet as she had left.  So maybe the door had been shut with a touch more force than was necessary, the doorframe shaking slighty as she strode out into the garden.

She jammed her hands deep inside her pockets, letting her feet take her where they willed and paying scant attention to the scenery.  She was annoyed - angry, even - in part by Dren's general...  Well, existance seemed to be the right word at the moment, but more so by the way he seemed to regard spying on his friend's personal life as perfectly acceptable.  Johnny's apparantly willing help in the matter wasn't sitting too well with her, either.  She had realised that many of them had lost a lot when they had been brought to Cornerstone; but until now she hadn't thought that their right to privacy had been numbered among those things.

She really wasn't looking forward to dinner.

Voices from up ahead intruded into her internal grumbling; Pieran and Marco, from the sounds of it.  Perhaps it was the fact that Marco had a singer's voice that meant that everyone and his uncle had heard the telephone conversation; but it sounded as if Pieran had actually understood it.  Understood it, and confronted Marco about it.

Then a name that made her skin crawl was mentioned, in conjunction with said person's little rat hole.  Poor Marco.  Alex wondered what on earth he was doing with the Muppet Man, and if he really had any idea what he was getting himself in to.

"Being one of those unfortunates who have made his acquaintance, maybe I can help." she said, strolling up to the pair with a shrug.

Pieran smiled a becoming smile as Alexis approached and....good Lord, was he blushing?  "Marco," he said quickly, hoping to mask what he felt sure must have been embarassingly obvious, "you've met Alexis.  I have few friends as true as the friend I have in her."  He smiled again and it was better the second time.  "She is one of those I can vouch for.  In fact, I think she is still showering away the 'ewww' from her last encounter with.....It."

"Not that I'm monitoring your showers!" he added quickly, feeling the heat again rush to his cheeks.  "No, I simply mean....that...I was just saying....you know - - -

"Skip it."

He darted a clearly audible aside to Marco, man-to-man, "Don't tell her I said this, but, Alexis is to me what kryptonite is to Superman."  He lifted his hands in surrender.

"But anyway, yes, she can tell you about....It.  And I heartily encourage you to tell us how you became connected with...said person.  If you agree, I suggest we bring Raven out here, first.  She should hear it, too."

"Raven should hear what exactly?" The archeologist said, as she stepped from the building with racquets and tennis balls. She eyed the gathered group suspiciously. After that encounter with Johnny, her defenses were up and prepared for battle.

“Well, I wasn’t here to hear what you said, but I have often found that it’s not the bad news that is most upsetting, but the way it was said that can be to blame.” She looked at Johnny. “Honesty is good, but maybe you need to work on your bedside manner a little. Ease them into bad news instead of just dumping it on them.”


She turned her glare toward Dren. “And you, of all people. Dren, what were you thinking? … jus' tryin' t'see what company 'e keeps is all she mimicked the man’s Irish accent.
“That’s all? That is enough. If you didn’t have to be so pigheaded, blundering forward like a bull in a china shop, and think for a moment about other people’s  feelings you would be…”

Ding!! Iona’s apron pocket sounded.

“Oh, the pies! Boys! You play nice!” she commanded as she scurried out of the room, empty tray in hand.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Sun 16 Apr 2006.

Johnny didn't hide his smile as Iona left.

"So, how's the big bet coming along?" he asked, turning his focus to the game. "I haven't quite been able to keep up, what with all the friendly chatter." No sarcasm could be traced in his voice.

Dren, who was still focused on Iona as she left, was distracted enough to not really focus on Johnny's comment. Snapping back for a sec, he glanced at the TV then back to the kitchen. "Yeah... keep an eye on tha' fer me... looks like I may loose." with that Dren moved swiftly into the kitchen.

Dren wathced Iona in the kitchen for a moment trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind, part of him hoped she'd just pull the question from his brain and save him the trouble of having to voice it. But as he wasted time conjuring his thoughts he realized she might be in trouble. Moving quickly, Dren grabbed a dishtowel to make sure Iona's pies didn't slide off the tray she was not removing from the oven. "Y'got it?" it was a rhetorical question as he quickly repositioned one of her hands so as to have a better grip of the hot, unbalanced, metal sheet. Helping her guide it to a stable, heat resistant, surface he quickly jumped back as if he had nothing to do with helping her and smiled "There y'go!"

“Thank you, that would’ve been a disaster.” Iona brushed her hands on her apron, took the dishtowel, folded it neatly and placed back where it belonged.

“My hero,” she said with a fake Southern drawl. “I swear all this heat is too much for poor little ol’ me. It gives me a powerful case of the vapors.” she batted her eyes to play up the act. And then those eyes turned just a touch cold.

“Now… was that so hard?” She demanded. “Really Dren, some days it seems like you go out of your way to tick people off. And for no good reason, like you just want everybody to hate you. You can be…no… you are a really nice guy. You just want to keep everybody mad at you, to punish them or something.”

Iona reached out and gently touched his arm, her eyes softened. “Why do you do that?”

Dren stepped back, "I speak th'truth, if people canna take it - that's thier problem, not mine."

“No, it’s your problem. Every cruel thing you say does a lot more harm to you than it does to anyone else. Do you really think Iain cares if you like him or not? Do you think Alex is going loose any sleep over the insults you throw at her? Your comments may sting them for a moment but, then they’ll go on with their lives, barely giving a second thought to you or anything you say. You’ve made yourself not matter, Dren Telarwin, not to Alex or Iain. Keep this up, and soon you won’t matter much to the rest of us either.”

Iona looked out the windows towards the gardens, and the direction Raven and Marco had gone. “You keep pushing people away like this, and eventually you won’t matter to Raven, either. She’s already moving forward with her life, in a direction that doesn’t include you.” Iona turned to face Dren again. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe this dark cloak of meanness that you’ve shrouded yourself in, is what kept Raven and you from getting together?”

Iona shrugged. “Maybe you don’t care about any of that. You certainly don’t care what any of us think of you. But damn it, Dren, don’t you want to matter to somebody someday? You may have missed your chance with Raven but, you can still find happiness for yourself. That’s entirely in your hands. Think about it, does being a bastard to everyone around you really make you happy? Bitter, cruel, friendless and alone - is that really the person that you want to be??”

Dren felt like he should say something in his defense, but damn it, if she didn’t have a point. Dren couldn’t put his finger on the Why of it all right away, but he continued to maul away at the same question rolling through his mind:
Don’t you want to matter to somebody someday?

Though Dren was not the most intelligent person in the house he could still factor that if somebody = Raven then the answer was Yes, so while he stood there, silently nodding and deep in thought he tried to further ask Why are you a bastard to everyone around you?

Taking a deep breath he heard a voice, deep in the back of his mind respond You don’t deserve any friends.

Looking up Dren searched Iona for some hint or tell tale sign that she’d managed to plant the suggestion, like a hypnotherapist… but two things discounted that thought the moment it entered his mind:
1) Iona had earned his trust – that fact alone was enough to discount the idea that she would be dishonest.
2) The words rang too true to his soul to be a lie.

Dren shook off the notion of deception and glanced over his shoulder to see that they were still alone before nodding again and simply telling her ”Yer right.”

Well, it wasn’t the most dramatic of epiphanies the world had ever seen but it was certainly the most sincere as he continued ”I’m not th’kind o’guy tha’ people’r friends wit’… I’m th’dog – trained t’attack on command… let’s face it, in this ‘ouse, as in th’rest o’m’life, I’ve been th’tool or th’weapon… no one’s friends wit’ their gun. ‘tis just there should y’need it. You an’ Raven are th’only people in m’life right now who see me as a person – an’I’m jus’ not sharp ‘nough t’understand, Why? So I’m sorry if I push people away… ‘tis easier to make ‘em not care ‘bout you, than ‘tis t’find out they dinna want t’care ‘bout you.” he ended with a shrug, mostly because he wasn’t sure what he’d just said, or if it made sense exactly.

“We’re the only people that you let see you as a person.” Iona started filling the sink up with soapy water so she could wash the bigger pots and pans that wouldn’t fit into the dishwasher. She tossed Dren a towel so he could dry.

“I don’t believe it’s easier. You’re putting a lot of effort and energy into making sure most people don’t get to know the real you. Letting people get close to you isn’t hard. It may be scary because you risk getting hurt but, since when were you the type of person to shy away from a little risk? Haven’t some of the greatest risks you’ve taken in your life also brought you the greatest rewards, like when you decided to become partners with a certain archeologist? What if you had never taken that chance? You would’ve never known Raven. Even if you don’t have the kind of future with her that you hoped for, hasn’t your life been better for having known her?” Iona passed a clean, but dripping wet pot, to Dren.

“You let fear stop you for so long that you may have missed your chance with Raven. Are you going to let it rule the rest of your life and make you miss any future chances at happiness?” She turned to look him in the eyes. “Are you going to let a little thing like fear beat you, Dren? Or are you going to summon the courage to start letting people into here.” She touched a soapy hand to the part of his chest that covered his heart.

"I was thinkin' o'lettin' th'fear win... but since y'put it that way..." Dren grabbed Iona's hand for a moment and thanked her with his eyes and smile before wordlessly returning to the dishes. The game, and the people watching it were now far from his mind, as was his bet - in this moment he was simply going to let himself be Iona's helper... it was easier that way.

Meanwhile, back at the tennis court.

---

Marco looked from Raven, to Alex and Pieran. “I appreciate the help, from all of you. Thank you.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:03, Sun 23 Apr 2006.

"Te nada," Pieran answered.  "No se preocupe."

He gestured toward the mansion, allowing -when they were ready- Raven and Marco to move off first.  He lingered back, trying to draw Alexis near him so that he might have a few last words with her as they followed behind...

