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Post by kovergirl on Jun 8, 2013 18:50:26 GMT -8
Part 1
It began with a buzzing. A low hum of a smartphone vibrating with artificial urgency upon the nightstand. Short bursts of noisy complaint that Vi easily ignored by retreating deeper into her covers. She snuggled her body pillow closer, and used its mass to drown out the offending buzz. Eventually the phone tired and gave up its incessant thrashing as she knew it would. Her bed, her little nest of comfort and happiness was far more enticing than anything else the world could possibly offer. She sighed into her pillow. Sleep. Such an underrated thing while one was full of caffeine and mojitos now transformed into something so perfect in the right now. How perceptions change. Definitely something to dream about. She wiggled her toes. Yes, this arrangement suited her just fine.
Then the klaxon blaring of the more traditional alarm clock burst to life, its jarring percussion filling the room with uncomfortable noise. It shrieked and shrieked, and showed no sign of tiring unlike its predecessor. Vi groaned and cracked one eye open. It took a moment for her vision to clear but eventually she was able to make out the offending piece of civilization, perched fiendishly atop a dresser on the other side of the room. She reached out and angled her phone so she could read it. 6:06 AM. Where the Hell did her five minutes disappear to?
She groaned again and languidly flailed her limbs about, a weak tantrum directed at nobody in particular. The thrashing soon gave way to stretching, and the small sounds of relief that such actions elicit. Finally ready to face the screeching terror, Vi grabbed her phone and slid out of bed. The cold fabric of the bedroom carpeting greeted her feet as the chilly Seattle air played across her skin. The chill motivated her steps as she navigated the minefield of discarded clothing on the floor, shed without a care the night before as a snake would. With the clock silenced, she rummaged through the dresser until it yielded a simple powder blue hoodie, which she quickly donned before she turned her attention to the remnants of the previous night.
A leather motocross jacket, a graphic tee, and skinny jeans. And socks. Mustn't forget the socks. These she gathered up in one arm. Her shoulder holsters along with her favorite pair of hardballers she scooped up in the other. After she stowed her guns in her walk-in closet, she quickly dropped the rest of her bundle into the laundry hamper then padded her way down the short hallway to her condo's main living space. The alluring aroma of french roast guided and the cold hardwood floor hastened her steps to the kitchen where she poured herself a fresh mug from the timed coffeemaker, a piece of civilization that she had infinitely more appreciation for.
Chill temporarily defeated thanks to the powers of coffee, Vi rounded the sink and counter-top island that divided the living area and the kitchen, humming a tune she had heard in passing but was now firmly lodged in her head as she entered the living space. Score one for Lummie controlled media! The familiar morning gloom of Seattle filled her condo's window wall of floor to ceiling glass with a dirty white haze that reminded her of her dryer's lint trap. Gloomy, perhaps, but she always found Seattle's fog and gentle rains very pretty. She took another sip of deliciously flavored caffeine, now mere inches away from the wall and its possibly vertigo inducing view. Thirty seven floors down and a little to the right was Pike Place, barely visible through the mist. And beyond that, the unseen Puget Sound.
It was a fairly new place, bought with money all her own. It still amazed her how far several hundred thousand dollars and a few wisely chosen investments could go, even in the current economy. Certainly better than the sketchy apartment in Jersey.
She set her mug down nearby on the amusingly aptly named coffee table, and began warming up for her morning routine; stretches, pilates, and kickboxing. By 7:00 she was ready for her shower, and more importantly, breakfast. Now dressed in comfortable clothes and a towelful of damp hair, she found her carton of milk next to the stacks of pre-packaged sushi in the fridge. Next she perused her cupboards and noted her dwindling stocks of breakfast cereals with a brief pouting of her lips. She will have to go grocery shopping soon. She hated grocery shopping. So many of aisles filled with ingredients that went straight over her head. She shrugged and poured herself some frosted mini wheats, as one of the few boxes with anything left in it and drowned the processed grains in milk, still humming bits of the song. A banana and half a serving of a chocolate flavored protein shake rounded out her low maintenance meal, which she juggled over to the living area to join her now cold coffee. Once settled into her couch, breakfast ready, she stirred the contents of the bowl idly for some long moments, her mind elsewhere.
She then ate in solemn silence, the slowly retreating fog her only companion.
Meal finished, she eventually took to checking her stock portfolio on her phone and her mouth tilted into a half-frown. A portion of her holdings took a dip. But the upward trends were still strong so she made the decision to let them ride it out for a little while longer. Aegir Communications stock was doing fairly well too, but her rather insignificant stake was more a courtesy than any real attempt at turning a profit. In short, nothing to freak out over. A wry smirk touched her lips when the memory of her once treasured collection of spare coinage surfaced. Money was such a fickle thing now. All ones and zeroes and random pulses of electricity, breeding and vanishing unseen to most behind a legion of databases and servers. Even what she had managed to amass thus far could easily evaporate because of things both in and out of her control. And that was before the Corporate Sponsors got their hands on it.
She looked over her messages. Nothing terribly urgent or important, otherwise she would have noticed the flags. Another quiet day on-call. She spent a few minutes sifting through the e-mails accumulated over the previous evening and skimmed over the assorted messages with little enthusiasm. On-site technical issues, random employees being sociable over company e-mails, things of that nature that would normal fall under the blanket term, Spam. Then she came across two words that stole her attention.
Father's Day.
Without a further word read, Vi set down her phone, which rapped sharply against the polished glass of the coffee table. She sighed, long and slow, as what felt like an invisible weight pushing down on her chest. It had been two years now. Two years of her life, her search for truth on hold. Two years finding her footing after Gloria stabbed her in the back, figuratively, and getting shot in the head, literally. Two years and not even a single step closer to finding out what had happened to Father. She slowly swept her gaze over the condo, feeling the almost childish urge to avert her gaze and stare at the floor despite being alone. Two years getting comfortable.
She blew a small, quiet sigh and whispered to the fog, "What would you say, Papi..."
Too comfortable.
Not a moment longer, Vi decided then and there. She shot straight up, nearly knocking over her coffee in the process and marched back to her room to get dressed. Socks first. Then black skinny jeans before practical combat boots, a collared shirt of dark crimson, and supple black gloves. Before their rather spectacular falling out, she and Gloria had made some head way towards discovering the reason and nature of their Father's last expedition. The thought of whether Gloria had continued the search afterwards, or if she did, whether she had been successful or not barely gave her pause. She had to know for herself. And though she lacked any of his journals and documents, she knew exactly where to find them.
As she strapped on her shoulder holsters, it surprised her how excited she had become.
It was time to go home.
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Post by kovergirl on Jun 18, 2013 19:05:33 GMT -8
Part 2
"We've arrived, Ms. Vega."
"I'm not blind, Alvarez," Gloria rebuked her driver with haughty disdain and exited the car, not bothering to wait for her guards to open the door for her.
The warm, dry evening air enveloped her immediately, dispelling the artificial coolness she had cultivated in the car's cabin as she marched up a meticulously landscaped stone path. The path led her through a small forest-like grove of scattered pines, oaks and olive trees. Her high heeled footfalls rapped sharply against the stone, punctuating the constant rustle of leaves and the subtle whisper of her dress in the slight breeze. Two pairs of less percussive footsteps trailed dutifully behind hers, though their owners remained silent as their mistress kept to herself. Within moments the trees parted and the path spread to encompass the lavish manor house that dominated the southeastern corner of Vega Sicilia, a two hundred and fifty acre vineyard several kilometers east of Valladolid, Spain. The building was a elegant construct of peach-hued masonry framed with pale cream colored stonework. Moorish inspired parapets crowned distinct sections of roof, which hinted at generations of expansion and renovation.
Gloria gave none of these details any mind as she stepped onto the porch and strode past the man servant waiting at the door. The entrance hall was cooler than it was outside, but still maintained a pleasant warmth. Precisely how she preferred it. "I wish to retire," she said, her tone a clear order and made her way to the stairs leading to the upper floors of the manor house. The pairs of footsteps did not follow.
She breathed in the faint perfumes of honeysuckle as she ascended. Few were ever allowed in the upper floors, which made the place her sanctuary against the stresses and annoyances of the outside world. Haughty stoicism had been a strong bulwark during the day, but she shrugged it off at the end of the day like the metal suits of her forefathers. The further she retreated into the candle-lit halls, the more of the day's wounds rallied to her notice. Her feet, which throbbed against its confines was chief among these wounds and it did little to improve her mood. She tolerated it not one moment after entering her chambers, and kicked off the offending high heels with a silent sigh of relief. Brusque and angry fingers tugged off the pins that affixed her hair in the severe bun that now collapsed and tumbled down in wide midnight coils around her shoulders.
Several long strides brought her past her desk, her fingers gliding along the ornate corners out of habit until she reached the liquor cabinet nestled between two heavy book shelves. One pale hand procured a crystal snifter, the other a nearly empty bottle of Remy Martin, which did its duty by filling the glass in glorious amber moments later. She barely gave the selection of fine wines a second's glance. It was not an evening fit for wine. She set the spent bottle aside and rocked the glass on her palm, savoring the heady scent of the liquor. But as she raised the snifter to her lips, the invasive sense of being watched chipped at the corner of senses that she had long learned to trust.
She was no alone. She sensed that now. A presence at the window, partially concealed by the thin curtains that fluttered in the warm breeze.
Her free hand snapped up towards the danger, crackling arcs of electricity webbing the spaces between her fingers, eager to lunge at whatever target their mistress willed. But the metallic snap of gun's hammer locking into place stayed her hand, still inches off from pointing where the noise had came from.
"Really Lolo, is that how greet your sister after all this time?"
Gloria slowly turned, her eyes narrowing into hostile slits until she faced the source of oh-so-annoyingly familiar voice. She always hated that nickname. A fact that the bitch enjoyed using endlessly to her vexation. "You are the one pointing a gun at me," she retorted and glowered down the barrel of the intruder's pistol from across the room. The trespasser lounged like a model on one of those horrid magazine covers, draped leisurely on the sill of an opened window by the door to her balcony. Gloria could see that the woman wore a pair of shoulder holsters, the butt of a second weapon poking out from behind the woman's profile.
The weapon only lowered went Gloria lowered hers and banished the magical lightning that had been dancing around her skin. "Oh pardon me," the woman replied dryly, "Shooting someone in the head really does put a sour note on the relationship."
"What is it that you want, Victoria? Revenge, is it?"
A derisive snort, "You can get over yourself, sister dear."
Gloria slammed her glass on her desk. It was a small wonder that it did not shatter on impact. "You are no sister of mine!"
If Victoria was at all perturbed by her outburst, she made no sign. Instead, she glanced around the room and shrugged, "The wards seem to disagree."
Gloria summoned her will and a surge of energy coursed down her arms just as the gun rose up again to face her, "In terms of attrition," Victoria commented conversationally, despite the dangerous look in her eye. A look that she could not remember her ever possessing, "I do believe that I have the advantage here, Lolo."
Gloria let the air out of her lungs, taking her strength with it and sank into her chair behind the desk. Subtlety was never her strong suit, as the Old Family Friends were ever so quick to remind her, but never has the revelation stung more than this very instant. The misstep was hers alone, and yet her pride steeled her resolve while stoking her anger. A flaw, perhaps, but its was hers to indulge. She gave her still full snifter a harsh, contemplative look before banishing it from her notice. Instead, Gloria glared over her desk with simmering contempt while her 'guest' stared back, eyes clearly seen in the moon's soft light yet unreadable. A long, pregnant pause would pass before Victoria finally broke the silence.
"You sold Papi's estate."
"What of it," came the curt reply, harsher than she had intended.
That seemed to take the mongrel aback, "You don't care anymore? After all we've done, you're just going to throw it all away?"
Gloria sniffed dismissively, but looked away a moment before focusing back on Victoria, "I have, and why do you care? What have you done with yourself all this time? I expected you to come snooping about over a year ago. Why now? Did you finally grow tired of whoring yourself to fat old-"
The gun went back up again, this time quickly enough for her to wonder if she had hit a nerve, "Don't change the subject," she said coldly, enunciating each word like the snapping jaws of a dangerous animal.
