Character Sheet: Timothy James Appearance Prelude Journal Entries:
Name: Timothy James Player: Tim Babilon Status: Dead Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Immortal Nature: Cavalier Demeanor: Survivor Residence: House Apparant Age: 27 Sex: Male Concept: ATTRIBUTES: Physical: Strength-3, Dexterity-4, Stamina-3 Social: Charisma-3, Manipulation-3, Appearance-2 Mental: Perception-3, Intelligence-3, Wits-3 ABILITIES: Talents: Alertness-4, Awareness-1, Brawl-3, Dodge-4, Subterfuge-2 Skills: Drive-2, Etiquette-2, Firearms-3, Melee-5 Knowledge: Finance-2, Linguistics-3, Occult-1 ADVANTAGES: Other: Quickening-3 Backgrounds: Arcane-4, Mentor (Alex)-1, Resources-4 Merits & Flaws: Ambidexterous (+), Compulsion (-), Mistaken Identity (-) Faith-0 Humanity-? Willpower-8 VIRTUES: Conscience-1 Self-Control-1 Courage-1 Appearance: 5'11", 175 lbs, brown eyes, business cut brown hair. Tends to dress for the occasion. When lofting around town, will normally have a light-weight jacked to carry a sword or a "Tanya-tapper." Prelude: He was born in 1966, in Pittsburgh PA. Graduated Carnegie Mellon University, B.S. Economics 1988, M.S. Industrial Administration 1989. While in college he was Division III fencing and a member of the S.C.A. learn both light and heavy weapon fighting. After graduation, moved to Washington, DC worked for an International Bank in the overseas investment division. While there he made all his current money. Timothy died in 1993, during a robbery/car-jacking in rural VA while visiting his folks. He doesn't remeber much, only that he gave a guy with the big ass gun in his face the keys...and that said gun went off. Next thing he new was he woke up covered in blood, but no wounds. He didn't know what to make of it. Naturally, the car was reported stolen. Timothy returned to DC and continued his life. That was until he was out one night with some friends after work. They decided to try a new Southern Style resturant in Old Town (a.k.a. Alexandria, VA) near the waterfront. The owner (Alexandra) took a special interest in the group and made sure everyone had a greattime. A few days later a letter from Alex arrived inviting Timothy to a private party at the resturant. Timothy didn't think anything of it considoring he had used his credit card to pay for dinner. Alex met Timothy at the door, the resturant appeared to be closed to the public for the party. She ushered him into a small private dining room. Over dinner she explained the rules of immortality and the like to him. She invited him to meet her the next day to teach him how to use a sword. Timothy smile at the thought, since he already knew how to fight and was looking forward to seeing Alex all hot and sweaty. Timothy and Alex became "friends". Alex suggested that he travel around the country and enjoy the world. While on his travels, he has collected a few heads, mainly when he has had no choice but to fight. Now he has arrived in Santa Cruz, CA. Thursday, June 1st, 1995 10:33 p.m. Cowell Beach wasn't a large beach so, having walked from the wharf to it's far end, listening to the surf beating against the hard packed sand, Tim returned back the way he had come. When he reached the pilings of the wharf, he walked under them and then continued down the Main Beach opposite the Boardwalk. The lights and screaming voices from the roller coaster, first a distant murmur, grew louder. The whirling lights blurred in his eyes as he gazed not at them, but through them. Sounds seemed to recede in the background and everything of the world around him seem to step back from his senses. There was however a buzz. Whirling, Tim turned around. There, someone was standing under the black pilings of the wharf. Someone was waiting for him. Not backing down, he retraced his steps, his feet bogging down into the soft sand. Not liking the feel of the ground, Tim decided to veer to his left, until his feet could find better purchase on the hard packed sand from the surf. Obligingly, the other immortal walked through the pilings, towards the surf. Tim quickened his pace, splashing through the few inches of Pacific that immersed him up to his ankles. Ignoring the wet wash, he was determined to be first on the ground. Languidly, the other immortal seemed to travel down to meet him at a more relaxed pace. Tim did get there first and, drawing his sword, he hid it under his coat, awaiting the other's approach. The other immortal, advancing slowly, appeared to possess no weapon either. Of course, Timothy knew the truth and poised warily, ready to react to any move. He had not come to Santa Cruz to hunt for heads, but he was not prepared to back down from a fight either. "Greetings, Brother." The other immortal had dark skin, almost red black and sported a large hawk nose and a head of thick black hair, but was otherwise clean shaven. He ears were also large and his eyes seemed almost cross-eyed, a disadvantage surely for an immortal. Timothy nodded. "Good evening. Nice night for a walk?" The other immortal laughed. "You mock me, yes?" Tim shook his head to say that that was not so. "Do not worry, my Brother. I do not come to fight you - yet." "Then why are you here?" Tim asked, moving his hand closer to his sword. It had been his experience that when another immortal talked peace, it usually meant otherwise. "I come to warn you," the other immortal's tone became very serious. "Great evils walk this place. They would see one such as you as a source of power, to be harvested. Beware the witches of the hills. They would eat you like candy." Tim shook his head. What was he talking about? "Thanks for the warning," was all that he said. The other immortal nodded. "Perhaps when we next meet, I will take your head," he boasted. "Or I yours," Tim retorted, smiling. The dark immortal laughed and then waved goodbye, trudging off through the sand. The tingling began to fade and after a time, almost vanished. That almost told Timothy many things, but most of all that Santa Cruz had either many immortals, or many sources of power. In the hungry world of the night, such power had become a commodity, whether it existed in the ground or water, or walked on two legs, like himself. Tim, walked back toward the Boardwalk. Thursday, June 1st, 1995 11:58 p.m. The young lady next to Tim screamed and buried her face in the sleeve of Tim's jacket. The Big Dipper came to yet another rise, and then fell just as quickly. Banking to the left, the roller coaster finally came to a rest where it had started. Other riders lined up, waiting for a chance to ride and as the bells sounded, the bars that held them relaxed and Tim and his impromptu partner relinquished their seats to those who were waiting. "Hi, my name's Emily," she told him as they walked down the incline, back outside to the Boardwalk promenade. Lights, music and the summernight crowd all jostled them outside. Tim looked over at her. She appeared to be young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but perhaps older. "How old are you?" he asked. "Nineteen," she answered. Tim thought she was lying, but decided not to challenge her word. "I'm Tim," he told her. "Would you like to ride the skycars?" She smiled and took his offered hand. They chatted about their pasts. Tim was deliberately vague and Emily claimed to be a college student on break. Reaching one of the skycar entrances, they walked up and boarded one of the cars, and felt their legs leave the ground as the cable hoisted their car upward, suspending them above the Boardwalk. The cable took them along, above where they had walked and offered them a stunning view of the Boardwalk and wharf at night. The thin sliver of moon soon disappeared behind the incoming fog. Emily shivered and drew closer to Tim, who graciously allowed her to share his coat. Reaching down, Emily boldly reached into Tim's pants. Reluctantly, he pulled her hand away. If she was only sixteen, he didn't want to risk confronting either the police or her parents. Besides, it hardly seemed right, he thought. Emily seemed embarrassed after that, and despite Tim's attempts to lighten the mood, answered only awkwardly. She seemed to sigh a lot. At the ride's conclusion, at the other end of the Boardwalk, near the carousel and pirate ship, she waved goodbye and before Tim could comment or call out, had disappeared into the crowd. Friday, June 2nd, 1995 12:51 a.m. Tim had distracted himself in the video arcade and had spent the exorbitant fee to experience the world of virtual reality in one of the new booths. Feeling somewhat dizzy from the experience, he stood to one side, propping against a wall to steady himself and regain his bearing. He was surprised to see Emily walk past him, her arms intertwined with those of a new conquest. As she walked past him, she never noticed him standing there. He saw her strawberry blond hair disappear into the crowd and felt a twinge of jealousy thinking of her with another man. Trying to pass it off as nonsense, Tim nonetheless grew haunted, thinking about her freckled cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. Trying to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't help being drawn in the same direction that she had gone. Walking to the other end of the Casino Arcade, he saw her riding one of the car rides, where the huge video display responded to her jostling of the wheel of the small "car" she rode. Hearing her squeal with embarrassed delight every time the car crashed, Tim was drawn instead to her new companion. He was tall and slender, with dark hair that was braided into a que. He was pale, decidedly so sitting next to Emily's tan body, and Tim couldn't help but think that there was something odd about him. Though he had intended to retreat, graciously when he saw that Emily was having a good time, seeing the man she was with, Tim was prompted to watch and follow them when they moved. They flitted about, stopping at various game along the way. Emily was always the one who played, while the young man was content to pay and watch. He seemed to be much more interested in Emily than the games. Once, he turned and looked right at Timothy. Timothy, his heart racing, backed into the shadows, trying to blend in. The young man's intense eyes did not seem so easily cast off by the Arcane. He scanned the crowd for some time before finally turning back to Emily, who had finished her game. Taking Emily's hand into his own, the man led her over to a photobooth and after plugging in several dollar's worth of quarters, the two entered, only their entwined legs barely peeking out beneath the curtain. Tim passed by. He could hear Emily's soft moans and gasps and, supremely jealous and feeling dirty for spying, he decided to retreat. Looking back at the photobooth, where both Emily and her new conquest were still occupied, Tim saw a young boy, mischievously prying where he shouldn't. The unsupervised young boy, well out past a decent bedtime, drew aside just enough curtain for a peek. The boy's brown face drained then shrieking, he raced off, yelling to his mother that he had seen the devil. A chill crept its way down Timothy's back. It seemed to him that he couldn't move for ages and then when he did move, huge chunks of time had fallen from him. Racing, he brushed past several startled youngsters and tearing the curtain aside, revealed the lovers in their embrace. Though the booth was darkened from a burned out bulb, Timothy could see that love wasn't what they were about. The vampire, so rudely interrupted, hissed at Timothy. Emily's body, now released, sagged down against the wall. Blood jetted out in spurts, staining the vampire's clothes and the plastic wall of the photobooth. Timothy drew his sword, oblivious to the consequences, but before he could use it, the vampire had knocked him back and had then disappeared, like he had never been there. There was a scream. Looking around, Tim saw several young girls pointing at him. Holding his sword, he looked down to see Emily's bleeding body, sagged against the corner of the booth, blood still spurting out of her artery. Then he realized that everyone thought that he had been the one to attack her. In the distance, he could see two armed security guards running toward the crowd. Whistle's were being blown and the crowd had backed away from him, shocked by the spectacle of murder. "That's him! He's the one!" A finger pointed at him, and Timothy was shocked to see the malicious eyes of the vampire as its bony finger accused him. "He killed her!" the vampire shrieked. Timothy blinked and the vampire was gone, but not the effects of his words. Several young toughs had gathered, their tattooed arms reaching inside coats to gather chains, knives and guns. The two security guards were fighting their way through the crowd, while behind him, Emily continued to bleed, her body fighting to stay on the edge of life. Tim doubted she would last much longer. Friday, June 2, 1995 12:55 a.m. Great, just fracking great. Now there are blood suckers here too. Tim thought to himself. Tim rushed back to the photobooth and the dieing Emily. "DIAL 911, NOW!", Tim shouted as he placed a hand over her bleeding neck and tried to stop what little blood she had left in her from escaping. Meanwhile, the local thugs started to move in around Timothy and Emily. The two Rent-a-Cops continued to blow their whistles and force thier way through the gathering crowd. "Leave her alone," a thug with a cross tatoo said. Tim ignored the boy and continued to hold in Emily's blood. "I said...leave her alone!", he said as he began to swing the chain over his head. "FREEZE!" shouted one of the the Rent-a-Cops. As he pointed his gun at the gang of thugs. "Back off boys," said his partner. The gang dropped back a few paces away from the booth and the security guards. "Now what's going on here?" asked the first guard. "He attacked that girl," shouted someone from the crowd. "Call 911, before this girl bleeds to death!" Tim shouted from the booth. "Watchout he has a knife," shouted another. "You in the booth, throw the knife out and come out with you hands up." said guard two. "I will as soon as the paramedics show up. Otherwise this girl will bleed to death!" responded Tim. Sirens could be heard outside the arcade. Finally, some real help, Tim thought to himself. Santa Cruz PD and paramedics arrived on the scene and forced their way through the growing crowd. "What happened?" asked the cop with the stripes on his sleeve. "He killed her!" someone in the crowd shouted as they pointed a finger at Timothy and Emily. "Yeah, he did it I saw him stab her." said another. "Could someone help her before she does die?" asked Timothy. The paramedics rushed over as began to work on Emily. Tim gladly moved out of their way. "Alright boys let's move this crowd back," said the striped cop to his partner and the security dweebs. "Sir could you some with me?" he asked Tim. "Certainly officer." Tim walked over to him holding the sword in his arms. "May I have that?" He indicated to the sword. "Here, don't cut yourself." "Name?" "Timothy James." "You from around here Mr. James?" "No, I only just arrived in town." "From where?" "I telling you I saw him do it. He slit her throat with the sword of his," said a person in the crowd. "Northern Virginia." "What brings you to Santa Cruz?" "Vacation, I'm been driving around the country." "Do you always take a sword with you on vacation?" "Only when I don't carry an UZI 9mm." Tim smiled, "Actually, its part of a walking stick. You haven't seen the rest of it have you? I dropped it when the young man in the booth ran me over." "Ah, yes the attack on the young lady. Mr. James I'm going to take you down to the station for questioning." "That might be a good idea considering the welcoming committee you have here." Tim was loaded into a police car and taken down to the station. Friday, June 2, 1995 2:00 a.m. The questioning room at the Santa Cruz PD was like most rooms Tim has seen on TV. It had a table, several chairs and a mirror running along one wall. Finally, two plains clothes cops entered the room. The first one was a 50ish, grey haired man who had seen one two many donuts while on patrol. His partner wore a matching pants suit and blouse. Flats but still she had nice looonnngggg legs and medium length black hair. She appeared to be maybe 30...35 tops. "Mr. James? I'm Detective Sarge Harek. This is Detective Jarvis," Indicating to the policewoman. "We need to ask you a few questions about what happended earlier tonight down at the boardwalk." "Certainly, but could I have a cup of coffee. It is getting rather late in the day for me." "I'll get it, you want anything Hank?" "Nah I'm fine thanks." Jarvis turned and left. "Before we begin, have you been advised of your rights Mr. James?" "Yes and I'm waving those rights for the time being." The door reopens and Jarvis returned with two cups of something that at least looked like coffee. She handed one to Tim. "Thank you, Detective." "Now then Mr. James," Harek continued, "Could you tell us what happened tonight?" "I was walking in the arcade near the photobooths when I saw a boy peek into one of the booths, cry and ran away, crying for his mother and saying something about the devil. When I turn to look at the both I noticed blood coming from under the curtain. I rushed over and hear someone cry for help. When I threw open the curtain I saw a young man attacking a young girl. How is she?" "She's in ICU at Dominican." Jarvis answered. "What did this young man look like?" "He was tall, slender, pale skin, black hair pulled back into some sort of braid. He wore a fade jeans and a black t-shirt with some sort of design on it." "Why were you walking around Santa Cruz with a sword?" Jarvis piped in. Harek glared at her. Hmm...power play made? Tim thinks to himself. "It was part of my walking stick. I generally carry it around with me when I'm in a new town." Tim said "And with the number of knives, chains and guns I saw tonight. I think I should consider upgrading to a better weapon." He added. "Santa Cruz is a nice quiet place. We like to keep it that way." Harek chirped. "No doubt, detective. By the way, did one of your dectectives detect the other part of my walking stick? It must have gotten knocked from my hand with he man ran into me on the way out of the booth." "No they haven't." Jarvis replied. Friday, June 2, 1995 5:00 a.m. "Once more from the..." Harek started. Before he could finish the sentence Timothy exploded, "Look I've answered all of your questions several times over! Now either charge me or I walk!" "Mr. James please calm down," Jarvis said. trying to quiet Timothy. Didn't help much. Timothy continued, "I've been here for over four hours now. Your lab boys should be able to tell you that my sword doesn't have any of her blood on the point. And if they can't then the doctors over at the hospital can certainly tell you that the two puncture wounds on her neck diffently were NOT cause by a sword. And finally, if it were I, when I would have had to have been three feet outside the booth to do it! Now what's it going to be detective Heckal and Jeckal?" "I'll be right back." Jarvis said as she rose to leave the room. "You better be back with either my lawyer to my walking papers, sister." Timothy and Harek had a staring contest until Jarvis returned. Jarvis returned after what the clock said was only fifteen minutes, but what felt to Timothy like hours. She looked at Harek but didn't comment to Timothy. Walking over to her partner, she handed him a piece of paper. Only then did she bother to look at Tim. The look was cold and disdainful. Harek meanwhile read the paper his partner had brought him. When he finished, he smiled at Timothy, but the smile was anything but friendly. "Well, Mister James. Based on the several sworn statements we have on hand, numerous witnesses who not only saw you attack the girl, but from others who also remember seeing you with her earlier in the evening, well, Mister, we're going to charge you with attempted murder, not to mention assault and carrying a concealed weapon. Oh, and let me add, corruption of a minor since the girl was only fifteen." "What! Are you nuts! What about the lab work! Why aren't you out looking for this other guy?!" Timothy was incredulous. "Give it up, James!" Harek yelled at him. "What kind of idiots do you take us for?!" "The ripest kind," Timothy snarled. "Dumb and dumber." Harek made a motion to clip Timothy on the side of the head but Jarvis held him back. Jarek then started in. "What did you do, Tim?" Jarvis asked, her voice sympathetic and sweet. "You can tell me," she insisted. "What happened. The girl left you for this boy and you followed them. You got angry, right? After all, she was leading you on, right? In a way, didn't she deserve what she got?" Timothy could see what they were after. "I want to talk to a lawyer," he told them. That shut them up. But then, not bothering to say anything further, they both left the room and a uniformed officer came in and read Timothy his rights. Edited out - ("Ok Mr James, you're free to go, but we'll keep the sword a little longer to finish some tests on it. "Fine detective Jarvis. I'll be back after 12 today. You better be done with your tests by then." Timothy gets up and brushes past Harek and Jarvis on the way out of the station.) Friday, June 2, 1995 1:49 p.m. Tim accompanied his lawyer from the court room. It had been a mere formality but the preliminary trial was set for three weeks. Timothy had learned that the girl's name was Emily Speake. She wasn't even from California but from Toledo, Ohio and like many summertime visitors, was merely vacationing in Santa Cruz with her family before going back home. She was still in Intensive Care at Dominican, though the lawyer said her condition was stable. "Of course, what we really need is a statement from the girl telling the court that you didn't attack her. After that, I think I can get you off with a minor fine." Tim absently noted her words. The lawyer's name was Nancy De LaPeña. He had picked her name out of the phone book. "When will I get my sword back?" Timothy asked her anxiously. He felt incredibly naked without it. "What!" Nancy stopped walking and looked at him accusingly. "Look, Mr. James. I don't know you very well, but as your lawyer, you need to know that you're in terribly hot water. You have over twenty witnesses who say that you were the one who attacked that girl and no one remembers this man with braided hair that you mention. "What about the boy?" Timothy asked. "The one who cried out about a devil?" "Well," De LaPeña sighed, "for your sake, I hope you can find him. If you need one, I have the number of an investigator we can use, but judging by what little information you have, I doubt it will anything but a waste of money. But its your call." Timothy looked at her. "You think I did it, don't you?" She looked him back square in the eye. "It doesn't matter what I think," she told him bluntly. "I'm your lawyer and I've agreed to take on your case. And as your lawyer, I want you to know that the way things are going, you're going to do some hard time either up at Folsom or San Quentin. You better hope I can plea bargain with the D.A. down to something reasonable if we don't get a statement from that girl." "I'll go see her," Timothy said. "No! You stay well away from her. The last thing we need is for you to violate your restraining order. I'll get the statement," De LaPeña concluded. You just stay put and out of trouble, please." With that, she walked back to her car, not bothering to look back at him. (Timothy has spent $2000 as a retainer for Ms. De LaPeña and will have to give her a cheque for another $10, 000 later. Also, the bail for Timothy has been set at $50,000. You will have to decide to either spend $5000 to get a bail bond or if you have it, give up $50, 000 as a guarantee that you will show up for trial. Let me know which you decide. The date for your preliminary trial has been set for June 21st.) Friday, June 2, 1995 6:00 p.m. Timothy returned to his hotel room after leaving the restaurant and watched the sun began to creep over the mountains. After putting the "do not disturb" sign on the door knob and he began to strip off his clothes while heading for the shower. "Damn!" He thought as the cool water hit him. "I'm going to have to be more careful when in public. I should have known better then to draw it." He finished showering and dried off. "Lovely little town, Witches, Immortals, Vampyres. Who knows what evil lurks in Santa Cruz? I doubt even the Shadow knows for sure. Guess I'll worry about it after I get some sleep." Naked, Timothy unwrapped the package he had brought from the pawnshop downtown. Unwrapping the stiff paper, he revealed the sword. It was a cavalry sabre, from Hungary, circa 1910. It was a good quality blade, but nothing like the one he had been forced to leave at the police station, but still it was better than nothing. It had cost him $1100 and the better part of the afternoon in bargaining with one of the pawnshop owners in getting the price down from two-thousand. Restlessly, now that he had a sword again, Timothy relaxed. Cradling the naked blade in his arms, he at last was able to sleep. Saturday, June 3rd, 1995 2:17 a.m. Timothy awoke, startled. The room was dark and still. Sirens could be heard outside while the roar from the Boardwalk's crowd remained, the last vestiges of the summer nighttime crowd only now dying back into the waning night hours. The deep boom of car stereos and the vibrant electric energy called to him, as must have done to all who walked the streets. Timothy thought about the evil face he had seen in the booth with Emily and felt a chill. There were evil things in the world, he realized. Very evil. What a shock to realize one's childhood nightmares had a face and that such things were allowed to exist in God's creation. Perhaps it was the subject of his thoughts, perhaps the recent events the memory of which came back to haunt him then. Whatever it was, Timothy had the feeling that somewhere in the darkness of his room, there was someone else. Though no sound or hint of breath betrayed anyone, still, the rising hairs on Timothy's neck let him know that he was not alone. Calmly, he flicked the light on to reveal - nothing. Shadows banished and darkness was obliterated in an instant to reveal the comfortable loneliness of a nice hotel room. Outside, the mumble of the crowd had died down so that Timothy could hear the ocean surf pounding away, his heart's beating echoing the waves. Though it was still early and though no revelation had come to him with the light, still a sense of dread gripped Timothy's mind and he held his sword ready, unable to get any more sleep until dawn when, strangely, he once again drifted off into a gentle repose. Saturday, June 3rd 1:34 p.m. "Hello Ms. Carver," Timothy rose and offered his hand, which the ever lovely Ms. Carver took and pressed warmly. Timothy sadly noted the wedding ring on her finger, but took it in stride. After all, a ring by itself didn't necessarily mean "no." Seeing his glance, Charlotte shot him a wry sort of look, but said nothing. "Well, what do you have to show me?" Timothy asked her. Charlotte motioned toward a car parked below them on Beach Street. It was an Alfa Romeo convertible. "Instead of telling you about it, why don't I just show you," she offered. Following her, Timothy, despite his other preoccupations, had to admit that he was intrigued - very intrigued. Saturday, June 3rd 1:58 p.m. Charlotte drove him the scenic route, via East Cliff all the way along the coast towards Pleasure Point and then down the hill until the Capitola Wharf appeared into view below them. Timothy thought that her listing might be in the village, but the Alfa passed all of the small pastel coloured cottages and touring slowly through the Saturday afternoon crowds of mostly tourists from over the hill, she steered the car up Central and onto Grand Avenue. The house seemed plain and modest from the front, but when she unlocked the door and Timothy was allowed to walk in, he was stunned by the view. The Pacific Ocean, or rather Monterey Bay lay stretched out before him, the afternoon sun glinting off its waves, seeming more like a bed of sparkling jewels than a stretch of water. Spying a telescope, Timothy walked out onto the deck facing the ocean. "The deck is built out over the ocean," Charlotte told him. Looking down between the boards, Timothy could see water below him. She hadn't exaggerated. "Look!" Charlotte pointed and Timothy, following her hand, saw that she had spotted a sea otter, swimming lazily along the coast, dipping down under the water searching for sea urchins, crabs and other delights. "I'll take it!" Timothy told her. "You haven't asked how much," she seemed disappointed that he hadn't offered her