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this between us, for now," Raven said to Alex and Pieran. "I just don't feel like getting into all of it over dinner." She was still bristling about some of the comments Johnny had made, and didn't want to make any aspect of her personal life a topic for dinner conversation.

Taking note of Pieran's gesture, Raven smiled. "I think Marco and I will take the long way back," she said as she pointed to the footpath that went by the Swan Pond. "I need to burn a few calories before sitting down to that abundant dinner Iona is making." She still felt the need to walk off some of her emotions, and she wanted a chance to talk to Marco alone. "Thanks, for everything," she said to her two housemates, then she took Marco's hand and they walked off towards the pond.

Alex smiled at Marco when he expressed his appreciation and nodded her assent to Raven's request that it be kept quiet.  She was right; it was hardly a suitable topic for dinner conversation.  Ugh, dinner.  She still wasn't looking forward to it.  She only hoped that it would go well, for Iona's sake.  Another ruined mealtime and the scientist might start to develop a complex.

Brushing some rebellious hair from her face to behind her ear, Alex hung back as Raven and Marco set off, allowing them a head start and some alone time.  It was strange, really; she felt oddly protective of the couple's relationship and she couldn't work out why.  Maybe it was for the same reason that she harboured a secret love of Disney.

When the couple had moved far enough away, Alex stole a glance at Pieran and took a step toward him.  There was something about the way he was lingering that suggested that he had something further to say on the matter, so she silently waited for him to speak with an enquiring expression on her face.

“You’re right, Dren is the man for the job,” Pieran said, watching Marco and Raven disappear. He sighed.  “This sure beats work, doesn’t it?  Ah, hell.  I have a bad feeling about this.”

He wrapped one of his large arms gracefully around her shoulder and began slowly back toward the mansion.  “I’m glad you came along when you did,” he said.  “I felt dreadful; like I was bullying him.  That’s twice you’ve blessed me in the same day. You should be careful," he smiled, puckishly. "People could start rumors.”

At the half, the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame was leading 10-3. Suddenly in the second half, the game turned. Notre Dame had trouble moving the ball, and USC Trojans couldn't be stopped, scoring on six of its next seven possessions. The only time the Trojans didn't score during that time was late in the third quarter, when they ran out the clock and lost momentum.

A 12-yard scoring pass capping an 80-yard, seven-play drive. Another 57-yard pass finished a 73-yard, four-play march, putting USC ahead for good.

The Trojans kicked a 42-yard field goal early in the third quarter to make it 20-10. The Trojans connected with a 69-yard touchdown pass early in the fourth quarter.

All in all, the Trojans trounced on the pride of the Irish. The final score was Trojans 41, Fighting Irish 10.

The clock mercifully ticked off the final seconds, ending the beating. Iona called from the dining room that Thanksgiving dinner was ready and on the table. The aroma of fresh roasted turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes with brown sugar glaze, baked beans, steamed broccoli, fresh biscuits, green bean casserole with Durkee onions, mashed potatoes with gravy, five deserts, (apple strudel, pecan, lemon meringue, and pumpkin pies and a cherry krisp) blended in an appetizing array. The fine china was expertly set, the crystal goblets filled with ice water and a glass of red wine shimmered at each setting. It was a perfect display for an issue of Better Homes & Gardens magazine.

“Everyone, come sit down. Iain, you sit here, next to me, because, well you know why.” Iona said as her eyes darted toward the wine glass at that setting. “Johnny, If you would be so kind as to do the carving of the turkey?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:57, Sun 23 Apr 2006.

Dren wandered in carring a bucket with the Rams logo, filled with ice and assorted beers. With a pause he seemed suddenly unsure of where to sit, like a pet who'd lost his way home he stood for a moment until Iona started to assign a few spot. Quickly he moved to the far end of the table taking the end seat before anyone else could claim it. Using the bucket as his excuse he placed it next to him on the floor and took his seat wordlessly.

"Yes ma'am." Iain chuckled. Then, surveying the table, he added: "Iona, this is... It's wonderful, really. You keep outdoing yourself."

He sat down and helped herself with a sip from the wine and smiled: "Yes, you do."

Then, looking at their resident archaeologist, he announced: "Oh, Raven, I just wanted to let you know: the Trojans won."

Raven took a seat near the doorway. The choice could be unconsciously symbolic of her discomfort with being here. She didn’t really intend to bolt early from dinner, but sitting near the door somehow made her feel better.



Raven smiled and, for a moment, seemed to forget about the earlier turmoil. "Looks like another year of Arabian coffee for me. What was the score?"

"41 t' 10. M'Irish all but set up lounge chair t'watch th'game themselves." Dren said somewhat playfully.

Like a practiced gentleman, Marco pulled the chair out for Raven. “So I take it this means that you have won the mysterious bet?” He then moved to pull Alex’s chair out for her.

---

                     WALL


          |------Dren------Johnny------|          W
D         |                            |          I
O       Raven                        Pieran       N
O         |                            |          D
R       Marco                        Iain         O
          |                            |          W
          |-------Empty-----Iona-------|



        FIREPLACE                 KITCHEN DOOR


     W
S    +   N
     E

This message was last edited by the GM at 01:50, Mon 24 Apr 2006.

   Johnny walked up to the table opposite of Iona and reached for the knives. "Why, I'm honored," he said, smiling. "Feels like a shame to carve this wonderful piece of art of yours into pieces, though."

   Johnny paused for a moment, looking over to Dren at his right. "How many  nights of Dirty Dancing and assorted romantical comedies does that make?" he said in jest, referring to the bet.

"Forty-one to ten? Forty-one! My Trojans put on that kind of a rally and I missed it? Please tell me that someone saved it on that box, Diva, Tiva... whatever you call it."



"You're assuming that would be punishment for him. You should see him when we watch Grease together." Raven shot a quick smile at Dren.

"Our long standing bet has always been for control over this wineskin that we acquired some time ago. It can produce a handful of different liquids. The purest water I've ever had and it comes out cold, like from a mountain spring. There's a rich, red wine. The tea and my ancient, Arabian coffee come out quite hot. And of course there's that ale that Dren seems to prefer. It can only be set to pour one liquid at a time, and you can only change that during a full moon. Whoever wins the annual USC vs. Notre Dame bet gains control of the wineskin for the year."

Pieran took a seat to Iain’s right.



He paused, his eyes darting back and forth between Dren and Raven.  “You were betting over a whim wineskin?”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Mon 24 Apr 2006.

Addressing the rest of the table Dren explained "I may b'Irish, but I was born in New York... John's T'Man... Christopher Walken comes in a close sec'nd."


Dren shrugged to Pieran "You o'all people at this table should know th'value o'a magic wineskin. Y'tellin' me tha' y'wouldn't want tha' beauty added t'yer bag o'tricks?" Dren smiled as if it were undeniable that anyone wouldn't find the value of the magical artifact. Taking a sip from an opened bottle of beer he watched Alex, curious as how she was about to take the prospect of sitting across from him through dinner.

"Oh no," Pieran answered.  "No, I was only thinking that you should put your heart into a bet rather than a bet into your stomach.  For instance Dren, if you lose, you have to wear pink high heel pumps for a day.  And Raven, if you lose, a handlebar moustache with ZZ Top beard.  Now, that's a bet!"

Wandering in with Pieran, Alex smiled at Marco as he pulled a chair out for her and took the proffered (and only remaining) seat next to Iona, thanking the musician as she sat.  It was with a mild sense of awe that she regarded the fruits of Iona's labour; she felt almost reluctant to touch anything and ruin the picture-perfect banquet and table settings before them.

As for Dren, well, Pieran might have referred to her as his kryptonite, but he was her masseur for the soul; time spent with him always seemed to leave her feeling more relaxed and at ease than when she started.  So she seemed barely bothered at the prospect of being seated opposite the Irishman, smiling as the conversation about Raven and Dren's bet unfolded around her.

"Would I get to drive the ZZ Top car too,  because that might not be so bad. As for the pink high heel pumps - I'm not sure I'd wish those on my enemies."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:30, Mon 24 Apr 2006.

"Fer starters," Dren paused for a sip from his bottle "I'd n'er try t'intentionally embarass Raven..." he paused to give her a very pointed look "Unless there's Sake involved."

"Ah.  Well, if it were Nigori Sake, then even I'd throw in on that bet!"

Iona surveyed the table with a smile. Everything was in place, everyone was seated, it was just about perf…. “Oh, oh darn it! Wait!” she cried out in alarm. Iona dashed from the table into the kitchen. A bang, clatter, Wrrrrrrr,Wrrrrrr…clink, shloop! shloop! later, she returned. She had two oblong serving dishes with chilled cranberry sauce, each in the perfect shape of the cans that used to contain them, ridges included. She set one at each end of the table.

“There! Everything is just right.” she said with a satisfied grin.

"Truth be told, it was more embarrassing for Dren, he just doesn't remember it as well as I do." She smiled at Dren. He seemed in a good mood, despite the slaughter that his fighting Irish had suffered earlier in the day. Her annoyance with him for looking into Marco's background was gone. It had always been like that with the two of them. They never fought or argued. They'd occasionally make firm statements to each other but once they'd made their point, they would drop it and move on. They never let stuff like that get in the way of their relationship.

As Johnny commenced with the carving of the turkey, Marco cleared his throat. “Since it is Thanksgiving, I understand that it is sometimes your custom to say what it is that you are thankful for. If you would indulge me, I would like to be first.” He quickly looked around the table and then stood.

“I am thankful for a great many things. My good health, my music, and of course this fine dinner before us.” He gave an appreciable nod to Iona. “I am most thankful for the beautiful woman seated next to me.” He smiled at Raven. “Your presence has been a blessing in my life.” He turned towards the table again. “And I am grateful that she has introduced me to all of you, and that you have welcomed to join you in your celebration.” He raised his wine glass. “To new friends. Saúde!” After taking a drink, he sat down once more, and looked around the table expectantly to see who would go next.