Gloria smirked a little then. What little time she had to savor her victory she relished then gave a decidedly flippant answer, "I realized the folly of pursuing the matter any further. As for Father's estate," she added with a shrug, "I much prefer my Mother's vineyard. And I saw little reason to cling to unnecessary sentiments. Father's things were removed and stored away for safekeeping."
Victoria studied her face for long, tense breaths before finally lowering her weapon. So impatient. So quick to violence. Had she always been so, Gloria wondered. Or was it American influence? Eventually Victoria's voice put an end to her musing, "So this has nothing to do with the Templars turning our childhood home into an outpost?"
Gloria leaned forward with her elbows on the table and rested her chin on laced fingers. There was much she could say, much she could not. In the end, she merely let the silence linger, just long enough for it to be meaningful before uttering a simple, "No."
The answer seemed to satisfy the woman who then tucked her gun away in the empty holster on her person and then swiveled towards to the outside of the building. "I'll be taking this," she said in place of a farewell. In her other hand she waved a bottle that Gloria suspected came from her private cellar. Security has left much to be desired, she decided, notably irked.
Without another word Victoria's lithe figure disappeared out her window. Gloria sat in the dark for several long moments before she reached for her landline phone and the intercom to which it was connected. The dial tone droned on for a long time before she set the device back down with nothing but a heavy sigh. Despite all her concessions to the Old Family Friends, her demands for information were repeatedly deflected and even outright denied. The memory brought with it the incessant sense of failure which hung heavily on her shoulders. But tonight she was just too damned tired to ignore it. So she reached for her glass and drank her fill, letting the fire burn its way down her throat before standing and reaching for a fresh bottle.
It was definitely not a night fit for wine.
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Post by kovergirl on Jun 24, 2013 13:51:43 GMT -8
Part 3
Simancas Castle. It was a modestly sized citadel from which the town of Simancas took its name. Centuries of history weighed down on the dirty gray stone that formed its sturdy walls, forming cracks that mortar had done little to conceal. The blue gray roofs were webbed with the stains of rain. And tenacious tendrils of ivy had patiently woven over scores of generations, a thick curtain of green that infested the masonry. Much of the castle's history was tempered in blood and war, from its thick walls to the deep ditch moat that surrounded the castle grounds. A single exposed bridge served as the connection between town and keep. Once a stronghold for the Moors, then the Castilians and beyond, it now served as the Archivo General, the National Archives of Spain.
Vi stood on the bridge overlooking the castle moat. It was a hot summer afternoon and she was dressed accordingly in a simple sundress with a matching hat. She also carried a clutch handbag, one small enough for her to be admitted without being required to check it in. The sun was already making its daily descent towards the horizon but had not yet begun to relinquish its scorching hold upon the earth. It had been three days since Vi's visit to Vega Scilia, enough time for her to work out where Father's documents had been removed to. Anna had been a great help in that regard, narrowing down the list to the just a handful of locations along with the convincing credentials needed to access them. What made this location the pick of the litter however, was the fact that it was also a records repository for the Templars. Information courtesy of one of her few remaining Templar affiliated contacts.
She leaned over the side, and gave herself a few moments to admire the view of the town, the squat white buildings and terracotta shingles forming curvy rows alongside the roads and footpaths that formed looping shapes that encompassed the castle. A small frown crept into her expression when her thoughts settled on her encounter with her sister. Gloria had been hiding something, that much was true in her mind. She had gone into that encounter looking for answers one way or the other, and yet she walked away with more questions. The Templars stonewalled her sister's investigation, and seemed to have gone out of their way to confiscate all of Father's belongings, but to what end? Gloria might have her hands tied, but not hers. She had to believe that to be the reason why her sister had been so forthcoming with information, despite their history. And that this was not some elaborate wild goose chase.
Vi could not help but chuckle a bit wryly at the thought. If that was what's to be considered forthcoming with information...
It had been hard to see Gloria after all this time. After all she's done. There had been a dark, angry pit in her stomach when she discovered Templar retainers milling about the old estate. A cold ache that grew heavier when she discovered the sale of her Father's holdings, and that clung to her when she snuck into the vineyard.
She had never liked Gloria, who had always seen her as a shame to be put in its place. Just like their Mother. But she never hated them. She knew why they treated her as they did, and deep down, she often wondered if she would have done the same in their place. To be faced with the constant proof that theirs was not the perfect family they had dreamed of. But she hated Gloria that night. Hated her for throwing away what they had built. For throwing him away.
Vi rested her weight on the railing, feeling the rough stone dig into her skin and breathed out, hoping some of that oppressive weight would leave her lungs with the air. But it didn't. The feeling would not be so easily dispelled. God forgive her, she almost shot her sister that night.
But dwelling on it wasn't about to do any good. It was time to goto work. That was what she told herself as she pushed away from the railings of the bridge. As she approached the castle entryway, now just a heavy set of wooden doors rather than the typical iron portcullis, she noted the single security guard stationed at the opposite end of the bridge, and the fixed cameras that marked a handful of points along the sides of the buildings and towers in the citadel. A dozen or so tourists and would-be scholars roamed the castle ramparts instead of soldiers, and a few locals were lounging in the courtyard. It was as she had expected. The archives were open to the public, after all. Though the Secret parts would be another story all together.
A demure smile bought her entrance into the cool, temperature regulated building that housed the archives, and the letters of introduction that Anna had prepared gave her access to the stacks. Where the reading room had been a cozy and slightly stuffy arrangement of antique tables and chairs, the stacks were a claustrophobic steel grid of floor to ceiling shelving, packed to bursting with box after cardboard box of letters, reports, and other minutia that was the daily byproduct of governance. Soft, muffled footfalls traveled amidst the musty labyrinth, and assured her that she was not alone in the once cavernous rooms that made up the archive. The near choking atmosphere of ancient paper was almost overwhelming as she navigated past documents that might as well have been as old as the kings and queens of Castile and Leon. But what she sought was not to be found in the world of everyday. And so she concentrated the on the Secret, and the faint trails of Anima that such things tended to leave behind.
After about a half hour and numerous rooms, her search brought her to a dark, gated stairway that led down into the bowels of the castle. The passage was unguarded, save for a solitary camera, the only one to grace the stacks. Say what you will about stereotypes, but the Reds certainly weren't subtle.
Following the outdated cables, she soon found a section within reach. Once the opportunity presented itself, Vi reached into her purse and withdrew a small device about the size of a paperclip. A handy little trinket that, once attached, would hack into the security feed and perpetually loop the image for whoever was watching. It would take all but a moment for her to do so, and ensure that the device was hidden from inspection. Another moment for her to make her way back to the gate, skimming the labels on the boxes as she went for appearance's sake. The gate was unlocked, but her hand hesitated over its iron bars.
Wards...
Amazing little constructs, her sister used to tell her. Simple and formulaic symbols and lines that can be built up into ever more complex, powerful, and most importantly, logical combinations. Their creation took skill, knowledge, and above all, patience. Even a simple array, immaculately drawn can contain more power than a more advanced but messily made one. More importantly, wards, regardless of it craftsmanship, are fragile things. Simple disruptions of the connections between its component parts can often lead to catastrophic and explosive failure of the whole array. Some adepts even go to great lengths to prepare fail safes, designed to deter and punish those who would tamper with their wards. The trick then, as Vi recalls her sister saying, was to shape one's own array, perfectly harmonized to cancel out the effects of the former, but without disrupting existing connections. But there was good and bad news regarding that approach.
The bad news was that there was neither the time nor space needed to make such a counter-ward without being noticed. The good news was that Anima can be a viable substitute, if one knew what they were doing.
Vi reached into her purse again, this time retrieving three small metal vials of blood that she had drawn beforehand. She had done a lot of self-study on the structure of wards after becoming Gaia-blessed. It was a skill that had been useful in her line of work, and continued to prove its worth now. She pulled the stoppers free and emptied the vials into her palm.
Redness. Wet and ugly coated her hand. She focused her will and the redness evaporated into a fine mist that wafted over the gate. In her mind's eye, the Anima threading through the ward pulsed threateningly as the energy from her blood made contact. It pulsed again when her power coalesced, bonding with the original array in a perfect, if ephemeral, embrace.
Knowing that her time was limited, she pushed against the gate and it yielded silently. No burst of Anima greeted her or took flight to warn whomever may be listening, so she took it as a good sign. With the gate closed behind her, she made her way down the dark stairs until she emerged in a long tunnel, crafted from far more modern materials than the architecture of the castle would have suggested, which branched off into over a dozen chambers. Light bled out into the tunnel from the first of the chambers that lined the tunnel.
She pressed her back against the wall as she approached the light source, a small office that served as what she assumed to be the archivist of this Secret place. She had explored enough of her share of dusty archives to know that she will need the finding aids held in that office. Inside, an older gentleman busied himself with his back turned towards her. He traced the tomes that lined his wall with patient fingers, quietly muttering his train of thought. His distraction was her chance, and soon he was secured away behind his desk, his consciousness stolen by her choke hold. She then bound his hands and feet with his shoelaces and gagged him with a sock just to be safe.
Vi then followed old man's trail, her eyes tracking the leather-bound spines of the codices that indexed the materials stored in the nearby chambers. Within moments she held the volume she sought in her hand. She placed the finding aid on the desk, and stepped over the unconscious man as she did so, and leafed through the pages. Her steady breathing was the only sound to keep her company during her search. After three or four minutes she tapped the page that she had been looking for with a triumphant finger. Room 9, Aisle 3, Shelves 11-31. Entire decades of her Father's life filed away in a hundred and twenty feet of shelving. She swallowed the indignation and continued reading. She and Gloria had read through most of what was assembled there, but she did not recognize some of the materials that were listed. The ink that recorded these entries were bolder, carrying less of the weight of time that had dulled the others. New information. That was what she needed. Shelf 31.
She left the office behind and entered the tunnel. The rooms were clearly labeled before the light of her phone and she soon found her way to the place she needed to be. Shelf 31. The three pristine white boxes that populated the shelf were a stark contrast to the dusty brown of their neighbors. She plucked the oddballs off the shelf, lining them up on the floor before she dug into their contents. Much of the first two boxes contained letters and records that appeared to have been pulled from other locations, rather than coming from Anthony Vega's private collection.
The last box drew most of her interest. The first to draw her eye was a small, leather bound notebook. Disbelief mixed with elation. It was her Father's pocket diary where he kept all of his notes and thoughts. She felt her heart quicken and it somehow sapped the moisture from her throat. He had kept this on his person at all times. She had thought it lost with him when he disappeared in the Himalayas. How could the journal have turned up here? She tugged on the leather strap that kept the book secured, but it would not budge. She bit on her bottom lip, noting the runes etched lock on the band of leather with a brief frown. She did not remember it ever being there. She gave the lock a mental shrug and tucked the book away in her purse. That will be a puzzle for later, she decided, and kept looking. Under the notebook, housed in a soft mold was a clay tablet, roughly the size of a modern tablet computer. Time dulled symbols filled the surface of the tablet and discovered even more covering the opposite side when she gingerly lifted it from its housing. She could not make heads or tails of the tablet, so she snapped up a few images on her smartphone before putting the artifact back in its container.
The rest of the box were filled with several thin files describing something called Project καιρός, but a cursory glance divulged little in the way of details. These she took pictures of as well before returning them and the boxes to their original positions on the shelf, glad that her hands did not shake nearly as much as she thought they were.
Vi checked the time as she head back towards the stairs. Barely forty minutes had passed. There was also the faint, stifled sounds of struggle from inside the office as she passed through, which elicited a sympathetic smirk. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, she performed one more minor feat of anima shaping before passing through the gate, then made her way to the exit. No one questioned her passage. The guard at the door even wished her a good afternoon. How sweet.
By the time the archivist had extricated himself, she was already long gone.
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Post by kovergirl on Jun 29, 2013 13:48:11 GMT -8
Part 4
Project καιρός.