the chance to make her pitch. "At least let me show you the bedroom," she told him. Now it was Timothy's chance to give her a wry look. Sensing his thoughts, "Business only," she warned him. The bedroom, occupying all of the second storey, offered the same spectacular view as well as a more mundane look inland. "Changed your mind," Charlotte asked him smiling. Timothy shook his head. Though the furnishings weren't to his own taste, still the house was intriguing - and peaceful. I could use a little peace, Timothy thought. (Rent is steep at $2000/month but if Timothy signs a year lease, he can have it for 1600/month. It is a one bedroom (large bedroom) two bath two storey house. Price excludes utilities but includes furnishings.). Saturday, June 3rd 2:45 p.m. Charlotte dropped him back off at the hotel and Tim walked back up to his room. He didn't have much to gather and though Charlotte wanted to have a cleaning service come in to touch up the place, Timothy told her it wouldn't be necessary. She had promised to come back on Monday to help him move into the house. Timothy entered and verified the "Do Not Disturb" sign was still on and then froze. Somebody had been in his room - recently since he hadn't left long ago. Scanning about, he could find no evidence that there was anyone there, but small details soon surfaced that told him that not only had someone entered, but that same someone had gone through his things, carefully replacing them to make it appear that nothing had been touched. But Timothy had left, here and there, seemingly innocuous objects, a piece of hair, and propped shoe, to let him know if his things had been moved, - and they had. Saturday, June 3rd 3:15 p.m. Tim flopped down in the easy chair after making sure nothing was stolen. Well now who could have been in here and what were they looking for, commented Tim. Couldn't have been the cops, they wouldn't have been this neat and they wouldn't waited until I left with Ms. Carver since they would have had a warrant. So who could it have been? And was Ms. Carver involved? She did take the long way up to the house. Well that I can ask her about on Monday when she "helps me move in", Tim thought. Saturday, June 3rd 6:30 p.m. The phone woke Tim up from his nap in the easy chair. "Hello," Tim said with a yawn. "Oh hi Alex...Of course the bail money arrived. How else would I be able to answer this bloody phone?...Sorry, I'm just under a bit on edge right now...No Ms. De LaPena hasn't called yet. So I don't know how the girl is doing or if SHE has talked with her yet...Cameras? What cameras?...I'll call her directly and have her folks check it out. Maybe one of the cameras in there did catch something. Of course they might show me slicing and dicing the girl. In which case you can forward all me mail to Sing-Sing. Oh I almost forgot, I rented a house that overlooks the ocean, over in Capitola. The rents only $1600 a month and it's fully furnished too...Yes, I'll call you with the number and if anything else happens. Look I have to go, natures calling and my stomach is making it's presences known...I luv you too..." Tim hung up the phone and headed for the bathroom. Feeling refreshed, Tim dialed the number Ms. De LaPena gave him. Of course I know you not in lady, hopefully you'll check when your beeper goes saying you have voice mail, Tim thought as he listed to the message. "This is Timothy James. I haven't heard from you as to the status of the girl yet. Also, when you hear this I want you to send your investigator over to the arcade to see if they have any security cameras and if so to pick up the all tapes from about dusk to about an hour after the attack. Not only from the arcade but any of the other places near there that may have caught something. And if the cops have any of the tapes get copies of them. Call me when you get this message. I'll be carrying my cell phone with me tonight." Tim hung up the phone and noticed one of the headlines from Friday's paper. "F.B.I. called in on "Hacker" Serial Killings." Great, now the "Frisbees" are going to want to talk with me, Tim thought as he got ready to go out for the night. Saturday, June 3rd 7:30 p.m. Tim headed of the front of the Casablanca and head up Center Street toward the restaurants and clubs he had passed in the morning. He kept stopping and looking in the store windows trying to decide if he had been followed. And if so he was going to invite his shadow to dinner once he was certain they were there. Saturday, June 3rd, 1995 9:39 p.m. "How was your dinner sir?" the waiter at Memphis Minnie's asked. "Excellent," James told him. "The blackened redfish and those crawdad kabobs were great. But what I really liked was the mash potatoes. Amazing what you folks could do with such simple fare." "Thank you sir," the waiter smiled, happy that such a wealthy appearing customer had been satisfied. "Do me a favor though," Timothy asked in a conspiratorial manner. "See that fellow waiting over across the street, near the flower stand?" "Yes sir," the waiter nodded. "I want you to send him the same dinner and put it on my bill. And here," Timothy scrawled quickly on a napkin, "Give him this note as well." "Very good sir," the waiter nodded. A few minutes later, he saw the waiter head out and give the meal to Detective Jarvis. She didn't seem to be very pleased. Tim lifted his glass of wine in a toast and smiled. Sunday, June 4th, 1995 5:37 a.m. Timothy awoke with a start. A buzzing in his head let him know that something was afoot. Quickening! Reaching under the bed, he grabbed his sword, and feeling its reassuring cold metal in his hand, slipped out of the bed and crept over to the edge of the railing. There was someone out on the deck of his new home. Not bothering to dress, Timothy crept down the laddered stairway, using one hand to steady himself and one hand to remain free. There was a scratching sound and Timothy froze. Whoever it was had somehow gotten onto his deck, though that seemed impossible given its position. With hardly the slightest noise, certainly nothing he would have heard had he still been asleep, the intruder cut away a piece of glass and reaching inside, began to undo the lock, picking away patiently. Had the intruder been a mortal, Timothy might have been content to let him enter and then overpower him, questioning why he had come. But the buzzing in his head answered that for him. This person, whoever it was, was after only one thing - Timothy's own head, and his quickening as prize. Moving as quickly and deftly as a leaping cat, Timothy leapt from his vantage, swinging down down. His sword arced through nothing, cutting through the carpet into the floor. There were footfalls and the intruder sailed off of the balcony, splashing into the water below. The buzzing had lessened. Wrenching the door open, Timothy ran outside and looked down to the ocean below him. There was nothing but watery turbulence and the thin sliver of moon did nothing to illuminate the scene. One thing was a surety. Whoever it was would be back. Sunday, June 4th, 1995 8:11 a.m. "Hello Tim?" "Hello Alex," Tim yawned, drinking some more coffee. "What's up?" he asked, speaking into the speaker phone. "Well, I did what you asked and secured your assets. Let me know if anything changes and you want to move your stuff out west. Say, you sound kind of tired. What'sa matter? Didn't you sleep well in your new place?" "Uh, yea," Timothy lied. "Just nosey neighbors." Actually, as an Immortal Timothy didn't need sleep, but he probably was tired - more for psychological reasons. Alex hung up after saying good-bye and Alex resumed his breakfast. There was a thumping sound outside his door. Grabbing his sword once more, Alex ran for the door. The buzzing was back. Opening the door, he nearly tripped over a body lying on his doorstep. It was a man in a suit and he was holding his bleeding chest as he'd been stabbed. "Seems police watching you!" a slightly accented voice called out to him from the shrubs of his front yard. "Make it hard to get to see you, Christophe! But we meet again, after all these years!" "My name is not Christophe," Timothy told the voice. "It's James, Timothy James - just like on the mailbox." "Fine! Play dat game if you want, Christophe - O.K. James then." The man stepped out of the shrubs. "I notice you light sleeper too." The man standing in front of James was thin and wiry. His dark hair was cropped short in a buzz cut and his Asian features seemed cruelly cast. The smirk he wore made him look rather mean, Timothy thought. "My name Li Fong," the immortal introduced himself and producing a large curved sword, seemingly out of nowhere, he charged James. James had the edge in speed, at least initially, so he went right for an attack. As Fong charged, James nicked him, but not enough to cause any significant damage. (Fong is bruised). Fong's own blow swept down at one of Timothy's legs, but his sword found better purchase and Timothy screamed as Fong's sword cut through his flesh and snapped the bone in Timothy's leg (Timothy is injured, -2 and has a broken leg.) The next round, Fong won initiative and contented himself with trying more of the same as he had already done. This time, Fong's sword cut cleanly through Timothy's other leg. Blood spraying the ground, Timothy screamed loudly and collapsed into a wreck of flesh and blood. Looking at his leg through his pain, he could see the stump of his bone protruding. Helpless, he could only watch as Fong stood over him, glowering. "I better than you, Christophe!" Fong laughed. "Now you have something I think belong to me." Fong held his sword aloft, ready for the coup de grace. There were sounds of gunshots and James saw Fong fly backward, hit by a single bullet in the chest. The prone policeman who Fong had attacked earlier had fired the shots. Fong got up, holding his chest painfully and staggered for the street and his awaiting car. The policeman, having reloaded, fired again. Fong was badly hurt but still managed to stagger to his car. James heard it screech off into the distance. As James' quickening healed the bulk of his wounds ( now -2 injured), he reattached his leg and as it healed, slowly crawled over to the cop. The man was already dead, having saved Timothy's life. Inside the house, Timothy could hear the phone ringing. His answering machine picked up and he heard Nancy De La Peña's voice. Far off, but growing louder, he could also hear sirens. 3. Since you elect to put up bail, I will assume that took out a short term loan to pay the bond and will use your investment income to make payments. With your credit, you will only have to pay out 12 payments of 5000/month to pay the loan. Of course, the 50k will eventually come back to you so your total loss will only be 10k. For the next year though, your income drops down to 4000/month - unless you want to liquidate your house back east and reinvest in California. JK {Hello Tim, Yes, I did goof and moved you in on Sunday instead of Monday. I'd rather not push your move up to Monday since that will put you out of things. And I even forgot about your cavalry sword - but! It was the sword whose stats I used for the fight anyway. (Fight was interesting to for me. This is just an academic point I will point out for you as a player, but T. James actually slightly outclassed Fong in most categories, yet luck played its part and gave Fong the edge.) Timothy has a sense that he and Fong are close in skill levels but that he is probably more polished. 1. Charlotte was able to get you in early and since T.J. had the sneaky break in, he decided to go for it. 2. Nancy is calling to let T.J. know that she wasn't able to interview the young girl as she's still unconscious (as of Sunday.) 3. Yes, the sword was purchased at the pawn shop where the murder took place. 4. The dead policeman is a Capitola detective who was keeping tabs on Timothy for the S.C.P.D, since Timothy's new residence is outside of their jurisdiction. He witnessed Fong attempting to break in (armed) and went to the rescue. 5. Go ahead and fix the loan rate. I was just throwing something off the top of my head. My wife handles finances and I never know what we pay for anything. She suggested that 50k was too high for a signature loan (and interest would be terrible for that - possibly even higher than 20%). A first mortgage on Timothy's house would probably net him a large sum for rates dependant on the market. Let's call it a signature loan using Timothy's house as collateral. Payments would be 0.7% on principal/month until loan payed off. (Deduct $350 from monthly income) Better?} Sunday, June 4th, 1995 8:15 a.m. "I knew I should have listen to Charlotte and waited until Monday to move in. But NO I thought it was safer here then at the hotel," Tim thought as he checked to see who the dead guy was. "Rest in peace, officer", He mumbled as he covered the cop's body with his robe. He grabbed a pair of sweats that were laying on floor to cover the quickly disappearing scares on his legs as the police cars screeched to a stop in front of the house. "In here," yelled tim as the cops ran up the steps an spotted the covered body. "WHAT HAPPENED?" the first uniform through the door said as he pointed his gun at Tim. "A breakin...", Tim said as he up at the cop, "He," indicateing the dead detective, "saved my live. Excuse me but I think I'm going to be sick." Tim said as he headed for the bathroom. After several minutes the noises in the bathroom stooped and the officer tapped on the door. "Sir are you ok?" "I'm a little better" said Tim as he opened the door. "Do I have to go back in there?" indicating the front room. "No sir, you can wait here until the homicide squad arrives. Can you tell me what happened?" "I was just finishing my breakfast when there was a knock at the door. They forced there way in and started to attack me. I think I hit one of them with my sword, but I'm not sure. Then the next thing I knew was the officer shooting at them and blood going everywhere." Sunday, June 4th, 1995 9:15 a.m. Tim had been waiting for over an hour as the police went about their work collecting evidence and documenting the crime scene. "Mr. James, I'm Lt. Horus of the Capitola Police Department." said the Suit as he entered the back room. "I need to ask you some questions about the death of Detective Lo Pan." "I'll help you any way I can Lt." "Good, the detective radiod for backup after reporting a person sneaking around your house. Do you know who this person was?" "I have no idea who they were. I didn't get a good look at them." "The officer here said that you thought that you had cut one of your attackers with a sword? That's a strange weapon to have laying around one house isn't it, Mr. James?" "I was a fencer in college. Shouldn't you be out looking for those men who attacked me and killed your detective, Lt.?" "We are Mr. James, others on the street heard the shots and gave us a description of the car that drove away. Do you always have a sword with you?" "No I bought the sword the other day at a pawn shop on Pacific Avenue in Santa Cruz. Why do you ask? Do you think there is a connection?" "There coul be. I'm need you to come down to the station with me Mr. James. There are some other people who want to ask you some questions too and the lab boys will be here for several more hours." "Sure, OK fine, lead on..." Tim responded as he got up from his seat. I wonder what a Capitola jail cell looks like, Tim thought on the drive to the station. He also thought about Lee Fong and why he call him Christophe and what he was going to say to Nancy, Charlotte and Alex about what happened this morning. Sunday, June 4th, 1995 6:59 p.m. "Mister James, can't you stay out of trouble, even for twenty-four hours?" Nancy sighed. She opened her purse and took out a bottle of aspirin, before looking around desperately for some water. Spying someone's cold coffee, she settled for that. Tim, not wanting to comment on her unsanitary practices, offered his apology. "I'm sorry about ruining your day off," he said, giving her a weak smile. "Don't worry," Nancy reassured him, "You'll be sorry enough when you get my bill." Tim continued to hit the next button on the keyboard. On the computer screen in front of him, face after face flashed by. The mug shots were in black and white. There were two shots, full frontal and profile. Tim kept on wondering when his own picture would flash by. It wouldn't happen, of course, since all the suspects he was seeing were Asian males, but he knew he was in the computer somewhere. They were at the main Capitola police station on Wharf Road. All around him, police detectives were going about their business. But no matter how busy, all had time to spare a moment and give Timothy a hate charged look. "So, they're going to charge me?" he asked, while flipping through the book. "Umm," Nancy put the coffee back just as the police detective returned. "Yes, they're going to charge you. What did you expect?! Dead policeman, killed with a large bladed weapon! And there you are lying with a sword in your hand, already wanted for an attack on a young girl!" "But what about the witness? What about the speeding car?" "Look, for all the police know, the car was some insurance agent that you tried to kill. Until we find another suspect, you're going to have to take the heat for this. And don't expect bail this time. You're going to have to wait in jail. I hope that will be what it takes to keep you out of trouble." "But!" Tim started to protest. "No buts! The best thing you can do is to find that suspect you were talking about. If you find him, we can at least give the police another possibility. Right now, they've got you down as a psychopathic cop killer. And don't ask. It doesn't look good." "You don't believe me, do you?" Tim asked her. "That's irrelevant. I'm your attorney. I'm going to defend you. Let's just leave it at that. Now, look!" she said, pointing at the computer screen. Tim sighed, hitting the return key once more. Lieutenant Trujillo walked over, to check on Timothy's progress. Tim raised his shackled hands to accept the coffee that the policeman brought him. It was bad. Hardly to be expected. The police had spent the last six hours questioning him, trying to get him to confess about killing Lo Pan, the Capitola Cop who'd been guarding him. He wasn't about to confess to a crime he was innocent of. Finally, Nancy had been able to get the Capitola P.D. to at least allow her client the opportunity to search through the mug shot database, trying to find the suspect that only Timothy was sure actually existed. "What're you got him on now?" another cop asked Trujillo. This cop was lean and wiry, where Trujillo was round and soft looking. He was also Hispanic. Timothy didn't catch his name and just noted that he too was a detective. "He's going through the San Francisco books. He's already checked Santa Cruz, Salinas and Monterey. If this doesn't work, we'll let him check San Jose before giving it a rest." "Yeah right!" the other cop snorted. "Like he's going to find something." "Gentlemen, I think that will be enough please," Nancy curly quipped. The cops shut up and just settled in, watching Timothy scroll through the database. "So," he continued his conversation with Nancy. "What were you saying about the Boardwalk video tapes?" "It turns out they actually never reviewed the section with you in it. In fact, when I got to checking for them, the tapes for all five cameras were missing for that time. I'm going to have to get the judge to issue a search warrant. Do you have any idea why the Seaside Company would want to deny you those tapes?" Timothy handn't a clue and he said so. "That's HIM!" Timothy said, slapping his hand on the table. His search had paid off. Li Fong's face was staring right out at him. Obviously, Tim wasn't the first immortal to have gotten in trouble with a nearby law agency. "That's him?" Nancy asked. Timothy nodded vehemently. "That's him alright." Trujillo leaned over Tim. "Let's see what we got here. Sammy Chen. You sure that this is your boy? That's exactly what he looked like?" he asked. Timothy nodded once again. "Positive. That's definitely him. He looked just like that, only better clothes." Trujillo punched up another screen. "Hmm, real bad boy. Suspected gang murder, extortion, drugs, prostitution. The only trouble is, this picture is over seventy years old." "What?" Nancy screeched. "What are you talking about." "I must have punched in the wrong database," Trujillo shrugged. "This one is dated 1921. This picture is seventy-four years old. I don't know if Sammy's still alive, but I'm sure he doesn't look like that now." Trujillo picked up some papers which Timothy recognized as his statement. "Your client described this `supposed' individual as a younger man, in his late twenties. He was positive." "You did this on purpose!" Nancy accused them. "It was an honest mistake," Trujillo told her. Tim knew he was lying. "Look!" the other cop pointed, "Your client was ready to pick out anyone to get himself off the hook. There was no other assailant. We have him here. He's just wasting our time and yours! It didn't matter which file we gave him, he was going to be ready to find a face - ANY FACE - somewhere!" "Take him out of here!" Trujillo yelled at a uniform while pointing at Timothy. While the detectives and Nancy continued to argue, Timothy was led, still handcuffed on his wrists and ankles toward a van in the loading dock. Sheriff's deputies were ready to transport him to the County Jail on Water Street. Nancy would catch up later. Timothy knew he was going before a judge, but this time, there was no way he was going to be released. Things were looking bad. He might spend years in prison if he couldn't get away. As they started to load him into the van, he started to think about the possibilities. Sunday, June 4th, 1995 9:02 p.m. "Could I have a little privatice?" Tim asked the Guard. "Itís not like I'm going any place," he said as he rattled the chain connecting his cuffs to the wall. "Five minutes and I'll be waiting you" Said the Guard. "Thank you," Tim replied has he began to dial the number. "Yeah hi, Alex...Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time...You were asleep? It's just a little after midnight there. What's da matter? You wear him out already...Alright...Alright I'm sorry. Please don't hang up on me...Echo? What echo?...Oh that echo, it must be from the CELL I'm in...Yeah I'm in the pookie, the big house, up river...Again!....This time? This time I'm charged with killing a cop...Yeah whatever, look I need you to fly out here in the morning...Yes Iím asking for your HELP. I made a mistake of hiring a bitch...err...twit for an attorney...Yeah well that's what I get for pulling a name out of the yellow pages. She good at filing papers and what not. But she ain't the right person for this type of case. She seems to just be going through the motions...I know you're busy, but unless you know someone out here who I can trust completely, I need you out here. You should be able to catch the 7am out of Dulles to San Fran and then a puttle jumper down to Wastonville. I'm at the county lockup on Water Street. I'll expect either you or this other person in the afternoon. You still have that wench's name and my address, right?...Good, let her know when you get in and/or who this other person is. I'll let her know that you'll be calling when I see her in the morning...I go before the Judge in late afternoon and would like a new attorney before then. One who knows how to talk with the DA's out here. ì "Yeah alright I herad yea...one minute..." Tim replied to the guard. "Look, Alex, be careful out here...there's be headhunters out here as well as the normal lions, tigers and bears...I hope to see you for dinner too. Bye." Tim turned and hung up the phone. "Back to my room Jeeves," Tim said to the guard. "Could I have a 6:30 wake up call? Guess not...Plesent Nightmares..." he called after the retreating guard. Tim flopped down on the bed and tought about what he would do if Alex couldn't help. Monday June 5th, 1995 10:49 a.m. "Who are you?" Timothy asked. The well-dressed man facing him was wearing a dark English suit and had a bowler hat that made him look like a John Steed aficionado. He had that slightly lost in time air about him, probably from his taste in out of date fashion. The man, who peered down at Timothy through thin wired glasses, still managed to cut a bit of a figure though, despite or because of his fastidiousness appearance. "I'm Fraser Methuen," the man bowed. "Your friend, Alex, sent me. She sends her regards and wants you to know that you owe her, what did she say? - `A Big One.'" The sheriff's deputy unlocked Timothy's cell and Timothy walked out, not bothering to look back at what had to be a prime contender for the world's most uncomfortable bed. "And how was your stay, last night, Mister James?" Methuen asked. "Are you English?" Tim asked. He wasn't sure if Methuen had an accent or not. "Canadian. But I've passed the California Bar and am licensed to practice in the United States." "You got me out?" Timothy asked, as he was led to a booth where his personal things were given him. "Yes, I've had a rather busy night. While you were sleeping, I managed, along with a detective who owed me a favor, to find a witness who cooberated your story about the Asian assailant who killed the policeman. We also secured some blood work from the scene that showed that there was another man present, who's blood was consistent with an Asian person's. Also, metal fragments from the dead policeman were compared with your sword and they did not match." "Great work there Fraser!" Timothy beamed. Methuen led Timothy out of the County Jail. There was a taxi waiting to take them back to Timothy's house in Capitola. Enroute, Methuen briefed Timothy on other events. "The young lady, whom you allegedly attacked, was on the point of recovery yesterday, even having regained consciousness. Regrettably, she had a relapse during the night and is back in critical condition. We, of course, need her testimony that you were not her attacker." "Why did she have a relapse?" Timothy asked. "The hospital officials couldn't say. My understanding of it is that she was suffering from a mysterious blood loss, which they could not explain." "Great!" Timothy sighed. "Well, let's get that detective of your's" "I'm afraid not, Sir," Methuen explained. "Given the nature in which these events seem to be happening - the supernatural nature - if you get my meaning, we cannot afford to let persons less educated than we are about such happenings, become involved. Such could lead to worse circumstances than your trial." "So you're saying, we're on our own," Timothy said. "No," Methuen shook his head. "I'm saying that YOU are on your own. I'm only here to do the legal work." "Nice," Timothy sighed. "Back to square one." Monday June 5th, 1995 11:00 a.m. Fraiser escorted Tim out of the station after he signed for and picked up his things. On the ride back to his house, Tim and Fraser discussed their next moves. "Could I barrow a pen and tablet?" Tim asked Fraiser looked at him strangely. "You said back there that you were doing the legal stuff and I just wanted to give you a list of what needs done." "Needs TO BE done, donít you?" "Yeah, needs to be done. Sorry, in Pittsburgh, PA we tend to drop the verb TO BE sometimes." "Oh, Right." Fraiser replied as he handed him a note book and pen. Tim wrote down, Sammy Chen, circa 1921, SFPD and Lee Fong; Search warrant for SeaSide Co -- Missing video tapes; Rapier, Santa Cruz PD -- attack on girl. I need you to pull the files on these two. Lee's the name he gave me last night. The other might be his twin or something." "Or something is right old boy,î Fraiser replied." "And follow up on this other stuff too," indicating the rest of the list. The taxi pulled up in front of the house. Other then the police tape on the door and the squad car out front, One could hardly tell that a murder had occurred here. Fraiser paid the drive and exited the cab. "If the labís done with the place, can give you a ride back to your office after I change. And if not, weíll have to see what they will let me take and Iíll drop you off on my way to a hotel." Tim said as he started up the walk. "Thank you. So Mr. James what do you plan on doing the rest of the day whilst I do the legal work?" Sleep, see how badly this place is trashed and late tonight I plan on camping outside the hospitol to see if perhaphs our friend pays a late night visit to the girl. If my life here has to end so quickly here, maybe I can see that she has a chance to return home and live." Monday June 5th, 1995 11:18 a.m. "Well, I don't advise it but you don't look like a man who takes advice," Methuen commented. "You know, if the police find you violating