Pieran rose, wineglass in hand.  “I have to echo Marco’s thanks to our good archeologist.  I believe Raven knows my feelings about it.  My life is in debt to her.”  He saluted.

“I also have to second the compliments to Iona.  You’ve exceeded yourself,” he said, eyeing the table.  But then he caught sight of the canned cranberry sauce and it seemed to give him pause.  “And…uhm….and, also your work with Raven toward my recent illness and recovery; I am in debt to you as well.”  He leaned over closer to her and spoke quietly enough for all to hear.  “I’ll see you about that, later.”

He returned his address to the rest of the room.  “To Mr. Hope also go many great personal thanks.  The Mayo Clinic’s loss is our gain.”  He saluted.

“I am grateful for my life.  They are grateful.”  He cleared his throat of nervousness.  “I’m unaccustomed to this sort of thing; I have rarely been close to anyone,” Pieran said, his voice its familiar mellow shade of silk.  “You all have suffered me in my various ways, particularly of late.  I wish it hadn’t been so.  It was quite humiliating.”  It was clear that it pained him to admit that.  “But maybe if things had been different I would be unable to thank Marco for helping me make my flute,” he smiled.  “Now, if only I had the foggiest idea how to play it!

“But to the rest of you also go a lion’s share of my deep gratitude for your patience –often at the straining point, I know- for your suffering, and for your endurance of all that I put you through both in sickness and in health.  And I hope you understand this with the heart through which I mean it: I have little right to be among any of you; I surely have done nothing to earn the greatness of you and, just as surely, I cannot begin to give you the thanks you deserve.  And so, drink this as but a taste from my heart.”  He hefted his glass high.  “You are the wine of my life.  I drink of you and to you.  Vash zodrovie!  Le’chiam!”

Marco’s words of affection toward Raven stung like a quick jab to the nose – at this point there was nothing to do but shake it off and keep going. Lets get this over with. he thought as he rose from his chair ”I guess I’ll go next.” not sure of what to say he just started talking…

”I’m thankfull… mostly fer Raven Cantrell.” he paused as if he’d either said something wrong or was trying not to ”Raven… y'gave me direction when I dinna 'ave any. Guidance when I dinna think I needed any. Friendship when I thought I dinna deserve any an' 'ope when I thought I dinna 'ave any. Y’ve always pushed me t' b'be'ter than who I am, an' y’ve always encouraged me t' live up t' th'potential I’ve never seen in m'self – Thank ya.” not finished he turned to the resident cook ”An' Iona… who gave me trust when I hadn’t earned it, an' for being a true friend – no matter 'ow 'ard I made tha'… y'came through regardless.” turning his eyes to Alex he smiled and added ”But today… especially today, I’m thankful fer Alex, who reminded me tha' – While The Almighty God 'n' Father is forgivin'… we all must ask fer 'is forgiveness… th'path o'redemption is not a short or easy one, an' while I may slip an' fall, I want… The Lord, t'know I’m on it.” setting his glass down without drinking he glanced back at Alex and moved his mouth, wordlessly, before taking his seat again.

Marco's sentiments brought a hint of heat and color to Raven's cheeks. So much for not embarrassing me, she thought as she returned his smile. When Pieran also mentioned her, Raven fought the urge to sink into her chair and hide below the table. She was not accustomed to the public airing of personal emotions, and being mentioned specifically made her a tiny bit uncomfortable.

Then Dren took the floor. Raven was stunned into silence. She just kept looking at him, like she was seeing him for the first time.

Marco smiled as Pieran spoke. He seemed to enjoy the company of the Renaissance man.

As Dren finished talking, Marco looked from the Irishman to Raven, and seemed to study the two of them for just a moment. Another smile crossed his face as he took note of her shy reaction to the speeches. He leaned in close and spoke softly, “You should not be embarrassed by your friend’s praise. It is no surprise to me that others have found you to be as remarkable as I have.” He took her hand in his and gently kissed it. He kept a hold of her hand as he placed it back on the table, and glanced once more in Dren’s direction.

Iona listened to the others and tried to think of what she wanted to say. What am I thankful for? she thought.  Let’s see, maybe that I was ripped away from my eminent demise and given a second chance? She looked at Marco. Nope, not the kind of thing to say in mixed company.

Then Dren’s heartfelt comments took her back to their conversation in the kitchen. Boy, when he makes up his mind about something he doesn’t hesitate, just dives right in head first. She was impressed. She really hadn’t been sure that Dren was going to be able to start taking emotional chances. Now if she could just convince herself.

She shot a quick look at Pieran. Yeah, Iona, you can talk the talk but, can you walk the walk? All those things she had said to Dren about the biggest risks bringing the greatest rewards. She really did believe that. It was time for her to apply it to her own life. It was time she came clean, not just to Pieran, but to all of them. She needed to take a chance on these people and tell them the truth about her half-demon heritage. Tonight, she thought. I’ll tell Pieran tonight and the rest of them after that. The possibility of rejection frightened her but, she knew not telling them kept them at a distance. She would be the one to end up bitter, friendless and alone. Is that really the person that you want to be??

“Well, that was very nice, thank you for the complements, but no one’s touched a bite yet. Growing up in my home, it was considered an insult to the cook if you didn’t go back for seconds and thirds. Not that I want to cut anybody off who still has thanks they’d like to express, but we can still listen while we start serving the turkey. As for me, I am thankful that we all have our health,” she gave a special nod to Pieran. "A warm place to live, and all of you to share it with.” She passed her plate to Johnny. “ I will take a little of both the white and the dark meat please.”

"Figure you're all getting pretty eager for the confirmation Heaven does taste as good as it looks, so I'll just say-" Johnny paused serving Iona, suspending the meat midair for the moment. "-thanks for good wine, good company, and a chance beyound that which most of us are alloted. Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day." With that, he finished placing the generous slices of meat on Iona's plate and started serving the others, clockwise.

Dren began his own servings, starting with sides and continuing the rotation in the opposite direction that Johnny was serving meat. It was to optimize the amount of serving and cutting time so that the plates would be filled quickly.

Once he and Raven were both served Dren lowered his head and took Raven's hand for a moment. Both fell silent and still while Dren subvocalized his prayer. Mere seconds later they were finishing with the tell-tale gestures of his Catholic religion before diving right into the meal as if nothing had just happened.

“The timing couldn’t be better,” Pieran said.  “I actually have an appetite!”  He took a deep whiff and a deep moan of pleasure rose all the way up from his feet. “This is a special treat for me,” he said.  “You see, my father hated turkey –just hated it!  So he always ran Thanksgiving and consequently I never had a dinner like this.  But I have one question: I thought this banquet was just for me.  I mean, you weren’t all planning to share, were you?”

"Y'know it's funny y'say tha'. My da' loved Wild Turkey... 'ad it all th'time." passing Pieran a dish after dropping some green bean casserole on Johnny's plate, so he wouldn't have to stop cutting, Dren didn't even bother answering the Mad Man's question as he continued "I think 'is liver was made o'adamantium."

Iain bowed his head to hide a smile: Dren could be a funny guy when he wasn't trying to make people hate him. Of course he wasn't expecting to see that side of the Irishman very often...

Looking at the people sitting around the table, Iain decided he did actually have something to say. Raising a glass of wine, he announced: "I, uh, I'd like to propose a toast, to something I think you'll agree we can all be grateful for: to friends, old and new."

As the others replied, a well-known voice commented: "What about family, brother? Aren't you thankful for that?"

Shocked, Iain looked at the translucent shape of Father Peter behind Marco. He blinked once, and it disappeared -- had it ever been there in the first place?

He just kept staring at the wall behind Marco with a look of disbelief on his face.

Pieran accepted his plate with thanks, listening to Dren’s family history.  A voice of old Ireland jumped into Pieran’s heart.  ‘Tis a gaol of unending term,’ Niamh said, her words soft with poignant lament.  ‘We suffer the bitter wages of our fathers.’

He hesitated to speak.  There was an odd similarity between his father and Dren’s.  But as a clever reply came upon his lips, Iain stood with a toast.



Pieran raised his glass in salute, taking a swallow of wine.  But Iain’s abrupt change of posture provoked a muted alarm within him and with only his eyes moving studiously between Marco and the vampire-man, he stopped at last on latter.  “Sir Iain,” he inquired, his voice bearing a concerned edge.  “Are you well?”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:19, Sat 29 Apr 2006.

A shadow crossed the doorframe to the dining room. “Ah, there you all are.” Hornsby said. He was dressed in his usual suit, all prim and proper, his manner every bit an English gentleman. His eyes grew ever so slightly wider as he noted the spread on the table.

“I had heard some commotion from the dining room and, it being tea time, I had hoped that Ms Taylor had finally influenced the lot of you into a proper afternoon’s gathering. But this…” he waved his hand toward the feast before him. “This is entirely over indulgent.” He locked eyes with Alexis.

“Ms Taylor, please tell me this is not some form of an Americanized idea of tea?” Hornsby looked positively befuddled by the scene before him.

Dren paused, having started to once again lift his wineglass off the table and listend to Hornsby's commentary.



Dren pointed to the glass in his hand, "Actually, Pinot - yer thinkin' o'Zinfandel." to Iona he just shrugged "At least, I've always thout o'Zinfandel as Tea."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:32, Sun 30 Apr 2006.

Alex had stared at Dren for a short time, not quite believing his Thanksgiving speech nor the words he had mouthed to her afterward.  Such a swift change of attitude seemed hard to reconcile with what she had known so far and so she was still confused when the serving started, although at least she wasn't staring at the Irishman anymore.