"Project Kairos," Vi repeated to herself, once again flipping through the image captures that she had made of the clay tablet only hours before in Simancas.
She set her phone down next to her half-eaten and forgotten plate of morcilla, bread, and cheeses with frustrated sigh, then stood up from the couch that she had been lounging on. She stretched and paced around her small Spanish apartment, located near the heart of Valladolid's historic old town. A simple one bed, one bath with modest spaces, a far cry from her luxury condo in Seattle. Her unit was packed in a building indistinguishable from its neighbors, on a street too ancient to be wide enough for two cars to squeeze through abreast. But it was home of a sort, a little slice of familiar that she had kept, near what had been home, in case she ever needed to return.
She stopped near the window, and gaze past the gap in the curtains down the two stories to the street below. Night had long since fallen and the day's gaggle of tourists and locals have fled the darkened and narrow streets in favor of the newer, broader avenues, and their enticing allure of street foods. She sighed again at muffled murmurs of an overly loud television through the thin walls of the apartment. Heavy footsteps occasionally added their distracting noise from one point of the ceiling to the next, with a force that made her wonder if she was causing the same amount of exasperation for the inhabitants below her. She had hoped that whom it was would have gone to bed by now. Rather than letting her consternation stew however, she turned her attention back to the task at hand.
"What were you doing, Papi," she wondered aloud then returned to the living area. She reached down and picked up her Father's journal before plopping back down on the couch. The worn leather of the cover was soft against her palm, and she could just barely detect the smell of earth from the sun-yellowed pages. She had never been privy to the thoughts and knowledge locked inside. His pen had been the only hand to shape the words that were meant for his eyes alone. Until just over two years ago, she would not have dreamed of stealing a look inside this journal. But now something else barred her path.
She frowned at the esoteric binding that sealed the journal shut. It was a single piece of metal, flat against the notebook itself but rounded like a pool of wax everywhere else. There was no place for a key, no latch or seam that would betray any sort of logic or mechanism that could be exploited. Her tentative attempts at anima manipulation revealed little beyond the knowledge that a power seal held it in place. The fear of triggering some mystical trap had stalled further experimentation in that regard. She made a face at the lock but it simply held fast, annoyingly defiant despite her best attempts to unravel its riddle. She traced a finger along the runes that filled the surface of the lock. The runes were the key, of that she was certain. That and the tablet. It was only a matter of translating them, and for that, she'll need the database back at the Solvall.
So she set the journal down and turned her attention back to her phone. A few light taps on the screen restored the images of the documents for her perusal. The files were starved for details, with only vague references to anima research, Agartha, and other technical jargon that she could not place. But what was most exciting her for, was that the documents were dated to less than a year old, long after her parents' disappearances. One file in particular, which dealt with a geological survey of a mountain range in the Middle East, even contained his signature.
Elation had filled her when she made the discovery. But the giddiness was quickly overcome with frustration as page after cryptic page failed to provide any clues as to where he might be.
But her Father was alive. That will have to be enough for now.
She picked another image to inspect, reaching out with her free hand for her tall glass of tinto de verano. Her screen displayed the file. It was a recruitment memo. It spoke of the need for individuals of a certain 'harmonic' and of the urgency for such people. She sipped on her drink, taking a moment to savor the cool taste of wine and carbonated lemonade as she mulled over the document. The tone of it gave her an uncomfortable feeling, but the stomping overhead stirred her out of her musing, and dragged her gaze and attention towards the ceiling.
But the thump thump of heavy feet stopped suddenly, which she thought odd. It had been in the middle of the hallway, no reason for whoever it was to have stopped. Her face scrunched up with suspicion, the constant drone of the television was gone as well. In fact, she couldn't hear anyone outside her apartment at all.
That could be trouble, she thought as she pocketed her phone and got up, her body tensing up. She snuck over to the window and without touching the curtains, peered through the gap. The streets were empty save for a single black van.
Well, that's not very subtle at all.
Then movement on the street caught her eye. The polished sheen of a weapon. An instant of purple.
Oh shit.
Then someone kicked in her door.
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 1, 2013 21:22:37 GMT -8
Part 5
After having her apartment door kicked in, Vi wasted no time in throwing herself over the nearby kitchen counter. As she tumbled into a decorative bowl of cheap plastic fruit, she heard the sharp clatter of a flashbang, which went off just as she rolled off the opposite side of the counter. She hit the the hard tile of the kitchen with a grunt and cursed the fact that her guns were in the bedroom. Spared from blindness but not all of the disorienting ringing in her head, she rifled through the drawers and cabinets until she found a kitchen knife.
Standard breach tactics would have the man on point crossing the threshold immediately after the flashbang went off. Chances were good that there were more than one intruder in the apartment by now. Keeping below the counter, Vi crept her way to the kitchen exit, where a short hallway, well in view of the front door, was all that was left between her and her hardballers.
"Clear!" she heard a man call out over the ringing in her ears. It was a grating sound, muffled by some kind of mask.
A heavy pair of boots marched in her direction, accompanied by the rasp of breathe behind a mask. It became louder as the effects from the flashbang faded, and the floors vibrated slightly from the weight on the man those boots belonged. She waited until they were right upon her, and the loose black of military fatigues appeared in the corner of her eye before she struck. Her knife flashed out and upwards, fueled with both hands and a violent twist of her waist. the blade disappeared into the man's groin, at an angle most body armor failed to deflect. The man screamed, and pitched forward as she seized him by the gun arm and dragged him to her level and her knife found an unarmored throat.
More shouts erupted, followed almost immediately by the roar of automatic weapons. Vi rolled over the body of her kill and dropped prone, letting the body's mass take the brunt of the bullets that made it through the kitchen counter. At the multiple distinct clicks of spent magazines being abandoned, she traded her knife for the intruder's MP5 and popped out from cover.
There were two more men, clothed similarly in black, ballistic vests, and breathing masks. Both held fresh clips in their hand as she trained her weapon and opened fire with a controlled spray of lead. The first man crumpled almost immediately, his vest doing little to protect his throat and head. The second man tried reaching for his sidearm, but his hand had barely closed over the grip when the bullets raked into his body.
With her weapon spent then discarded, Vi dashed for the bedroom as more shouts were heard from the hallway outside the apartment.
Once inside, Vi snatched up her holsters and deftly strapped them directly over the sundress that she had been wearing earlier. More men were pouring into the apartment. She could hear them stomping in with their boots and guns as she grabbed a small satchel bag and threw it around her shoulder. There was no telling how many of them were left, but she knew that she could not stay bottled up in here for much longer. The Agartha portal was located about two kilometers away in an old park by the river, in one of the shadier neighborhoods in the northwest portion of the city. Get to Agartha. Get to New York. She could sort things out later. The boots were getting louder.
Vi drew one of her pistols and crept to the bedroom door. There was already a man waiting for her. But she was faster.
She grabbed him by the gun arm and wrenched him towards her and off-balance. His finger squeezed the trigger, but the weapon was already past her body, the bullets finding nothing by the bed and floorboards. She pressed her pistol under his arm and put two rounds into his ribcage then ducked under his weight as his comrade fired a burst into his back. She then shoved the corpse hard with her shoulder. He fell backwards in a heap, distracting the second gunman for the split second she needed to put a bullet through his eye.
More gunfire filled the small apartment, this time its tore through the corner wall of the hallway that was visible from the living room. Vi smirked. They were starting to panic. She waited until there was a lull while ignoring the chunks of drywall and timber that were being blown off less than a foot from her head. When the shooting stopped, she spun into the room and fired three more times, which was followed by three bodies crumpling on the increasingly crowded floor. She tiptoed over the bodies as she made her way over to the coffee table. After she stowed her phone and Father's journal away in her bag, she spared a moment to search one of the bodies.
Another MP5. She checked the clip and was pleased with what she found. There was a pistol as well, but she ignored it in favor of the sub-machine gun. She checked the man's mask. She did not recognize it, but it was not Illuminati. And around his right arm was an armband, dyed in a rich purple and emblazoned with a lion's head profile upon a sailing ship.
Phoenicians.
Fuck.
For a moment she wondered whose toes she had stepped on to have elicited this kind of hit. Then it dawned on her.
Just what the hell were you up to, Papi...
More shouts. More stomping. How many of them were there?
She made a move for the front door, but the number of raspy voices alerted her to foolishness of that route. One man shouted a warning to his fellows, and she put a round in him for his trouble. She backed up and tucked the now empty pistol away in its holster as more gunfire ripped across her front door. There were startled screams coming from around the building now. Whatever spell that they had been using to mute the noise must have run its course. Or whomever cast it has taken to the field. Now there was a pleasant thought.
Vi ground her teeth and looked around the apartment. She was in no position to worry about the bystanders. So she fired a quick burst at her living room window to weaken the glass, then leaped through the breach. One queasy moment of weightlessness and a shower of safety glass preceded a hard landing on the top of the van. Her momentum brought her into a roll that sent her over the side of the van and onto the pavement. She groaned, trying to get the wind back in her lungs as she spared an instant to ponder the wisdom of her plan. By the time she had clamored to her feet, the van's side door was sliding open.
But no man emerged. Instead a roiling ball of flame surged out. Vi dove hard to her left as it sailed past where she had been standing moments before. The fireball slammed into the side of the opposite building and burst like some fiery water balloon, sending slagged chunks of the wall out in every direction and and splattered liquid flame in pools on the street. Even at this distance, she felt the blistering heat of the flames. Vi rolled to face the van with one elbow propped up to support her weight and unloaded a burst into the van, but a shield of crimson deflected her shots.
She cursed aloud, then scrambled out of the way of another fireball, but this time, the force of the blast knocked her back several paces and rained charred flakes of pavement down on her. She hissed as the debris burned her, but considered herself lucky to have scrapped by more or less unharmed. Staggering to her feet, she spotted a man exit the van through the smoke. He wore black, like the others, but lacked the bulletproof vest. Instead, he rocked a sharply cut business suit and white gloves. She thought he looked like some campy stage magician. If it had not been for the burns, she'd had been rolling her eyes. Instead, she reached for her second hardballer and channeled her anima. She willed the familiar power into her gun and with practiced ease coated the round in the chamber with anima.
"Stupid bitch," he sneered from behind his mask, another fireball forming between his out stretched hands.
Yeah. Stupid. She smirked and squeezed the trigger. Gunpowder propelled the bullet. Anima strengthened it. Again, the scarlet shield appeared, but where the other bullets slapped uselessly against the mystical bulwark, this one struck it with purpose. The anima that she had infused within the round had been sharpened to the finest point mid-flight. Where this point touched, the shield parted like the proverbial Red Sea with her aim ensuring that it flew true.
The Phoenician sorcerer did not have time to ponder what had gone wrong. He did not have time for anything at all as his head blossomed and his body fell backward onto the pavement with a wet thump.
Vi had just started to breath a sigh of relief when another figure emerged from the van. While the other men were tall and muscular, this one would have easily stood above them. A giant of a man, he could have worn the van on his broad shoulders. He wore a grey trench coat that reached just past his knees where a heavyset pair of mud and dust marked boots began. Ranks and commendations that she did not recognize adorned the left breast of his coat. His hands were gloved in a dusty gray, and his face was concealed behind an encompassing gas mask, much like the others, but also different in style and condition. She felt a twinge of angry familiarity when she looked upon his stance, but could not place the source of the recollection. She just knew one thing.
This one was a vampire.
But before she could ponder the creature any further, the remaining soldiers inside the apartment building poured out of the front entrance and opened fire. Vi had spun in the opposite direction the moment they appeared and made a break for the nearest intersection. The narrowness of the street proved to be a disadvantage this time however as bullets whizzed by as she sprinted. One whistled by close enough to her ear for her to feel the currents of its passing in the air. Then one caught her in the right shoulder, just as she was rounding the corner. The force of the blow nearly sent her face first into the stones, but she managed to regain her balance with a stagger and keep running. The local police should be there soon, which should delay the Phoenicians long enough for her to get to the portal.