the restraining order against that young lady, you'll probably be shot. But if you should live, then they'll put you in jail for violation of a restraining order and no talent of mine will be able to get you out again." "I'll take that as a warning not to get caught," Tim replied, eyeing the observant cops watching him from their patrol car. He realized that the police were going to watch him like a hawk. They probably thought that he was the "Hacker" and weren't about to let him out of their sight this time. Tim watched Methuen's taxi drive off. He turned, feeling the eyes of the cops bore into his back and then opened the door to his home. The concrete on the front steps were still darkly stained. Tim wondered what it would take to get them out. Tuesday June 6th, 1995 10:30 p.m. Tim had spent the better part of two days trying to test how far the police would carry their surveillance of him. Pretty far it seemed. They even followed him brazenly into bathrooms. Out in Publicland, he had no privacy. They were just waiting for him to make a move and the thought - Take No Prisoners - came to his mind quite often as he looked at the faces of the various policemen assigned to guard him. The only welcome news had come early that morning, when Fraser Methuen had shown up toting a package. The police it seemed, had been required to relinquish his second sword, but were still holding on to the first one as evidence. Methuen had told Tim point blank that unless they could get the Speake girl's testimony that it wasn't Tim who'd attacked her, that Tim had better get used to spending a few decades in prison. The D.A. was not interested in plea bargains and was seeking the maximum sentence possible. It seemed a little harsh, but Tim supposed he couldn't blame them, thinking as they did that he was the "Hacker." So far, thus unable to evade the police, Tim sat out on his deck, watching the grey wall of the distant fog bank. Though it had been hot that day, it didn't look like the fog would move inland. They would have a clear night for a change. Tim's thoughts drifted down from the stars above him to the rolling surf below. The tide was slowly ebbing, but hadn't reached it's low point yet. Usually, there was water below him. If a person were to fall from his deck, he thought, such a person would probably die on the rocks or be horribly maimed - if that person were mortal. I wonder, Timothy thought, as he gazed down at the rocks below him. Tuesday June 6th, 1995 10:45 p.m. Tim looked at his watch, almost witching hour, I'm late for my visit tonight. He turned and headed back inside the house almost tripping on the hole in the rug the police left when they took samples. I'll be glad when it's finally fixed, he thought as he finished putting on a jacket and stowed the saber. Tim locked the door and head down the walk to the two detectives in the unmarked police car. "I'm ordering some pizza and picking it up on the way to the hospital. You two want anything?" Tim said. The two detectives just glared at him. "Think you're pretty!" one of them started to say before being ribbed with an elbow by the other. "Suit yourselves. See you outside Dominican Hospital," Tim said as he started towards his del Sol. The driver stuck his head out the window. "You violate that order and your ass will be back in jai!" "We both know," Tim replied as he turned back to the police, "that I have no intention of breaking that order while I'm being watched. I am headed there to see if I can spot either the guys who killed your fellow officer or attacked that girl. Cuz there's no flipping way that either of them are going to walk up to my front door with the two of you in that car. You want to ride with me to make sure I don't break any laws tonight?" Tim said to the passenger. "Or are you as anti-social as your partner here?" The two cops looked at each other. "Sure, you just go ahead and drive up to the hospital and I'll be sure to say `Stop or I'll shoot' before I blow your sick fuckin head away," the passenger swore. "Suit yourselves," Tim said nonplussed, getting into his car. "(Ed. out - No thank you, we're fine," replied the driver. "Suit yourselves. See you outside Dominican Hospital." Tim said as he started towards his del Sol. The driver stuck his head out the window, "You violate that order and your ass will be back in jai..." "We both know," Tim replied as her turned back the police, "that I have no intentation of breaking that order while I'm being watched. I am headed there to see if I can spot either the guys who killed your fellow officer or attacked that girl. Cuz there's no flipping way that either of them are going to walk up to my front door with the two of you seat in that car." "You want to ride with me to make sure I don't break any laws tonight?" Tim said to the passager. "Or are you as anti-social as your partner here?" "Sure," he commented as he opened the passager door. "Mike what the fuck do you think you are doing?" "This way I can keep a closer eye on him Frank. I'll be fine, I'm the one carrying a gun." Mike replied as he closed the car door. "A fat lot of good that did Robert," Frank muttered. "I heard that." "You were meant too.") Tuesday June 6th, 1995 11:30 p.m. Tim drove past Dominican, tauntingly close to violating his restraining order. Then he parked, taking out a pair of expensive night-vision goggles he'd had U.P.S'd to him. Turning these, he scanned the parking lot. It was a busy night, with people going in and out. But given the amount of shrubbery and the fact that he couldn't see the other side at all, and Tim felt frustrated over what he couldn't do. The passenger cop walked up to his car and leaned in on his open window, obstructing his view. They had parked just behind him. "Would you mind stepping out of your car, sir?" he asked, feigning politeness. "I'm not in violation of the order by being parked here," Tim replied. The cop repeated his question, this time with a little more emphasis. Tim ignored him, seeing something else that made his blood freeze. In an old green Impala, he saw a face that he hadn't seen for a week, dark hair tied up in a ponytail. It was the young man who'd been in the booth with Emily. "Oh my" Tim started to say. He turned to the cop. "That's him!" he screamed. The cop looked at the Impala and then turned back to Timothy. "Look, don't try this crazy bullshit - sir! Please step out of the car or I'll place you under arrest. On second thought, you've had enough chances. Step out of the car! You're under arrest." Tim started it and before the cop had finished drawing his gun, was screaming up the driveway. A siren sounded to his rear. The cops were in pursuit. Ditching the car near the front entrance, Tim raced inside. A security guard appeared to block him but Tim slapped the guard's hand with the flat of his sword, forcing the guard to painfully drop her gun. The cops, oblivious to the few people around him, shot at him. The bullet penetrated the glass of the front door, shattering it. He ducked and crashed through the remaining glass. Rolling, Tim came to his feet and ducked into the stairway. Using his Arcane, he was nowhere to be seen as the cops ran past him. Tim started to quickly explore, determined to save Emily. (Ed. Out: Tim lucked out when he arrived at the hospital. Someone had just pulled out of spot in the front row. Mike turned out to be more socialable then his partner and they chatted after finishing the pizza. "How much shit is your partner going to give you for this?" Tim asked. "Lots, but it's healthier then sitting with him while he smokes coffin nails all night." "That's true." "So why are you here? You can really belive that you're going to spot the man you claimed kill Robert here, do you?" Mike asked. "You never know. I'm mainly here to see if I can spot the boy who attacked the girl who's lying in there." Tim replied. "But you're charged with that." "That I am but those two punchure wounds on her juglur weren't cause by a sword and doctors saw she keeps loosing blood every night. Even though then keep filling her up during the day. Now to me that seems odd. Sorta like how someone can manage to run out of a house and drive away after being shot half a dozen or so times and leaving lots of blood behind." Tim remarked. "I've read the reports, but you're not trying tell me that a Vampire attacked her? Are you?" "No at all. I'm only saying that she arrived here after losing a lot of blood during the attack. More that was at the boardwalk. Since then she still losing blood some how. But only at night, never during the day. That says to me that someone is removing it from her at night. I'm hoping I might see that person here." "I think you me just be crazy Mr. James." "Then you better keep a close eye on me," Tim commented as a fire exit door on the hospital opened. Tim felt a jolt as a firgure emerged from the door. "I thought you might come here." Tim said out loud without realizing it. "Who him?" Mike asked and the figure walked into full light. "Who is he?" he asked.) Wednesday June 7th, 1995 12:04 a.m. Timothy caught sight of the young man and quickly followed him. He noted that his quarry wasn't like other men. He seemed to sense that someone was following him so Timothy had to duck into the shadows, waiting for an opportune time to strike. Only when crowds of people were around did Tim feel safe enough to set out, relying on Arcane, that mysterious ability to blend in, to safeguard him. Of course, it wouldn't protect him from eyes that specifically sought him out - like those of the cops, but it would help. The hospital had been mobilized. Over a dozen other cops, sheriffs deputies had arrived to bolster the hospital security guards. He overheard two of them say that he, Timothy, was to be shot if he didn't immediately surrender. So much for due process, Timothy thought. Timothy spied the young man getting into an elevator. It stopped on the second floor and Timothy raced quickly upstairs. He was heading for intensive care. Suddenly, a large number of cops and guards, including the two detectives was heading his way. At first, he'd thought he'd been spotted, and Tim ducked back into another room, whose sleeping medicated patient snored noisily. Nothing happened. Using Arcane, Tim slipped back into the hallway and appearing like he was a cop himself, looked around, and seeing, "Emily Speake, Room 203" written down, headed himself down the hallway. Though people looked right at him, they either just smiled or looked away as if forgetting he was there. Seeing a picture of him on the counter, Tim still took measures to half-hide his face, pretending to cough or sneeze or even to yawn and cover his mouth. So far, it worked. Tim unwrapped his sword and opened the door. A cop was dead on the floor, his guts flowing out of his still fresh wound. Another cop was gagging, holding his throat. Looking up, Tim saw the vampire just as he turned to look at Tim, leaving his feeding for the moment. Emily stirred slightly and Tim saw the raw wound at her throat, leaking blood from two punctures in her neck. "You walked through the wrong door, Friend." the vampire smiled. Tim shook his head and brought up his sword. "No `Friend', it's the right one. I'm tired of walking in your dirty footsteps. It's time you were brought to pay for what you've done." "And you're going to make me?" the vampire laughed. "Well human, go ahead and try me." Tim smiled. "I will. You can count on it." Tim and the vampire squared off. The vampire used Emily's bed as a barrier between himself and the immortal. Just then, one of the hospital doctors entered, looking around in a state of shock. Seeing the doctor, the vampire yelled out, "Look out! This freak's trying to kill the girl! Call the cops!" Round 1: Initiative (Timothy, then vampire & Doctor) a. Timothy Empowers Self to add +1.(since you didn't specify, I'll assume strength) and attacks with sword, and hits squarely (Damage 9 - 5 soak = 4. Vampire is now Wounded (-2) b. Doctor picks and throws chair at Timothy which hits with great force (hits for 3 damage - 0 soak). Timothy is now Injured (-1) + effects from vampire's round. Doctor also yells, "POLICE! HE'S IN 203! GET THE COPS!" c. Vampire slashes out with inch long claws that seemed to have appeared on his hands. Moving faster than Timothy's eye can follow, vampire becomes a blur. Suddenly, the vampire is to Timothy's right (interposing Timothy between himself and the doctor) digging his claws into Timothy's side. {Damage 8 aggravated (soak not allowed). Burning liquid is exuding from the vampire's hands, opening the wound still further as the vampire digs his hands into Timothy's organs. Timothy is Incapacitated. Timothy has no further action. He is unconscious (It will take him over an hour to heal.) Thursday June 8th, 1995 1:37 a.m. When Timothy came to, lights were being shined in his face. "I can't understand it," he heard a man's voice say. "He should be dead. There wasn't a drop of blood in his body. But now that we've given him a transfusion, he seems to have recovered." "Well, keep an eye on him doctor. I don't think he can get loose from those handcuffs and there're two police officer nearby if you need them." "Thank you, but " Timothy drifted off once more as something was poked into his arm. Friday June 9th, 1995 10:56 a.m. Timothy awoke once more, feeling much better. He looked down to see that he was strapped into a hospital bed. Handcuffs linked his right hand to the bed rail. A team of what looked like five doctors were poking and examining him. "How do you feel?" one of them asked him. "Fine. Could you tell me what's going on?" Tim looked around for his sword and clothing, but neither were to be seen. Instead of answering him, the doctor who had asked him the question left the room. He came back in with the policeman who he recognized and another who he didn't. The one was a Capitola detective named Trujillo. "I'm Detective Locatelli of the Santa Cruz Police Department," the other informed him. He was a small man with dark curly hair and a full beard. Nevertheless, he had a very serious look in his face. "You're under arrest for the murder of Police Officers Mosser and Kidner." The detective went on to read Tim his rights. It was a litany he'd heard too many times before. Saturday June 10th, 1995 1:33 p.m. Tim walked out into the bright sunshine, holding onto packages which contained not only his clothing, but his two swords. Fraser Methuen pointed towards a rental car. "Allow me to take you home," he said. Tim nodded and got into the car. En route, Methuen informed Tim of what had transpired. "The police were only holding you until they could finish their investigation. After that Speake girl recovered, she told them not only that you were not the one who attacked her, but she was able to give them a pretty good description of the man who did. They don't know who he is though." "So that's it then? No apologies, no restitution, just charges dropped?" "Be grateful for that." Methuen said, checking his watch. "What time does your flight leave?" Tim asked him. "In about two hours. Try not to get in any more trouble, will you? Next time, I'm informed, that it will be at your own expense - and believe me, I'm very expensive." "I don't doubt it," Tim smiled. "Anything else?" "I don't suppose you know what happened to that doctor who came in on you and the assailant, do you?" "That quack! No, I don't. Why, is he dead?" Methuen paused, looking Tim over for a bit. "Yes, I think so. He was declared dead, but somehow, his body disappeared from the morgue. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Tim shook his head. "No, why should I?" "No reason," Methuen confessed. "Just wondering." With that, the lawyer waved goodbye and drove off, leaving Tim at the entrance to his house. Saturday June 10th, 1995 1:35 p.m. Tim wondered as he approached his front door, if the house had been cleaned (well repaired actually) while he occupied. He gathered up all the old newspapers and mail from the porch before entering. He smelled the new carpeting as he entered the room, he threw the papers, mail and Rapier on the couch as he headed for the upstairs and a shower. Saturday June 10th, 1995 2:00 p.m. That was refreshing, Tim thought as he changed into clean clothes, then headed downstairs. He left the Saber next to the bed just in case he needed it later. He grabbed his keys, and headed out to do some shopping before dust. He wanted to have a special surprise ready for his blood-sucker friend. Saturday June 10th, 1995 7:00 p.m. Tim returned loaded down with everything he wanted, he ended up going to every boat shop in the area but finally found everything. Nor did he care if the cops were still watching him. Let them guess what he was doing buying small road flares, berry pistols (flare guns) and single-shot mini flares. He gathered the papers and some coffee then proceeded out to the deck to do some relaxing and to reading about what happened at the hospital while he was asleep. Saturday June 10th, 1995 8:35 p.m. Tim finished his coffee as the sun finished setting. He had forgotten how beautiful it was. He headed back inside to load his jacket before heading out of the town. Tim stuffed a couple of mini-flares, the tapper and the rapier in his jacket, before heading out. Tim parked the car near Balzac Bistro and headed for the Capitola wharf and beach for a late night stroll along the boardwalk and beach. He figured that this was safer then the Santa Cruz beach and it would give him a better chance to notice any tails. After his stroll he planned on grabbing a lite bite at the bistro while listening to the late night music. Monday, June 12th, 1995 3:32 a.m. Unable to sleep, Tim decided on a late night walk; just the thing he'd been telling himself that he shouldn't do. Still, there was no point trying to hide in shadows. If the vampire that had attacked young Emily was about, it would be better, Tim decided, that someone like himself should encounter it - someone who would at least stand a chance. The newspaper articles of late were too full, as always, of tragedy. Having been personally involved in some of the stories he'd read, Tim knew the real human faces of those sorrows that others just saw as words. Tim made a mental note to send some money, anonymous of course, to Lo Pan's family. And if Li Fong, Sammy Chen or whatever his name was happened by, Tim would rely on his quickening to warn him. Crossing the bridge over Soquel Creek, Tim turned onto East Cliff Drive, climbing the hill until he could see the lights of Capitola and the wharf, which was illuminated by a single sodium lamp. Aside from a few cars passing by, Tim was alone, passing small seaside houses whose blank dark windows looked down on him. Occasionally a dog barked once or twice, but masked by his powers of Arcane, the dog usually just sniffed the air and went back to sleep. Tim had decided to turn around once he'd reached Corcoran Lagoon. He'd walked a long ways and was growing tired enough to sleep, lulled by the cool air and sounds of waves off to his left. In the pearl brilliance of moonlight, Tim espied the dull waters of the Lagoon lying blackly still. There were three red lights atop very tall wire frame towers on the far side of the lagoon, part of a radio station. Tim saw a car coming and stepped off the road to avoid being hit. His Arcane would not protect him from physical injury and would probably contribute to it since most drivers wouldn't see him. Only glancing at the car at first, Tim soon could see that the car would never be in any condition to threaten him. It was driving in an erratic manner and in trying to negotiate a very easy turn down into the dip that separated the lagoon from the beach, the car managed to spin out of control. It skidded on two tires as one side of the light coloured V.W. Rabbit lifted up. After clipping a log barricade, the car was sent rolling over twice before smashing against a broad eucalyptus. Just as the car finally stopped, after hitting the tree and resting on its crushed roof, the bank beneath it gave way and it started to slide into the mucky bottom of the lagoon. Tim raced ahead, hoping to save the occupants but it was too late as the car sank into the mud. Shocked, Tim stopped and looked for any signs of life. He was standing near to where the car had hit the tree, looking down at it. Ducks, who had been sleeping near the edge of the lagoon, continued to fly away, quacking their surprised protest. Tim then realized that the car had made practically no noise in its crash beyond some screeching tires. No one had probably heard its crash which was why he, only happening to be awake and nearby, was the only one to witness the event. Someone groaned off to his left. Looking down in a hollow beyond the tree, Tim saw the torn door of the Rabbit. Next to it, a sleepy looking young woman was getting up, rubbing her head. One of the occupants of the car had survived the crash. "Are you alright?" Tim asked. The woman, who Tim could see but without much detail as he had only moonlight to guide him, seemed very surprised by Tim's appearance. She sprang to her feet, holding large a knife out to threaten him. Tim tried to gauge her, and felt a slight stir of power, like with an immortal - but different. He repeated his question. "Where the hell did you come from?" Since she wasn't answering his question, Tim asked her, "Were you alone? Was anyone else in that car with you? Is anyone trapped still?" She shook her head, saying nothing but continuing to appraise him. Finally, she turned from him and crouched low, looking intently toward the point where her car had skidded, as if expecting to see someone there. "Do you want me to get a doctor or ambulance for you?" Tim insisted upon asking. Only when satisfied that no one was there, she crawled up the bank, waving Tim's offer of a hand up away. "Out for a walk?" she asked Tim. He thought he could sense some sort of derision in her tone. Tim looked back at her car. It had finally stopped sinking, with only the tips of it's tires sticking up. "You're lucky to be alive," he told the woman. He was somewhat surprised when she chuckled. "You think so?" A little miffed, Tim asked, "What's so funny" "Nothing that you'd understand came the woman's curt reply." Before he could tell her to go to the hell, the woman had scrambled back into the hollow, hiding like a startled rabbit. "Don't tell him I'm here," she hissed at Timothy. "Please! He's trying to kill me." Tim didn't have time to ask. Looking behind him, he saw a motorcycle sitting at the point where the car had started to skid. Tim realized that he hadn't heard it coming, nor was the cyclist driving with lights. With a low rumble, more like the sound of a large purring cat, the motorbike started up, gliding in his direction. Tim didn't know what to do but he had enough mind to not look in the woman's direction. Despite the woman's annoying rudeness, he hadn't decided to give her up just yet. A young man with long blond hair and the requisite black leather pants and jacket glided up on a Harley. The man was looking at Timothy intently, obviously not fooled by the Arcane. "Hello Christophe. I didn't know you were back in town." Tim thought about this. Obviously the biker mistook him for someone else. The name he had used sounded familiar and Tim tried to remember where he'd heard it before. "Have you seen a woman around here somewhere?" the blond biker asked Tim. "She had red hair and blue tattoos on her arm. He looked around, his eyes settling on the Rabbit, all but submerged in the lagoon about seventeen feet behind Tim. The biker didn't seem surprised about the car but looked around as if for searching. When his eyes looked toward the hollow, Tim expected to see some change in the man, but his eyes continued to scan, obviously seeing nothing. "You didn't see the driver of that car, did you?" he asked Tim. Tim looked back at the car. "I figured she was dead. I was just about to call the police." "Well, she's not dead, much as I would otherwise," came the biker's comment. Tim looked back at the wreck. "She'd have to be pretty lucky to survive that." "Some people make their own luck. Or have you forgotten?" Not waiting for an answer, the biker parked his Harley and started walking toward the hollow. There a slight ripping sound and the biker stepped back just in time to avoid being crushed by a large Eucalyptus branch that came crashing down between himself and Timothy. Not close enough to be hurt, Tim had still been swatted by a few branches. The most startling thing was the the crack and crash of the branch happened only AFTER it had hit the ground. The biker was laughing. "You'll have to do better than that witch bitch!" He turned to Tim, gazing at him through the branched of the torn bough. "So Christophe, whose side are you on now? Don't tell me the Verbs have got you. Tell me what they're paying you and I'll double it. What do you say? Care to join me in a hunt, just like old times?" Monday, June 12, 1996 3:40 AM "I got back in town around the first of the month, though I've spent most of the time since then in jail. Thanks to Lee Fong and some others." Tim said as he moved toward the biker. "Why you hunting a scared rabbit tonight?" Monday, June 12th, 1995 3:41 a.m. Tim could feel something about the man. It was the same sort of feeling that he had gotten from the woman. "Li Fong? Don't know him and if you're after him - probably wouldn't care to. As for my prey, I'll let you in on it more when I know what you're after. How about it? What are you doing here - at this spot - getting involved - again - in business that doesn't concern you?" "Oh, I thought I had introduced you to the chinaman before...He might have been calling himself Sammy or Chen or something. He had a habit of changing names as often as you change clothes." Tim remarked. "I don't know if this biz concerns me or not. But we can discuss that and my fee later. You want the girl alive or dead?" "Dead of course," the biker said. Tim got the impression that the man seemed sad to speak of it in this way. "It has to be done." "I was afraid you was going to say that. What crime has she committed to warrant a DEATH sentence?" Tim commented as he moved next to the Biker. "And how did you become her executioner?" The biker eyed Timothy suspiciously. "I'd appreciate it if you'd move off a bit Christophe. You still haven't told me who's side you're on in this. I hope you're not offended and it's nothing personal but I'll kill you if I have to. And given the situation, I'd feel better if there's some space between us," he said, pointing towards what Timothy thought was his very well hidden sword. "And I know how deadly you are with that." These rather abrupt words stopped Timothy, still unsure about this mysterious man and his capabilities. When he was satisfied that Tim would approach no further, the biker continued. "To answer your question, we're at war. The Verbs have gone over the edge in a scheme of pure madness that threatens to destroy us all. If we don't stop them now, they'll wipe out everything we've worked for in the last two-hundred years. They're outcasts, being hunted by every Tradition chantry and cabal in the state. They're willing to kill everyone and everything in order to wipe out the Techs. Most of the Sons have already been dusted just for being in the way. Given the way they're acting, the Verbs might as well be Nephandi." (Q: What does this guy look like? A: He's about 5'8", somewhat stocky you'd judge. His features are somewhat fine but not feminine, His long hair is fine blond hair tied in a pony-tail and he has bit of fuzzy stubble on his face as if he's not shaven in a couple of days.) (Q: What is he wearing? A: Stiff black leather jacket, zipped up, black leather pants with a sort of pleat in them. He has thick gloves strapped to his side which he's not wearing. Despite California helmet laws, he doesn't seem to wear one.) (Q: Does he have and weapons either in hand or bulges under his clothes? A: You see no sign of weaponry though such could be hidden under his thick leather apparrel. However, you think it would be hard to get to in a hurry if that is the case.) "I've been on vacation so I'm a little rusty with it. But if it makes you comfortable I'll stand at least six feet from you," Tim said as he retreated down the road. "So, my old friend," Tim started with a raised voice, "When you say 'ALL' do you mean your kind or the whole human race?" "I mean EVERY living thing." Seeming a bit more relaxed after Tim moved off, the biker scanned the area as if resuming his search. "I was afraid it was something like that. You willing to trust me enough to walk in there with you with this?" Tim said as he pointed to his sword. "Or would you rather I just leave and we can talk again on the morrow?" "We can talk later," the biker replied. "Once I know what game you have going, perhaps we can do business. I need Verbena; you need heads. Though I don't think it's proper for the Chorus to interfere in your Game, I think - as before - necessity breeds an attempt at alliance." "Suit your self," Tim said as he turned and started down the road. After a few steps he stopped and turned back. "If you're still alive later," Tim said as he raised his vioce so that it would carry into the woods, "Stop by, I've rented a house in Capitola on Grand Ave. You can get the address and phone number from information. It's under the Timothy James." Tim again turned his back on the biker and walked off. Tim thought about all the new terms/names he had heard from the Biker tonight. Looks like I found dem witches that crazy immortal told me about when I first arrived, Tim concluded. The only thing he needed to meet now was one of those werewolfs to make the box complete. 