Alex turned to him with a faint smile on her face.  "Its Thanksgiving, Mr Hornsby."  She glanced at the spread on the table and looked back to their frightfully English contact.  "Have you eaten already?"

Hornsby regarded Dren’s comment on the wine dryly. “Oh my, are the Yanks still celebrating that Separationist feast? I had forgotten about it. It was never an issue with the former… Oh dear, the things I must do to adjust.” Hornsby shook his head slowly.

“I have eaten lunch, and it is too early for dinner. Thank you for the offer.” he said with a nod. “I am here on business and thought it was the middle of the business day, but I see I was mistaken. He took note of Marco and paused, considering his next words. “No matter, it can not be helped.” Hornsby turned toward Iona.

“Ms McLean, there is a matter in one of our field offices that requires a person with your extraordinarily specialized talents. I had made arrangements for you to travel there this afternoon, but I suppose I could delay the arrangements until this evening. But no later. It is an urgent matter that needs attending. You should have it cleared up in a couple of weeks, a month at the most.” His business complete, Hornsby shifted his demeanor to a more social one.

He turned toward Marco. “I am sorry for my interruption, but I do not believe we have been properly introduced. It is nice to meet you Mr. Pelayo.” Hornsby shook Marco’s hand. “Your music is not unknown to me and your fame precedes you. Please, do stay seated, I shall be just a moment and then take my leave. I do not wish to intrude immensely.”

“It does smell frightfully good. I bet you had your hand in this, Ms McLean. I understand you are quite a cook. Maybe I could indulge in a bit of nosh for take away.”

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten my manners. Marco, this is Mr. Hornsby. He's our..." Raven hesitated, just what was the Englishman's job title "Supervisor." It was the best she could come up with on a moment's notice. "Mr. Hornsby, I'd like you to meet my friend, Marco Pelayo." Raven said friend a little too quickly, but she didn't want another noticeable pause while she tried to figure out what to call Marco. Boyfriend sounded too much like high school. Lover was both too much information and a little too casual. Besides, they weren’t really what she would categorize as lovers at this point in time. Objects are so much easier to label, than people, she thought to herself.

Pieran cocked his head slightly to his right, watching Iona mostly with the corners of his eyes.  Hornsby's sudden, cryptic announcement put Pieran on edge, to say nothing of his stress over Iona's imminent departure.  As quickly as Hornsby had arrived, just as quickly had Pieran's appetite begun to fall.

Iona looked surprised at the Englishman’s news. “What?! A temp assignment for my talents?” The meaning was not lost on her and she kept her composure in front of their guest. Hornsby engaged Marco in a greeting and it made a nice distraction, just in case she was not quite as cool as she had thought.

“Wow, that is sudden. Talk about little notice. I guess I will have to pack right after dinner. Maybe up to a month?” Well, talk about timing! Just when you want to come clean, there is no time to do it, or at least do it right. I wonder what the problem is and where I am going.

“Ms McLean, please be ready by 10 pm. I will have your transportation come pick you up then.” Hornsby nodded a good day to everyone, gathered a quick plate to go, and departed the room.

“Wait a minute,” Iona said. She got up and quickly followed him. “You can’t just tell a woman to ‘pack a bag’ for a couple of weeks and not tell her anything! I need to know if I will need to pack shorts or a parka at least…” her voice faded as the door swung shut behind her as she chased Hornsby into the kitchen.

In due course, Iona returned. Dinner progressed and a good feast was had by all. Iona didn’t spill any details, and seemed excited about the upcoming trip. At least it did not seem like it was going to be all work and no play.

After dinner, Marco sensed that the evening was going to get busy with goodbyes at the manor. He stayed for dessert and some polite after dinner conversation, then he mentioned that he needed to figure out some details for a performance at the Fox Theater tomorrow. He said his goodbyes, kissed Raven and departed for the night.

Dren watched her walk from the room, and while there were half a dozen pressing issues on his mind the glanced around, realizing this may be his only chance to speak to her… alone, he moved as if taking on the role of her new shadow. Instead of sneaking up on the woman he skipped past her to make his presence known and tried to get her to pause just long enough to speak with him ”Alex.” he stepped back, eyes still focused on her but mentally aware of the anyone who could be stepping up behind her and potentially over hearing what he was about to say.

"Dren."

Lord only knew what he was up to now.  Alex didn't have much time for Dren at the best of times, but it occurred to her that this might possibly be the first time he had ever deliberately sought her out.  With that in mind, curiousity won her over and she waited to hear just what the Irishman wanted.

"Look, there's n'reason fer me t'not say anything 'bout it... but what I did back there, wasn't 'bout you. I'm not tryin' t' wipe th'slate clean, I dinna want t'try an' start ov'r!" taking a breath he seemed to forge more resolve as he continued "I know I've messed up pretty bad wit'ya - an' I can a'cept tha'. I dinna need you friendship an' I'm not tryin' t'get in yer good graces..." he paused to regather his train of thought, it was becomming clear that he was speaking off the cuff and in constant danger of derailing his train of thought "I dinna even need ya t'forgive me right now, but what I do want ya t'understand is - I meant it. I'm appologizing fer th'ways I may 'ave made ya feel, an' th'various ways I've treate' ya... I just need ya t'know tha'... even if you're not ready to accept it... You deserve it..." seeming to grow frustrated, as if unsure his point was getting across Dren shrugged "D'ya understand any o'this?"

Alex ran her hand through her hair, Dren's frustration mirrored in her.

"I think so.  But...  What prompted this?  Why now?  Why at all?"

”T'b' 'onest… fer once.” Dren took a deep breath and look around once more ”Someone special made m'realize tha'I 'ave t'stop makin' people 'ate me, jus' because I’m afraid they won’t like me.” turning back to Alex he sharpened his gaze on her ”Truth is I 'ave t'stop 'ating m'self, before I can expect people t'like me… but I’ve screwed up m'life enough as it is. I’ve given too many people, too many excuses… it’s been my excuse.” with a shrug Dren’s eyes fell to the floor while he added ”Eh… I dinna expect y't'really understand… I’m not sure I really do. I’m just puttin' a lot on faith 'ere.”

Though Alex didn't want to think about it, she and Dren were far more alike than she cared to admit; and perhaps even more so with the revelation that Dren tried his hardest to push people away.  Nothing he had said seemed disingenuous, rather the opposite, from his repeated checks that they were alone and the slightly ruffled demeanour.  So she nodded, not wanting to draw this out any longer than it needed.

"I have a vague idea of what you're talking about.  And thank you for the apology."

It seemed there was nothing more to be said on the matter; and with an assenting nod Dren slinked away, leaving Alex to ponder their brief conversation.

"Well, that was new..." Iain, standing a couple of feet behind Alex, apparently just popped out of nowhere, had a puzzled look on his face. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Alex turned sharply on the spot, staring at Iain for a long moment before shaking her head.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people, you know."

Iain shrugged apologetically: "I don't do it on purpose... I just have very light footsteps."

He stared at the corner Dren had just disappeared behind: "You think we are going to see more of this new Dren? 'Cause I like it better than the one who wants to stake me while I sleep."

Alex too turned her head in the direction Dren had departed in, hands diving inside her pockets.

"I'm not sure it'll extend as far as you, Iain." she said, then turned and smiled apologetically to the vampire.

Iain smiled back: "Well, I won't go so far as to ask him to like me, but not having to worry about him stabbing me in the back would be peachy."

He caught a movement with the corner of his eye and looked back, but there was nothing. "Sorry... Um, you haven't seen anything unusual of late, have you? I mean, unusually unusual."

Glancing briefly in the direction the Iain had looked in, Alex shook her head.

"Nothing we haven't been employed to look into, no.  Is something the matter?"

Iain shook his head: "No, no... I'm just a little tense, I guess. Must have been all the fun we've had recently."

Just then, he caught a whiff of something that reminded him strongly of his mother's apple tart - one of his favorites as a child. He sniffed the air a couple of times, then he figured out where it was coming from: "New perfume?"

Well, colour me unconvinced. Alex thought to herself, but for now she decided to let the matter slide.

"I, uh...  What does it smell like?" she asked, somewhat caught off her footing by the rapid change in subject.

Even more distracted, Iain replied: "Uh, sweet, fruity. You changed your shampoo or something?"

You shouldn't play with your food, brother...

With a willpower effort, Iain didn't turn around to look for the voice.

"I'm probably just smelling Iona's efforts at making dinner. Sorry, I just... I'm not sleeping too well of late. I'm not really in my best shape."

---

Behind Iain, Father Peter shook his head: That's because you are not eating properly - but I can help you with that.

The priest pushed Iain toward Alex...

---

Iain's left knee gave way and he almost fell. At the last second, he managed to take a step forward, avoiding to go down on the floor, but bumping into Alex in the process.

Instinctively, he held on to her shoulders, his face just a few inches from her neck.

The scent of apple tart came back.

---

Iain had just come back home, and found that mom had made him his favorite cake. He knew wasn't really supposed to eat it before dinner, but a little bite wouldn't hurt anyone, now, would it?

---

He snapped back to reality an instant later, taking his hands off Alex as if she'd suddenly become hot.

"Not in my best shape." He repeated. "Sorry."

With that, he turned around and walked away as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:21, Tue 30 May 2006.

Alex stood in the hall as Iain strode away, her heart pounding, her breathing rapid.  One hand flew up to the side of her neck and clutched at it, covering it protectively.  There had always been a part of Iain that had regarded her as food - but it always seemed so far away and under lock-and-key, guarded by the human soul.  But for a moment there, that's all she had been.

She hestitated in the empty corridor for a moment longer, then tore off through and up the mansion.  There was only one place that he was likely to really be during the day, considering how solitary he had been over the past week.  Without so much as a forewarning knock or cleared throat, she flung open the door to his bedroom and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded furiously, though she was having problems deciding if it was him or herself she was more angry with.