All she heard as she weaved her way through the streets of old Valladolid was the pounding of her heart beat and the light patter of her bare feet on the street. The bastards didn't even give her time to put shoes on. Fortunately, years of gymnastics and ballet training, as well as a healthy dose of adrenaline, dulled the pain in her feet somewhat. By now, the bee in her head had begun to buzz, a low hum that was a sign of it beginning to repair the damage in her shoulder. The bleeding had already slowed to a trickle and she could only imagine that the strange tingling in the wound to be the bullet being dissolved by anima.
Just get to the portal, Toria. You're clear once you hit Agartha.
Vi stuck to the older roads as she made her way towards the park. The old roads were narrower so pursuit by vehicle might actually slow them down. The streets were empty, most folk wisely stayed in their homes after hearing the sounds of gunfire, and they were far enough from any of the major nightlife hot spots. She could hear sirens in the distance now. The police will find the bodies but nothing to really trace anything back to her. She had rented the place through aliases and proxies. Agartha travel let her travel light and without identification. Things will work out just fine, she told herself.
Her bullet wound had healed up by the time she reached the park, the dried blood coating her arm the only evidence that she had ever been injured. The park was a long strip of lightly forested lawns that straddled both sides of the river that ran through the city. Small footpaths etched a simple web through the lawn, with only small ankle height lights illuminating the area in even intervals. She made her way into the park, keeping to the low bushes and trees away from the lamps. The portal was hidden under an overhang by the river, out of view from casual scrutiny. An overgrown maintenance path led down to the overhang.
Almost there...
Unfortunately, the Phoenicians had thought the same. She spotted the beams from their taclights as soon as she got neared the overhang, the ancient remains of a sewer tunnel built during roman times. Tree roots and vegetation veined the old mortar and between cracked and mossy stones, further concealing the way to Agartha from view. The grass was greener here, the flowers in the clearing before the tunnel more vibrant, and she could hear the distant chiming of other Bees just through the passage. There were three soldiers, suited identically from what she had already seen. They patrolled the area in slow, meandering paths near the overhang and the surrounding brush. The giant was nowhere to be seen.
She crouched behind the foliage, much denser so close to the portal than anywhere else in the park. Nature owned this spot of land, not man. And she was the predator. She waited, her body tense yet patient until one of the men strayed out from the field of view of his fellows.
It was all the time she needed. She struck from below and to the left, emerging from the darkness like a living shadow. One hardened jab to the larynx quelled whatever cry he might have uttered. A side angle kick to the peroneal nerve in his thigh brought him to a knee long enough for her to wrestle him down with a choke hold and neck snap. It all took only as long as gravity needed to drag the man to the earth. She spared no time in extricating herself from the body and moved on. The last two stood apart from one another by the tunnel. One of them, perhaps hearing the struggle shouted a warning, which made her wince. She had hoped to keep things quiet.
As the Phoenician neared, Vi drew pistol and gunned him down where he stood. The last man panicked and sprayed the brush with gunfire until the crack of her weapon ended his life as well.
Vi staggered to her feet and stepped into the clearing, her hand pressed against her side. Blood seeped from between her fingers.
"Lucky shot," she muttered amidst the buzzing. That was enough excitement for one day, she decided.
Unfortunately, it was not her decision to make.
She noted the faint scent of incense an instant before the rustle of leaves that heralded the massive hands that clamped around her neck. A constricted gasp managed to escape her mouth then she no longer felt the ground beneath her feet. She tried to pry the hands open, but she may as well have been trying to bend iron. The fingers tightened and she was starting to see dark spots in the corners of her vision. Okay, this was bad. A raspy voice from behind a mask spoke from very close behind her ear. "You killed all my men, girl."
The words were spoken with as much compassion as one would give the weather, but she didn't care for the words. Only the target whose location the words betrayed. She bent her arm back, aimed high and squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, then the vice around her neck was gone and she collapsed limply onto the dirt. She coughed, forcing her windpipe back open, then turned to face the giant. He had recovered faster and when she turned he stepped kicked her square in the chest with enough force to throw her several feet back.
Vi coughed. Her lips were wet and tangy iron set off her tongue. A rib, maybe two, she suspected as fire seemed to spread across her chest. Still on the ground, she leveled her gun on the vampire and fired until her clip was spent. With gritted teeth she channeled as much anima into the rounds as she was able between swallow painful gulps of air.
But the trench coated giant did not fall. She had cut through vampires by the dozen in Romania. How was he still standing?
She rolled hard to one side has a boot came crashing down where she had been. Using the momentum from the roll, she scrambled back to her feet and took off for the portal, ignoring the spears of agony in her chest that came with every stride. The buzzing in her head was like a klaxon next to her ear. Her bee was trying to heal as much of her body as possible now. Patch it up and keep on fighting. But even over the buzzing, she could hear the vampire's thunderous stomping right behind her.
Agartha. Gotta get to Agartha. He can't follow there.
But he was faster, she could hear his boots getting closer, hear his grating breathe drawing ever nearer.
With a desperate cry she tore off her satchel and hurled it down the tunnel and into the portal. A part of her smirked at the bellow of despair from the vampire after she had done so. Even when those massive hands encircled her neck again, she managed a mocking grin, "Missed out on something?" she croaked.
She could see the ashen gray flesh behind the gasmask now, surrounding the bloodshot eyes full of malice and something that she could not place. He slammed her back against the stone walls of the tunnel, bringing on fresh waves of pain. Dirt and dust rained down on them, dislodged by the force of the blow. "You Bees think you're so invincible. But I have fought enough of your kind to know how you tick." he slammed her into the wall again. This time she coughed and flecks of blood dotted the vampire's mask.
"You think you're safe." he rasped, "That death has no meaning for you."
Keep talking...
She could feel her ribs nearing recovery when he punched her into the wall again, cracking them once more. Her vision had started to go again. Blackness began to intrude on her peripheral vision, slowly conquering the world she saw. He studied her face for a long moment and let out a boastful breathe, "Ahh, you are beginning to understand, I think."
Then the hands were gone. She lay with her belly down on the grass outside. She coughed and gasped for breathe, and reached to massage her neck, but an unseen boot ground into her back. She bit off a sob of pain, and tried to throw him off, but he was immovable. "Did you know bees can die within minutes of losing their stinger? Where is your stinger, little bee?" There was smugness in his voice, a masculine rumble that she could now hear without the gravelly filter of his mask. She felt his hands wrap around her arms. A flippant retort was on the tip of her tongue. And then he dislocated her shoulders.
Vi could hear herself scream. The buzzing in her head was nearly deafening, but she could still hear herself. It was a sick game to him. She knew that between the guttural sobs and wails as the vampire inflicted fresh injuries. He knew just when to stop, when to pull back when she was brought to the brick of exhaustion. So that the Bees never took her away. She had lost count of the agonies when she felt the chill of the night against her skin and the sobering realization that her dress had been ripped from her. Icy talons gripped her heart as his hands roamed her skin.
No. No, not like this.
"What else can I break..."
No. Please.
"No? But there is so much more to taste."
Fresh sobs wracked her body at the realization that she had spoken those words aloud. She then felt his weight atop of her, pushing her into the dirt beneath them. The pain was there. A dull ache piled on top of the twisting daggers of pain in her broken back and dislocated shoulders. Her face was pressed against the dirt, the scent of grass and the sickening sweetness of incense clotted her senses. A part of her still wanted to believe that it was all some nightmare, that she'll awaken with an intense, but ephemeral fright. But one doesn't notice the salty sting of tears in their dreams.
Some time later, from somewhere far away, she thought she heard gun shots. She hoped that it was for her. It would mean an end to this. And end to the horror. But then there was a woman's voice. She could barely hear the words. "Alert the healers," the voice said. "Bring her with us."
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 13, 2013 15:35:56 GMT -8
Part 6
When Vi woke, it was not with a gasp or terrified shout. She woke slowly, one would say almost peacefully. She shifted in her bed, her muscles unused to the mattress and sheets and then froze. This was not her bed. The memories of the night before filled her thoughts then. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that it had all been a nightmare, but it wasn't. She knew that it wasn't and curled up under the linen sheet covering her, sobs overwhelming her self-control. The memories replayed the events over and over, unbidden and unwanted. They taunted her with their vividness. The taste of dirt, the nauseating scent of incense, the inhuman grunts. The condescension.
He raped me. He raped me. That monster raped me.
She wept into her pillow. It smelled like detergent. Sterile. The thought bolstered her control and pushed back the sobs. It was different. It wasn't him.
Get up, Toria. You're not the first, and you're definitely not the last.
The thought did nothing to console her, but she forced herself to sit up. The sun shined diffused beams down through thin white curtains covering windows, a tiny breeze causing them to flutter languidly. There were other beds present in the room as well, lined up in neat rows along the walls of the space, though hers was the only one to be occupied as far as she could tell. The walls were an attractive blend of carved hardwoods and delicate paints, and the ceiling displayed a normally soothing view of the heavens. Her gaze shifted downward to herself, the simple white hospital gown that covered her, and the crimson symbol of the Templars following the rise and fall of her breast.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and let her feet touch the now familiar floorboards. This was her Father's Estate. She glanced up at the ceiling again and the heavens looked back, as stoically as they've always have. This had been Father's parlor, where he used to tell her of his adventures before she had left for secondary school in London. She closed her eyes and fought back bitter tears as she stood up. She had thought she had gotten over the thought of her home falling into Templar hands, but...
Not now, Toria. Not now.
Vi made the two paces to the nearest window. She was in the second floor of the east wing. It overlooked the sculpture garden in the center of the grounds. She frowned. At least a dozen guards in scarlet and white uniforms patrolled the garden alone, mingling with the marble likenesses of figures of Greek mythologies, their bodies frozen in heroic pose. One guard happened to look up in her direction then and Vi drew back. One breathe, then two. There was no shout of alarm. No alert or sirens that followed. She released the breathe that she had not known that she had been holding and started towards the door. If she can just get to the eastern edge of the building she might be able to slip past the perimeter guards. She had reached the door when it opened and she found herself staring at another woman's bemused face.
Vi punched without thinking, a jab aimed at the throat to stop any shouts, but the woman batted it aside. A cross also failed to connect, followed by a low angle kick that was stopped with a raised shin. After Vi's next attempt with a desperate right hook, the other woman deflected the blow with a raised forearm, then used her momentum to step inside her guard and struck back with a precise blow to solar plexus. Vi staggered backward a step, the wind knocked out of her, when she was swept off her feet and landed hard on the floor. She groaned where she lay but refrained from trying to get back on her feet. That had hurt. And with a shameful pit in her throat she dreaded prompting more of that hurt.
"Enough exercise for now, Miss Vega," the woman suggested with a heavy accent and entered the room, shutting the door behind her. The woman was tall and blond with very blue eyes behind delicately rimmed glasses. Her face had very Scandinavian angles and framed with carefully positioned bangs while the rest of her hair was coiled in a stylish bun. Vi found her very pretty in a stern sort of way. She wore a striking black skirt suit with white pin stripes and a crisp white blouse with a large collar. The Templar sigil in the shape of a discrete pin hung from one lapel. Stockings followed the woman's long legs and ended in simple black pumps. In one hand was a leather portfolio.
Her voice felt vaguely familiar as Vi cautiously stumbled back up.
That's right...last night...
"Sorry," Vi mumbled, unsure as to what else to say.
But if the other woman felt wronged in any way, she made no sign. Instead, Vi felt as though the woman was appraising her, and that the scrutiny made her uncomfortable.
Before she was able to voice any complaint, however, the woman spoke, "You appear to be in good health, Miss Vega. The recuperative powers of the Gaia-blessed are as capable as ever, it seems. You had suffered no shortage of injuries when we reached you."
Understatement of the year.
"What do you want with me?" Vi snapped. It was a lot harsher than she had intended and she knew it. She also knew that she should be grateful to the woman for saving her, ulterior motives aside, but she just wanted to get away. Far away.
