Benighted Ramble: Beware the Red King
Oct. 13th, 2010 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yukieWarnings: vague descriptions of the aftermath of stabby violence and inquisition bullcrap within. Nothing harsh, but - even so. Also, creepliness.
Gavin Farrell is a Daywalker. He's nineteen and often partnered with Vicky. He has a bottomless pit of a stomach - two double Big Macs is nothing.
Douglas James Tasgall is a Black Dog shapeshifter, and the boyfriend of the vampire Caleb Rainier (whom I wrote about once ages ago but that was before I knew what he was actually like; same goes for poor Brenn, who bullshat me into writing him as a total bastard when he ain't...yeah just ignore most of my prior stuff about Caleb and Brenn XD;). He works for the Council. He and Caleb are extremely cute.
Sigismund Farkas (or Farkas Sigismund, putting it the Hungarian way) is a 15th century warlord who calmed down and eventually became the local vampire magistrate of the city (it's a smallish city) of Comity. He's like a sane Vlad, kinda.
Vicky is - Vicky.
And the other guy is nuts off his gourd.
TYPOS ABOUND I BET XD; Beware of falling Carroll references.
***
"So is it technically still graffiti if it's not written on something?"
"Do what?" Gavin asked James, arching an eyebrow.
James Spock-browed right back. "I'm asking if it's still graffiti if it's not written ON something. Because this isn't. And it's not, as far as I know, a WORD. Or words plural. Like this isn't even an unintelligible tag. It's not any lettering I know anyhow…"
"The hell?"
Vicky stepped forward to peer at what James was indicating and then inhaled sharply. The letters weren't written on the wall at all; rather they were scorched into the ugly beige paint as if someone'd held up a lighter to it. The problem was that no one could hold a lighter still for THAT long, and - well - there was a fingerprint here.
"See, it's IN the paint," said James as Gavin came over to see. "Not on. So is it still graffiti, technically, if it's in the paint and random, random gibberish?"
"Why're you asking ME?"
'I'm getting nervous waiting for Magister Sig."
"YOU'RE nervous?"
Vicky crinkled her nose and then rubbed at it. The scent of scorched paint was never pleasant. That coupled with the smell of blood -
There'd been an illegal casting circle here. A wanna-be summoning. As these things tended to, it'd gone horribly wrong. All seven ex-wizards were sprawled on the floor, dead. They'd died speedily, which was a small relief. Even if they were homicidal bastards who were more than likely intent on razing a small chunk of Comity, they didn't deserve to suffer in death.
The only emotions that lingered around them were surprise, incredulity, maybe a little dismay. Whatever they called up, it was fast and it was misanthropic.
Why it would linger to doodle on the wall, though, was beyond Vicky.
She squinted at the jumble of letters and then blinked. Wait, what?
"…Uh. James?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think this is gibberish. I mean, it really LOOKS it because the writing is so damn BAD but I think it's just backward. And it's not roman letters - this is really old formal High Text."
"Ooh," said James. "Fancy fae scrawl. Someone trying to implicate you guys in something?"
"Damn if I know." Vicky squinted at it again, tilted her head, and then rummaged in her backpack. She got out the little pocket mirror she sometimes used to check around corners and held it up, tilting it until she could see most of the text in the text in the glass.
"Cry 'havoc'," she read, "and let slip the dogs of war." A pause. "Uh. Yes, and - what?"
"It's a Shakespeare demon," Gavin said. "They lurk within those hideous, overacted tape recorded play readings. Or some shit. Sorry, that was below my average funny."
James straightened then, knocking his blond-dyed bangs out of his eyes. 'Magister."
'Ah fuck," mumbled Gavin, and tried to straighten his rumpled hoodie.
People often reacted to Sigismund as if he were a drill sergeant, and Vicky didn't blame them. He'd once been a warlord, and he gave off a distinct military sort of an air still. Vicky often found herself correcting her posture around him.
Sig inclined his head and bowed; James and Vicky bowed formally back and Gavin followed suit after checking their form. It was a knight-to-knight greeting, and Sig got the slightly lower bow because he was a senior.
"You seem perturbed," he said to Vicky. "As do you, Farrell. Dare I ask?"
Gavin pointed at the wall, then yanked his hand back and make an annoyed noise. "Sorry, sir. Uh. That - uh. That writing. it's burned into the paint of the wall and Vicky says it's old fae text written backward…"
"A Shakespeare quote for whatever reason," James added. "Julius Caesar. The cry-havoc bit."
Sig's eyes widened a fraction. He stared at the wall, looked back and Vicky, and then said, "You're very certain this is what it says?"
"Yes, sir. It's adjusted for English grammar and style rather than fae but that's pretty much it."
Sig hissed softly and then swore under his breath. "Damn," he growled. "He's not meant to be awake. What the hell is going on?"
"…Um - " Gavin raised a hand a bit. 'Sir - what - ?"