0500 Monday, 12 June 1995 Tim thought about that Biker and the girl on his walk home. The more he thought the more confused he got. He decided as he walked through the door to forget about it until he had had a long sleep. 13:00 Friday, 16 June 1995 Tim was surpised when he returned from the department of motor vechiles and still there was no word from either the Biker or the young women from the other night. Perhaphs they ended up killing each other he thought. He hadn't seen any mention of iti n the paper neither. Then again, the local paperperson wasn't real good about delivering it on time. 14:00 Friday, 16 June 1995 Tim chuckled as he read Alex's lastest email. She was complaining that the resturant was starting to float down the Potomac River with all the rain D.C. was having this summer. Tim wished that some of the rain would have stayed here as he sent his reply back. "No I haven't been arrested again. I n fact I haven't seen any cops for days now. I think they finally decided I AM innocent. Sorry to hear about the flooding. Maybe you could ask some of your friends to send the water out here. Lord knows part of the this area could use it. Speaking of your friends, I met two very strange people the other night. One was a young lady who rolled her VW Rabbit off the road and into a pond. The other was a Biker who was chasing her. The Biker called me Christopher just like that Chinamen did. Apparently this Christopher must look a lot like me. Anyways the gal hightails it into the woods and the Biker starts mentioning Verbs, Sons, Techs, the Chorus and Nephandi. He also called her a witch bitch, but that could have been due to the fact that perfectly good tree limb almost hit him in the head. Anyways, if you can enlighten me on what he might have been talking about...please do. I would like to know more before one of them shows up at my door. Gotta run there's someone at the door Tim" Tim hit the send as he yelled, "Keep your shirt on, I'll be right there." Saturday, June 17th, 1995 3:46 p.m. Tim was returning from another walk, this time much more uneventful other than downing a cold beer in the village. He'd just crossed into his courtyard and picked up his mail when he noticed a note slipped inbetween the junk bulk catalogues that plagued his mailbox and almost as quickly, trash basket. Tim read the note. "I don't care what Louis or Raef or that hag Joy offered you. Now that I know who you are, I can assure you we'll triple whatever they offer you. You'll want to hear our offer. And I have someone you'll want to meet. Go to Coffeetopia and ask for Beth." Underneath this, written in a turquoise ink, someone else had added, "Christophe, don't believe anything the bitch says. That someone is a some 'thing', and believe me, you don't want to meet it. Come to the Unity Temple and we'll talk terms. Raef. P.S. Sorry I missed the little bitch - again!" Tim's eyebrows raised up. Curiouser and curiouser. Entering inside, he found that he'd had a fax from Alex while out. He picked it up and read it. It was in answer to the one he'd sent her the previous night. "Tim, Interesting stuff you're running into out there. However, tread with EXTREME caution. All the terms you mentioned belong to different kinds of Magi (users of Magic - or Magick as they like to call it.) Don't trust them - any of them. They'd sooner cut your head off themselves to use your power in their rituals. The ones called Nephandi are particularly vicious. Steer well away from them. As far as Christopher, I can't offer you anything. There are plenty of immortals named Christopher. I can think of half a dozen myself and I'm sure that you don't know any of them. Love ya, Alex. P.S. This time, please remember to destroy this note. I don't want a repeat of last time. - I know you said you'd never do it again, but just a little reminder. A." Sunday, June 18th, 1995 1:18 p.m. Since nothing had happened - or more to the point - happened to him, Tim was enjoying a leisurely Sunday afternoon, rubbing shoulders with tourists and the weekend crowd. Parked amidst a swath of coloured clothing, bikini tops and shorts, Tim was enjoying a quiet lunch alone, while thinking of what to do with himself. He hadn't decided on what to do with the pair he'd encountered a few nights before. Alex's last message had left him thinking. A low rumble of a motorbike half made him think about the blond man who'd been hunting the woman in the car. He'd heard other bikes roll by, but something in the sound of this machine made him look up. It wasn't him. In fact, the man looked quite different. He was of a stockier build, but dressed in the same leather biker garb, with long black hair and a face that was two days past already needing a good shave. He had a rough look about him, but seemed bereft of the usual accoutrement of real bikers. He had no tattoos, no apparent weaponry and his teeth, as he yawned, seemed clean and whatsmore, all present. Seeing Timothy look, the biker looked back with nothing more than a bland forgetful curiosity. He might a have been a businessman, bereft of suit and tie for a weekend's costume jaunt on the wild side. He might of, except for one thing - Quickening! The biker sensed Timothy's presence as well, turning to look at him and then looking away, giving no clue that he'd sensed Timothy, but of course he had. Timothy knew in a heartbeat that the other man was also an immortal. Idling his motorcycle, the biker made an illegal u-turn farther down the street. He cut in front of a truck, whose driver yelled obscenities out by the fistful. The biker ignored him and puttered up next to Timothy's cafe table. In passing, the cut off truck driver paused as if wanting to say something. The biker looked casually at the driver, lighting a cigarette, purposely flicking the match in the driver's face. A panicked look replaced the anger on the driver's face and the man pulled away. Timothy, his adrenaline now pumping, allowed his hand to stray underneath the table, touching the reassuring cold metal of his sword's handle. Whatever came, he would be ready for it. But would the biker attack him in the open, in front of so many? The biker took a long drag on his cigarette, appraising Tim. "I don't know your name," Tim volunteered, trying to at least start off on a good note. "I'm " "I know who you are," the biker told Tim. "And I know your reputation. I just don't care." "You got something to say?" Tim asked, trying to sound tough, wondering if this guy was also confusing him with someone else. The biker shook his head. "Just a question." The biker had a deep voice that rumbled like his motorcycle. "'There can be only One.' Do you believe that sort of crap?" Tim paused. "I suppose I have to. And you?" The biker didn't answer Tim's question. He dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out with his boot. "I met another prick like you, all cock and feathers. 'There can be only One.' He challenged me to a duel. Prick's name is Henri Beaucicaut. I knew him from the old days and he was a prick back then. Nothing's changed." "So? I guess there's a point to this?" Tim asked. "Is there ever?" the biker retorted. "I don't believe in any of this honour, dueling bullshit. I deal with what comes my way and that's it! Beaucicaut's not in my league anyway. He's just too stupid to know it. I wasn't going to show and don't care what Beaucicaut says about me. I figured on leaving him hang, but then I saw you." "So, you want me to take him out?" Tim sneered. "Do your own dirty work!" "I don't care what you - or he does. But if your feathers need rustling, Beaucicaut will be under the Municipal Wharf, the one by the Boardwalk - tomorrow night, midnight. You won't be the one he's expecting, but one I figured one good prick deserves another. I don't think he'll care. He's got a hunger for what you've got. He's the type who'll eat anyone he can." "Fuck you!" Tim said under his breath. "And you," the biker said. He gunned his bike and rode off. Tim made a note to try and find out who he was. Sunday, June 18th, 1995 13:18 hours Tim scribbled the bike's license on a napkin as the biker rode off. He wondered if California allowed folks to run plates through DMV like Virginia did? At least it was something to do on Monday, provided he lived that long. Sunday, June 18th, 1995 15:18 hours (Q: What kind of feel do I get for this place? Do I notice anyone watching the place or me for that matter? A: The woman who served you coffee seems to be glancing every now and then at you and Beth. Other than that, no one seems to paying any attentions. Q: Can I walk into a security shop in Santa Cruz and just buy a bullet proof vest or will that take a few days? A: There's no law against it, but nowhere in Santa Cruz specializes in such things. You're better off going to San Jose. Q: What is the law in CA on the purchase of handguns? Here in VA it's one gun per month and a 3-5 day max to check background on the person. But if the computers are up when you buy the gun they can do it on the spot. A: "As far as I know", it's a three day wait on the purchase of hand guns and only after a background check is run. Q: Second what are the rules for purchase of large bored weapons? and shotguns? Again here in VA it's cash and carry...no background checks. A: Again, "as far as I know", you can buy rifles and shotguns and take them at the time of purchase. Q: Finally what's the minimum length for barrels on shotguns before they are considered sawed-off? VA says 12 inches or less. A: I'm not sure. Let's just say that the law is the same. I'll try and find you a more definitive answer later.) Damn that is a big tree, Tim thought as he pulled up in front of the Coffeetopia. He was even more impressed with the place as he walked in the front door and proceeded to the counter. The girl behind the counter looked up, "Can I help you?" "Not sure yet. I haven't been here before. You got any recommendations?", Tim asked. "All the coffee here is excellent. You want to try one of our specials?" "Sure, give me a large house special", Tim answered with a smile. The girl started pouring all sorts of things into a large mug. "How did you decide to stop here on such a lovely day?" she asked as she topped off the mug with fresh coffee. "Beth suggested that I drop by something." "That will be $2.59," she said placing the mug on the counter. "You a friend of hers?" "Sorta, is she here now?" Tim asked as he paid for the coffee. "She's around." "Good, could you tell her I'm here. Don't worry she'll know who I am. I'll be sitting outside at one of the tables." Tim said and he turned to head out the door toward the forest. After a little while the redhead from the other night walked out the door and sat down across from Tim. "Glad you decided to stop by. Let's go someplace else to talk," she said. "No, we can talk out here. You said you had an offer, let's hear it. And while you're at, why does Raef want you dead?" Tim replied as he took a slip of his coffee. Beth didn't seem pleased. "Alright," she said, crossing her arms. "What's Raef offering you? If it's not too unreasonable, I don't think it will be a problem to offer you something better. I think we can find something interesting to a man of your sort. As to why Raef wants me dead, well let's just say the feeling's more than mutual." "He and I haven't talked since the other night. So I haven't heard his sales pitch yet. But I expect to be talking with him shortly. As to what I want...information to start with. We can negotiate the money later." Beth looked at Tim as if surprised. "Money? I wouldn't have thought that money would have been the sort of thing to interest you." "It's one way to keep score. Now, are you going to tell me why I bothered to drive all the way out here or are we going to play footsie all afternoon?" Tim sounded a tad perturbed by Beth's questions. "A man of action," Beth smiled. "But then, of course you are." She folded her hands, her green eyes narrowing to almost cat-like slits. Their colour seemed alive and vibrant, and almost inhuman. "If money's all that you want, Christophe, then we can certainly arrange that. But I think I know what you want - power. And I can give that to you. That essence those of your kind feed on, I have a ready source of it that I can give you." Tim was about to speak but she held up a hand, cutting him off. "Yes, I know. You have to take a head. But this time, maybe not the one you were thinking of." She smiled, and started to unlace her bodice. Tim noticed that her skin was white, seeming almost bloodless. "There's no reason we can't be friends. And unless you're tastes vary from what I've heard, I can give you something that Raef can't." Beth reached forward and grabbed Tim's hand. "This hand, it can do wondrous things. If you use it to bring me Raef's head, you know what I will give you." Slowly, she slid Tim's fingers into her mouth and started to suckle them slowly, cooing. Surprising even himself, Tim was just starting to relax his guard when she bit down on his finger. He yanked his finger back and noted it was bleeding. Beth smiled at him. "And you know what I will give an enemy. You're in my country now, Christophe. Death surrounds you. If I even give one signal, you'll be dead before six heartbeats. We Verbena are the power now. Raef can only bring you death, whatever he promises. His dreams are dust. Now, you decide. Will it be Raef or?" Beth stroked the hint of breast that her partly undone bodice revealed. "What's your decision, Christophe?" Tim slid his chair back from the table and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "Six heartbeats is a very long time," Tim replied as he wiped the blood off his finger. "You have said why you want his head on a silver platter, but you haven't said why your group is at war with the Chorus or for that matter, the other groups." Tim placed both hands on the table and slowly rose. "I have decided to have another cup of coffee. Would you like one?" Beth shook her head. "Hmm...I don't know," Tim said as he glanced towards the front door. "What other types of Java does this joint have?" Tim said to Colleen as the reached the end of the counter. Unfortunately it was the end of the counter away from the front door, but near the restroom and kitchen. Beth shook her head. "Hmm...I don't know," Tim said as he glanced towards the front door. "What other types of Java does this joint have?" Tim said to Colleen as the reached the end of the counter. Unfortunately it was the end of the counter away from the front door, but near the restroom and kitchen. As the man rose and announced his intention to fetch another cup of coffee, the woman working the cafe moved lightly across the patio, draping her rag into a nearby tray of used cups and saucers. Intercepting him on his way in, she moved in step with him. "May I suggest some chocolate mocha?" she suggested as they moved inside. "Since you're a--" the woman paused, glancing back at Beth "--friend of Beth's, I think I can let you have this one on the house." She smiled sweetly as they went indoors. After waiting for woman to attend to her guest, Beth followed him in, speaking softly in the more crowded main area, the playful sex game having ended. "Our war is not your concern. Your reputation is that of a mercenary. We are merely trying to decide on your fee and convince you that it is indeed in your own best interests to be on the winning side. If you must know, we Verbena are fighting for our very survival. The Chorus never lifted a finger to help us when the Techs nearly burned us out. When we take the only measure to ensure our survival, they try to step in and tell us that we can't do it. It's not our fault that they're fools. And we do intend to defend ourselves - against anyone." Beth began doing up her bodice. She gave Tim an accusatory look, apparently not satisfied at the level of his attention to her charms. "So Christophe, have you decided to fight for us?" As Colleen walked alongside Christophe, her attention turned to the door as somebody new entered. "You'll have to excuse me--I think a few new people just came in." As Colleen turned for the door, she chuckled. "It's like the coffee wars never end." Colleen's eyes flicked over the two of them. "Just tell my assistant to give you a large French Vanilla. And tell him I said it's okay to have it on the house." Turning, Colleen strode to the door to meet these new visitors. Tim watched as the server leave to take care of the new customer, before he turned to Beth. "Yes, I am a private contractor, but I cannot decide anything until after my," Tim smiled, "Power meeting tomorrow night down by the Municipal Wharf." Tim held up his hand before Beth could reply, "No, its not with Raef, its with another gentleman. This meeting should be...hmm...shall we say...electrifying. And I would not want to take on any new clients until all of my personnel business has be settled. This way I will be able to direct my full attention to my new clients biz. Can I call you Tuesday, provided Im still around afterwards. What number can you be reached at, my dear?" Rather than answer him, Beth put her hand against Tim's chest, and pushed slightly in order to make him stop. "Look Christophe, I don't know anything about this cryptic meeting you have. Just tell me now, plain and simple - Will you or will you not fight for the Verbena? If you don't give me a satisfactory answer, I'll take it as a no. There's no time. You'll have to decide now. I can't let you leave without knowing." "Fine, I'll work for you, provided you agree to the following terms. One, you tell me precisely what's going on. Who's involved in this war besides the Chorus and you. Two, background on who else is in town theses days, furballs, leeches, hunters, your kind, my kind, everyone. I also want to know who can be trusted and who can't, who's neutral, who hangs where and which areas are safe or unsafe." Tim held up a hand before Beth could reply. "You're right, a lot of this I already know, I just want to make sure that we are being honest with each other and it seems that changes have occurred since I was last in town. Three, you will cover all my expenses and provide any required equipment. Deal?" Tim set his coffee on the counter and waited for Beth's reply. Tim's answer seemed to surprise Beth. She had obviously expected him to say no. For a moment, she paused as if unsure of what to do. Then she said, in a almost breathless voice, "Alright. Good for you. On behalf of the Coven of Nom, I agree to your terms. We'll pay for your expenses provide you with any equipment that we can. I should point out that we're a rather poor coven. We're not like the Chorus, with all that material finery. It's never been our style." Beth turned and looked at the three who had just entered. They were looking at her, as if expecting some cue. She just shook her head. The two women relaxed but the man continued to stare at Tim, as if tearing Tim's head off would be just the funnest thing for him to do. "However, if you can give us a list or description, we'll take a look over our technocratic spoils and see what we can find you." "As to our enemies, our only true enemy is the Technocracy - not the Chorus. It's not we who want this fight. We're only defending ourself the best way we can. We would stop this fight the moment the others said that they would leave us in peace. But as long as they threaten our coven, we and our allies will defend ourself. That's where you come in. We want you to take out the current head of the Celestial Chorus - Brother Louis. With Reverend Joy dead, Louis is all that's left. With him gone, the Tribune alliance will fall apart and we can turn to more pressing matters - namely annihilating the Technocracy. Is that what you wanted to know? It's all you're going to get. Just because we've hired you doesn't mean we trust you. And you should trust no one. I'll be your contact and you know where you can leave a message for me. And don't worry about how we'll get in touch with you. You'll be watched - at all times so we'll know soon enough if you're really with us or not." Beth stopped, her soft breath barely heard under the bustle of the cafe. "If there's nothing else you want to ask, you're free to go. Brother Louis is holed up at the Unity Temple. He doesn't dare show his face outside for he knows that it'll get ripped off the moment he does. That's where you'll find him." (Q: What do the folks Colleen left to take care of look like? What vibes do I get from them or for that matter from anyone else as I leave to Beth or when I leave? A: The three new entrants are one man and two women. The man is large, with shaggy red hair. One of the women is black with dyed yellow blond hair kept in a buzz cut while the other women has long red hair like that of the man's. All are wearing rather heavy clothing for this time of year, but Tim gets no sense that they are immortals.) "Right now all I will need is room to operate." Tim said as he turned towards the table. "I'll be hanging out around the temple a lot so make sure you keep your watchdogs in check. I'll also need a number where you can be reached, in case I do need some stuff." "Here," Beth said as she handed him a slip of paper. "I'll be in touch." Tim turned and walk towards the group and then out to his del Sol. That could have been messy, he thought as he started his car and headed back to town. (Q: Concentrate as i walk by the three...Do I still get the feeling that they are mortal? He knows what immortals, magi and vamps feel like. A: The man and two women give Tim no indication they are any different than normal mortals.) Sunday, 18 June, 1995, 18:00 Tim parked his Del Sol in one of the vistor's space at Unity Temple. As he entered the Temple a young women dressed in a robe approached him. "Can I of assistance, Sir?" "I'm not sure, a friend of mine suggested I come to Unity Temple to talk with him. But I don't know if this is the right place or not." Tim replied. "Who's your friend, perhaphs I know him?" "His name's Raef. If he isn't here right now, maybe," Tim paused as he pulled a note of his pocket and looked at it. "Lewis or Joy are here? I think either of them could help," continued Tim. The young girl's eyes wided at the mentioned of the names. "If you would follow me." She said before she turned and started down a hallway. "If you would wait in here, Sir. I'll tell them you are here. Whom should I say is calling?" "Raef knows me as Christophe." "Thank you," she said as she closed the door. Sunday, June 18th, 1995 6:12 p.m. Ten minutes can be a long time when you're sitting on your ass, doing nothing. Finally, someone came into the room to distract Tim's attention from all the quiet noise around him. After all, there was only so much one could take of water fountains, birdsong and wind chimes. "Hello Christophe. So, you decided once more to undertake a crusade on our account.?" "That depends on the crusade," Tim said as he stood. "Beth asked me to say Hi. Well actually," Tim continued, "she asked me to bring her your head on a plater. I guess that's the same thing seeing how you two keep missing each other. How are Rev. Joy and Brother Lewis these days? I've heard that this crusade has been taking a toll on you and yours." Raef scowled at the mention of Beth's name. "Christophe, from what Reverend Joy told me about you, I know you to be an utter and ruthless mercenary. So, what I'm going to tell you probably doesn't much matter to you. You'll sell your sword arm to whoever pays you the most. I want you to know that I also know that she regrets the choice of her then elders in once employing you. But that was a hundred years ago and she was still an acolyte. If she were fully conscious and she knew what I was doing, she would probably forbid it. But yes, we've been taking a 'toll', as you've said. We're barely hanging on here and it's only a matter of time before either the Verbena or their lupine allies break through our wards." "When you were here before, the darkness that was fostered was regrettably created by the small minded elders who ran our church back then. You fought for us then, for the wrong reasons. Now, I'm asking you to fight for us - not to persecute our fellow traditionalists as was blindly done before, but because they seek, in their arrogant ignorance, to bring about a new dark age unlike any this world has EVER seen." "You ask about the Reverend. If you want to know, she's alive, but barely. That THING that the Verbena have summoned has touched her soul and slowly, it is sucking her dry. I have every belief that the Sun Child could kill Reverend Joy even now; but it wants her to suffer - do you understand that?" Though Timothy heard the words, he was also feeling the power of the place he was in. This was Holy Ground, and as an immortal, he could do no one harm in his place. If he were to take up the Verbena's offer, he would have to find a way to lure his quarry outside the grounds of Unity Temple. "Things have changed in the last hundred years, perhaphs even myself." Tim started to pace around the room as other questions entered his mind. "Who or what is this Sun Child that they have conjured up? How can it be banished? Why aren't the others helping you? Who besides the Furballs are helping the Verbena? And most importantly, how do you think I can help you?" Raef sat down on a cushion and pointing at a small bronze bowl filled with sand, asked, "You don't mind, do you?" pointing at a stick of incense. (For the sake of expediency, I'll assume that Tim doesn't). Timothy shrugged and nodded. Raef, speaking while he lit the incense, said to Tim in a rather tired voice, "Well, we're not really sure what the Sun Child is. We do know it's an ancient spirit that was around before what we think of as creation itself. It's a spirit, one of darkness and entropy, but also one of incredible power. We're not sure on this last, but we believe it exists as a dual spirit. From what we learned from the Verbena themselves before this Ascension War, is that the Sun Child is of fair seeming. In other words, it is a remarkably beautiful being to behold; but even this, uh, veil of beauty cannot masque the fact that while incarnate in our reality, the Sun Child needs powerful life energy to sustain it. The werewolves tried to summon it once back in Oakland. You remember the Oakland fire storm? Well, obviously they couldn't control it. Fortunately, they couldn't give it what it needed to remain either, so it couldn't stay. In fact, it eats souls and bathes and consumes blood. Who better then than the Verbena to use as puppets? Though you never faced them in our last crusade, the Verbena are blood magi. Blood and life energy are one of the pillars of their power. They were approached by the werewolves, with whom they've had a good relation, to summon this thing once again." Raef inhaled some of the smoke from the incense. It seemed to have a calming effect on him. "At this moment, we have no idea how to banish this spirit - except to prevent the Verbena from giving it what it needs to exist in our reality. Maybe that way, it will have to leave, just as it did before. We feel the time is becoming critical because at some point, the Sun Child will be incarnate enough to take what it needs in blood and souls, have will have no further use for the mountain witches. At that point, the Verbena will realize their folly, but by then it will be too late for all of us." "As to the other Traditions, they are helping us and have fared just a badly. Speakers, Goths, Bros, even a few other Verbs from outside this area have tried to hit the Verbena and find their node. None of us even got close, though we've lost scores now of awakened souls in trying. We can't get through the werewolves. From what I've learned from Louis and Joy, it was the werewolves who stopped the crusade last time. I heard that once they'd given the Speakers refuge, that they did quite a number on you when you tried to cap a couple of Speakers. Is that true?" When Timothy didn't comment, Raef just nodded and went on. "There are just too many of werewolves and they're too tough for us to stop. They have their own spirit powers that can help compensate for our magick and once they've got us in combat, we're no match for them physically. And if that ain't enough, the Verbs have it seems been freed from the forces of Paradox that normally keep our powers in check. Had I known that before, I wouldn't have been so eager to hit Beth, one on one. Fortunately, she'd just come from a raid herself, having given it good to a group of the Cult. The Verbs have now begin hunting us, using the most vulgar of magicks, which normally should have destroyed them in a paradox backlash. But though they can, we can't. Now, bands of furbacks and Verbs have even come into town, hunting us. The tide has turned. Between the two, we've been stopped cold." "Now, how can you help us? Well for one, don't be against us. Whatever Beth offered you, turn it down. I kid you not when I say you'd be selling your soul. And if you want to really help us, then accept our offer. We'll pay you in the same manner as before. It's a terrible bargain but one we're willing to make. It seems we all must have our demons; the Verbs with the Sun Child, and maybe you with us. I have some more specific ideas, but I want to know which side you're on first. So, what do you say? Will you join us?" "Well, I've already told her that I would work for them." "You WHAT?" Raef replied as he started to raise out of the chair. Timothy felt the power start to flow into Raef. "Chill dude," Tim raised his hands in front of him. "She told me that my body and head would never leave together unless I DID work for them. As far as I'm concerned I made that agreement under duress and therefore it's null and void." Raef seemed to relax a bit but Timothy still felt the power as he continued. "If what you say it true about this THING, then I'll help you eliminate it. If you're lying then you better finish what you started a few moments ago." Timothy sat back in his chair. "Now why don't you remind me what those terms of payment were, that way will both understand what is expected. And while you're at it, let's here those ideas of yours. I have a few of my own but want to her yours first." (Q: There's a static spell contained in the incense that helps Raef tell if you're telling the truth. What follows is under the assumption that you were. Are you being truthful in that you'll help the Chorus fight the Sun Child and Verbena?) (A: Yes, provided that what Raef as said about the Sun Child is true.) {There's no way for Timothy to know if Raef is being truthful or not. At this point, I'm only concerned with Timothy's veracity.