Again, the woman sounded nothing beyond an increasingly vexing professional stoicism. "You are avare of who ve are then. I shall get straight to ze point." She folded her hands over her waist, as though she were on stage at a recital. "My name is Vanessa Bernadotte, and I vas the one who allowed you to steal from our archives." Vi raised a brow and Vanessa mimicked it in response, "You didn't think that it would be zat easy to steal from one of our archives, did you?"
Vi managed a halfhearted smirk, "I kinda did."
Vanessa reached up to adjust her spectacles. "I vould invite you to try again some time. But I digress. My colleagues believed your father's work to be dangerous. Something to be zealed away and forgotten. However, it is my place to disagree."
"But you couldn't break his lock. You wanted me to do your dirty work for you."
"I vas hoping for a more cooperative relationship, but your current employment makes zat...difficult. But we can provide you with vhutever information we have been able to gather regarding your parents' whereabouts. Ve can help you find your parents. In exchange, you merely have to leave his experiments in the care of the Templars for safe keeping."
"And if I refuse?"
The barest trace of a smile tugged on the corners of Vanessa's mouth and offered the portfolio to her. "Then ve vill come to blows, ven the time comes."
Vi took it and with a wary glare she opened it. Her phone, Father's journal, even her pistols lay inside. She felt her hands tighten around the portfolio, her nails digging into the soft leather with a barely audible creak. She did not look up when she spoke. "Deal..."
Vanessa nodded, "Very good, Miss Vega. I vill upload any relevant information to your phone by tomorrow. After zat, I shall be in touch."
"All right."
Vanessa turned to go, but not before gesturing to a nearby cabinet to her right. "You vill find some clothing here. You may also leave the compound venever you vish. Two of my men vill vait for you at the front gate. They vill escort you to Agartha."
"...Thanks."
The Scandinavian opened the door, paused, then closed it again. She did not turn around, but her tone took a much softer touch when she spoke, "I am sorry ve could not reach you sooner."
Vi just nodded, still gripping the leather case as if it kept her afloat while the door opened and closed again, this time taking the Templar from the room. She stood there in the quiet until she was sure that the other woman was gone before she released the sobs that had been beating against her walls. The shame-filled wails that accompanied them sapped whatever strength she had mustered earlier. When the sobs subsided once more, some time later, she found herself on her knees. Even with the soft rustle of the curtains and the light trill of birds from the gardens, the quiet was deafening to her. She threw a strained glance at the door, then to the cabinets.
You're not the only one, Toria. Get up.
She rose shakily and made her way to the cabinet where she found the garments Vanessa had mentioned. She dressed quickly, her fingers stumbling as she tugged on some jeans that were a size too small and a faded t-shirt that was a couple sizes too large. She hugged the portfolio close as she walked through the increasingly unfamiliar corridors and stairs. She past by several Templars on the way, and felt their curious stares. The whispered questions to one another. She swallowed more tears and marched outside, her face red.
True to Vanessa's word, two men in white and crimson body armor waited in a sedan just outside the gate. One got out and opened the door for her when he saw her approach. She stood at the gate for a handful of breathes. She did not want to get into that car. She didn't know them. What if they... A thousand scenarios played in her head. Each more terrible than the last. The leather of the portfolio creaked again.
At last, she gathered her courage and got in. It was better than walking.
The men were polite enough, and were thankfully not very talkative. They took her to a different portal, and she felt a weight lift in her stomach. She doubted she could ever step into that clearing ever again. One of the soldiers offered to take her through the portal, the same that had opened the door for her, but she declined. She just wanted to be away from there.
Her footsteps felt lighter once she past through the portal and into the golden realm of Agartha. The gentle twinkle of anima, the low groans of the world tree, the subtly sweet scent of honey. These soothed her heart. But it was the certainly that calmed her the most. The certainty that he could not follow. It fortified her steps as she marched across the well traveled boughs of the great tree that connected all of the portals to each other. Portals, some say, that even reached across time. But those rumors and legends did not come to mind as she followed the familiar paths to the portal that led half a world away. Seattle, and home.
She emerged from the portal in an unused basement below Pike Place. The muffled buzz of activity above and the rank of rotting fish filled her senses.
He can't follow me here. It'll be fine.
Portfolio clutched tightly against her chest, she made her way up through the dark, through the cacophonous throngs of people and car filled streets. Everywhere she went she felt the eyes, the whispers.
The shame.
When she reached her condo a short way from the market, high above the bustle and people, her face was flushed, her breathing heavy. She slammed the door behind her and fumbled with the burglar alarm. After several frustrating attempts to arm the damned thing she realized that she had never bothered to set up a passcode since she had moved in and keyed in a new one.
Stupid. He couldn't have follow me here.
She ignored the thought that such flimsy resistance would do little good and went from room to room, switching on lights until every single one had been turned on. Only then did she let her guard down and set the portfolio down on her bed. She retreated to her bathroom, shut and locked the door. She stopped in front of the large mirror above the sink, a luxurious adornment that took up most of the wall it hung on. Rather than relying on it to get her cosmetics to apply just so, she simply stared at the girl on the other side.
Even without make up, the face that stared back was what most would consider pretty. Large blue eyes, unblemished skin. She reached up to her neck, where those vice like hands had turned her flesh purple and blotchy. Her fingers found smooth skin and uninjured flesh. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, then ran a hand over the small of her back. Nothing broken. No unfamiliar lumps or scars. She twisted her waist to one side. Just more perfect skin. She turned to face the mirror again and rotated her shoulders. Not even a pop.
"Bees can fix anything..." she murmured, the girl on the other side mirroring her words.
She just stared at the wide eyed girl on the other side until her vision blurred with fresh tears.
"Can't they?"
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 17, 2013 16:37:14 GMT -8
Part 7
Vi made a thoughtful hum then carefully started applying her eyeliner. She slowly drew the smoky outline around her left eye and then began on the right. She had begun her morning with her usual exercises and shower. It felt good to fall back on the routine, the familiarity of the motions helped her find her footing, and feel more at home in her own skin once again. A light layer of eye shadow, then some natural toned lip gloss. She felt the anxious urge to shower again, the uncomfortable sense of grime on her skin that required a long torrent of barely tolerable hot water to purge.
She brushed off the compulsion and reached for her hair brush. She had showered enough times the previous night to know that the feeling would never go away, no matter how much scalding water she subjected herself to. She raised her brush. One stroke, then two, then another, and shot a glance at the shower. The brush caught on a tangled bit of hair.
Pull yourself together, Toria.
One breathe, then another. She kept on brushing.
She found herself in her walk-in closet a little later. Long rows of dresses and shoes that she had worn only once or twice outlined the room. They radiated out from the doorway to converge on a set of wardrobes, and a large and ornate mirror between them. She went to the cabinets now, and sifted through the garments. Skirts, tops, and leather. These were the things she wore often. She grabbed a few items at random then hung them by the mirror. They were a simple black blouse and mini skirt with matching boots. The assembled outfit was not perfect, but she did not feel the drive to nitpick. She shrugged off her bathrobe and hastily put on some underwear. Then came the skirt, but as she pulled them up her legs like she would have any other day, they felt...wrong. The fabric brushed against her thighs in a way that reminded her of that cold night in the clearing and made her shiver.
She tugged the offending article off and kicked it aside with a shudder, then grabbed the closest pair of jeans on hand and pulled them on. They felt better.
When she had finished getting dressed, she went to the kitchen and poured herself some cereal. Her stomach felt sick and unaccommodating, but her mind knew that her body needed sustenance. She checked her e-mails while she ate, shoveling the processed grains into her mouth as if possessed. At last her body remembered how hungry she was. She went and poured herself another bowl, along with a full glass of chocolate flavored protein shake. These too disappeared just as quickly. She barely skimmed through the subject lines of her e-mails.
Her phone chimed several minutes later while she was washing her dishes, informing her that a new e-mail had been received. She wiped her hands dry with the clumsiness of an impatient heart then snatched up her phone. It was from Vanessa. Vi ignored the formulaic pleasantries and quickly downloaded the attached files, skimming the rest of the message for any pertinent information. True to her word, the files contained several reports regarding the search for her Father. He had apparently been under scrutiny for over ten years, but the trail went cold two years ago, during his supposed ill-fated mountaineering trip in the Himalayas.
She bit her bottom lip, mulling over the information when a stray realization sent chills across her skin. Vi sighed. She had to know, and dialed the Templar woman’s number. While the phone rang, she played the words she wanted to say through her head. A changed word here, and modified inflection there, but these preparations crumbled in mid-thought when the person on the other side picked up.
“How can I help you, Miss Vega? Ze files vere adequate, I trust?”
“Y-yeah. Listen, the thing that…attacked me,” she felt her throat tighten, threatening to take her voice away. She sighed shakily and pushed aside the urge to take another shower, “Did you kill it?”
The voice on the other end did not speak for a long breathe, “No. I lost zree men before he managed to slip avay. But he vas not unscathed, I assure you.”
“I-I see.”
A long pause. “Vas zere anyzing else?”
“N-no. No. Thank you.”
“Of course. Good day, Miss Vega.” The phone chimed once as it was disconnected.
Vi sighed and put down her phone. She hugged herself to keep her hands from shaking while her stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself. He was still out there, somewhere. Looking for her. Hunting her. Or worse, preying on other women. An unfamiliar fear clawed at her, along with another feeling of anger. No. Rage. Yes, that was what she felt. Deep down, she was glad that the Templars had not destroyed him. That there was still a chance for her to pay him back for what he did to her. The thought filled her with an unsettling sense of contentment. She wanted to hurt him. Make him pay. If she ever saw the bastard again, she would throw everything she had at him and then…
But she had thrown everything at him.
She choked on a sudden sob at the thought of living through that Hell again. Once she calmed down, she grabbed a tissue and gently dabbed away the tears. She will check the mirror for any mussed cosmetics later. With a tightness in her chest, she realized that she needed help. Help to find the bastard. Help to make the monster pay.
Aegir. Everything she will need would be there.
Vi picked up her phone again and thumbed through her contact list. Who to call. Tess. Yes, Tess would know what to do. She was in charge of investigations after all. Find the bastard. Then hunt him down like the rabid animal he is. She dialed the number, her hand moved quickly and with purpose at first but then gradually slowed as troubled thoughts weighted down on her. She will have to tell Tess what had happened. Vi knew that she wouldn't be able to pull the resources otherwise. She considered leaving certain details out, reveal only what she must to get her way, but what if the animal talks? She knew from experience that his kind liked to gloat.
Her thumb hovered over the last few numbers and she felt her teeth clench. Why should she care if they knew or not? They were her friends. People that she respected, and respected her in turn. Why shouldn't they know that some...monster had done this to her. Why shouldn't they feel the same outrage and anger that she had festering inside of her.
She punched in another digit.
They would be there for her. Especially at first. They'd want to go after him too. But then what? Time would pass, and in idle musing or conversation they'd think back to when she was all recklessness and flirtatious sass. She thought back on the contents of her closet and the clothes she wore, and how the hemlines always showed off the legs that she had been so proud of. She thought of the form hugging tops, and the heels that some men had some none-too-flattering names for. These images were what they would see after this was all said and done, and lead them to one unguarded moment, one thought that would take root in their minds.
That she had asked for it, and got what she asked for.
Vi hit the red cancel button that she couldn't see behind the tears. It was decided.
They can't know.
She roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pocketed her phone. To Hell with the make up. She could fix that later. At least it was something she could fix. She got up and went to her room to fetch Father's journal. She was no investigator, but she knew the basics, and the database at the Solvall was open to her. She'll find what she needed to find. She will have to, because they can't know.
This was hers to fight. Alone.
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 21, 2013 16:36:46 GMT -8
Part 8
To outsiders, evening hours at the Solvall were very much identical with the nights in other corporate buildings. Offices mimicked the darkened chambers of a honeycomb, with the occasional dancing lights from screen saved monitors casting writhing shadows that sometimes spilled into the dimly lit corridors. The building was not empty, far from it. Janitorial staff, over achievers, and deadline driven nine to fivers tolled within the gloom, along with those more involved in the clandestine activities of Aegir's portfolio, high in the prominent crown of the Solvall building. It was in one of the multi-use offices located high above the East River that Vi found herself in this late at night, a high security terminal in front of her, her Father's journal to the left of her, and an ergonomic desk chair below her.