Alex's fury caught Iain sitting on a chair, with his face in his hands.

As she all but knocked down the door, he raised his head with a genuinely confused look on his face: "I... What?"

Alex glared at Iain, clenching her jaw, unwilling to believe that he had no idea what she was talking about.  Keeping her voice at a reasonable volume, she answered him.

"You're a vampire.  I get that.  I can live with that.  But when you start thinking of me as an after-dinner snack - that's where I draw the line!"

A few steps behind Iain, Father Peter chuckled: Ooh, the morsel is angry. All the better: it'll make her spicy.

Iain's mind finally snapped. He vamped out as he stood up, grabbed the closest heavy object - which happened to be a brass paperweight - spun around, and threw it with all his strength at the priest, yelling: "Shut UP!!!"

Of course, the projectile went right through the incorporeal figure, missing the window by inches and making a not-so-small hole in the wall. Father Peter didn't even have the decency to pop out of existance for a few seconds, and just simply continued: Don't scare your dinner, brother. Unless of course you like to mix the tastes...

Looking straight at the wall - or, from his point of view, to the ghost of a vampire priest - Iain growled: "Go to Hell! I'm not going to eat them."

The ghost shrugged: Not today, and perhaps not tomorrow, but I am a patient man.

Iain snarled: "You are not a man."

Father peter smiled: Gender, not species...

Regaining part of his sanity, Iain asked, turning his head a little but without looking directly at Alex: "You have no idea who I'm talking to, do you?"

Oh great.  Iain is crazy people.  You sure can pick 'em, Alex.  Alex scowled in Iain's direction as the thought ran through her head, not sure whether to fight or run if he decided to start throwing heavy blunt objects in her direction.

"No, I don't." she replied tightly.  "I assume they are responsible for your general weirdness lately?"

"Maybe I should start from the beginning." Still without looking at her, he sat down again.

"A few weeks ago, I was patrolling in a bad neighborhood: I'd heard that there was some sort of vampire cult and I wanted to check it out. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the vampires were the cultists..."

He recounted briefly the events of that fateful night for Alex, the subsequent visits of Father Peter, and the final events of that day.

"That's pretty much it..." He concluded. "See the irony of you smelling like an apple tart, when I'm the one who's a fruitcake."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:59, Fri 02 June 2006.

A dull THUNK!! was felt throughout the southern side of the third floor as the brass paperweight shattered the plaster in the wall of Iain’s room, cracking the wooden slats that supported it. It was not unlike someone hitting the wall with a sledge hammer.

Johnny was just about to go with the blue shirt - he had to pick between it and a beige one, seeing as the one he had just been wearing had lost an argument with the gravy - when a non-descript but most definitely out of place sound caught his attention. It reminded him of when his overweight cousin and four uncles dropped a kilopound of Steinway concert piano two feet, only without all the tones. He put on the beige and went to see what was the matter. He thought it was coming from Iain's, and he wasn't quite sure Iain couldn't at least try to lift a Steinway.

"So...  You're telling me you're being haunted or something?  And its driving you crazy?"  Alex finally replied, after leaving a pregnant pause in the air while she tried to absorb what he had just said.

She decided to save the "and just what the hell are you playing at, patrolling on your own, anyway?" argument for another time.

Two short, firm knocks sounded from Iain's door. "Is everything okay in there?" Johnny asked in a loud, clear voice, remaining behind the closed door. "Becuase I really don't want to burst in and find somebody terribly underdressed, nor do I expect an unconscious, bleeding person or armed assailant to actually answer me." He paused for a few moments, trying to figure out whether the door was locked.

"That's... Yeah, more or less it. First there were the dreams, then the voices, and now... Him." Iain replied with a vague gesture at Father Peter - or, from Alex's point of view, at the empty air.


"Yes, Doc, thank you. Sorry about that."

Not quite satisfied, Johnny pressed the matter: "So, you'll tell me next time you try to suspend a 106-key Steinway by the ceiling, I hope?" he asked, spending a slight moment in wait for a reasonable answer.

Alex looked unhappily at Iain, falling silent as Johnny's voice sounded from the other side of the door.  How, exactly, she was supposed to deal with this situation, she had no idea.  Battling demons was one thing, stopping someone from loosing their mind was another, and completely out of her realm of expertise.

Dren watched as Iona packed her bags, she was currently up to three, and each had it’s own dedicated function such as clothes and cosmetics, a second for non-essential equipment and notes and a smaller, shoulder bag which would probably have anything Iona couldn’t be without for more than a few minutes. He lingered in her doorway for a few more minutes before realizing she was going to finish packing before acknowledging him.

”Yer not gonna leave wit’out sayin’ G’bye.” he said with a smile.

”No, no… I just want to finish this first…” Iona seemed to get flustered as she looked around the room. And a twinge of guilt welled up inside the Irishman who realized he was now upsetting the flow of her progress, causing the machine to break down.

Machine…

That’s when it hit him. Despite the obvious, Irish ancestries, Dren realized he shared something else with Iona – a detachment from all things emotional. Dren took a moment to put himself in her shoes, she’s leaving and she doesn’t know why or for how long… not to mention the work that they all did wasn’t exactly statistical analysis. Assuming she was safe, could she assume the rest would be? Would she be able to write anyone? Call anyone? At first it seemed second nature to assume she would, but upon review – was it foolish to think her life outside of these walls would be anymore normal than it had been so far? And now she was going to have to say Goodbye… for an undetermined length of time… she wanted to pack first for two reasons; To keep from having emotions cloud her judgment of what was needed and what wasn’t and, to say goodbye and head out the door.

Never let them see you cry.

Which is why it pained him to do what he was about to do next, he knew it would upset her – in a good way. But he wasn’t about to do this in front of anyone else… he too had emotions to be spared.

Dren stepped up to stop her as she crossed the room with an iPod and some scarves. He took her empty had and turned it palm up before placing his hand forged, silver cross and chain in it. Iona opened her mouth and moved as if to return the item but was silenced quickly.

”I’m not givin’ this t’ya. This was given t’m’Grand Da, by ‘is father, when ’e went off t’fight for his U.S. Citizenship in Korea. It was given t’m’Da who came back from Vietnam – and shortly there after I was born. I believe it’s always kept me alive… just like it has all of them. S’I want it back… but I was always savin’ it fer Raven. I was goin’ t’give it t’er when I told ‘er ‘ow I felt ‘bout ‘er… “ he trailed off, lost somewhere between a thought and a dream turned nightmare.

Iona didn’t want this, not right now, it was too much and too complicated, especially now. The same religious beliefs that drove Dren to be so honorable, also generated so much hate for anything demonic – especially now, in this gesture, how could she find the words to tell him what she was… and worse yet, how much anger could he feel if she continued to hold this back from him… and still there was hope, that somehow she could fix it all and none would ever have to be the wiser. Perhaps all she truly needed was time after all. But right now, the last thing either of them needed to do was talk about what they could not say. Accepting Dren’s gesture she folded the cross back up in her hand and intended to express what emotion she dared herself to feel at that time – mercifully, Dren cut her off ”Dinna say nothin’. It’s not a gift… jus’ a loan… t’ a friend.” and before he too could breakdown any further, Dren took a step back and turned to leave her room.

“Dren…” Iona closed the gap between them and gave him a quick, firm hug. “Thank you.” She turned to pack.

Never let them see you cry.

Iona puttered about her room for a bit alone. She was going over her mental checklist to insure nothing was missed. She sensed that she was no longer alone, and it pleased her that he was there. But she finished smoothing the wrinkles out of her clothes before she turned with a smile to see him.

Pieran stood in the open doorway of Iona’s room, watching her pack.  She’d come a long way in such a short time.  Gone was the frightened little girl he saw when they arrived at the Gardiano plane.  ‘Look at her,’ he thought, ‘confident now to venture away from her trusted friends into unknown lands.’

“Anything I can do to help you pack?”

“No thanks,” she answered brightly.  “I’ve got it all numbered and color-coded so, the case virtually packs itself.”

He nodded.  “So then,” he said, after watching her a while longer, “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Not unless I see you, first,” she teased.

He smiled, watching her a bit longer.  “Well.  So long.”

She stopped and stared at him as he turned to leave. “Pieran…” There was so much she wanted to say but, she couldn’t do that right now. She needed everything to be perfect when she told him the truth about her heritage, and the way she was beginning to feel about him. Her hand reflexively checked to insure the gem was covered. “I… I want you to keep your calendar open when I return. I want to take you out to dinner, just the two of us. We never really got a chance to celebrate your improved health, and I really want to do that. I’d like to spend some time with you and… talk.”

"In shaa' Allah," he said, then interpreted to her quizzical look, "Only a fool believes his life is entirely his own."  Pieran's voice, tinged with melancholy, remained characteristically soft and sonorous.  "I will be here, waiting for you, if Destiny allows it.  I pray she does."

Iona understood and nodded.  She looked at all the neatly arranged piles that were ready to be packed. “I don’t think I’ll have enough room for everything.” She reached over and picked up one of her favorite blue scarves and then placed it in Pieran’s hand. “Maybe you could keep this one for me, something to remind you of me, just until I return.” She didn’t expect to be gone long but, she didn’t want to trust that absence makes the heart grow fonder, either. She wanted to make sure that he’d be thinking of her. Iona leaned in and kissed him softly. She smiled.  “We’ll pick up when I get back.” she promised.

He bowed his head with a reverent salaam, turned and left away.  It was time to smoke.  Now he would discover if his magic dragon would blow away both Erinyes venom and emotional hurts.