} Raef sat there staring at Tim for what seemed to Tim the longest time. "Alright, Christophe, you're on. I would say the best thing to do would be to send you in to surgically remove Gert; but you'd be shredded by the werewolves. There are even more of them up in the hills than the last time you were here." "Instead, what I want you to do is to have you guard someone for me. This is a very important person to us, perhaps our only chance for success." Timothy was forming half a notion to ask why this person was so important when Raef, as if reading his mind, volunteered the information. "He's another mage. He's probably one of the few, if not only, Order of Hermes in the area. As you remember, the Hermes and the Akashics were the two traditions that the crusade you participated in persecuted a hundred years ago. I don't miss the irony that a Herme holds the key to our success and that Brother Louis wants to declare an Akashic as war leader." "If the Verbs or furbacks find out about this Herme, they'll cap him in a heartbeat. I'm not saying it'll be an easy assignment. And instead of the lifeforce of poor innocent magi, this time we'll offer you something better." "Oh, and what's that?" Timothy asked. "A sword - a very ancient and powerful sword." "Hmm...I could play body guard, but I don't think that would be the best use of my talents." "Go on," Raef said looking more interested in the conversation. "Right now the Verbs think I'm working for them. So let's let them think that. They believe Joy is dead. Beth wants me to eliminate Louie and you. As soon as they find out about this other guy, your right, they are going to want him taken care of too. As his protector, I could do that without any problem. And they would expect me too. However, if I am never alone with any of you, where I could take you out of play and escape. Well then, how could then expect me to do that? They know I will not commit suicide. What I suggest is that you never put me in a position where I could wack your people and get away with it. In other words, no private meetings in the middle of the night on some dark stretch of road. Second, I continue to, quote, work for them. When they ask why I haven't taken any of you folks out, I simply tell them the truth. I haven't had the opportunity and that I'm trying to get you folks to trust me enough to let this fox guard the hen house. Third, I try to find out where Gert is and see if he can be eliminated and more importantly, where the Sun Child is." "Hmpf...It sounds like.." "I know," Tim interrupted him. "It sounds like I'm trying to play both sides. And you're right I am, but I am also giving you my word that I will help you eliminate the Sun Child, as long as it is truly evil and a threat to this world." Raef paused, considering Timothy's proposal. He then countered by reiterating his former stance. "If you're looking for action, don't worry. I'm sure it will find you. The person we have in mind - remember - I've said he's our best, maybe only, chance to succeed. He not only knows where the Sun Child is, but holds the clue to a vital weakness in the demon. And if you are thinking of playing the double agent, I think you will be found out. Sometimes those of our kind have ways of telling when someone is telling the truth or not. One of the Verbs, her name is Bessie, can tell not only that by a simple glance, but can probably guess any of your future intentions. Her skills as a seer are unsurpassed in the area." "Then perhaps I best stay away from this Bessie then. What does she look like, by the way? I'm meet Beth of course and four others were at the coffee shop. One was a mage, the others I suspect were, ah" Tim paused. "Furbacks, I think was the term you used." (Insert descriptions of the four here) "What do you know of any others that are helping them? Beth said I was going to be followed, it would be nice if I could pick out my tails. Me playing watchdog on your secret weapon will have to wait until after tomorrow night. I have a midnight date down at the water. I'll give you a call if I'm able to afterwards. You got a problem with this?" "I take it you haven't met Bessie yet," Raef commented, pausing to take a sip of tea. "You'd know her if you met her. She has very deep eyes." Raef wrote down an address and showed it to Tim. There was no name, but the address was 901 3rd St. Raef then tore the paper up, feeding it to the flames of an incense brazier. Tim however said nothing about actually guarding this person. "As for being watched, you may not know if from looking at us, but we're under siege. Our ability to leave, let alone help someone outside of this temple, is severely restricted. We can offer you know help as yet. I didn't say this was going to be easy." Tim nodded. "As for those watching us, they're probably werewolves, though how you tell a lupine from any of the sleepers who walk by, I haven't found out yet. They reveal themselves in their own fashion; and usually with deadly results. Don't doubt that your visit here will be reported to the werewolf chieftains, and ultimately to the Verbena as well; another reason not to play the Mata Hari." Timothy got up and left. Monday, June 19th, 1995 11:42 p.m. Timothy waited under the wharf. The sea was calm, lapping softly onto the hard sand while the barking echoes of sea lions bounced off the underside of the wharf. The salt air tickled the inside of Timothy's nose while he glanced at the address he'd gotten at the D.M.V. It belonged to the owner of a motorcycle shop. Tim had checked it out earlier. The man rented bikes to those too eager for a Harley to have to wait for one, and willing to pay the price. However, Timothy expected that it was anonymity, not vain acquisition which made the mysterious immortal rent instead of buy. Had the man never heard of stolen plates? Timothy didn't have to wait long. There was a slightly painful buzzing in his head. "You must be eager," an accented man's voice spoke to Tim from his left. "Or are you just reconnoitering the ground?" Timothy turned to face the man. He was wearing a tan trenchcoat and his long brown hair was tied back in a pony tail, revealing a clean cut, almost boyish face. Because it was night and because little light made its way under the wharf, Tim could make out little else. There was a pause. "You're not Guillaume." There was another pause while the man looked around, perhaps to make sure there was no ambush. "But I guess you'll do. I see our mutual friend must have had other plans. But I'm sure you'll be very entertaining company, non?" The man moved into the shadows and bowed slightly. "My name is Henri Beaucicaut. And you monsieur?" "Well Harry, most folks here call me Christophe. You want to take off yer coat so we can get this here thing started?" Tim said as he placed an hand under his jacket and moved to keep an eye on this frog. (Notes on what I'm carrying: He has a gym bag in his other hand and what I'm going to call a "bowie knife" (or parrying type knife) in the small of his back. Since Timothy is ambidextrous he is going to pull both the Rapier and the knife. The gym bag is only for backup as well as what's in his belt. He's planning on a stright up sword fight...for now. :) (Actions: Do empower self...spend points on the following: Dex, then stamia Allow him to take off his long coat before drawing my sword and dropping the bag. Timothy will be ready to draw his sword to block, if Henri IS that fast. Once his coat is off or if he draws his sword. I'll draw my Rapier and set down the bag and draw the Knife. Next turn or this one if I can use Quicking again.Do empower weapon...sword..then knife (3rd turn?) Beaucicaut nodded and then drew his sword while Timothy drew his. Both immortals eyed each other warily. Beaucicaut's sword was a scimitar, but Timothy could make out nothing else besides in the darkness under the wharf. Crashing waves echoed above and around them, drowing out all noise. (Empower Self = 1 success / Timothy adds 1 temp to his dexterity.) Initiative: (Beaucicaut wins initiative). Round 1 Beaucicaut pauses and then attacks. James' action is to parry. a. Beaucicaut feints, nullifing James' parry. Feint = 0 successes. Beaucicaut's opening move was a feint; but though he initially slipped past Tim's defenses, the move was executed with little skill and Tim was able to dance away. Round 2. Initiative goes to James. Beaucicaut will parry. James will do the empower weapon thing on the rapier. Normal attack with the Rapier. Knife is only used to parry or "sneak attack" if we catch steel. a. James attacks (6 successes). b. Beaucicaut parries (3 successes). c. James hits, doing 4 damage + 2 aggravated. d. Beaucicaut soaks both aggravated and is now Wounded (-3). Now it was Tim's turn to return the attack. His blow met with more success and though Beaucicaut tried to parry the blow, the Frenchman ended up retreating, his arm bleeding from a viscious slash. (Q: How are you going to run James being ambidextrous during sword fights like this?) (A: I think that ambidexterity is often confused and thereby abused by associating it with some sort of non-existent - outside of science fiction - dual brain function. Generally, ambidexterity just means that one is equally comfortable using one hand as the other. Left-side or right-side dominance is not as pronounced. I myself am partially ambidexterous but I certainly cannot do two functions at the same time with both hands. And T.J. will NOT be allowed to have two attacks. In the given situation that he cannot attack with one weapon or he wishes for some reason to switch emphasis to the other, he will be allowed to do so at will at NO PENALTY. There is a historical example of someone using two weapons simultaneously. The samurai-ronin, Miyamoto Musashi, developed an original two-sword fighting style that was quite effective, as shown by his victory record. In once instance, he was able to cut his way through a pack of bodyguards, kill his declared enemy, and cut his way out again unharmed. This feat is oft emulated in martial arts movies and television. But I don't think there's any evidence to show that Musashi was necessarily ambidextrous at birth. Rather, he was able to train himself to combine both weapons in a unique fashion that was unknown in his time. It took him years to perfect this technique and I'm not aware of anyone outside of movie stunt people who can even pretend to do it realistically.) (I agree with how you are doing ambidex. In most case you can't do two attacks. but is does allow for more creative writing. For example, in the last round , he tried to parry my attack and it didn't work. Maybe he did block the sword, but the knife came in a sashed him. Same end result, one's just more flashy. Similar if he dodged, you dodge the one weapon but dodged the wrong way and sorta ran into the other weapon. About the only time I could see a person attacking with two weapons is with firarms and both guns are pointed at the same target during the round.) Round 3. Initiative goes to Beaucicaut. Beaucicaut decides to parry while healing. James presses the attack... Since it is Beaucicaut's sword arm that is cut, he will try to disarm him. a. Bea ucicaut heals 2 damage (now Hurt/-1). b. James tries to disarm (Dexterity + Melee = 6 successes) vs. Beaucicaut's attempt to resist this (Dexterity + Melee - 1 Hurt = 0 successes). c. James disarms Beaucicaut. Timothy made a motion to slash with his knife, but when Beaucicaut fell for the ruse, Timothy responded by poking Beaucicaut in his bicep. It was an insignificant injury, but Beaucicaut, unsuspecting, was surprised enough to relax his grip on his sword. It fell into the sand between them. Tim advanced with his rapier and Beaucicaut, now unarmed, had no choice but to retreat. Beaucicaut, the end of his life flashing in the glint of Timothy's eyes, made a motion to retreat even more and widen the gap between them. Round 4 Initiative goes to James. Beaucicaut botches initiative and will not be able to take action this round. James presses Beaucicaut and comes down with an overhead slash (Great Blow + 1 pt willpower to hit). Assuming Beaucicaut's dead or down, James will finish him off and take his head. a. James attempts a Great Blow (Dexterity + Melee + 1 Willpower = 4 successes.) b. James hits with his Great Blow against Beaucicaut and does 5 points of damage plus 2 aggravated damage for a total of 7 damage. c. Beaucicaut soaks 2 aggravated is now (Hurt - 5 = INCAPICATED). Round 5. Initiative automatically to James. a. (Perception + Melee = 8 successes) James cuts Beaucicaut's head off. END COMBAT Beaucicaut stood there as if stunned. Not waiting for Beaucicaut to adjust to his defeat, Timothy mercifully brought him down quickly with one quick slash of his rapier, focusing every bit of strength into the blow that Timothy could muster. Tim's rapier cut deeply into Beaucicaut's neck, but the thin steel was deflected by the man's collar bone and Tim's sword travelled up, severing Beaucicaut's windpipe and stopping in the mass of the neck. The Frenchman gave a gurgling sound, his mouth vomiting blood. Timothy easily pulled this thin blade from his foe, allowing Beaucicaut to fall face forward in the sand. Breathing heavily, he took only the quickest of moments to gather himself. His foe was suffering and he owed him as quick a death as possible. Pulling Beaucicaut up from the sand, Timothy brushed the sand that had caked in the blood around the man's face. Judging his rapier to be too delicate for such work, Tim stood behind the Frenchman, pulling on his hair to help hold him up. "Goodbye, Henri. I hope yours was a good life." Timothy used his heavy knife in one studied blow, again drawing on every bit of strength he could muster. Tim felt a slight crack as his knife severed the spine and Beaucicaut's body fell back to the sand. As he felt the first feelings of the Quickening, Tim gently laid Beaucicaut's bloody head next to his body. Then it hit him. Arcs of light burned around him, bouncing off the piers of the wharf as massive energy tried to find some way back into creation; but much of it focused on Tim himself. He found himself screaming, his body convulsing in tremendous pain. He felt like the marrow of his bones was on fire while wild images passed through his head. France, 1916 For the first time in two years, the Bosch were on the run. But at what cost? thought Henri. The sound of screaming shells froze his company in their tracks, trying to take cover behind every stump or any convenient crater. But only after a couple of endless seconds, Henri could tell that the shells would fall harmlessly behind him. Their own guns boomed back in response, their packets of death flying overhead in response, falling so close that he could smell the powder in their charges and feel stinging bits of frozen mud showering down around him. The 88's were churning up ground and the previous day's corpses like his father used to toss flour in their bakery when he was young. Only this time, if the "flour" touched you, you were dead. Henri wasn't sure he welcomed the retort. Too many friends had died in the last couple months to such creeping barrages. He had learned, much to his dismay, that casualties to "friendly fire" were expected as a matter of course. In fact, if they could be kept to less than ten-percent of the attacking force, then it was considered "acceptable." Though he cursed the Bosch, in his heart he cursed Petain and the rest of them even more. He decided that he wasn't going anywhere until the bombardment stopped. He had enough ahead of him without having to worry about being part of the "acceptable" losses. He checked his watch. The barrage would be lifted in only a couple of minutes. Then they could move forward. "BEAUCICAUT!" It was Lieutenant Braudel. Only a three days on the front, and the kid thought he was an expert. What a war, thought Henri. He turned. The Lieutenant's young face, so covered by mud that he looked more like one of the Senegalese troops, stood glaring at Henri, holding his officer's baton in one hand. He was ignoring Henri's advice to get rid of it and like the idiot he was, he was standing in full view just begging for annihilation. Officer's regalia drew snipers like a corpse drew flies. Henri didn't care about that and in fact had been secretly praying for it. What he was worried about was that the Lieutenant might draw the attention of Bosch machine guns, just when he was standing over Henri. "What do you think you are doing, Corporal? Fort Vaux is over there!" Henri tried to stifle what he really wanted to say. Surviving all of this just to get shot for insubordination just wouldn't do. "Lieutenant, I suggest we wait until the bombardment stops. We'll have half a minute and we can get to the Bosch before they man their guns." "Corporal Beaucicaut, I am ordering you to get up!" The rest of the company who were nearby overcame their fear to look and see what Henri would do. Having survived six months at Verdun, he had defied the odds and was the "oldest" veteran, who knew all the tricks to survival. Henri, the old man of twenty years, knew that the company would follow HIS lead, not the new Lieutenant's. The Lieutenant knew it too. "Corporal, what must I do? Do you want me to remove more of your stripes?" "Frankly, Lieutenant, I don't give a piss what you do. I'm not getting up. Neither are the men. If you didn't have such a tight cork in your ass! Maybe you'd LISTEN to me!" Before the lieutenant could reply, a potato masher (grenade) was tossed just behind Braudel. Henri kicked out with his foot, tripping the lieutenant and with one motion, he rolled both of them into a crater. He did it without thinking. "AGGH!" Henri screamed, a hot bit of shrapnel having bitten into his back. "COWARD!" Braudel screamed, pulling out his pistol at pointing it at Beaucicaut's head. "Get up now! Or I'll KILL you!" "Lieutenant!" It was Pomerleau. "He's wounded!" "Get back!" Braudel screamed like a mad man. "Get up you COWARD! How dare you!" "Lieutenant!" Pomerleau shouted. "He saved your life!" Thinking he deserved to be shot for having done such a stupid thing, Henri reluctantly got to his feet after having doused his back in a cold puddle to cool the burning metal ember in his back. In agony, he stood in full view, facing the lieutenant. "Lieutenant, you can shoot me later. But I beg you, just wait a minute. The barrage will be over and then we can go forward. You'll be slaughtering your own men needlessly." "Give the order!" the Lieutenant growled, waving the pistol. Henri looked around to all the men. They would do whatever HE told them to. "I'd rather you shot me," he decided, having resolved himself to fate. He thought about Marie, hoping that no word of this would get back to her and wanting to keep her in his mind until the end. Braudel stood there, glaring at him. Henri preyed that some Bosch machine gunner would brave the hailstorm of fire and shoot them both down - right then. Instead, Braudel quickly turned his pistol, aiming it at Pomerleau. "NO!" Pomerleau screamed as Braudel's pistol fired, blossoming the private's young face into a pulpy red mess. The Lieutenant pointed the gun next at Auxier, the young boy from Languedoc. Backing up, Braudel eyed the company, ready to shoot anyone who tried to train their gun on him. "So, Corporal Beaucicaut? Will you now give the order?" Tears running down his face, clearing clean tracks of mud, Henri raised his whistle to his quivering lips. "I'll kill you," he vowed, preying that no Bosch bullet could find him until after he'd completed his vow. The company lurched to their feet. Henri waved his arm and they scrambled forward, shells bursting all round them. Behind them, the Lieutenant followed, ready to shoot anyone who faltered. The pain piercing his back, Henri stumbled as best as he could. All around him, men screamed and fell. Sometimes they didn't scream at all as they just "disappeared" when a shell fell directly upon them, showering those nearby. Henri stumbled upon a boot, he guessed it to French since it had fresh blood in it. Looking around, he noticed that he somehow had made it through the barrage. A churchlike quiet fell upon the deathscape around him; it's shrine embodied in Fort Vaux, just ahead of him. Looking around, he noticed that less than half his company could be seen, though the screams of the dying and maimed sounded just behind him. The rows of barbed wire were torn in places, giving access here and there. Like some demon from hell, Braudel stood amongst them, unscathed, screaming that they should move forward. A German gunner, having braved the firestorm, opened up, mowing down Condorcet, Soubise, and Crébillon. The just sighed and collapsed as if they'd fainted. More men were falling, their jackets poofing delicately to the loud hammer of the Bosch gun but somehow it managed to entirely miss the mad lieutenant. Suddenly a rage boiled up in Henri. All of the hatred he felt, for everything, for every injustice done to him, now was focused on that Bosch machine gun. But mostly, his hatred held one face - and it wasn't German. Blowing his whistle, Henri led what was left of the company up the slope to the Fort. A trench opened up before him and Henri jumped onto the startled young Bosch, who'd not expected to see any French faces so close after the barrage. "NEIN!" the boy screamed, but it was too late as Henri, growling like an animal, knocked the boy over and slit his throat. Grabbing the German's trenching shovel, he caved in the head of the next German popping out and jumped into the trench himself. Those of his company followed his lead and jumped into the trenches to shield themselves from the German gunners now opening up everywhere as the grey uniforms of the French army swarmed out onto the wasteland below. Meanwhile, Henri's company entered into a nightmarish scenario, fighting their way through the trenches like demonic fiends. It was like a maze and only the sound of the Bosch machine guns told Henri that he was getting closer. A grenade silenced the first one and then the next. He didn't have any left by the third so he simply jumped into it, overwhelming the men in it with his maniacal fury. They tried to surrender but wouldn't have any of that. German resistance was fierce at first but then it began to fade. They ran where they could, died where they couldn't. Gaining to the fort, Henri and his men spent the next several days fighting. Using charges, they blew holes into the concrete walls or poured down petrol which had been brought forward, lighting it and listening to the screams of the Bosch while singed rats made their escape through holes too small for men to follow. Since Henri's company had been decimated in the initial attack, another was brought forward to relieve it but Henri refused to leave. Though wounded and tired and hungry, he had too much rage and no one but the Germans to vent it on. So he stayed, and killed, and walked over the dying of both sides until the fort, held for so long in the hands of the Bosch, was finally retaken. Inside it's walls, it was a mess of corpses and bloated rats. The smell was indescribable, even to those used to the war. While the fight moved on, quicklime was spread over the battlefield, trying to keep the stench of decay down. All men are alike, Bosch and French, in their death smell, Henri thought. Making his way back to his own trenches, Henri discovered what was left of his company. Most of them were shattered mentally, quivering masses of what once had been human beings. He read the list of wounded with dead eyes. Altogether, they had lost over a hundred and ten men. Barely fifty ragged men were left. To prove that Verdun was hell on earth, Braudel was among their number. "Yes, this is the man!" Henri distantly heard a voice say. Turning, he saw that a white haired man with a neatly trimmed and perfumed white moustache was beaming down at him with glassy blue eyes. He vaguely noted the officer's finery and turned away. "Beaucicaut! Salute, damn you!" Braudel growled. "Or I'll have you..." "Non!" The General went so far as to pull Braudel's arm down to keep him from striking Henri. "That is no way to treat a hero, Lieutenant. I don't know what this man's excesses were that you alluded to, but certainly his heroic efforts have more than made up for that. He is to be promoted. And I'm going to recommend that he gets the Legion of Merit. He deserves nothing less. He's a fine example and we need men like him. Though wounded, he stayed to fight on." Braudel's face turned red. He burbled something, trying to sound not too much like a hypocrite as he went out of his way to extol Henri's virtues. "I'm sending your company to the rear for rest. And he's to be given leave to Paris or to wherever he wants. Understood?" Henri, hearing all this distantly, was shuffled away to the hospital to attend to his wound. But in the intervening weeks, Henri found that he couldn't sleep or rest. Stealing out of the hospital, he stoke the rifle from one of the sleeping sentries and made his way back to the front aboard a horsecart taking ammunition. Once there, he burst into the Lieutenant's tent, holding the bayonet at ready. "Who is it?" Braudel squinted, lighting his lamp. "YOU!" "I intend to charge you with the murder of Michele Pomerleau! You Bastard! You're going to wish you'd died there, on that hill with the men you sent to their needless deaths. One minute! You couldn't give them one god-forsaken minute! How dare you breath air while they lie out there under shit and mud!" "Calm down now, Henri." Braudel squinted. "This doesn't have to be bitter. I've got a medal here for you and I'll write your transfers to anywhere you want - with the General D'Argenson's blessings. Now, why throw all that away for something that's done and gone, eh? Let's be civilized about this. So, I made a mistake. I wasn't the veteran you are. Let's just let bygones be, eh? I could be a good friend to you." Henri's immediate answer was to spit in the