Vi sighed and pressed at her closed eyes with the heel of her hand before squinting at the tiny clock on the bottom right corner of her computer monitor. It read 2:24 AM. She made a light groan, then reached for her cup of coffee. It had been purchased during more reasonable hours and has long since gone cold. She grimaced as the caffeinated brew slid between her lips, and then took a more concerted gulp. She scraped at the inside of her mouth with her tongue in an effort to rid herself of the aftertaste, then set the cup back down. The keyboard soon clattered dutifully as her fingers flitted from key to key.
It had been almost two weeks since she began her research, squeezing in desk time whenever she could between official assignments. After a few days, she had even stopped picking up freelance bounties to devote more time to the task. As she had expected, the Solvall's historical and occult databases were up to the task. She had quickly learned that runes on the lock were Assyrian cuneiform, and after running the script through the database, she was able to translate the writing on the lock. The runes asked for a hymn of want, but not for the self. Of selfless desire, and a soul's hunger.
Vi looked over at the journal while the computer ran its algorithms. She reached out and rested her hand over the leather bindings, her fingers traced the contours of the lock since rendered inert. The words came easily.
La cebolla es escarcha cerrada y pobre. Escarcha de tus días y de mis noches. Hambre y cebolla, hielo negro y escarcha grande y redonda.
En la cuna del hambre mi niño estaba. Con sangre de cebolla se amamantaba. Pero tu sangre, escarchada de azúcar, cebolla y hambre.
It was not the whole poem, but it was unneeded. She had only wanted the memories that the words conjured, and of the man who sang them to her when she was a child. She felt her lips tug, a smile trying to blossom, nurtured by the gentle warmth of love and the sweet waters of memory. But wintry frustration stamped out the warmth of nostalgia as she turned the cover open and was greeted the page after page of seemingly random gibberish. The words were in Spanish, but it was also clear to her that the text had been encoded.
She shifted her weight, her chair creaking slightly in subdued protest then glanced up from the journal to study the computer screen. Thus far, the standard decryption tools that were supported by the general use secured terminals were not up to the challenge of cracking her Father's code. She rubbed her eyes and sighed again before punching in a new set of parameters into the program then letting it run.
As the program did its unseen work, she felt her eyelid dragging down over her eyes again and shook her head to rouse herself out of it. She then stifled a yawn. This sort of work was so not her style. She could handle the mental legwork. She even enjoyed the rush of cracking a particularly clever riddle or uncovering the truth behind a mystery. What really got to her was the waiting, and the emptiness that it tended to bring along. She glanced at the screen. Like all of the other times, the system gave her no estimate for when it would be done with the job she had assigned it, abandoning her to the boredom of waiting. And the unwanted thoughts that encroach on an idle mind.
Her period came and went the other day. Logically, she knew that she had been on the pill. She knew that even if she hadn't been, it would have been impossible for a vampire to...it just wouldn't have worked. But she had never been as relieved in her life, as she had been when her body proved it to her without a doubt. The mere remembrance of the relief she had felt made her rest her elbows on the desk and cradled her face in her palms. Her head felt so heavy.
Two weeks of pretending that nothing had happened. Pretending to be happy. Hiding her weakness behind the weary mask of being overworked.
She knew that those closest to her weren't fooled. Not really. Ammie, Shay, Ken, and Tess. They all had tried in their own way to lift her spirits, not knowing what had brought them low to begin with. Her fingers dug into her skin. She had to remind herself to breath deeply and loosen her fingers. To push down the sick pit in her stomach. Was this to be her life now? To live with what had happened to her, propelled by one shame-driven lie after the next? She let out a shaky breathe. The room had become blurry again and she ran the back of her hand over her eyes to clear them.
Come on, Toria. Focus.
She raised her head and wiped her hands on her pants, then grabbed her cup for another gulp of cold coffee. Her eyelids were getting rebellious again, but she didn't want to go home. She didn't want to go to sleep. The memories were waiting for her there. More dreaded than the memories were paranoia fueled dreams. The twisting of familiar faces and personalities into fear fueled caricatures. Of Ken forcing himself on her. Of Ammie's otherworldly influences manipulating her into liking it, wanting it even.
A hand slapped her across the face, the force of the blow birthing an echo that filled the dark room before it seemed to find its way out into the hall. Her face stung, but so did her hand. Her balled that hand into a fist then let go.
Goddammit, get a fucking grip! Focus! Find Father. Then find the bastard that did this to me and...
The computer beeped, and the impotent progress bar winked away, replaced with a data feed. Vi shot forward in her seat. There was data, not another prompt asking whether or not she would like to try again with different conditions. Her eyes scanned the words, the familiar rush of excitement temporarily burying the other emotions that had been smothering her just moments before.
The program had not decrypted the entire text as she had hoped, but it did manage to decode the first handful of pages, written in fainter inks and in a more outdated code. It read like a preface, an open letter from Father to himself in some future. He wrote at length about the mysteries of Agartha, of the pathways that remained untread and forgotten, and his desire to seek them out. To unlock their secrets and to right past wrongs. He also wrote of his family. Her family, and his hopes for them. She reached out and pressed her hand over the words. She then bit her lip and glanced around the room despite herself. But the sense of silliness aside, she felt a connection, and it renewed her resolve.
The final paragraph spoke of an old ruin underneath the city of Sibiu in Romania.
Vi frowned. The information was old and the trail cold. But it was something she could follow. She read the translation two more times, then copied the file to a thumb drive before purging the terminal. She packed up her things, tossed her coffee into a nearby waste bin, and then finally let herself yawn. Nightmares or not, it was time to get some rest. Then to Romania.
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 24, 2013 16:56:00 GMT -8
Part 9
----------------------------------------------------- Miss Vega,
I would like to thank you for the report. I would very much like a copy of the manuscript as soon as possible. Your father's code is complex, and we stand a much better chance at reaching a breakthrough if we work together. The tone of your father's research worries me, but that is not something you need to concern yourself over. Keep up the good work.
You may be interested to know that I have been making inquires regarding the Phoenician mercenaries that you had encountered in Spain.
My sources inform me that they are part of a splinter group known as the Malinovyye Melioratsii. The Phoenicians have disavowed all connections with this group and have been surprisingly cooperative in regards to locating and eliminating them. I have my doubts that the Phoenicians are innocent in this, but for now, I am inclined to take them at their word. The Melioratsii appear to have known enclaves in Croatia, Romania, and the Ukraine, but I would not be surprised to encounter them elsewhere. In addition to the usual Phoenician practice of smuggling occult contraband, this group also trafficks human and fae folk slaves. Deplorable, as I'm sure you would agree.
It may also interest you to know that the Malinovyye Melioratsii are said to be led by a man known as the Voivode. His general description matches that of the man that my men and I encountered that evening. I'm sure you are aware of the implications.
Good luck, Miss Vega. I will be in touch.
B
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Vi looked up from her phone and peered out from her vantage point near the ruins of St. Ladislaus Chapel in the historic center of Sibiu, Romania. She kept to the shadows, the chill of the evening air bit at her while she surveyed the weathered masonry of the cathedral nearby. The building was enshrouded behind a cage of scaffolding and plastic tarp, but what bits she could see behind the trappings of renovation were old and gray, a far cry from the bright whites and reds of the historically preserved buildings around it. The Cathedral of Saint Mary stood as though it were apart from time, a pale remnant that history had left in its wake. Her Father's writings had led her to this place.
She watched as the construction crews loitered on the grounds well after hours, their faces stern and foreboding. Their presence encouraged the tightness in her chest into dreading suspicion, overriding the strangeness that their mere presence at the cathedral implied in the first place.
He could be here...
She drew a deep breathe and swallowed the cold air to force down her trepidation and gather her nerves. It was time to move forward. She tightened the strap of the messenger bag that she wore over her fur-lined coat and scarlet turtleneck closer to her chest, its contents easily in reach. The pack had been with her since she arrived in Romania via Agartha the day before. She had carried it everywhere, slowly becoming accustomed to the added weight and shift to her center of gravity. She kept to the edges of the surrounding buildings are she circled the square in front of the cathedral until she reached the narrow alley that encompassed the grounds.
The shadows were deeper here, tarnished only by the subdued light of the moon above. Only one man guarded this darkened corner of the grounds, a bitter looking figure of muscle and sun ravaged skin. He wore the same brightly colored overalls as the others, pacing the small patch of pavement and weed-strewn lawn like a dutiful watchman. She flitted from shadow to tree as he turned his back towards her, her hand rising to the knife hidden underneath her pack. Her hand hovered over the handle even as the space between them closed.
No, she decided. I need to be sure.
Vi whipped her arm around the brute's neck, throwing all of her weight behind him, forcing his back to arch backward and disrupt his balance. Rough hands grasped for her, flashing in and out of her field of view. Memories flooded her awareness, and it took all of her willpower to keep from crying out. It was all or nothing now; losing her grip or allowing even one errant cry for help would spell the end. She'd have to force them into a gun battle or else they might overpower her and... She squeezed her eyes shut and wrenched harder against the man's windpipe. Not now. She couldn't think about that now.
After what seemed like hours the man fell to his knees, his strength at last abandoning him. She clung to him like a woman thrown overboard and squeezed until she was certain that consciousness had left him before she dropped him with an exhausted gasp. Hesitant hands searched him for clues to his identity. They explored his pockets, revealing a simple pistol and lint. But when she started to drag his limp form underneath the concealing embrace of the scaffolding and tarps, she noticed the Phoenician sigil inked upon his skin at the base of his neck, hidden behind the collar of his workman's shirt.
She drew her knife.
Finding a way into the derelict cathedral was not hard as the construction had removed a bulk of the stained glasses windows and the scaffolding providing ample paths to the breaches. She chose a small prayer room as her entry point. Stale air greeted her, along with the musty odor of decaying wood. She winced when the floorboards creaked under her weight, but it did not seem to betray her presence. The room was dark and empty save for a modest shrine of stone. A thick layer of dust covered the old stonework. Two finger trails marred the layer of fuzz on one corner, too recent to have allowed new motes to accumulate. Vi crept behind the old doorway, pressing her back against the wall just as the creak and thump of footsteps alerted her to danger.
A man entered the room. This one was shorter, wider, and wore a shaggy beard that hung from sides of his face to the bottom of his neck. Her knife found these places easily. His arms thrashed about, and hers cradled his failing body, easing him soundlessly onto the floor while ensuring that the splatter did not reach her. She checked his pockets. Just another gun. And wad of gum. Gross.
She left the room and found herself in an unlit walkway that overlooked the cathedral's main chamber. Pews and other pieces of furniture had long since been removed, leaving the grand hall an empty, cavernous place. Debris and construction equipment were tucked into the adjoining alcoves, their condition neglected and dreary. Scattered floodlights were positioned in places around the chamber, their bulbs snuffed out, but pointed intently at the remnants of the pipe organ that filled the far wall. And the opened crypt entrance nestled at the base of the platform on which the organ stood. There was digging equipment there, older and different in origin than the other machines scattered about. That had to be the place.
Taking cover behind the engraved wooden guardrails, she sought out the mercenaries and observed their habits. But more than anything, she looked for him, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when she failed to locate that bastard's hulking form. But even in that relief her cheeks burned with self-loathing. His presence should not have mattered. She had a job to do.
And so Vi made her way around the upper walkway. At each support beam, she fetched a small packet of C4 from her bag, and adhered the bomb onto the base. The sickening weight of guilt pressed down on her when she readied the first explosive. Needless destruction. The attention that such an act might draw. But she ignored it and moved on to the next. Whatever it was that she might find here, Father had wanted concealed, and so she will ensure that others cannot follow. Another beam, another explosive. This one had a guard patrolling nearby. He fell just as quickly as the last. By the time she was finished rigging her charges, two more Phoenicians had met their fates. She stopped looking for their tattoos.