As 10 o’clock drew near, Iona snapped the latches closed on the final case. Packing complete, she made one last round of her room to insure it was neat and in order. Satisfied, she wheeled the bags out of the room.

Iona made her way to the door with the help of her housemates. She hugged and waved her final goodbyes to everyone at the door. Taking the handle, she strode across the drive and into the grass in front of the house. She stood on the grass approximately where she stood when she had arrived just a couple of months before. Her heart beat with a mix of excitement and some fear, but she was determined to hold it together in front of the group. She closed her eyes and waited for the tingling sensation to take hold of her.

A minute later, she heard a low rumble as a limousine rolled up the drive. The rear window slid down and Hornsby’s face filled the opening.

“Ms McLean, if you would please come off the lawn. We have a flight to catch.”

An embarrassed grin crept on her face as she hurried to the now opened trunk of the car. Her bags secured, she made a final wave to everyone and disappeared behind the darkened glass of the limo. It pulled away smoothly, taking Iona off to the unknown.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:24, Sun 18 June 2006.

Raven walked through the bathroom that separated her room from Dren’s and tapped lightly on the open door. Dren didn’t even bother glancing over as he quickly leaned from the chair he was sitting in and closed the fireplace doors masking the activity of the flames within.

Raven leaned against the doorframe and raised her hand to show him something. “Iona saved us the wishbone.” She didn’t really believe the bone of a turkey had the power to grant wishes, but she did enjoy the occasional practice of a tradition or custom.

Dren smiled, as he set his drink down on a nearby cd case and make-shift coaster. With all the excitement of the day, and Iona’s departure he’d forgotten is was even Thanksgiving anymore. “Partin’ gift?” he feared his tone sounded more painful than he’d intended and quickly tried to cover up with “She always paid ’tention t’th’little things.”

Raven walked in and sat in the desk chair near Dren. “I’m going to miss her, too. Science fields are still dominated by men. I haven’t met too many women that share my passion for research.” She paused for a moment. “I haven’t known too many women I could call a friend.” She looked at Dren and tried to force a smile. “But, it’s just temporary. She’ll be back soon. Until then, we have email. Or, at least you have email.” Raven stole a glance at the infernal machine on his desk. “Maybe you could put in a word for me now and then, let her know I’m not ignoring her - I’m just technologically challenged.”

It was a, not so, well known fact that Raven was a klutz, which Dren always attributed to her keen eye for details, ironic as it may be. Raven was very much the kind of woman who could mentally reconstruct the architecture of a building in ruins and revisualize the placement of every window and door yet still trip over the remains of a birdbath. That was, in fact the same day that Dren ran up and caught her… for the last time.

Raven was a klutz, yes, but for her to admit that she wasn’t good with machines when her usual song was the machines hated her was one of the rare moments that she let herself be all the more vulnerable… or as some would put it, human. It was in these moments that Dren loved her even more. That’s why he had to cheer her up as quickly as possible. ”I’ll d’better than tha’! I’ll even take dictation.” he said with a smile as he tossed back the rest of his drink and secured the fireplace doors with his foot before getting up from his chair. As he moved closer he bobbed his head to catch her eyes ”’ey, dinna worry. Ya still got me!” he moved across the room and set down his glass, from this distance he could smell her favorite perfume, which just so happened to be his favorite… but only on her. ”Eh, I’m not much, beyond consistent.” he added with a shrug.

Raven leaned back in the chair. “Do you have another glass, and a bottle of the good stuff?” Her drinking was mostly confined to social occasions. She could nurse a single drink for hours at those fancy events where she used to schmooze clients. But every now and then, she liked a little something to take the edge off. The confrontation with Johnny, and now Iona’s departure, had left Raven’s nerves feeling a bit raw. If she knew Dren, he would have a couple of bottles of the finer beverages stashed somewhere in his room.

”It’s funny ya say tha’.” Dren went to his closet and opened a suitcase explaining ”A good friend o’mine an’ I were in Whales one year an’ ‘ad t’go t’this castle t’meet a client.” pulling  out a duffle bag that was strapped in place Dren continued as he opened the bag to reveal a series of multi color towels that he’d obviously gotten from the linen closets of Cornerstone. Picking a soft brown one rolled up into a tight bundle he began to unroll it saying ”Th’night was dreadful, but th’Cognac was inspirational.” he whipped up the obviously and previously opened bottle of XO. ”Dinna tell anyone I told ya this, but I ‘ave t’admit, I jus’ like t’ave a glass after a good dinner.” Dren said with a smile. It was a tense moment, and if there was one thing Dren liked to defuse any tense moment with, it would be humor. He knew full well that Raven was more than aware of what he considered his weaknesses… I mean, c’mon. The idea of a REAL man sitting down by the fire and drinking of glass of brandy before going to bed – that’s something Pieran would do… Geez!

Raven smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She watched Dren as he poured the drinks. “A little liquid inspiration might serve me well tonight.” The smile left her face as she paused to gather her thoughts. “Marco’s been dragged into the middle of a situation and, I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help.”

Sure and when I’m done with that I can shoot myself in the knee with my own gun!

Dren didn’t like the idea of doing ANYTHING for Marco now. Sure there was a time in his life when he would have been the star struck fan and jumped at the chance, but the tables had turned. Marco was now moving in on unclaimed territory…

Actually that didn’t make sense, and suddenly Dren realized there were more than Marco’s problems on the table, here. It was clearly something that Raven needed help with too, otherwise she’d just try and deal with it alone. No, he wouldn’t be doing this for Marco at all… he’d be doing it for her.

Turning to hand Raven one of the glasses he paused just long enough to gesture for a clink of the glass – a gesture of trust. ”Ya know I’ll always cover ya. An’ if ya want me t’cover Marco – ya needn’t hesitate t’ask.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:30, Sun 18 June 2006.

Raven took the glass and, giving Dren a nod of thanks, took a drink. “You always did have an uncanny knack for quickly picking out the best stuff in the room, whether it's liquor or jewelry.” She smiled at him, showing her appreciation. She took another sip, letting the beverage sooth her before she continued.

“Marco’s been looking out for the widow and family of an old band mate of his. They live in Chicago. The teenage son seems to have run afoul of the wrong people. He and his friends got their hands on this antique mirror. They claim they found it in the trash. Apparently the boys occasionally scavenge items that are set out on trash day, looking for things they can fix and sell. They sold the mirror on eBay.”

“Now there’s this business man in Chicago who claims that the mirror was his and that the boys stole it. He’s been threatening the kid and his family and says somebody’s going to get hurt if he doesn’t get the mirror back soon. I’ve looked at pictures of the mirror. It’s an antique, worth a few hundred dollars but not what I’d expect to warrant threats.” Raven shrugged. “Maybe it’s got some kind of sentimental value. Anyway, you’ll never guess who bought the mirror from the boys - your buddy, Gonzo. He had agreed to sell the mirror to Marco at what would’ve been a nice profit for him, but then reneged on the deal with no explanation. Marco said Gonzo refuses to sell it at any price now. Do you think you could talk to Gonzo, see if there’s anyway you can convince him to sell the mirror?”

Dren nodded "I'll talk t'Gonzo." For You, he thought as he silently took a sip.

“Thanks.” Raven took another sip of her drink, and then stood. She left the wishbone on the desk, having forgotten all about it. “It’s getting late, and the day’s been a bit draining. I think I’ll turn in.” She started to leave, but stopped in the doorway. “That was very nice, those things that you said at dinner.” She stared at the floor, as if she suddenly felt very shy. “You know that I’m very grateful for you too, right? You’ve always got my back and, I probably don’t tell you often enough how much that means to me. Anyway, thank you - for everything. I’ll see you in the morning.” She walked out of his room and into her own without so much as a parting word from Dren.

There was still a small part of him that was stunned that she'd said as much as she did. Raven was not one for being put in the spotlight unless she was in control of all the cards in the game. He waited for her to close the door completely before lowering his eyes to his drink. He turned to refill the glass, then took his seat again and opened the fireplace doors to watch it once more.

"Well, this 'as been a 'ell of a night." toasting the burning contents of the fireplace hypnotically he smiled and added "We've got t'do it again some time." and settled back to drink his glass and allow sleep to slowly over take him.

Mike wasn’t sure the man standing a little ways down the alley was a vampire, but he showed all the signs, the leather jacket, the whole look-at-me bad boy attitude. He probably knew what kind of vibe he gave off, and that was probably why he fixed Mike with such a suspicious look when he strode into the alley toward him, smiling his brightest smile.

”Hey, bro, you got a light?” He grinned, and showed his pack of Lucky Strikes. The vamp considered him coldly, then nodded slowly, and pulled a matchbook out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket, and lit a match, cradling it carefully in his hands before offering it. Mike accepted the light with a grateful nod, and then took a long drag. ”Thanks, bro. You want one?” He offered the pack, and the vampire nodded again, accepted it, and pulled out and lit a cigarette for himself.

”Thanks,” he finally said, after a few drags. Not talkative, this one. It fit.

”Nice night,” Mike offered, after a few more drags. ”I mean, seems like it, right? Warm, kind of breezy. I love this weather. Still, I got the weirdest freakin’ feeling, you know? Like some really bad shit’s about to go down. Know what I mean?” The vampire shrugged. Mike shook his head. ”Not everybody, I guess. See, though, my girlfriend works near here. Has to walk right near here every night to get to work. Crazy, right? A nice neighborhood this really ain’t. I mean, if you were some young cutie, would you want to walk by a hundred little alleys like this one every night? Girl’s fearless. Even she’s getting this vibe, though. Had this feeling the last few nights, like she’s being followed. Who’d do that shit, you know? Follow some poor young thing around late at night, scare her half to death? Awful, right?”

”Awful,” the vamp said, without really agreeing, breathing smoke in Mike’s general direction. Mike pretended not to notice.