Lieutenant's face. "I'll see you in hell," he promised. He turned and walked away, intending to visit the General next. Bullets tore into him, from behind. All at once, the air was filled with shouting voices. Above them all, he could hear Braudel's. "A SNIPER! Quick! Rouse the men!" "It's Beaucicaut!" Henri heard Doumouriez's voice as he was turned over. Henri tried to speak but all he could do was hiss and gurgle as his life bled out of him. "Too bad!" Braudel said, trying not very well to sound sincere. "And I had his medal all ready for him. He was to have a ceremony you know." "Lieutenant," Doumouriez said, "that shot sounded like it came right from the camp. Nearby, I'd say. And it was from a pistol, not a rifle." There was a bit of accusation in his voice. "Shut up, you ass! I know the sound of a sniper when I hear it! Now get out of here and get looking for that Bosch. I'll take care of Beaucicaut. I'll put you on patrol for making such an arrogant statement!" That was the last Henri heard as drifted into death. Braudel was just finishing off his letter to Henri's parents, telling them that he'd died a hero. He hadn't expected to use such glowing words but since the General was going to review and post-script the letter, why be hard on the grieving baker and his widow. Braudel took a quick glance at the photo of Beaucicaut's girl, back home in Province. She was remarkably pretty, Braudel thought, not without a bit of jealousy. Beaucicaut had gotten what he'd deserved. Braudel hated people like that. They got things too easy: girls, respect, promotions, and medals. And they didn't deserve them. Beaucicuat was an ungrateful bastard. If he, Jean-Alfred Braudel hadn't forced Beaucicaut to go forward, he wouldn't have been a hero at all. Really, it was he, Jean-Alfred, who deserved the medal. But the world was ungrateful and unfair. At least, he wouldn't have to suffer through the ceremony he decided. Suddenly, the heavy guns sounded once more. The last fort of Verdun was under siege. He could feel the ground rumbling underneath his feet. He hadn't gotten used to the big guns. They still scared the pants off him. "Ah, I will not sleep well tonight," Braudel sighed. "I wouldn't worry about that," Lieutenant. Braudel, the hair raising on his neck turned. "You!" Braudel's own sword was in Henri's dirt encrusted hand. "Yes, I've come back from Hell for you, Lieutenant. Didn't I promise I would?" Henri stabbed Braudel in the gut, twisting the sword a bit. Braudel's face twisted with the pain and he sagged, whimpering, to the ground. Henri bent down and whispered into his ear. "I've seen a lot of wounds, Lieutenant. I know what kills and I know what doesn't. I know that you will die no matter how much the surgeons try to save you. But it will take a long long time. And I want you to know that when you die, you'll go to Hell for what you've done. And I'll be there waiting for you." Henri stepped over Braudel, who was trying to hold his intestines inside him. He pocketed Braudel's pistol, to be sure that the Lieutenant couldn't take his own life and deny himself the agony. Though, Henri thought there would be little likelihood. All men are religious in wartime and Braudel would be in no hurry for what Henri had promised him was waiting. Looking down at the desk, Henri read about his own death and looked longingly at Marie's photo before pocketing it. He thought about going back to her but knew he couldn't. He saw that his last letter to her had been included in the packet. Henri knew now that he was a monster. This war had made him such and now he couldn't even find rest in death. How could he take the darkness and pain he felt inside to someone he loved so much? Let his parents and Marie think that he died a hero, still a man who knew what joy was. Patting the photo, he left the tent. "I'll tell them you did this!" Braudel hissed. "They'll find you, you devil!" "Why Lieutenant, obviously you're mad. The war must have unhinged your mind; though I think that maybe that happened long ago already. I'm dead and buried, remember?" Henri closed the flap and was gone. Timothy reeled, sagging down to the ground beside Henri's corpse. He felt the instant surge of another immortal. Weak and disorientated, he tried to get up to leave. "Going somewhere?" he heard a familiar voice ask him. Li Fong, or whoever he was, was holding a sword right over him. Still weak from the quickening, Timothy tried to raise his rapier but it was just knocked out of the way. "Nice quickening display," Li Fong smiled. "Now, it mine!" However, it wasn't to be. A hatchet thudded into Li Fong's breastplate, "killing" him on the spot. Someone lifted Timothy up to his feet. It was the Native-American immortal Timothy had first met in Santa Cruz. "Not an honourable man," he said, looking down at Li Fong. "Thanks," Timothy said, still a bit dizzy. "I'll get out of here. His head is all yours." But the Mayan looking immortal shook his head. "No, I only take heads in a fight. Let him be. There'll be another time. You go." Nodding, Timothy staggered off and when he was able, called a taxi for home. Tuesday, June 20th, 1995 1:49 a.m. Timothy poured himself a drink and tried to think past all the memories that crowded his mind; but it was impossible. All that had been Henri Beaucicaut was now inside of him and it was impossible to ignore. Dead faces of dear friends who had fallen too young paraded past him - and he knew each one by name: Pomerleau, Soubise, Condorcet, Danton, Mirabeau, the Alsatian - Schneider. All were dead now. All gone. Even darling Marie, who last kissed him, her fine dark hair scented with the lavender oil of his homeland, Province. Timothy tried to hold them back, but the tears of a lifetime swept him away. Wednesday, June 21st, 1995 10:01 a.m. Tim groaned and rolled over on the bed to look at the clock. Except it wasn't on the nightstand next to the bed. He sat upright to see was else was missing, that's when the hangover let him have it with both barrels. He let out another groan as he tried to remember just how many bottles he did finish last night. He knew the empty Scotch bottle was in the trash and that the empty Bourbon bottle went sailing off the deck into the Pacific and that he had started on the Whiskey when he came back in. he wasn't sure if either the Rum, Vodka or Gin had survived to see the sunrise. As he rolled out of bed something bit into his left foot, looked down he saw through his fuzzy eyes an electrical plug attached to a wire. The other end of the wire was attached to, what was left of a clock radio embedded in the wall. "Oh...That's what was making all the noise while I was having my nightmares." Tim started down stairs almost tripping over the Rum bottle in his search for some morning coffee and for something to take care of this hangover. As the coffee was brewing, he remembered that he was an Immortal and could fix this with a little concentration and self healing. Feeling alive again, though still smelling like death warmed over, Tim called the temple to left Raef know that he was still among the living. Wednesday, June 21st, 1995 10:20 a.m. "Yes, I was trying to brother Raef. Is he there?...Christophe...Thank you." Tim waited only briefly before hearing Raef's voice. "Yes, I know. Don't speak. There might be others listening. Yes, we require the fulfillment of our bargain. Everything hinges on that. Do what you agreed to." Tim didn't even get the chanc to say "O.K.", before the phone clicked dead. Well it sounded like Raef's voice, Tim thought as he headed back up stairs for a shower and to pack his bags. Thursday, June 22nd, 1995 4:24 p.m. "Good Afternoon. May I help you?", the girl behind the counter said after she buzzed Timothy into Glasner's on Pacific Avenue. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties with long sandy hair flowing down to her waist. Her sun dress complemented her suntan completion. "Hope so, I'm looking for some lengths of chain." He said as he approached the counter. "Gold, Silver or Chrome?" she asked smiling. "You mean you actually carry Chrome here?" "The Leather shop around the corner does. But I hope there something here that you find interesting." "I think already have, Maria." Replied Tim smiling back at her. "However, I came into buy some sterling silver chain. About yea big," Tim indicated holding his fingers about a quarter of an inch apart. "Not sure if we have anything that large," she said as she glided down to the far end of the counter. "Is this about the size you needed?" "It looks about right. I'll need about five yards." "Excuse me?" Maria squeaked. Tim chuckled, "Five yards. You know, fifteen feet." "What are you planning on doing with it? Chain down a Werewolf?" "Don't think it would hold one. Actually it's for a costume a friend is making for a Fourth of July Party." "Oh I see," She said as she measured out the chain. "Then you and your friend aren't going to be at the fireworks display down on the Boardwalk?" "My friend will be going to the party at the Coffeetopia up in Brookdale. I haven't made any plans, yet. Are you and your boyfriend going to be down there?" "I don't have a boyfriend. Here's your silver." Maria said handing Timothy his bag. "Thank you," Tim said as he took the bag and started out of the store. He turned as he opened the door. "Perhaps I will see you down there then or sooner. Have a nice day Maria." Tim thought about Maria as he walked back to his car. he also thought about the ones Beth said would be watching him. Friday, June 23rd, 1995 2:05 p.m. Tim stopped his Del Sol in front of a large blue home that had been modified from it's Victorian style. The upper story had large picture windows screened by draperies. A tastefully manicured garden sat behind the picket fence. The sign next to the gate said 901. This must be the place, Tim thought as he walked through the garden and up to the porch. After ringing the bell, he turned to look at the street, trying to spot any of Beth's watchers. He did not hear anyone approach the door until it was opened by a red haired young man dressed in casual clothes. "Well, you're finally here," he said to Tim, as if they'd been old friends. "I would have been here sooner, but this week been murder." "Well, come in, come in, there's someone I want you to meet." Tim felt a strange sensation. It was similar to the one he'd felt when in the presence of both Raef and Beth. Tim had had so much contact with magi of late, that he know was beginning to be able to differentiate between a mage and an immortal. He wondered how many young immortals had made the fatal error of mistaking a magi for an immortal. Though he'd expected to find that Affery was a mage, he next sensation was a bit of a jolt. Affery's house was built on Holy Ground. He could feel the powerful presence, just like at Unity Temple - though it seemed stronger at the temple. Timothy followed the man inside to a sitting room looking out onto the formal English Garden in the backyard, complete with willow tree, arbor, chairs and a pond. Tim wondered what type of fish were in the pond. When Timothy entered the room he noticed a lanky young man in his mid-twenties sitting in a chair beside a fire. The man was perhaps six feet tall, with thin, sandy hair that has been darkened by the sun to a russet brown in some places. He also registered the power sensation of an awakened magus. "I'm Alexis Affery," the red-haired man said, sitting down beside a chair opposite the other young man. Alexis indicated Tim should sit on the sofa across from them. Alexis indicated the other man. "This is Simon. He's here to help me in my quest." Simon nodded cordially. "Why don't you introduce yourself," Alexis said to the man, "and tell me why you're here, though I think I know. Then we begin our plans in ernest." "Currently, I go by the name of Timothy James, although some call me Christophe. As to why I am here, I'm either your executioner or your protector, depending on who I am working for at the moment. It seems that you are the only one who can rid this world of the Sun Child. Therefore, Gert and company wants you eliminated, while the Chorus wants you kept alive. Part of the plans better include relocating." Tim sat back on the sofa placing his gym bag next to him. Simon's eyes widened as Tim spoke. He inched forward onto the edge of his seat, brushing wet locks of hair out of his face. "So I take it you're not working for this Gert at the moment? He's one of the witches, I suppose." "Both of you are still breathing," Tim replied with a grin, "for the moment." Friday, June 23rd, 1995 2:12 p.m. "Let's hold here," Alexis suggested. "There's someone at the door." Both Simon and Timothy tensed. "Don't worry, he's not an enemy. He's here to join us. Just as one of you is the dreamer bereft of dreams and the other is the guardian; whereas I am the delver of secrets; this one too has a part in our drama. He is the leader," Alexis revealed a card and glanced quickly at Timothy, "And he too it seems, was sent at the behest of the Chorus." Alexis shuffled the cards and put them back into a neat pile. There was a ring at the door. Alexis got up and returned with a Spartan looking fellow, very lean and weather-beaten. This man was probably in his late thirties or forties and he looked around the room like a predator surveying a waterhole for the first time - readying itself for the coming kills. "I am Alexis Affery," Alexis said, sitting down and indicating to the new arrival that he should sit next to Timothy. "This is Simon and this is Timothy. Why don't you introduce yourself. Then you can all make your acquaintances and then I'll tell you what you've all come to hear." Alexis nodded for the stranger to begin. The newcomer moved with a casual grace that was less smooth than it was careful. He wasted no motion as he glided into the room, glancing first at the fire, then at Affery and Simon. His gaze lingered on Timothy for a moment, his expression unreadable on a face too weatherbeaten and cragged to be considered even slightly attractive. He was a lean man, not too tall, dressed in fatigues and a loose fitting gray shirt. A short staff lolled in his left hand, and a Desert Eagle rested comfortably on his right hip, in a holster both old and well maintained. He folded himself into the offered seat, left foot on the cushion in such a way that his knee was up close to his chest. He wraped his arms loosley around it, easing forward in the seat, his staff leaning on the cushion and stretching out over the floor in front of him, caressed by the fingers of his left hand. His right leg remained on the floor. "Why don't you introduce yourself?" Affery suggested. "Then you can make your acquaintances and then I'll tell you what you all came to hear." "I am Brother Lloyd, of the Akashics," Lloyd replied easily. His voice was a confident blend of whisky baritone and controlled emotion. "I have been asked to win this war, if I can. I hope the information revealed here will be enough. I am honored to meet you." He inclined his head slightly to each man, and awaited their response. "And I am honoured to make your aquitance as well. As you all know, I am Alexis Affery, Mage of the Hermetic Order. Simon, why don't you introduce yourself to Lloyd here," Alexis suggested, indicating the man seated oppositte from him. Simon raised an eyebrow, looking a bit apprehensive, and then nodded. "As Mr. Affery said, my name is Simon, and although I'm involved in this whole mess I'm afraid I can't make quite the contribution the rest of you do -- I'm not a warrior or a general, and I don't know much about what we are facing. And I'm not a paid assassin." He smirked good-naturedly at Timothy, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. "I'm just a simple shaman -- some people call us Dreamspeakers -- recently returned to Santa Cruz. But... uh, the Sun Child. It's after me, and my guess is that it would not be in your best interests, or mine, to let it have me." He glanced over at Alexis, unsure whether to continue or stay silent. "Thank-you, Simon. I'm sure that will be fine. More will become clearer when I tell you all what I know. But, first," Alexis nodded towards Tim, "I think my guardian should introduce himself so that we all know each other. And then, " Alexis looked at Lloyd again - I got the impression that you have an attendant entourage. You might want to tell us a little about them so we know who exactly is friend and who is an enemy." "Paid?" Tim said sounding some what surprised. "You mean I'm geeting paid for this gig? I gots to have me a talk with my agent. She never gives me all the details of a job." Tim leaned towards Simon, "Hey, if the Sun Child is after you, I guess you're the one I'm suppose to protect. You would happen to know which one," Tim indicated Alex and Lloyd, "of these two I'm suppose to assassinate. Would you?" Simon glanced sidelong at Tim, not looking particularly amused. "If you really feel the need to kill somebody, how about that Gert guy? Or any of those witches, really..." "Your side asked me to play bodyguard, not cannon fodder. I believe that role is being played by Lloyd here," Tim said. Lloyd smiled a grim smile. "A role I am accustomed to." He gave Timothy a long look. "And one I excel at, as well. Given the circumstances, I would have it no other way." He glanced at Simon, then back at the man in the trenchcoat. "We all have our paths, each as important as the other. I follow mine, with no regrets." He sighed, perhaps regretfully, meeting Alexis' gaze. "But time is not our ally. To the point, Mr. Affery." "Gentlemen, as Mister Lloyd says, to the point. Let me summarize what has happened. Some of this may or may not be already known to some of you. About four years ago, werewolf shamans in the East Bay Area, in the area of Oakland, summoned a very powerful fire spirit to their aid. They were unable to control the spirit and it went wild, destroying many of those who had summoned it and as well, scorching a good part of the hills above Oakland and Berkeley. Having failed disastrously, most werewolves abandoned the idea of using this ancient spirit to fight their enemies. Only a few young apprentice shamans continued to even toy with the idea of trying to make use of it once more, having been seduced by the vision of so much power. They were excited at even the thought of being able to rein it in." "What the lycanthropes lacked - or more to the point - what the wiser shamans were unwilling to ever consider using to control the spirit was a powerful ingredient - life's blood. However, there exists a group of magi, one of our sister traditions in fact, to whom the use of blood in ritual is second nature. These are of course the Verbena. But since magi and werewolves rarely mix - and then - seldom with anything but animosity, one would think that the likelihood of forging such an alliance to be unlikely. After all, both magi and werewolves compete for the same sources of power which both desire greatly - nodes, or cairns as the werewolves call them. However, despite this, there DID already exist a cooperative alliance between both Verbena and werewolves in an area not too far distant from Oakland; that being here in the Santa Cruz Mountains. About ninety years ago, the werewolves, gave shelter to a group of Verbena who were fleeing persecution from the Santa Cruz Celestial Chorus. Sheltered by the werewolves, they cultivated a node of their own creation and gave help to the werewolf tribes in keeping their common enemies - the Wyrm and the Technocracy at bay. However, recently, because of attacks by the magi rabble who call themselves Hollow Ones, many werewolf nodes were destroyed and the werewolves were unable to maintain their vigil in the mountains, being forced to defend themselves from this new threat. Inroads were made and at one point, the Technocracy came very close to destroying the Verbena's sacred oak grove, their seat of power." "At this point, it begins to look very dark indeed for both the Verbena and the werewolves. They are being assaulted from two fronts, and no one offers to aid them - except a group of werewolves who arrive from Oakland with knowledge of a ancient ritual to summon a very powerful forgotten spirit - one that will make them powerful again, and if controlled can actually be used to bring destruction on those who would seek to destroy them. Being desperate and fearing immenent destruction by the Technocracy, the Verbena agreed to add their own knowledge of blood ritual to the werewolf cause; and they take on the task of securing enough blood to both sustain and keep in control this 'Sunchild.' It is they who perform the rituals while the desperate werewolves capture both Hollow Ones and those of the Technocracy to feed it. The Santa Cruz werewolves also agree to protect the Verbena and the embryonic spirit until it has been given enough lives to grow powerful enough to protect itself and later aid them." "This spirit, which they called the Sunchild, is very ancient. It was at one point, worshipped as a god in ancient times by an extinct people living in what is now the area between the Ukraine and the Turkic republics, like Kazakistan. These people, who had a strong tendency towards lycanthropy in their bloodlines, grew very powerful - but the more power they collected, the more blood their 'god' required to aid them. As long as they fed the Sunchild, it gave them power over their enemies. But there came a time where they could not satisfy the Sunchild, so great had its hunger grown. The Sunchild took all of them instead and after it had consumed every life of every nearly every man, woman, child, and even the beasts and plants of the region, it was finally banished back to the void, having nothing to feed it and thus give it the power to remain in our world. However, this was not before it laid waste to an entire region and turned a vast portion of the earth into a barren salt desert that in time became an inland sea." "The rituals for summoning this entity were known among a few select shamans, who survived and passed their knowledge among their werewolf descendants. Remembering the lesson of what had happened before, these descendents never availed themselves of the spirit's power - fearing the cost. However, in time the knowledge of these rituals fell into less guarded, younger circles. Arrogance and desperation combined to convince some that control of the Sunchild was possible. Rather than be frightened by their failure in Oakland, these werewolves were captivated by the raw power capable in the spirit. And wanting itself to come back, the Sunchild tried to convince them in turn that the destruction caused by it was not its own fault, but rather a failure by them to give it its proper ritual and sustenance, which is partly true. It promised them great power if they could only bring it back from the void. And thus far, it has kept its promise. The werewolves who serve it have unparalleled rage at their command, which can fuel them to stupendous feats of violence and power. For their parts, the Verbena are totally freed from the effects of Paradox and can make use of even the most vulgar of magicks to wipe the earth free of their enemies. And they have - with a vengeance. However, the Verbena now count among their enemies those who they used to call friends; and we can include ourselves in that number. The werewolves, needing little reason to hate us, for except for the Verbena, they see all magi as the same - are more than willing to aid the Verbena in hunting us down." Alexis paused to let all of this sink in before continuing. "Wine anyone?" After he had poured himself and anyone else some Chardonnay, he continued. "Now, let me tell you something not even the Verbena and their lycanthrope allies know. The Sunchild is not necessarily evil in its own moralistic sense. In reality, it is above such concepts as good and evil. What it really is is a total aspect of hunger and consumption of life - which is turns into destructive power which it channels to those who serve it by gleaning it more and more lifeforce - souls and blood. This of course, IS EVIL, by 'our' standards. It really always has been. There is something about the Sunchild that, by our understanding, is incredibly evil. Because of this, the Sunchild exists and has always existed in TWO forms. It has always been two entities that are part of the same whole. Often, these who halves of itself were thought to be in fact different beings, when they were actually part of the same dual spirit. In ancient text, there is spoken with great terror a demon who went by many names, among them, Resheph, which is Hebrew for the destroyer. Resheph, the corrupter and the possessor is the evil embodiment of the Sunchild. They are one and the same and one cannot exist in this world without the other. For all its beauty and divine aspect, the Sunchild must have a channel, a seeming for its evil acts and perverse hungers - and that embodiment is Resheph." "In the distant past, those that knew the Sunchild's true nature as a destroyer, named it Resheph. But, others, seeing the putrid evil of Resheph and the godly beauty of the Sunchild failed to conceive of them as one being. Thus, Resheph, which is Hebrew for the destroyer, came to mean the weaker, foul seeming aspect of the wondrous, worshipful, Sunchild. Any destructive capability and use of vast power remained in the aspect of the Sunchild. Resheph, though it is vile, and capable of wreaking great harm on select individuals, cannot wield vast power in that guise. Do not mistake me, it is very dangerous and deadly to anyone of us; but it is nothing compared to the Sunchild at the height of its power. Also, whereas the Sunchild is total energy, and spirit, Resheph must take on mortal form - and is thus VERY vulnerable. It must possess a physical body and much of its ability to exist is dependant on the strength of the being it inhabits." "Now remember, to exist in the world, no matter how much blood and souls are fed it, the Sunchild must also exist as Resheph. One cannot be in this reality without the other being here too." "You ask me how I know this? Because I have SEEN BOTH! I have seen the Sunchild and I know where the Verbena keep their hidden sacred grove where the Sunchild rests. And I have seen the foul corruption of Resheph. Currently, it possesses the body of some poor homeless soul - one weak in power and thus unable to contain its corruption for long. Even now, Resheph's host is decaying and it will soon have to move to another - a more powerful host - and one which can sustain it and allow it more freedom as well as power." Having said this, Alexis gave a quite pointed look at Simon. "And it has already chosen this host," Alexis said. Simon had been staring morosely at his hands for the entire speech. At Alexis' last words, he shuddered and turned away, staring at the wall, his face ashen pale and his expression bleak. "What happens if it's current host dies before it can possess another body?" Timothy asked. "I can't be certain," Alexis admitted, "but I believe that Resheph - and hence the Sunchild - are banished back into the formless void, once again exiled from our reality." "This brings us to our other questions. What are the capabilities of this incarnation? How can it be found? What must it do to make a successful transfer?" Lloyd met Simon's eye, his expression both sympathetic and resolute. "And what are 'we' willing to do to prevent it?" "No." Simon's voice was quiet and flat. "It... it might be safer, perhaps, if we -" He swallowed, blinked, and continued, "If you let it take me, trick it into taking me, and kill me before it gets a chance to do anything. We can't waste time looking for it any more... too many have died already, and I - I am not important. And that way, you could... control the situation better, you could -" Simon abruptly fell silent again, a hopeless look on his face. Lloyd spoke firmly, allowing no room for argument. "No! Too dangerous. We can't afford to give Resheph what it wants, because we don't know why it wants you. What if it seeks your ability to work the True Magick to make itself stronger?" His tone changed, becoming kinder and respectful. "Do not belittle yourself so harshly, Simon. It's not your place to judge your importance. Let history and your peers do that. You have enough to do being a man. From where I sit, you are one hell of a good one, and I would hate to not have the chance to get to know you. I'll do everything I can to give myself that chance. I expect you to as well. Clear?" Simon shot Lloyd a grim look, rising from his seat. He began to pace slowly around the room. "Mr. Affery is optimistic, but you may not have very long to make plans. Besides, you could lay a - lay a trap, with spiritual wardings, and im-imprison me, keep me from - from -" Realizing he was beginning to stammer, Simon fell back into his seat, looking exhausted. "I - I'm sorry. I am not thinking very clearly at the moment, I'm afraid." He ran a hand through his reddish bangs. "You are right, my strategy is foolish, even if it would let me play the role of martyr." Simon's mouth curved into a sarcastic grin. "But what are we to do, before this war consumes magi and Garou alike? Before the fae folk destroy themselves completely?" "Alex, do you have a description of this homeless person?" Tim asked as he reached for the wine. "And where we can find him?" Alex regarded a sunflower, one of many found in a vase on his mantle. Having plucked this one flower, he returned to his chair and placed it on the table. "It wasn't his appearance as much as his smell that struck me," Alexis admitted. "It smelled nothing more than that of death itself. I encountered a taxicab driver who'd met Resheph later. From his description it seems that Resheph's host has entered a state of putridity that would preclude it from being able to travel openly." Alexis glanced at Simon. "But I would think that it would be nearby. It's not living in the state we consider life. Resheph's host is being held to any form of cohesiveness by sheer force of evil will and power. It may not be as powerful as the Sunchild, but again I warn you not to underestimate it. Also, the Sunchild can and will aid it's 'Resheph' aspect if need be. That's why any plan we make must take into account any reaction by the Sunchild and its lupine and Verbena thralls." Simon nodded in agreement. "The one who warned me about the Sun Child also told me that Resheph would probably stay somewhere nearby, watching me, and... waiting." "You don't happen to know how much longer they are planning to wait do you?" Tim asked. Lloyd sat back. "And Resheph's capabilities? What can it do? What resources can it call upon? This is the question we must answer above all." Alexis waited for a while; then noticing that all other eyes were turned to him, he said, "I don't know. I do know that it is weaker, and that hints are given as to some sort of power of corruption - whatever that means - but as to the specifics, I just don't know." He stopped to pour himself another glass of wine. "I've been thinking along the lines of something according to what Simon here said. We should not carry it all the way towards killing him, mind you; but threatening to kill him - doing him some small harm might flush Resheph out into the open. The problems is, how do we keep the Sunchild and it's minions off our backs as well? I would suggest a diversion as I do know the location of the Verbena node, but anyone sent on that mission would be sent to certain death - as recent events have all to well testified. Any thoughts on this, gentlemen? After all, two of you are warriors and I'm proposing that the other stand in as bait." "I tried a frontal assault on one of those nodes last time I was in town. I died then and I doubt that I would fare any better this time around. We could crash a plane full of fuel into the node, that would flush them out. Do you have a topo map of the area that shows the location of the node?" Tim asked Alexis. "That may help us in planning the suicide mission. And the location of the werewolf nodes too?" Tim stood and started to pace as he continued, "But perhaps we are going about this all wrong. What do we know about the Verbs and the werewolves? I know they can use funky magic that the three of you can't touch, but that's not want I need to know. What I need to know is: How many of them are there? What are there names? What do the look like? Where do they live? Where do they hang out? Basically a file on each of the enemy, you know, they type the paid killers always get in the movies. I've meet a few of them. I've met Beth, so I know what she looks like, but that's all on her. There's Colleen, who runs a coffee shop up on Highway 9 in Brookdale. And I've seen three of Beth's lapdogs around. Can any of you fill in anything else on the Verbs or the wolves?" Tim stared out the window into he garden as he waited for someone to reply. Lloyd shifted position slightly, turning to face the man in the trenchcoat. "The Werewolves are divided into two camps; those who support the Verbena, and those who do not wish total war among their kind. I have several contacts among the latter group, who have provided me with a great deal of useful information, but no overt combat assistance. I also paid a visit to one of the Black Fury nodes in the region. While I was unable to weaken them at all, I do have some very useful intelligence on that area and its defenses, as well as some of the notable leaders. However, I am not sure a frontal assault there would be useful. Those defenses are no doubt strengthened since my last visit, and it is not a central location" "The Verbena are a different story. All in this region are apparently united behind Gert. I have several names and locations, supplied by my contacts, but have lacked the time to move on them. "Why? What do you have in mind?" "No Lloyd, there are three groups of Verbena and Werewolves." Tim said as he turned away from the window. "Those that support your cause, those that support the Sunchild, and the fence sitters. You asked why, I want to know everything. The first rule of war is: Know your enemy. The second rule is: Know yourself. Or have you forgotten those rules General?" Alexis turned to Timothy, deflecting conversation away from Tim's jibe at Lloyd. "I'm afraid I don't have topographical maps of the area you've requested. We could get them from Bowman &Williams downtown, as they keep a stock of maps of the area. There's always the possibility that the maps have been doctored in some way. As that area is not explored in detail, I'm positive, and since the Verbena and lupines do not like to advertise the presence of their secret nodes - I don't know that such information is readily forthcoming. And certainly I have have not been keeping much in the way of social contacts with the local Verbena. Any of you..." Alexis' eyes preceded the distraction of a white bird landing on his garden porch. "If you'll excuse me," he said to the assembly. He went outside and could be seen taking a tube from the dove, reading a scrolled bit of paper while stroking the bird's chest with one finger. (Perception + Awareness = 3/5/7) All present observed a startled look on Alexis' face. Alexis glanced at the three of them and then crumpled up the paper, putting it in his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he conveniently produced a packet of birdseed, which he sprinkled on the ground for the dove to peck at. "Sorry about the interuption," he said while coming back inside. Before anyone could ask about the contents of the note, he announced, "That was from someone named Raef, an acolyte of the Choirsters. He says that our friend," Alexis pointed at Timothy, "is an imposter. He says that the real 'Christophe,' whoever that is, is at the Temple right now and that this man is probably a spy." Alexis looked at Timothy. "You've impressed me as being someone very 'new' to this hidden world of ours. Something tells me you've never faced a magus in combat. For your own safety, I'm going to to ask that you do not make ANY sudden movements. Do you have something to say to us?" Simon's shoulders tensed as Alexis spoke. He had been gazing moodily out the window, but now his head swung towards Timothy, his pale blue eyes examining the man with an unflinching stare. Adjusting his position in his seat, Simon reached out and picked up a black cotton jacket slung over one of the chair's arms. The hair on the back of Tim's neck stood on end as Alexis finished speaking. Magic, he thought as he glanced around the room. His eyes settled on Simon who's stare felt as if it was trying to drill into his soul. Since no one else had any suggestions at the moment, Timothy decided to have a staring contest with Simon. "Hmpf," Tim snorted as broke off the contest with Simon. "A spy is it?" Tim said as he faced Alexis once more, "When I first arrived here you called me the guardian; then Simon over there called me a paid assassin and now you're calling me a spy. Why don't the three of you put your minds together and decide on my job description. I would say to call Raef and get him in on your conversation. But we both know how much he loves to chat on the phone. In the meantime, I'm going to stand here and finish this here grape juice," Tim said as he turned back to the window. With Alexis' revelation and Timothy's reply, the room became deathly quiet. No one made a sound, not even the fire. "Well, we do have a predicament. Gentlemen, any suggestions?" Alexis asked the other two, while still keeping an eye on Tim. Lloyd remained seated, apparently still perfectly at ease. Perhaps his eyes became harder. Perhaps his expression shifted to a more probing one. It was hard to tell in the shifting firelight. His fingers still brushed his staff lightly. "Know your enemy," he said thoughtfully. "Good advice. Who do 'you' know?" He turned just enough to direct a question toward Alexis, his eyes never leaving the man by the window. "How well do you know Raef, and how secure are your communications?" "I don't know him well. Choirsters and Hermetics never mixed well in this town and I've inherited the old animosity. Our's is just a marriage of convenience. As for how secure our communications are, I would say via pigeon, moderately so; that it until the Verbena manage to bring in trained hawks or shoot one of the birds down without attracting too much attention - not a hard feat in itself. I think this last message was one of desperation since Raef was alarmed to learn that the man he'd sent her wasn't the one he thought he had." Simon's eyebrow raised slightly as he continued to stare at Timothy. Leaning forward again, he addressed the subject of his gaze. "Perhaps you should tell us the whole story, Mr... well, I'm not entirely sure what to call you anymore. Is it Christophe, or Timothy James, or something else?" "Mister will be fine for now," Tim said as he turned to face Simon once more. "Raef asked me to help eliminate the Sun Child. I said I would and so he sent me here. Now do you boys want my help or not?" "So, " Alexis said, turning once more to Timothy. "Just who is this Christophe and who are you then? Raef alluded to the fact that you might be a Verbena spy or assassin. Is that it? Are you their vehicle to eliminate me or to learn of our plans?" There was the sound of the front door bell. It sounded before Timothy had a chance to answer the questions. Alexis gave everyone a quick glance and then said, "Hopefully that is the 'real', Christophe. Raef said that he would be arriving soon. If you will excuse me." Alexis departed and returned with another man. He was shorter and his hair a bit lighter than Timothy's. His eyes might also have been a bit more hazelish but all in all, he was a remarkable match for the Timothy and it was not hard to see why anyone would not mistake them for each other. Rather than addressing any of them, the man turned to Timothy, saying, "I am Christophe Auxier, once of the Knights Templar, Paris Chapter. And with you, sir, I believe I have some business. I have been told you have been usurping my name around town. Would you care to discuss this matter elsewhere - away from holy ground?" Even before Christophe had arrived, Tim felt him and knew him for what he was - another immortal. Simon blinked at the newcomer, then looked back at Timothy, unable to repress a faint smirk. "Are you sure you don't want to tell us the whole story? I'm sure it's quite... interesting, and we'd all love to hear it." Ignoring Simon, Tim answered the newcomer. "Not in particular," Tim said as he returned to the sofa. "But I don't think you're the type to let this go." He reached down and picked up the gym bag next to Lloyd and started towards the garden door. "Alexis, mind if we use your garden? I don't know about him," Tim said indicating the new arrivial, "but don't intend to do any pruning." "You joining me Sir Knight?" Tim said as he left the room. Simon got to his feet, looking a trifle alarmed, his gaze shifting from the newcomer to the rapidly departing Tim and back again. "Could someone perhaps explain what's going on here?" "At least one of us will be back shortly to enlighten you," Timothy said as he walked out the garden door. Christophe looked at Tim, then at Alexis and the others. "There will be a time for that later. I see no reason for us to trouble these kind people. You may leave if I have your word that you will not come here again. I shall find you in my own good time. And do not call me knight. Though I belonged to the order of knights, I was only a squire, but a good one - as you shall no doubt see." Tim stopped dead in his tracks on the patio. He sighed as he turned to face the others. "I'm not leaving unless Raef comes here," he indicated the spot where he was standing, "and tells me himself that my assistance is no longer needed nor wanted." Christophe nodded, turning to Alexis. "With your permission then, monsieur?" He nodded toward the garden. "I'm afraid I must." Alexis shook his head. "I want no blood spilled on my property. Can either of you tell me what is going on here?" It was new Christophe who answered first. "This matter is of a private nature, unique to beings such as myself and this 'person.' Some time ago, I came to this area to help the Chorus out with some 'problems.'" Alexis' face darkened. "I think I heard of you. You butchered members of my order and," he looked at Lloyd, "... those of the Akashics as well. The Dreamspeakers fled to the forests rather than fight you." Christophe smiled. "Yes, well, that is in the past. It was nothing personal, I assure you. I work for pay and the Chorus paid me well. Now, ironically, they pay Christophe to protect you. However, another one, claiming to be me, has preceded me here. I heard rumors and came right away. I must agree that there is a resemblance - but I assure you it is only a superficial one - and a short lived one; that I promise you." Alexis turned to Simon and Lloyd. "Well, I'm at a loss. I would not see innocent blood shed, though. I am not certain that either of these men need be an enemy of ours - but in the current climate, I can't be sure. I would just as soon dispense with either of them - but then our enemies, if one of them is a spy, would certainly know our plans. Do either of you have a suggestion?" Putting his hands behind his back, Simon regarded the two Christophes. "I, for one, would like to hear the rest of the story." He glanced at Lloyd, then directed a rather pointed gaze towards the man who was also called Timothy James. "And as I mentioned before, there seems to be one person here whose chapter is missing." An awkward silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed unsure of what to do or say. Finally, it was Alexis who spoke up, breaking the silence. Turning to the two Christophe's, he said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you both to leave." Turning to Timothy, he added, "I'm not sure who you are; but I don't get the impression that you are my enemy, despite what Raef has said. The cards also confirm this." Turning to second Christophe, Alexis remarked, "And you - I know your type well. You're an efficient killer - but one who kills for gold. Oh yes, I know - not literal gold. And I'm sure that you would be an efficient guard for me but given your past deeds against the fellows of my order - one whom I'd just as soon do without. However, in the current climate - we have to take what help we can. Ours is a fight for our very existence. But know sir, that if it comes to such, my association with you shall end the moment it becomes convenient." Christophe nodded. "Of course, sir. I wish you to know however that I bear you no ill will. Had your forbears had sufficient 'gold' as you say, I would not have taken arms against them but would have been as much a plague to the Chorus. Raef knows this as does his superior; and she is willing to make use of me, knowing my talents. It is strictly a matter of business with me." Alexis shuddered but didn't reply to this last directly. "Alright then. I will dispense with you both. Neither of you are welcome here until this matter between you is resolved. Whoever returns - and I think it fair to surmise only one - should come back to this house. I will be gone but the door will be open. Grandfather Salamander will then direct you where to find me. May your fates bring you what you each deserve." Timothy and Christophe hesitated to leave so Alexis pointed out, "Gentlemen, you are in the seat of my power. I am quite capable of dealing with you both here. I suggest you leave. If I were as tactically mercenary as you, monsieur," Alexis nodded to Christophe, "I would eliminate you both rather than take any chance that either of you is working for the enemy." Alexis indicated the hallway with his arm and after a calculating exchange of glances, both Timothy and the other immortal moved back to the front doorway. Alexis escorted them out. Outside of the house, Timothy and Christophe exchanged glances. "So, that unfinished business of ours? When would you like to meet?" Christophe promptly asked. Tim reached into his jacket and pulled out his pocket calendar. "Hmm...the Forth would be a nice night, what with all the fireworks going on. However, I have already have plans that night. I could fit you in either on Thursday the sixth or on Monday the tenth. Which night would be better for you? Oh before I forget, Lee Phong been looking for you. What did you do to him to piss him off?" Christophe snatched the notebook out of Tim's hand and tossed it into the shrubbery. "It's ridiculous for an immortal to be a slave to time. You show how young you really are. Do yourself a favour, mister nobody. You have little left to you so you might as well enjoy what you have. I will come for you at a time and place of my own choosing and take you when I want it - not when it is convenient to you. There is never a convenient time to die so don't piss what life you have left by keeping schedules." Keeping a wary eye on Timothy, Christophe backed off and got into a waiting car, which sped off. Tim waited until the car was out of sight before retriving his book from the rose bed. Tuesday, July 4, 1995 Noon Timothy had spent most of the next week and a half looking over his shoulder for Christophe, Phong and any of the other immortals whom he had meet in the last month. He was able to locate several promising places for duels if he ever got the chance to pick the venue for once. 'Enough of this worrying. If they are going to come after me so be it. It's Independence day and I'm headed for the Boardwalk for fun', Tim thought to himself as he got dressed. Tuesday, 4th of July, 1995 8:00 p.m. Tim felt uncomfortable walk along the Boardwalk this 4th. Back in Washington, D.C. the crowd would have been more relaxed. The music would have been similar if one stayed down on the Mall where the rock bands played. But one could walk up to the Capitol and listen to Classical Music or Folk Music down on the South Lawn of the White House. Families and friends would pack a cooler and blanket to make this a day long picnic with the fireworks the finale. Here along the Boardwalk, one saw everything and there was no place you could go where you didn't hear the thumping on the rock bands. Timothy was walking along the Boardwalk when he noticed a man pass him. There was nothing striking about the guy . He looked like a dozen others that had passed him. Except this guy had a sign attached to his back. At first Tim thought it was logo for a new band. But when he looked closer at it, he noticed it was a sign with "KICK ME!" in bright neon colors. He stared after the man wondering how far he would get before something happened. He didn't have to wait long. The boy made it about another ten paces before one of the intoxicated teens Tim had pasted earlier, ran up behind him and gave him a size ten boot. Timothy laughingly shook his head as he turned to continue his search for a good place to watch the fireworks from. As luck would have it there was an open space along the railing next to a child wearing a demin jacket with a mutant fox on it's back. "Excuse me, is this spot taken?" he asked when he was next to the child. "I'm thaving it for Evith," she said, not bothering to look around at the newcomer. "Would that be Costello or Presley?" he said looking down at her. "Who ever thows up firtht," she looked up at the man and winked at him. "Well then I'll keep the place warm until one of them shows up to claim it or your parents." "Well, other than the Elvith'th I don't think there ith any one elthe who will take that thpot," She said, looking out over the crowd again, stuffing a hand in her pocket and pulling something out. "Gum?" she asked, holding out a package. "Thank you," he said as he took a piece from the package. "It will help to remove the popcorm from between my teeth." "Mmm..not bad, can't tell what flavor it is due to the lousy coffee I had. "Thperemint." "This crowd is different then the one back in DeeCee on this night. " Timothy looked at his wrist before he rememebred that he had left his watch at home. "Different from the one in Tokyo too, not that anyone celebrated thith holiday, but plenty of fireworkth." "Never been to Tokyo. I've studied the lingo but haven't made the trip yet. Besides I thought fireworks came from China." "Mars actually, Japan imports them," she said. "How soon before show starts?" "In about twenty theven minuteth," she said, glancing down at an expensive looking watch. Then she turned and stared out over water, and at the setting sun that was painting everything red. "An old girlfriend of mine once told me that if you listen very careful when the sun sets on the ocean, you can hear a hissing sound. Almost as if the water was putting it out. Doubt that we will be able to hear anything with that music blasting back there," Tim said indicating the stage. "Well, maybe if there ith a power outage we'll hear it. Better happen thoon though," she looked over the ocean as the last of the red began to fade away, the sun nearly gone. "Kirei dethu ne (beautiful isn't it)" she said softly. "Yes it it lovely, especially with the fog tonight." "Creeping in on little fox feet," she said as darkeness descended. "Magic tonight, you can smell it on the breeze, or is that he rotting fish?" Timothy took a deep breath, "That's the smell of death in the air. Death caused by stupidity, accident, or even mis-directed MAGIC." "Mithdirected magic hath itth plathe, and everything hath to die," she looked over the crowd for a moment, then back up at the man, smiling. "Read that it a fortune cookie onethe." Timothy leaned heavily on the railing. "Sorry, shouldn't be so morbid on such a happy Holiday. Is it alright you if I just stay quiet for a bit and watch all these people," he waved toward the folks on the beach, "having fun. Rather then thinking about what I've had to do and will have to do in the near future?" "Not my holiday," she said. "I'm just here to liven up the thtraights. And have you ever thought of wiritng a poem about what you are feeling? Dark emotions are jutht as powerful ath the light," she smiled, but there was something sad in it. "I'm going to cauthe thome miththeif," she said, pushing off the rail. "And then maybe I'll bite thomeone, but probably not. You'll excuthe me I hope, but there is a four meter montjhter clown coming thith way and it lookth hungry. Thome people's fearth," she said, shaking her head. "Ja, ojithan (later mister)." she called, waving before the crowd swallowed her up." "Go'om bye, short stuff." Tim said as she disappeared into the masses. 8:37pm The girl ran off into the crowd, leaving Timothy behind. Way back admist the crowd by the railing, several stink bombs went off. Surely not coincidence, Timothy thought. 9:30 Tim was walking back to the street when he spotted Simon and a young women talking. Strange that she would be wearing such a lovely blue gown here on the Boardwalk, he thought. He started to walk over towards them when a group of teens crossed his path and obscured his view. Once then had passed, Simon and the women had vanished into the thick air. Timothy made a mental note to kid Simon about it later. 9:40 PM As he approached one of the parking lot, Timothy felt the presences of another immortal. He started scanning the faces of the crowd looking for Sammy, the Mayan, Christophe or the Weekend Biker. He didn't see any of those faces. But he did see the women in the blue gown that Simon had been talking with earlier. As he stared at her, she met his gaze and he knew what she was. Tim stepped back into the swarming crowd leaving the Boardwalk and disappeared into the night. Yes, he thought, Simon and him would have a nice long chat about that women later. Midnight - Coffeetopia Timothy read the sign proclaiming an open mic night tonight as he entered the coffee shop and said a pray to the traffic god for making sure he arrived AFTER that. Even the gum trick the brat pulled (it had turned his teeth black) was prefered over listening to people trying to sing. The inside of the Coffeetopia looked the same as the last time he was here; except for all the Red, White and Blue. He felt out of place wearing a black jumpsuit. A redhead dressed in a black midriff, top, and black leather pants manned the entry point of the coffee line. While waiting in line for coffee, Tim spotted the young women who knew Beth. Perhaphs she could assist him in finding someone else tonight, he thought. He waited until she had finished her conversation before approaching. "Evening...err...or should I say morning," he corrected after glancing at the clock on the wall. "It looks like business was good tonight." Surpised, Colleen looked up from the items she was carrying. "Oh, Christophe. We're still going strong, as you can see outside." Colleen smiled. Handing him a tray full of latte glasses, Colleen grabbed another tray full of coffee mugs. "Would you mind carrying these for me? We can talk on the way outside." "No problem. It's been a while since I waited in tables. I just hope I don't dump them on someone." Tim smiled as he took the tray and followed Colleen. The two of them proceeded outside with their respective trays, threading carefully among the various dancers and chatterers and tables. As they laid the mugs and glasses near a sign proclaiming "Bottomless Cup of Coffee," Colleen looked at her companion. "So, Christophe... I trust you and Beth reached an..." Colleen seemed to pause for a moment. "amicable?" Colleen's eyebrows raised. "arrangement?" "I wouldn't refer to our arrangement as 'friendly''. It was more like 'do it or else'. By the way, who was the leg breaker and the two girls Beth had following me when I left?" "An insurance nightmare." Colleen chuckled. "The closest I could tell, they were," Colleen paused for a minute. "Friends of Beth's, I'd say." They put the trays on the table. Colleen continued, looking about warily. "Not everyone around here is a friend of Beth, if you know what I mean," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "I gather she wasn't invited here tonight then? I'm actually trying to find Gert. He isn't here either I take it?" Colleen frowned. "You want to contact Gert? My position is rather... precarious right now, so I'm not sure I can help you there. Why don't you come by later this week, after events have cleared things up?" "I have an easier solution," Tim responded as he put his mug down. He unzipped one of the poclets on his flightsuit and pulled out a card. "He's my address and several ways to contact me. The cell number would be the quickest. Pass the card on to Gert when you see him or call me yourself later this week." "Christophe, I assume you know what you're dealing with?" "Not really, folks tend to dance around the suibject these days. So I have to try and piece things together for myself." "I'd advise you to think seriously before you continue helping Beth out." Colleen glanced around again. "Some of us, you see, are already paying certain pipers." Colleen paused meaningfully. "And, some of us would rather not be the bill collectors for certain pipers, if you catch my meaning." "Sorta like you are doing now." Tim said grinning. Looking up, Colleen's expression shifted from an intense frown to a quite smile. "Do you read poetry, Chrstophe?" "Somtimes, why do you ask?" "I think you should read this, Christophe. I wrote it recently, and I want to know what you think. Okay?" Colleen handed him a slip of paper and moved on. "Come back again, sometime, Christophe," she said over her shoulder. "I still owe you some coffee." "Thanks. I