Making her way down to the main level, Vi then slowly picked her way towards the crypt. She took her time and prowled through the shadows of the darkened building. She left no Phoenician standing. No one else was going to sneak up on her like he had. She won't let them. When she had finished her grisly work, only two mercenaries remained; the two that stood guard over the crypt entrance.
Vi crept around to the organ and made her way onto the platform. By the time they knew she was there, she had already tackled one of them from behind, her knife gorging on flesh once more. She tore her blade free, using the momentum to roll off the man's back and in one continuous arcing motion hurled her knife. Whatever warning the last man might have uttered died with him, her knife embedded hilt deep in his throat. Vi rose to her feet and scanned the room. There were no cries of alarm, no stamping of angry boots. Only the heavy breathes coming from her own mouth. With a sigh she bent down collect herself, her hands clenched tightly over her knees to keep them from shaking.
Not safe yet. Brush it off, Toria.
She swallowed a gulp of air then went to retrieve her knife. It came out with sticky squelch. Numbly she wiped the matte black blade clean on the man's clothes, then slipped it back in its sheath before turning towards the crypt.
It was old, topped with weather worn and sun bleached stones that suggested that it existed long before the building that housed it. Sharply angled markings that she did not recognize adorned some of the stones. The door, a massive sheet of carved stone that lay forgotten several meters away to the side. Faint engravings covered the door slab with what might have once been an exquisite fresco of minute leaves and branches now reduced to uneven mounds and broken rock by time and careless hands.
The clotting, stagnant air of was the first thing she noticed as she descended into the crypt. With a pocket flashlight in hand, it was not hard for her to follow the signs of careless excavation; of heavy equipment and booted feet gouging trails through the ancient stone pavement. Even before she began seeing the thick, twisting shapes of tree roots flowing out from deeper within the tombs, the Bee in her head began to buzz. It was a soft noise, an almost soothing reverberation that brought with it often strange and disjointed thoughts. Words formed from the buzzing, almost mechanical if not for the strange tone of amusement the voices carried. Whether they were the voices of her personal Bee, or some strange hivemind belonging to Gaia, Vi could never decide, but she had long since learned to pay attention to them.
As she made her way deeper into the crypt, her steps became surer, her stride longer. The voices conjured knowledge, of times immemorial, carried along the eons by some primordial genetic memory. At least, that was how Vi saw it. The Buzzing somehow made her remember, rather than tell her what she wanted or needed to know. Through it, she instinctual knew which branch to follow, which to ignore. By the time the roots dominated the tunnels and chambers, she felt as though she could traverse the catacombs with her eyes closed, but she pushed the silly notion aside. She still needed to keep an eye out for any clues Father's team may have left behind. The signs were there. Overlapping footprints; dozens of sets, stumbling over one another. The occasional bit of heavy machinery, its mass too inconvenient to remove and therefore abandoned.
The trail ended in a dome-like chamber with walls made of curling roots as thick as ancient tree trunks, which radiated out from a circular ring wide enough for a small vehicle to cross. She knew at an instant that it was an Agartha portal. But this one was dark, the ring of roots empty and silent. No golden light spilled from the gap, no surreal vista of the great tree, and no Bees floating along the currents. Even the ground within the chamber and beyond were devoid of life. Gaia did not rule here, whether by choice or by circumstance. The Buzzing told her that it was just not the right time.
Vi shined her light around the room. More random bits of equipment, digging tools, and crates. Old flood lights stood facing the portal, their cables lazing futilely for generators that were no longer there. This had to be the right place. She gingerly pressed her hand on the inert portal. The roots were cold to the touch, and her bee didn't make a sound.
"What were you doing here?" she murmured.
After spending a while poking around the remnants of his expedition, she found an old plaque with a Greek letter printed on it, apparently having fallen off from where it had been hanging above the entrance into the chamber. The letter gave her pause and retrieved her Father's journal from her pack. She flipped through the pages until she came across a diagram. The labels were in code, but she was sure that the images represented Agartha portals. The portals sat on multiple planes, congregating in the higher tiers. Conical lines tethered each portal to one another with each line beginning from the same point at the bottom-most plane on the diagram. Each portal was marked with a Greek letter. She clicked her tongue and tapped the matching letter in the journal with a finger.
"What's so special about you?" she asked the room. It pointedly declined to answer.
She closed her eyes and focused her mind on the Bees. There had to be something else here. Something that she was missing.
Silence was her answer, and she sighed. She had expected as much.
With a resigned sigh, she tucked the journal back into her bag. There wasn't much else she could do here. The next thing needed to be to decode the rest of Father's notes. Even with the Phoenicians crawling all over the place, the trail was a dead end without his notes. But there has to be a pattern to portals he mapped out, she was certain of that. Even as she slowly made her way through the catacombs towards the surface, she felt a growing sense of elation. She and Gloria had never even made it this far chasing old leads. For the first time since her journey began over two years ago, she felt the promise of progress.
She was already looking forward to what the next day would bring when she exited the crypt, and the flood lights snapped awake, blinding her with their sudden light. Somewhere in the whiteness came a voice, and her blood turned to ice.
"If it isn't my little bee."
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Post by kovergirl on Jul 29, 2013 15:44:41 GMT -8
Part 10
Vi woke with a start, her strangled gasp repeated itself as it echoed further into the darkness. Blackness filled her vision. Sharp angles dug into her back and her head swam. She dully realized that she was lying painfully on the stairs leading down into the crypt. Her Bee buzzed incessantly, an furious droning instead of the soft lullaby that whispered. That was always a bad sign. With the sticky dampness of partially dried blood on her skin and clothes, she followed the direction of the stairs towards the exit and found more blackness. She realized with a bit more calm than she expected that she was trapped, but at least she was fairly sure that she hadn't been stricken blind. It was a very small comfort, however.
There were ten of them when her eyes adjusted somewhat to the brightness of the lights. Ten faceless silhouettes against the white. One more stood over them, a shape that she could never forget.
She moved to push herself off the steps and sucked in a sharp gasp. Pain erupted from her right arm, the fiery pain of a broken bone, and she remembered the hand that broke it.
"Right, buzzing, massive physical trauma."
Vi put her head back down, gasping for air and winced when the movement caused her to slide down several steps further until the back of her head bumped against the landing. She groaned weakly despite herself. Her eyes were burning and wet, but at least he was gone. Hopefully buried in the rubble of the cathedral above as unlikely as it seemed to her.
The memory was just a blur of motion and shouting. The men without faces came at her at his order. They bore his mark and carried batons. He wanted her beaten, broken, like before. She did not fall quietly. Fear and anger fueled her movements. She weaved through the throng of men like water, dodging or deflecting blow after blow with adrenaline numbed arms and legs. Desperation made her counterattacks brutal. She struck at their eyes, throats and groins without hesitation or remorse. They collapsed where they had stood and she then ground out their lives with heel and elbow.
She too knew just where to strike, and how much damage to inflict. His men would learn that lesson well.
The buzzing began to slow and she tried her arm again. She hissed at the sharp pain when she gingerly flexed her arm. But it moved the way she wanted it to and she found no unusual lumps that suggested that any serious damage remained. She propped herself up off the steps. Then with a strained groan she grasped at the walls of the crypt and climbed to her feet. She tried tentative step forward, her right hand pressed against the wall of tunnel as though it were her lifeline in a storm. She reached out with her left hand in an effort to not walk into anything and it brushed against the tattered scraps of fabric hanging from her right shoulder where her coat and sweater had been. A sob escaped from her throat then, the darkness parroting her cry with fading enthusiasm.
She could not match him in brute strength, but she knew that she was faster as she dodged his attempts to grapple with her. Keep moving, strike at the joints. Disable his body piece by piece until he can no longer pose a threat. That had been her plan. And it seemed to had been working. Dodge a lunge, strike at the knees. Reroute the momentum of his punches and attack the elbows. Use his mass against him, inertia was her ally then. He had seemed to realize this as well. His blows became sluggish, but only slightly so. Vampiric stamina allowed him to keep up with her, despite the regenerative effects of Gaia's blessing.
She did not know how long they continued this dance, but after a while she knew that she was outmatched. No matter how many blows she scored on him, they appeared to have had little to no impact. Any mistakes on his part, she could not capitalize on, as he would merely shrug off her attacks. Her mistakes on the other hand, would have disastrous consequences.
Vi lifted her left hand and hesitantly cupped the spot at the base of her neck where his teeth had sunk into her flesh. Her fingers encountered warm, smooth skin instead of bloody rent meat. She ground her teeth and kept walking in the utter blackness as her eyes burned with shame and anger. Anger at herself.
"I lost it. I lost it. God dammit, I lost it."
A broken stone, jutting out unseen in the darkness defeated her balance and pitched her forward and downward with a startled cry. She hit the ground hard and fresh waves of pain blossomed from her right arm. She spat out a coarse oath, which the darkness would have none of, returning her insult manyfold. She felt a metallic smelling wetness on her brow and groaned again. The Buzzing in her head picked up by a few notes.
He held her by the neck, just like he had the first time. The similarities made her skin crawl and her heart seize. Her arm was broken, snapped when one of her attacks missed and he seized it with those hands. She had barely had enough time to let out a hoarse scream of pain before she was engulfed by his vice grip.
Panicked thoughts had filled her mind as he tore her pack from her body, taking pieces of her clothes along with it. He had Father's journal now, but all she could think about was the taste of dirt and his weight on top of her. He was going to do it again. Do those things to her again. These thoughts paralyzed her. Kept her staring at those horrible, bloodshot eyes. Staring at that ashen skinned face, full of arrogance and malice. He enjoyed seeing her terrified and useless. It empowered him. His face drew closer and all she could do was choke on that horrible stench of decay and incense that seemed to follow him, and shiver in disgust as his tongue raked over her exposed skin.
Vi whimpered in the dust and coughed loudly when the motes rebelled. A cry of exertion followed as she staggered back to her feet and kept walking. She didn't know where she was going. She could be going in circles until she starved to death for all she knew, but the Buzzing seemed insistent. One foot in front of the other. She just had to keep moving forward.
Pain. So much pain, like fire and a hundred daggers at once. Popular media held that vampire bites were romantic, sensual experiences, but the real thing was a base, animalistic act of mangled flesh and primal gorging.
"So this is the taste of defeat," he had said, her blood smeared all over his face and running down his clothes.
Through it all, she prayed for the Bees to take her away, even as her agony stricken fingers found the detonator in her pocket and squeezed the trigger.
She stifled the sob that yearned for escape, the sound that followed a meek gasp that the darkness did not see fit to replicate. The Buzzing was louder now, gradually becoming more insistent. She wanted to blame it on the blood loss but the noise seemed to be almost supportive. The strength in her legs returned to her as well, and her steps became surer. It made her angry.
"Where the fuck were you then, huh!" she screamed into the dark. "Did you enjoy the fucking show!"
Whether or not the Bee heard or understood, it gave no sign, the Buzzing droned on without pause or change.
"F-fuck," she croaked.
She thought she had a plan, knew how to handle the man if she ever crossed paths with him again. But she had been wrong. Nothing has changed. In fact, she had only made matters worse. She felt spent, but her legs kept moving. Where her instincts were taking her no longer mattered. She just wanted to curl up somewhere far away. But how long will far away be until this happened again. How long can she do this before there were no more far aways? Gaia's Blessing. She scoffed bitterly.
Everything was falling apart. Father's journal was gone, in the hands of that monster. Whatever the vampire's plans might have been, she had no way of stopping him now. The first real lead she has ever had since Father's disappearance and she had let it slip through her fingers. She could hardly breath because of the disgusted pit in her stomach, the tightness in her chest. The oppressive weight of despair, like sheets of lead draped over her like a shroud, silent and everlasting. It wrapped around her like armor, deflecting any optimistic thoughts or nascent countermeasures with emotionless efficiency. She wondered if the Bee'd ever get suicidal thoughts.
So wrapped up in her own thoughts, Vi failed to notice the faint glow until she was almost upon its source and a Bee landed on her hand.