”What gets me is, she’s this girl. This little thing. I mean, what’s she gonna do? Pepper spray him? Kick him in the nuts, she gets lucky? Yeah, maybe. Probably not too likely, though. But this guy, this creep – if there even is a guy, right? – this guy, he can’t even work up the nerve to go after this one little girl.”

”Huh,” was all the vampire said. His voice had taken on a sour tone. Mike smiled, and starting pouring it on; he spoke with more vehemence, began to make bigger gestures.

”Yeah. Freaking chicken. That's what really pisses me off. I mean, being a monster is one thing. Being some chickenshit gutless monster, that's... well, I mean, what the hell is it? Who is that guy? Nobody. Waste of life." The vampire growled. Mike acted like he hadn't heard. "It's stupid, but I guess that's why I'm walking around, you know. Find this piece of shit who's screwing with my girl, tell him just what he is to his face, watch him fall apart like a sweater with a loose thread, right? Yeah, that would be sweet."

”Yeah? Well I guess it's your lucky...” The vamp's face changed, but by the time he had turned to face Mike, it was too late, and he was staring right into the barrel of  of Mike’s hand cannon, just in time to get a blast between the eyes. He was dust before he had a chance to do anything else, and Mike was left alone in the alley with a smoking gun in one hand, and a stake in the other, breathing hard with adrenaline.

"I guess it is, bloodsucker." With a grin, he put the stake away and pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, and punched in a number. "Trish? It's Mike Gonzalez. Yeah, I found him. No, no, it's fine. He won't be bothering you anymore. What? No, honestly, I didn't ask. Maybe you looked like his sister from three hundred years ago. Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, um, about the bill... yeah, I understand, Trish. No, I got it, but you have to understand, this is what I do for a living... uh huh... well, ok. Just get me something this week, so I can make rent, ok? We can figure out a, whatchacallit, installment plan, or whatever. Alright? Ok, thanks Trish. Talk to you later."

Before his client's voice was out of his ear, though the silence of the alley was interrupted by the sound of applause. ”Look at this," came a silky smooth voice from the alley entrance. "Mike Gonzalez, PI. Gets his man, gets the girl, but can't necessarily get the check. Believe me, Mikey, I know the feeling.”

Mike didn’t have to turn around. ”Marty. My favorite half-human, half-something spiny.” He put the phone away, but not the gun, as he turned to face the… whatever Marty was. And his two vamp lackeys. ”Good to see you.”

”Wish I could say the same, Mikey.”

Mike feigned a look of horror. Hey, Marty, it just hit me... I owe you money, don’t I? Few hundred bucks for that tip you gave me about that Mothra reject a couple of months back, right? Aw, you must have thought I was trying to skip out or something.”

Marty wasn’t buying it. His vamps each took a step forward. ”’Or something,’ yeah.”

”Well, listen, Marty…” Mike said, flashing the smile again, taking a few steps back. ”I feel awful. Listen, you may have heard I switched jobs, or started my own business, more like. Things got a little tight for a while. But I just finished a job, see?” He gestures down at the pile of dust on the alley floor.  ”Should see a little green in the next few days. I can make sure some of it goes your way.”

”Oh, Mikey, you’re making me feel like an asshole.” Marty said, shaking his head. The vamps took another step forward. ”You know that’s not how it works. Maybe before, but since they booted you off the Force..."

"You mean, 'since you started your own business.'

Marty looked skeptical. "Since you got booted off the Force, it's pretty common knowledge you haven't been making good on any of your debts. Doesn't your species have, like, fables that warn you about deals with demons, and not sticking to them exactly?" He shrugged. "And besides the fact that I sincerely doubt I'll be seeing any of my money any time soon, he was one of mine.” Marty, too, gestures at the pile of dust. ”Not a model employee. Too easily distracted, no balls. Still, it sends a message if one of my guys ends of dust on an alley floor. Sends another message if you end up splattered on an alley wall. You understand.”

”Marty, you’re killing me.” Mike's mind raced. Talking wasn't going to solve this one. Neither was shooting.

”That’s the idea.” The vamps charged now. Marty just watched, almost curiously. One chance to pull this off. He reached into his jacket like he was going for a second gun... but came back with a large wooden cross. The vampires recoiled, predictably. Mike shot one in the gut, tossed the cross at the other, and ran. Hopefully, he'd just bought himself enough seconds for this to work. The alley was a dead end, he knew, but there was a fire escape around the corner, if he could reach it. He turned the corner at a full run. There was a crack, like lightning, and a bright light in his face. Blinded, he tripped over some bit of refuse, and fell…

---

As Mike made his way up the stairs of the mansion, the sound of chirping birds grew louder. He peaked into the room. A colorful menagerie of feathers flitted about the room. An old, strange looking man sat in the big leather chair behind the desk. He gently stroked a red bird that resembled a canary as it sat on his finger. He did not look at the doorway that hid the intruder.

“Ah! Mr. Gonzalez. Do come in and sit if it suits you. I have been waiting for you. We have much to discuss.”

Pieran put the finishing touches on his note, and blew it dry.  He wrote it in feather quill calligraphy.  "Raven, I need to see you tomorrow, alone, out at the stables.  It's very important.  Meet me there at 11:30 AM.  Dress comfortably because I will need a block of your time.  --Pier."


Satisfied, he sealed the envelope and moving quietly through the third floor, slipped it beneath Raven's door and quickly made exit back to his own room.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:33, Thu 22 June 2006.

Thanksgiving Thursday passed and gave way to Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year. Ads in every form - print, radio, and television loudly announced huge early-bird specials for the beginning of the Christmas shopping season.

For Hornsby, it was a normal work day. Emails were sent, followed up with a phone call. Eventually, everyone was informed that there would be a mandatory gathering in the conference room at 5:00 pm. Once that task was complete, he left the members of Cornerstone alone for the remainder of the day. The morning proceeded uneventfully as people went about their daily routine.

The estate stables were one of the older structures of the grounds, yet they remained in exquisite shape. The dark, old oak timbers that formed the building’s skeleton were a stark contrast in color to the light colored flat stone that covered the outer walls. The doorways showed a bit of weathering, although years of careful maintenance had preserved the wood.

In the center, two carriages sat awaiting their turn. One was a simple two person rig, built like an old style buggy with large wood spoke wheels, black leather seating and leaf springs. It was a romantic rig with just enough room on the back for a picnic basket and a sun cover that could be raised if a light rain threatened to spoil the mood. The other was more of a work wagon. It was a blend of the modern and the Wild West. A high front seat for two with a fair sized flat bed, suitable for hauling loads of supplies from the general store, or as it had been used in more recent years, hayrides around the manor. It, however sported truck wheels, complete with shock absorbers to insure a smoother ride.

Around the outer walls were the horse stalls. Originally able to comfortably house ten horses, half of the stalls were converted into store room, tack room, and feed supplies. The four horses that resided here were very comfortable in cleaned stalls that were heated in the winter and could be opened up for the summer breezes. A heavy brass plate inscribed with the name of each resident was displayed prominently by each stall.

The horses varied in breed, but were all well mannered, tolerant beasts. A speckled gray Missouri Fox Trotting horse named Serenity was at ease both in the carriage harness or the saddle. Calypso, a painted Appaloosa, was better ridden then harnessed, and took care of the rider. It did well with a saddle, but seemed to prefer a rider that went bareback. The chestnut Mustang Blaze was a bit high spirited, but still gentle. It would tolerate the harness, but much preferred the saddle. And finally Mischief, the stocky black Morgan horse. Capable of towing any of the rigs single handedly, this gentle animal was great at working and was good for a ride as well.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:34, Thu 22 June 2006.

Pieran put the final touches on one of the horses, cinching a saddle and checking the bit in the huge animal’s mouth.  He was dressed almost for another era; leather riding pants, tall boots, and a silk, cranberry shirt that looked like it stepped out of a renaissance festival.  The trim and cuffs were white lace and they hung like bells over his black-gloved hands.  Ribbons and a leather lash tied back his hair, while a familiar blue scarf, tied like a tourniquet, adorned his left wrist.  The wakizashi sword at his back and his great, all-business, “letter opener” upon his hip not only completed the ensemble but lent seriousness to the air of their meeting.  He would have looked comical were it not for the fact that he was a walking, talking zeitgeist, making it difficult to reckon whether he was out of step with time, or time out of step with him.

The bouquet of littered hay, saddle soap, leather, and of course, large animals filled the air, encompassing Raven as she entered. Her appearance in the stables did not escape him and he abruptly halted his furtive conversation with the huge equine beast.  The odors were poetry to him and he smiled at her.  “I’m glad you came,” he said, cloaking himself with a heavy woolen, forest green chlamys. "I hope your riding skills are up to par. We’ll need the horses to take us.”

Raven smiled at the sight of Pieran with the horses. "I feel under dressed." She looked from Pieran, in all his finery, to her own outfit of a green hoodie and blue jeans. She had interpreted the words "dress comfortably," from his note, to mean casually. If it had been anyone other than Pieran that had told her the dress was informal, while he wore silk and lace with all the accessories, Raven might've suspected that she was being set up to be embarrassed. But, she had come to know that this was just Pieran being Pieran. In his own way, he was trying to show her great respect by dressing up for her. Raven knew that he meant no harm with his old world ways, and if the disparity in attire caused her any discomfort, he was unaware. She forced herself to let little things like this go.

Raven looked at the pair of horses that Pieran had saddled. "They're beautiful." Turning to the Renaissance man she asked, "We need them to take us where?"

"Underdressed?" he challenged.  "Not at all.  You look perfect"  He made the final adjustments to the tack on the Morgan, then moved to the carriage.  With an uncharacteristic flair for theatrics, he reached behind the seats, whipping off a red and black plaid, woolen lawn blanket. "We need the horses to take us....TA DA! To the picnic grounds!"