just might do that." Tim said as she left. July 5th, 12:15 AM He glanced at the poem she handed him. "Shining light, too long in shadow veil'd, Hungers for release, hungers for-- Spark of life, Death's release. Shining light, too long in shadow veil'd, Seeks love, Seeks-- Shelter from woe Shelter frome despair. Shinging light, called from the dark, Hunts renewal. Hunts-- Do you know my name, child? Is my breath upon your back? Do you fear me? Do you love me? See the predator's sweet smile. See the baby's cherubic cheeks. Hiding-- Hiding-- Gentle flowers, my dear, Bloom. Are they not beautiful? Beauty withers, Love expires. Life blossoms, then dies. But, the gardener keeps it alive. Where is the gardener now? Her tools have rust'd, Her garden's o'errun, For gardener has forsaken Sacred duty, And the flowers wilt." Then he stuffed it into one of his pockets and left. Friday, July 7th, 1995 2:02 p.m. Timothy arrived home after a pleasant lunch date and repayed his phone messages. "Timothy? Colleen here, from Coffeetopia. I just remember that I still owe you that cup of coffee, and you still haven't told me what you thought of my little poem. Why don't you come by tonight?" I guess I better try and read that poem again before I see her, Timothy thought as he walked out on the deck. Maybe this time it will make sense, but I doubt it, He thought and he stared at the water crashing against the rocks below. Saturday, July 8th, 1995 8:51 p.m. The coffeeshop looked down right boring compare to the other night, Tim thought as he walked in the door. "Excuse me. Is Colleen around tonight?" Tim asked one of the employees. The young woman looked up. "Colleen's in back. Is there something I can help you with?" "That depends?" Tim replied with a smile. "What ti...err..nevermind, I need need to take care of this matter first. Perhaps another time." Colleen then returned from the back part of the cafe and, seeing Tim, came up. Addressing her employee, "Would you mind handling the register for a bit?" Business wasn't quite booming - the coffee crowd wouldn't show up for a while yet. "The gentleman and I have business to conduct." Colleen led Timothy back into her office, behind the counter. Books and papers filled the little room, spilling from Colleen's battered desk onto the floor, and framing her antiquated Macintosh in cluttered bric-a-brac. A set of shelves in the corner, by contrast, were neat and ordered, the top shelf dominated by a series of books, and the other shelves stacked with notebooks, each neatly marked with a date. Colleen gestured for Tim to sit, as she did so. "Timothy, go ahead and have a seat," Colleen told her guest. "I know my office isn't much, but it's 'home.'" "Thank you," Tim said sitting down in the chair. He set his bag on the floor next to the chair. "So, do you prefer Christophe or Tim? I'm afraid we may have had a case of mistaken identity, and I'd like to clear that up before we move on." Colleen, who had been smiles the last time Tim had been here, now frowned as she concentrated on him. "I prefer Timothy these days. Mistaken identity? Is that the real reason why you asked me to drive out here?," Tim let out a small chuckle before continuing. "And here I thought you wanted my opinion on your poem." Tim tried to match Colleen's frown with one of his own. Colleen smiled thinly. "So, what DID you think of my poem? I've been told that my poems can be a bit....intense." "Well, I read it twice," Tim said scratching his chin. "Once after drinking lots of coffee and again after having several drinks and neither helped. I have the same problem with paintings and photos. I guess I never inhaled enough when I was in college. What have your other critics thought of your poems?" "Well, Tim, let's just say that sometimes people don't like to hear what my poems have to say." Colleen leaned across her desk. "Put aside your distrust of me for a moment." Colleen looked at him. "The Tim-Christophe identity problem is only from what I've been told of you. I don't know who the real Christophe is, but I hope you asked permission before borrowing his name." Colleen smiled a bit at her jest as she leaned back into her chair. Colleen smiled. "One person of my acquaintance called you 'Christophe,' and your business card said 'Timothy James.' It didn't take much of a mental leap to know one of those was an assumed name." "You've never heard of a pen name? I though all you writer types used them. In this case the full name is Christophe Auxier." Colleen shrugged. "Well, just make sure nobody else possesses the name." "Oh? And who told you of this identity crisis I seem to be having?" Colleen looked squarely at Tim. "Timothy, you seem to have divined more about me than I know about you, which puts me at a bit of a disadvantage. You see, I don't know much about you, and you've asked me about finding Gert and Beth again. And, I might be able to arrange that." Colleen opened her desk drawer, and produced a yellow legal pad and a pencil. "I'd like you to tell me a little about yourself, and I'd like to write a poem about you." Colleen's expression was serious. "A poem might seem a bit silly to you, but I've learned to trust my poetry more than anything else in the world." "I didn't ask you to arrange a meeting with them. I asked if there was a way I could contact them directly." Tim's mood was serious and then softened as he continued. "I'm touched that you wish to write a poem about my life. However, how can you be sure that I will tell you the true? In any event, what is it you want to know? You should be able to confirm most of it with the Santa Cruz and Capitola Police. Both were very interested in my past recently." Tim leaned back in his chair making himself comfortable. "Timothy, each of us walks in two different worlds. The newspapers and the police can tell me about one world. Only you can tell me about the other. Perhaps I should clarify. I'll tell you one thing about me, you tell me one thing about you. And, we can use my poem to 'verify,' if you will." Colleen settled back. "Timothy, I am a Verbena mage - which you may have already guessed, and much of my magick is worked through poetry. And you?" Colleen raised an eyebrow, waiting for Tim to continue. "I am what is known as an immortal. We immortals tend to kill each other on sight these days, sorta like Chinese fighting fish." "Fair enough. Now for something a little harder: I possess a curse of sorts--occasionally I am compelled to tell people truths they'd rather not hear." Colleen paused, then looked at Tim meaningfully. "Do you have any curses hanging over you?" "None that I know of," Tim paused in thought before continuing, "...but I could be. Since arriving in this area. I've been arrested for the assault of a young girl; the murder a police officer found at my front door; the murder of two other policemen at the local hospital, when I ran into a blood sucker and several of my kind wish me dead. Does any of that sound like a curse?" "Several of your kind want you dead?" Colleen pondered. "How DOES one kill an "immortal," anyway? About our current situation: I am on a tightrope high in the air over a pool of lions, stuck between two burning buildings, and high winds are about to knock me off. How about you?" "I think, I'm right behind you on that rope. Except I have people throwing things at me. In your metaphor, who is Gert and company and what is the Chorus?" "They're both burning buildings, Timothy. And, pretty soon, people from one building may start shooting at me." Colleen smiled wryly. "I think you're beginning to see why I asked you to come up here." Wistfully, she continued. "I have some small influence in the world of the Sleepers, but in the local war, I'm somewhat--" Colleen paused for a moment and her eyes seemed to defocus. "...bereft of allies, and I'd rather get off this tightrope and into a bunker. And, it's about time I started making my presence known in Santa Cruz. Timothy, shall I go on?" "You're Verbena. Why not hide in their bunker?" Colleen countered with a quick riposte. "It's a war between two sides, and one of their bunkers is going to be destroyed. Besides, Timothy--you're assuming that I 'want' to join them." Colleen looked into his eyes meaningfully. "And, like some of your immortal friends want 'you' dead, I believe that some Verbena might want 'me' dead. Ideally, I'd like to build my own bunker, and let the others resolve things themselves." Colleen's eyes were intense, but, oddly enough, she seemed to be enjoying the metaphor. "Timothy, it's a war out there. I don't know about you, but I intend to be left standing when it's all over." Colleen's voice rose, and Tim swore he could feel the room temperature go up several degrees as raw emotion radiated from Colleen. "The Verbena are hardly united, Timothy, and those of us who might be 'neutral' have yet to coalesce. That leaves me, as they say, out of luck. That's why people like you and I need to stick together. For mutual protection. Eventually, Timothy, somebody will figure a way around your immortality. Somebody will overcome my magick...and, together, each of us stands a better chance of being alive when this whole damned war is over." For a moment, Timothy received a flash--the simple mental image of a tower, high above a struggle going on below. "When we spoke last, you wanted to know about talking to Gert and Beth again. You also said something about Beth having threatened your life?" Colleen paused. "I wouldn't call it a threat, considering who followed me out of here that day." Colleen cocked her head. "Really? What happened?" "I smacked them on the nose with a rolled up newspaper and haven't seen them since." Tim said grinning. Colleen chuckled. "I wish it were that easy for me." Colleen sat. "Do you see what I want now?" she asked. As Colleen descended back into her chair, the room grew cooler again, and her emotions reigned themselves back in. "You want a knight protector. I can't be that until I finish dealing with one of my 'relatives'. Right now he wants me dead. I know that he will be coming for me sometime before the 12th. More then likely at night. Us immortals prefer fighting at night, less witnesses that way. Anyway, as long as he is after me, I can't protect anyone. I'm sorry, Colleen, if I were to try to protect you, I would only end up getting you killed by him. I can't knowingly put you into that kind of danger." Colleen considered this answer. "A knight protector? Nothing so medieval, Timothy. What I'm more interested in is an alliance of mutual benefit--an alliance that can keep both of our heads intact." Colleen looked him directly in the eye. "Tell me, Timothy, what 'do' you want with Gert?" Colleen's stare continued. "I believe I have a way to contact him....if you could do a favor for me. Of course, I want to make sure your motives are pure, right?" If Tim didn't know better, he could have sworn that Colleen had just smirked. "Well if he wants me, he'll have to stand in line. I already have two immortals who want my ass. Now what is this favor you want me to do? Blow Gert's head off before he takes yours? And what's in it for me?" Tim's expression turned neutral as he finished. Colleen looked at Tim. "I don't know if Gert even wants to talk to you. But, I do know you want to contact him directly. It so happens he and I have a bit of business to attend to, and, if you help me in that business, I can help you with yours. As for what's in it for you, I would say this: if you fall off the tightrope, somebody might be able to give you a helping hand." Colleen smiled thinly. "So what is this business you need my help with?" Colleen forwned. "I need to see somebody to conclude some business she and I had. before I trust you further, would you permit me to use some of my power on you? I should like to find out a bit more about you...may I?" Colleen picked up her pen. "Like I really have much of a choice in the matter. Just don't turn me into a frog or something, OK?" Colleen smiled humorlessly at his jest, and pressed a pen to a sheet of paper. Colleen stared deeply into Tim's eyes as the pen started to write. Colleen's pen began to scratch the yellow pad as she stared into Tim's eyes. Occasionally, she would pause, and her stare would become more intense, as if she were staring right through the immortal, and into his head. Her trance seemed to pass, and she studied Tim carefully. "So," Colleen said as her mouth quirked, "you have the purest of motives." Colleen continued. "My goals align with yours for the moment, but for different reasons. It so happens that I need to meet with Gert soon as well. If you like, we can make this a group meeting; but, I'd need you to bring another guest to our little tete-a-tete." Colleen's eyes narrowed. "Do you know one Bessie Moisha?" Colleen paused. "The name's familiar, but I haven't had the pleasure yet." "She's one of the more...uncooperative of our order, and Gert has wanted to speak to her for some time...and he sent me to....fetch...her, you might say. If we have her with us, we can set up a meeting with Gert, with her as a pretext. . . and, you and Gert can conduct your..." Colleen glanced at the sheet of paper. "...business. Of course, there's no reason this should all be a private party, Tim. If you have any guests who'd like to attend, feel free to bring them..." Colleen smiled, but the smile hardly spread to her eyes. "Who's side is Bessie on?" Colleen paused. "The side Gert's not on," she remarked. "But, her presence would be a necessary pretense; remember the tightrope? If she's not there, I fall off the tightrope. If she is there, I can at least be seen to be paying lip service to my fellow Verbena...and be totally unaware of the nefarious plots of others." Tim smiled as she talked. "That being the case, I do know of some others who would luv to attend. Where is Bessie and how soon do you want to have this meeting?" Colleen sighed. "Therein lies the problem, Tim. The last time she and I 'conversed,' we didn't exactly part on the best of terms. I think she may have taken refuge with the Chorus, or with the Order of Hermes. She's also a powerful seer, Tim. Be careful." "Right now neither the Chorus nor the Order is returning my calls. They sorta threw me out and told me NOT to return until I get that personnel matter taken care of." Colleen gave Tim a concerned look. "Is there anything I can do to help out with that matter?" Colleen paused. "And, I have another avenue I might use to locate Bessie. The bottom line is that I need Bessie there for my business with Gert....and I'd like you there as, shall we say, insurance? And, I think that both of us would be served well if you..." Colleen glanced at her poem again, "conclude your business with Gert." "Would that be Life or Accidental Death and Dismemberment?" said Tim smiling. "As far as assisting me, well, let's just say that you don't look like the bodyguard type to me. Nor do I think you could blow someone's head off either. Besides, when did you want to meet with Gert? My biz has to be finished by the twelfth." Colleen paused. "I can set up an impromptu meeting with him, but I'm afraid that I can't do it unless we have Bessie with us--she's a necessary pretext, if you understand?" "In that case," Tim said rising from the chair, "the sooner you find Bessie, the sooner we can deal with Gert. Call me as soon as you find her, so we can arrange the meeting." Tim waited to see if Colleen had anything to add before he left. She didn't, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts. Tim nodded to her and walked out, giving Colleen's employee a quick smile on the way out. Sunday, 9 July, 1995 8:00 PM Guess I better get this out of the way, Tim thought as he booted up the laptop and logged on. Dear Alex, You should be proud of me, I managed to stay out of trouble over the Holiday. Hope the crowd at the resturant was good for the Holiday. Did you atleast get a chance to see the Fireworks on the Mall? The Mage Wars are heating up. I meet with the War council before the holiday. Also met a Verb but the name of Colleen she runs a coffeeshop in the area. It's built around huge redwood. I think I could fit my whole condo inside of it. Anyway I think she wants to switch sides. I'll worry about that after I talk with Christophe. That reminds me, I ran into Christophe the other day; I see why everyone is getting us confused. We do look like twins. He says he was a Squire to the Templar Knights over in France. His full name is: Christophe ... He's not happy that folks are confusing us and says that he wants to solve that matter just between the two of us. So I might be unable to write to you again if this isn't resolved in my favor. Oh, And I DO Love you, Tim After logging off the system, Tim leaned back in chair to watch the sun set into the Pacific. I wonder how many more sunsets I'll see. Better appreciate them while I can. Monday, July 10th, 1995 11:20 p.m. Timothy couldn't sleep, what with all the racket going on. It was hell's demons breaking loose outside, what with all the sirens blasting and wailing up and down the streets nearby. Instinctively, he grabbed for his sword, lightly touching the cold metal of the handle. It was there. It was real. He was awake and all was well. The noise passed on leaving the quiet once more and he was better. He felt sorry for all the working slobs who would have to get up in the morning. Nothing like a middle of the night wake up call to break the cycle of sleep. Tim tried to get back to sleep himself but his words proved too prophetic. He was awake and he was going to stay that way for some time. Picking up a book he had been trying to read, he forced himself to stumble through a series of meaningless words that failed to draw him away from his thoughts or to rouse anything in the way of slumber. I just wish it would happen, he half thought to himself. In answer, a knock - a loud one at that quickly followed by another and another - brought him out of his head and to the moment. Leaping up, he grabbed his sword and turned on the security camera. The dim blue screen showed two uniformed Capitola police officers, both men. Cops, he sighed. Why does it always have to be cops. He turned on the speaker that he'd had installed. "Yes, I'm here." "Mister James," one of the cops bent down to the speaker, putting his mouth next to it, not knowing that it wasn't necessary. On the screen, it made him look like he was bowing. "Can we ask you to come outside please." It wasn't a question. Tim had been this route not long ago - certainly not long enough to want a repeat so soon. "What's this about?" "If you would come outside please. We'll explain outside." He'd seen these two around before. They'd checked him out a few times while he was stopped at a light. Probably every cop in the county knew him by now, James thought. Though released and exonerated - Tim had never been pardoned with the ones who were his real accusers - the cops. They all thought him guilty of any one of a number of crimes and they were just waiting to hop on him. "You got a warrant?" "If that's what you want," the first cop who had been doing all the talking said - "I can get one and be back in ten minutes." (Intelligence + Law = 2 successes). He was lying. It would take him at least fifteen - probably more like twenty. But why split hairs, Timothy figured. He slid his sword behind the door when he got to the front and opened the door. So far, no Christophe - no buzzing of Quickening. "What's this all about?" he asked. "Please come with us. We're investigating a murder. A man fitting your description... " "Fine!" Timothy exclaimed. He knew the score. He knew the man too, and it wasn't him. His unholy double was making trouble, leaving Tim as the all too handy scapegoat. "Do you know this man?" The cop showed Tim a Polaroid. Li Fong's severed head glared out at Timothy, his eyes bugged like a cartoon. The scorch marks around the head's severed stump of a neck showed that it had released it's Quickening. "Hmm, thought it might be my cousin from Arkansas at first, but sorry - no dice," he lied. Might as well not make it too easy for them. Tim made a mental note to go back in and get Methuen's number before they took him down to the station. The cops were not amused. They never were. "Alright smart ass. Come over to the car. We have a witness." They dragged Tim over until he shrugged them loose. He then followed them to their patrol car where a dimly seen person - Tim guessed it to be a small woman or child - could be barely be seen gazing out at him. When Tim tried to look at the person, all he could see was his own reflection in the glass shining from the two flashlights on him. "Is this the man?" one of the officers asked, with a tone of politeness obviously not reserved for Tim. "Please take a close look." The figure made a motion. (Perception + Alertness = 1 success). It looked to Tim like it shook it's head. "Take your time," the other cop suggested. "Take another look." This time the figures shaking head was obvious even to Tim. Tim wasn't sure who was the more surprised - he or the cops. (Intelligence + Subterfuge = 3 successes) Maybe it wasn't Christophe who'd done the whacking job on Fong after all. But... Tim took a long hard look at the cops. Then he realized what was wrong. They were play-acting. They were real cops - but their faces showed none of the disappointment that should've been there. He was being set up. Not even asking for permission, he ran back to his house. They shouted out to him - or was it a warning to someone inside his house? He ran in. No buzzing - no Quickening. (Perception + Alertness = 4 successes) He looked for his sword. It was there, and someone else's hand was on it. The masked person, another diminutive shorty, Tim thought, was holding Tim's own sword with dark shiny gloves, pointing it at him. Christophe was after his sword - probably to make Tim have to fight with a substitute. The bastard didn't miss any tricks. Tim pulled the small pistol out of his robe pocket. Good thing he hadn't been frisked first, he thought. But then, the cops never intended to arrest him - just to delay him while this thief took his main weapon. "I'd put that down if I were you." To emphasize his suggestion, he lifted the barrel of the pistol. "Be nice and chatty and I'll let you go. There's no reason you have to die for something that's between me and Christophe." The thief put the sword down carefully. Tim walked over and picked it up. It felt slightly slippery in his hand. "So, I think I know the answer, but tell me anyway. Who told you to steal my sword and where can I find him?" "I didn't come to 'steal' your sword." The answer was almost as surprising as the voice. For some reason, Tim hadn't expected a woman; it was hard to tell in the body stocking she wore. She had one of those lean androgynous body types. "What do you mean...?" He started to ask, but then noted how numb his hand felt. The numbness was already racing up his arm and he could feel the first fingers of it in his chest. He tried to say something but only managed a croak as the contact poison overcame him and his lungs seized up. It was a terrible way to die; all the more so since he was conscious for several minutes more. But they were moments of blackness. Tuesday, July 11th, 1995 2:38 a.m. When he came back, he found that everything was a fog. But then he realized, sitting up, that the fog was quite literal. The cries of the startled sand pipers, who'd been feeding around him were his first clue. Then he could feel the light touch of the wet mist on his face and hands, now thankfully normal. The sea startled him with a loud booming crash and the water rolled over the hard packed sand and touched his feet with an icy coldness that brought him back to focus. He was on a beach - somewhere. It was night and cold; but not so dark due to the moonlight. Looking behind him, he found his sword stuck in the sand. Next to it, were his shotgun and his pistol. He picked up the guns. Then he kicked the sword into the surf and scrubbed it with sand and salt water to make sure there was no more poison on it. Then, hefting it up, he tried to find his way through the fog. The booming ocean behind him gave him some bearing; but navigating in the fog was like walking in a maze without walls. He could see little since the bright moonlight made the fog luminesce to a point of blinding dullness that tricked the eye with rolling shapes in it's humid maze. Phantoms of light and mist appeared to his imagination, just as easily dissipating into nothingness. Feeling his pocket, he found his car keys. It just occurred to him to check his guns to see if they were even loaded - they were but he had no extra shells. It was then that he felt the Quickening. The buzzing told him that an immortal had come and he guessed who it might be. But, dancing through the fog, no one came out to fight him. The Quickening told him of the existence of his enemy - but he couldn't see jack-shit. The time had come at last. Tim stuffed the flare gun in his waist band as he moved to his left. The left seemed as good as direction to go as any since the crashing surf was less that way. He made sure to keep near the edge of the water as he shifted the shotgun in his left hand. "For a man who wanted to be a Templar Knight," Tim said, "you sure do like to stake the deck in your favor. What the matter Christophe, Lee Fong get your tongue before you murdered him?" Tim continued to walk down the beach looking around, trying to make out anything through the fog. As he walked along, he felt something behind him as a voice called out. "There is no honour in death. Defend yourself." Tim turned quickly to see Christophe standing still behind him, staring at him before very quickly raising his sword into position. Up above them the quickening swirled in an electrical storm above their heads. Timothy brought up his rapier into a defensive position as Christophe began to move in towards him. He was quick, faster than anyone Timothy had fought before. His broadsword came up in his right hand and flashed down, catching the moonlight on it's blade [ Melee + Int = 5 successes] showing off the Damascene steel blade. Timothy brought his blade up and just parried the initial blow, quickening arcing off Christophe's blade and running along the rapier. Christophe quickly reversed his stroke and hacked down into Timothy's side slapping against him, rebounding off his hip and then throwing the sword out to the side thus leaving a shallow cut in Tim's side. From out of Christophe's hand, a small object dropped to the ground at Timothy's feet. With his amazing speed, Christophe threw himself away from Timothy, following his blade before hitting the sand and tumbling away into the sea. Realising that something was very wrong, Tim glanced about with concern and then looked downward to see a small metal sphere nestled in the sand less than a foot from him. A Grenade. He threw himself away as it exploded under him, throwing him up in the air. He landed with a thud on the hard wet sand. That slimy son of a b!%*h, Tim thought to himself as rolled over in the sand. Fine if that's the game he wants to play, so be it! Tim waited for Christphe to surface. He cought sight of a figure as it came in quickly towards him, less than fifteen feet from him [1 success]. It must be Christophe moving that quickly, Timothy thought as he fired both barrels of the shotgun at the figure. Throwing himself to the side, Christophe was hit by some of the blast but managed to avoid the brunt of it. The storm continued to rage above the fighters. During a flash of lighting, Tim could see Christophe's wounds closing, the flesh knitting itself back together. He also noticed the mini-UZI in his hand as Christophe opened up with it filling the area around Tim with bullets. [ 1 success] "Oh SHIT," Tim thought to himself. As the bullets hit him,.Timothy dropped to the ground under the hail of bullets. The empty shotgun and rapier fell from his hands as he hit the sand. As he rolled over in the wet sand, his hand grasped the flare pistol in his belt. Only one chance left, he thought to himself, as he waited for Christophe to come in. Christophe let the Mini-Uzi drop from his hand and passed the Broadsword from left to his right hand as he crept in towards Timothy. Timothy waited until he could feel Christophe near him and then rolled over and fired. Christophe was surprised as the flare arced towards him. Unfortunately for Tim, he was still able to duck out of its path. Christophe attacked Tim with his broadsword slashing him deeply across the chest. "There can be only one of us," Christophe said as he raised his sword for the final stroke. And unfortunately it's going to be you, Timothy thought as the world faded to black around him.
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