She numbly lifted the Bee up to eye level. She felt her heart rate pick up as it crawled up to her fingertip and spun a little bee dance that she had seen before on documentaries. As a child she had been deathly afraid of bees, having learned first hand that she was allergic to bee stings. The stray thought made her wonder whether she still remained allergic or not. But rather than answer her idle musing, the Bee took flight, flitting a couple tight circles around her head before bobbing lazily towards the light as though urging her to follow.
And she did and found herself in the portal room hidden deep in the crypts. Only now the portal shown with golden light of Agartha. The pathfinding Bee joined a handful of its fellows that drifted languidly around the portal. She heard the subtle chime of anima, felt its invigorating power in her soul. Sprouts of greenery had already begun to reclaim the chamber, bleeding healthy brown hues to tree roots that had long since withered to gray.
The logical part of her wondered why now? Why not before? Why not before she had to go through that Hell again. But the rest of her kept walking, urged on by the Buzzing until she passed through the threshold, and felt herself yanked in every direction.
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Post by kovergirl on Aug 3, 2013 15:56:01 GMT -8
Part 11
Something was wrong. Vi knew that the instant she had stepped into the Agartha portal and felt the sensation of being yanked in every direction rather than the brief weightlessness that normally accompanied the trip. Her world spun end over end and side to side, churning her insides in the most disorienting and nauseating way imaginable. After God knows how long, she felt solid ground beneath her feet while her head continued to spin. She had fallen forward then, her legs revealing that they were no longer to be trusted. Her stomach rebelled as well, and she choked several dry heaves over the boughs of the world tree. At least, she had hoped that they were dry heaves.
She looked up, and through the burning tears saw one of Agartha's mechanical Custodians standing over her. Its silhouette seemed different, larger. But before she could clear her eyes the world flashed gold and she found herself in one of the more well traveled parts of Agartha. Her hand had unconsciously reached for the flaps of cloth by her exposed shoulder, tugging on the material in an attempt to cover up when someone draped a jacket over her shoulders. She shivered at the attention and contact, but was glad for the charity.
"Everything will be just fine, miss," he said, and she saw that he was a kindly old man dressed like one of those Victorian train conductors. She struggled for smile. He was the stationmaster for Agartha, and he was doing his best to keep his eyes on her face. She remembered her lie about werewolves when he had cautiously asked her if she needed medical attention, and said that she would like nothing better than to just get home and into a new change of clothes. To her relief he showed her the way without any more questions, only telling her to keep the jacket for as long as she needs it. After she had left Agartha for Seattle, she hugged the jacket closer to her body, more for emotional support than comfort. The fabric felt uncomfortable scratchy against her skin, like the guilt that scratched at her conscience.
Another lie for the pile.
"-no sign of ze journal or ze Voivode. Zis vouldn't be a problem had you given me a transcript of the text. Now it is lost to us both."
Vi continued to study the surface of her coffee table, her mind wandering from memory to memory. The phone against her ear felt hot in her hand, but she was barely listening. "I know."
The woman on the other side sighed. It was a short one, reserved for school teachers and vexed matriarchs. "Ze incident that you caused at the cathedral has been suppressed. I vill now be taking over zis investigation. Your services are no longer needed. Perhaps it vas a mistake to involve you in this to begin vith."
Her hand tightened around her phone, "...I understand."
There was pause then. A short one. Maybe the Templar had expected more of a fight. Maybe she felt bad about the whole thing. Vi couldn't tell. Nor did she really care at that point. "Good bye, Ms. Vega." Then the line disconnected with a sharp click.
Vi set her phone down. She felt strangely numb about the whole thing with Vanessa and her Templars. On one hand, it had been three days since she returned from Romania. Three days to cry out her frustrations and heartache. Three days to punish herself over the things she had done wrong. On the other, the woman really did have a point. After all of her training, all the success she has had since before becoming one of the Gaia-blessed. Against him it felt like it had been all for nothing. No, worse than nothing. Now she had set that monster on her Father's tracks, and there's not a thing she could do. Not anymore. Even if she did find the Voivode again, he would just beat her. And he'd...
A shiver ran down her spine and she hugged her legs under her chin. Her skin felt clammy, dirty. She wanted another shower, but would rather stay where she was, in a brightly lit corner of her home. It didn't make her feel any better. Her vision blurred as fresh tears threatened to flow once more, but this time she let them. There wasn't anything to focus on anymore and no one to hide her shame from, so she let her wails be her companion for a long time.
Then her phone buzzed. She stared in its direction, not really seeing anything until it stopped. It was probably just Ken or Tess calling to check up on her. If it was an emergency, they'd use the secure line. She had avoided going to the office by texting that she'll be out on assignment for a few days. It was an often enough occurrence with her old pattern of taking freelance work whenever possible, so neither of them had questioned it. The thought made her heart twist painfully, prompting more vision impairing sobs. One lie after another. What was she turning into?
Only when the phone buzzed again did she take note of it, and clumsily wiped her eyes and face with the back of her hand. She reached for her phone, tugging the device closer to her with an extended fingertip before picking it up to look. It was a text from Shay, the recognition pricking her heart. The socialite CEO of AEgir Communications, and her boss's boss, Shay had also been one of the first friends she ever made since she dove head first into the Secret World. Sometimes, a lot of times, Vi used to wonder why someone like Shay would care about a hired gun like her, but care she did. She pushed against a fresh sob until it was barely a whimper. Just a day earlier she had told Shay that she wouldn't be able to be her maid of honor anymore.
Vi swallowed her tears and read the text. Shay was inviting her out to a party at a friend's mansion. No 'how are yous' or 'just checking ins,' just a straight and to the point 'lets go have fun!' It made her smile despite herself.
Oh Shay...
She put her phone back down without replying and nuzzled her nose against her knees. She did not feel like she should go. She wasn't even sure that she could just have fun. Not anymore. She felt as though she could barely muster the will to pretend that things were all right, and that had been the main reason why she had been avoiding work. She would probably just bring the whole mood down anyway. Even if she did go, could she even look Shay in the eye anymore, after all the disappointment she had caused? Her eyes strayed to the phone again, and then she felt her nails digging into her legs until she willed her hands to loosen their grip.
She didn't want to go.
But even if it were just for a few hours. She knew that she didn't want to be alone.
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Post by kovergirl on Aug 12, 2013 17:27:53 GMT -8
Part 12
An unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar couch. There were also unfamiliar sounds coming from outside, sounds of cars and people going about the day. Then the memories came, each remembrance triggering the next like mental dominoes until they reached recollection. This was Shay's apartment, a modest place tucked away in the trendy shopping area of Greenwich Village, just west of lower Manhattan. It was a huge step down from what the socialite could afford, but it matched her style, cozy and close to the nightlife. Vi breathed a long and groggy sigh, then nestled deeper into her nest of comforters and pillows. The scent of pancakes permeated the air, whetting her appetite with its allure, coaxing her from sleep. But it had to contend with the comfyness of the sofa, and it was just so warm and nice. She sighed again, this time with a whisper of resignation.
Here we go...
She had decided to go to that party at the mansion Shay had invited her to last night, even arriving earlier than most of the crowd. But as she feared, she had not been in a partying mood at all. The crowded rooms and deafening sounds that once filled her with energy had felt so suffocating. Eventually, she had retreated from the throng of revelers to the quiet gardens surrounding the building. It was a lonely and eerily lit place, but the cool air had been a pleasant respite. She had lost track of how long she had hidden herself there, alone on a bench that she had picked at random until Shay came out to look for her.
Vi curled up a little more in her nest, blinking the wetness from her eyes. She did not know if it had been what she had gone through in Romania, or if she just could not bear to hold it in any longer, but when she heard the concern in Shay's voice and felt the woman's arms around her, the memories poured out as readily as the words and tears. The retelling had brought with it the smell of grass and dirt, and the revolting sweetness of incense. It brought back memory of his crushing weight and the disgust and shame that came with it. But she had relived it, revealing the ugliest part of her without a second thought. Because she couldn't just live with it any longer.
She breathed in the aroma of pancakes then let it out, nuzzling a pillow.
Now they know...
Shay was not the only one to learn the truth last night. Sometime later, Ammie arrived, then Ken. She did not see them at first, her tears had probably made a mess of Shay's hair and shoulder by then, but she heard their voices and felt their concern. The words had not come to her then, so soon after retelling the story for the first time, but Shay relieved her of that burden and told them as much as she felt she should. Vi had been grateful for the consideration, but at the time she did not care. The dam had already burst.
They had wanted to hunt down the monster that did this to her. It was natural, but fear stabbed at her heart. They did not know him, this...Voivode. They did not know what he was capable of, and the mere thought of what he might do to her friends still sent shivers down her spine. So she had kept that part to herself. Held it close so that it might not lead them to ruin. She resolved to tell them when the time was right, but not a moment sooner.
The bustle from outside picked up in pace and decibel, a sure sign that she was horribly late for work. She lamented the necessity with a low groan then extricated herself from her nest. The air was chilly compared to the pocket of warm comfort that she had made for herself, but her skin quickly grew accustomed to it as she made a few halfhearted attempts to smooth the wrinkles in her clothes. Shay had offered her the couch after the evening was over, and after she had wept until there had been nothing left. A small part of her had not wanted to impose, but the fear of being alone that night had buried those feelings, and she was glad for it. For the first time in days she felt...safe.
She let nose lead the way through the apartment towards the connected kitchen, carefully tiptoeing over scattered clothes, garments and other items as she went. The smell of pancakes was almost overwhelming at this point. Her mouth watered and her stomach made its demands known to the world. A small smile tugged on the corners of her mouth as she followed the makeshift path that had probably been kicked into existence only the night before. A counter divided the kitchen from the living room, but her eyes and appetite was drawn to the stack of pancakes upon a simple white plate that was sitting quite contently on the counter top. Small chunks of chocolate and peanut butter were embedded inside the decadent cakes, and two bottles of syrup, one of chocolate and one of maple stood vigil by the plate. A small post-it note was pasted onto a conveniently placed fork.
~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~
Have the day off. We'll talk later. Also, Pancakes!
<3 Seanne
~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~ ~@~
Vi's smile broadened as she read the note, then climbed onto the stool nearest to the breakfast cakes. Shay and Ammie, Ken and Tess and everyone at AEgir. She never dared dream of finding friends that she could tolerate, let alone trust like she trusted them now. The thought filled her heart with a comfortable weight, like hugging a treasured thing, and it wrapped her up in a pleasant warmth that felt way better than coffee. It was a new feeling, a good feeling, and she decided then that she liked it a lot.
But the fear was also there. A tiny seed deep inside that wormed its way to the forefront of her thoughts. The fear that had sealed her lips all those weeks ago, and had tormented her. It was the thought that one day, their understanding would give way to contempt. Her thoughts then strayed to her sister, and the day she had told her about becoming Gaia-blessed. She hugged her arms around her sides, the memory of that day making her shiver. But another remembrance pushed back against the growing gloominess of her thoughts. A memory of the night before, of Ammie's pretty face, hard and stern with eyes of frightening violet, who spoke words that she would never forget.
I can promise you, that you are no less than you were, no weaker, and no less powerful. You have not been compromised, you have not been flawed in front of your friends, and you are never.....never alone.
She sniffled softly and wiped the tears that had been forming with the heel of her hand.
Take what you can get, Toria. One day at a time.
Vi then gingerly picked up her fork, rotating it several times in her hand while considering the two bottles of syrup. Maybe one day her fears would be realized, but that doesn't make today with all of their concern, all of their love, any less true. Maybe that day would never come, and that she had been and will continue to torment herself with such fears foolishly, needlessly. And maybe it would not even matter anymore when that time finally comes. Life was full of uncertainties, and the old Vi had always believed in making the most of everyday, no matter what happens. And so she resolved to treasure everyone, their love and their friendship, for as long as she will live.
She breathed a quick, determined sigh then proceeded to pick up the bottle of chocolate syrup and popped out the top. At least one thing was certain.
It was a very good morning for peanut butter cup pancakes.
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