He smiled at her, a boyish twinkle in his eye, a flush of color embossing his cheeks.  "Surprise," he said, somewhat sheepishly, hauling out a well-stuffed day pack from where it had been concealed.  Her smiled at her a second time, for a moment appearing almost helpless.  "I took the liberty of preparing a lunch for us; I hope you don't mind.

"The horses are ready," he said, slipping the pack over his shoulders.  "That beauty, a Morgan Horse, is named "Mischief," and this lady is a Missouri Trotter named, "Serenity."  They'll ride us well, I think."

Raven smiled with a child-like look of surprise in her eyes. “A picnic?” She looked at the saddled horses and the pack of food that Pieran was holding. “You did all this to take me on a picnic?” She was obviously touched by the sweetness of his gesture. “I haven’t been on a real picnic since…” Memories of outings with her mother when Raven was a young girl, and before her mom had become ill, flashed through her mind. “Well, it’s been a long time. This is really nice of you, Pier.”

Raven walked over to the two horses. First she stroked the mare called Serenity, and then she approached the black Morgan. “I’ve always liked Morgan horses. They’re such a strong and versatile breed.” She touched the side of the animal’s head with her hand, and stared into his eyes. “I like the look of him, and a name like Mischief is hard to resist.” She reached out and took the reins from Pieran.

"You know horses, then. Good call."  He handed her the large blanket.  "Would you mind too terribly to carry this in your saddle bag?"

Raven secured the blanket, and then led the horse out of the stables. She climbed on and waited for Pieran to lead the way. It was a warm and sunny day for fall. Some people would call it an Indian Summer. The trees were adorned with leaves in the brilliant autumn colors of red, orange and yellow. “This is great, Pier. Thank you for inviting me.” It felt good to get away from everything that had been going on at the mansion for the past couple of days, and just relax.

Their ride began north and they moved at a leisure pace, punctuated now and then by Pieran’s urging, moving the horses from a slow walk to a comfortable canter, and back.  He kept his eye on Raven as they got underway.  But it was soon clear that she was as sure-saddled as the horses were sure-hoofed.

Their journey took them north toward the archery field when they turned west from there and ranged a great distance.  There were trees here and about, like accent marks, and a curious mound of lichen rich granite boulders, massively strong and incongruous among the gentle rolling plain of alfalfa, buckwheat, and clover.  Perched atop the highest boulder, a raven eyed their passage with curiosity, surprised by this encroachment of humanity so far a field and boldly announcing the fact with its scratchy caw.

“Quoth your namesake,” Pieran said, nodding his head in the great bird’s direction. “‘Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.’  Did you get a lot of that, growing up?”

“You have no idea. I actually liked English class until we started studying Poe and that poem. School was a miserable existence for me. In those days I had little control over my ability to gain insight from objects. That brought about some awkward moments. Soon, not only was I the smart girl with glasses but, I was also the weird kid. I withdrew from people. Books were my salvation. By the time I was in the 8th grade I had learned how to fly under the radar. I’d sit in the back, keep my mouth shut, avoid all social situations, and eventually everyone was ignoring me - which was what I wanted. Then we read that poem, and I became the object of everyone’s teasing all over again. They’d relate some of the stories of my ‘weirdness’ from when we were kids, but the stories had been embellished over time. They started comparing me to Carrie. One day somebody even left a dead raven hanging in my locker. I almost wished I could ‘go all Carrie’ at the prom.”

She took a deep breath and let out a weary sigh. “Ravens remind me of an unhappy time in my life. I have no affection for them. They were never the bird that I was drawn to. So of course, what’s the gift my father has for me when he finally decides to re-enter my life - a figurine of a raven. I guess that was easier than spending the time to actually get to know me.” Her voice was filled with bitterness.

She hit a nerve.  Yes, he did.  "Wounds often shape us and sometimes disfigure us.  I think we all tacitly understand that.  Some of us seize upon that fact and, exploiting it, become bullies.  I do not suffer bullies well.  Had I shared your classroom..."

He left whatever else he had to say on the subject hanging, Damoclesian.

"Well, I have an affection for ravens."  His tone moved from ominous to light-hearted.  "In fact, there's a woman I know, someone I feel is a friend, named Raven.  She's a delightful woman; you really should meet her, some day.  She's beautiful, intelligent, witty, brave, and knows one or two tricks.  She saved.....Our lives once and today, I celebrate her.  And you know, raven feathers adorn the dress of the Valkyrie and are associated with great goddesses of magic and mirth.  Ravens themselves are wiley, clever, and self-sacrificing.  They will stand and call to warn the forests of danger, putting themselves at risk of being caught for their troubles.  They're very keen, to say the least.  There is much admirable about them and much we can be grateful to them for."

His tone shifted again, bold now as he broached another subject that piqued his interest.  "But what about your father?" Pieran asked. "What do you mean, 're-entered' you life?  What's that all about?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:35, Fri 07 July 2006.

Raven fidgeted in the saddle and turned her face away from Pieran to hide the slight blush that had come to her cheeks. It was clear that she was not comfortable with him showering praise on her. “We, as a group saved each other. I won’t deny that I participated, but everyone is equally deserving of such praise. I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a treatment for you without the help of Johnny and Iona. I appreciate your compliments but, I’m no more deserving of them then the others.”



“Don’t be too quick to assign those attributes to me.” She smiled. “Especially that self-sacrificing bit. Trust me, I’ve always made it a point to look out for myself. Can’t trust anybody else to do it for me.” She shrugged. “I think time needs to provide a little more distance between me and those memories before I can appreciate my feathered namesake. For now, ravens just dredge up stuff I’d rather not be reminded of.”



Raven’s face hardened. “He took off when I was young, leaving my mother penniless and with a child to raise on her own. Never heard from him again until he happened to read in a magazine about some treasure I’d found while working for the Albright Foundation. I think he liked the idea of a treasure hunting daughter and he was hoping for a piece of the pie.” Raven suddenly had a weary look about her. “To be honest, Pier, he’s another thing in my life that I’d rather not be reminded about.”

She took a deep breath to clear her head. “How is your work on the flute coming along? Have you finished it yet?”

To some extent that was true, as he indicated by thanking them all at the table the day before.  But it was doubtful that Johnny would make as fine a picnic mate –no offense to the young medic, and Iona was no longer in his life.  Raven was still celebration worthy, though he chose not to pursue the point.



“Sounds lonely.  Maybe those days are changing,” Pieran offered.  “Dysfunctional though it is sometimes, and how many families aren’t, you’re in a kind of family now.  There are people here who will look out for you.  You’re riding with one.”



Well.  That was that.  “I understand,” was all he said.  It pained him to hear of her experiences.  He would not press her on that subject though he was interested in many more things, those tidbits she had left hanging in the air.  The Albright Foundation?  What was that?  And her talent for psychometry –she’d had it since a child.  He wondered how she had it at all, or whether there was anyone in her family with similar talents.  Life with dad was virtually nothing; what was life like with her mother?  Where was her mother today?  How did she reckon her daughter’s talent?  He was just about to put forward one of those questions when she moved the conversation in a different direction.



He laughed.  “Oh my!  I have finished it, yes.  I brought it.  But if you think I’m going to play it –er, I should say, play it well, you’ll have to wait many lifetimes.  Making it was something to do while I was sick and stir-crazy.  Now, I have to learn it.  I will.  Slowly.”

He motioned up ahead.  “See that tree line out there?  About three hundred yards out?  Last one there is a rotten egg!”  And without spending another second, he kicked his horse into high gear, spurring it to a fast charge, quickly gaining the advantage…

Raven was nowhere near as skilled on horseback as Pieran, but she managed well enough. In fact, she probably handled the horse better than she did the car. She encouraged Mischief to speed up the pace as she followed Pieran.

Raven arrived at the tree line moments after Pieran, who greeted her with a magnificently impish grin.  “I win,” he said, playfully.  He was such a boy, sometimes.  “C’mon, we’re close to lunch, now,” he smiled, “and I’m hungry.”

Returning to a walk he and Serenity led them along the northern edge of the thick trees, and through the bordering pastureland.  It wasn’t long after that they came upon a respectable lake which Pieran was calling, ‘Picnic Lake.’  They dismounted at the northwest corner and set up their tableau.  It was a simple fare: sandwiches and green beans, grapes and jarred apricots, grilled and macerated with wine and tarragon; mixed nuts, and ‘potato poopies,’ shoestring cut potato chips.  A crisp Pinot Grigio rounded out the lunch, but there were bottled waters, too, and a hot thermos of White Tea, an especially fragrant variant of Green Tea.  The sandwiches were left over turkey, harvested, Pieran explained, from Iain’s portion whom he was sure wouldn’t mind.  He dressed them with Havarti cheese, sliced avocado, and sunflower sprouts, nestled in a French baguette.

He poured Raven some wine and clinked glasses with her.  “I know you say that my return to health was a team effort,” he said, once lunch was underway, “and that is true.  But the last time we were at a lake together you did what no other could.  You helped steer me straight.  There aren’t a lot of people who can do that.  When I say you saved our lives, I mean that you did it.  So I hold fast to what I said before; today I am celebrating you.  I know now that you’re not big on fawning and I respect that.  So I won’t labor the point.  But today is for you and I give you thanks.  I also wanted to go riding with you and to take you where there are fewest distractions.  I think I’d like to ride with you again, perhaps regularly.  I would be honored if you would accept this invitation.”

He raised his glass to her one final time.  “You know,” he said, swallowing a sip of the fine vintage, “you ride really quite well.  Where did you learn it?”
This message was last edited by the player at 09:44, Wed 28 June 2006.