"I know the 'artist', as it were," Sig murmured. "Or I believe I do. There will be more crimes of this nature, if my suspicions are correct. if it's simply a copycat, I can't say, but the writing's familiar enough." He sighed. "Have any of you three ever heard the name Ruaidhri Cinaed?"
James twitched. "Aw fuck no."
"I take it this is a bad name, yes?" Gavin bit his lip. "Goddamn."
Vicky mrred. "it's kind of familiar to me but not - it doesn't ring any big bells."
"Ruaridh is fae," said Sig, "of the Lord's Court. He is also very much mad. I met him once before he was sentenced to sleep in the Glass Citadel - "
"They - they sent him to Caer Sidi." Vicky stared. "That's - wait, Rua-- Ruaidhri - the Red King!?"
"Oh, this is bad,"James mumbled. "very fucking bad."
"Rather," Sig said, pinching he bridge of his nose. "Whereas King Nuada's brother fled there, Ruaidhri was bound there in sleep. He should have stayed there another two hundred years or so - that was as long as it would have taken for him to heal. Which he was doing, slowly. But now these idiots, these dilettantes have ruined all that and set him free - set him loose on the populace like the fools they were. Normally I would not speak ill of the dead, but - " The rest was muttered Hungarian cursing.
"I take it this man is shit news," Gavin said, and moaned. "What the hell, why can't all wizards just be like Ric or something? Look kinda stunned, live on Cartwheel cookies, wear huge robes, sometimes accidentally summon demigods of lightning and their startled boyfriends--"
"Dare I ask?" James spluttered a bit, trying not to laugh.
"Why do you always say Ric looks stunned?" Vicky said, biting back a giggle of her own.
Sig smiled in spite of himself. Well, better to not be so gripped by fear - "He does look very startled often, Victoria."
"It's just that his eyes are so bright-coloured and he's so eyelashy that they look huge - "
"He - never mind, forget this - " Gavin shook his head. "I'm being stupid, sorry. Sir - what are we gonna do about this? Who is this guy, why is he psycho - ? I'm sorry to grill you but you're here and you know and this saves messing with books for hours --"
"I was planning on telling you either way," Sig said. "Thank you, Farrell." He took a deep (unnecessary) breath, then let it out slowly. "During the middle ages there was a rash of assaults on former inquisitors. All were done by one particular pack of vampires. They lost one of their member to those murderers, and wanted revenge that would last. So they sought out these men and turned them."
"Fuck," Gavin breathed.
"That - really isn't - " Vicky trailed off. Well, neither side was fair. And those were much different times. The Appointed were not a new group then, having been established during the First Crusade. Sometimes, though, they weren't really approved of. During the Spanish Inquisition's heyday they did a lot of fast-talking. "So- what happened from there?"
"Most of the inquisitors found a way to commit suicide without really committing suicide. Some went into hiding and endured, taking it as a test of God's giving. Some went mad. One of these found Ruaidhri - a red-haired fae nobleman who can conjure fire. I doubt he knew Ruaidhri was fae at all - he merely saw a fire-starting witch and acted according to his instinct." Sig sighed. Then, with a dark look, "He was missing for two years. The turned inquisitors were very good at going underground. Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on your outlook, the silly ass made a critical mistake."
Sig's smile was unpleasant.
"He told Ruaidhri, whom he thought to be broken and near death, that he would seek out the other members of his coven - his family - everyone dear to him. He told Ruaridh that he would do to them as he had to him. And then he attempted to burn his witch. Now, recall I said that Ruaidhri is a pyromancer - "
"FUCK," James exclaimed. "That's - oh gods damn it, how little of this ass did they find?"
"A few bones," Sig said. "The house was simply gone. The iron implements were warped - it was not a soothing sight. Ruaidhri was at the epicentre of the explosion, of course. He was unconscious, but as soon as he revived - "
"He went batshit fucking crazy," Gavin guessed.
"Yes," Sig said. "That would be about the size of it. He vanished from the Day Court's healers' chambers and we saw nothing of him for two hundred years, and then THIS sort of thing began."
"What landed him in Caer Sidi?" Vicky asked?
"Many, many crimes like this," Sig replied. "He was quite the efficient killer. He wasn't kind about it either - he usually sought to drive the offenders mad before killing them. While all his targets were targets of our Circle and the Appointed, he - was someone who had the potential to upset the balance entirely. …Of course, the quotes he used then were…" A pause. "No, come to think of it, he always did like Shakespeare. Marlowe as well. Pope. Chaucer. He was very well-read. Why he wanted to be so sure we knew it was him is beyond me. Perhaps he wanted to be apprehended. Either way, he was sent to Caer Sidi and bound to sleep, that he might heal. None can wake him but the Four Monarchs…we thought. I suppose Ruaidhri may well be summonable, he's more than strong enough to count as a minor demi-god."
"You'd need his name, though," James said. "Right?"
"He's mentioned in a few annals," Sig sighed. "He was VERY prolific."
"So - he was sleeping something like - almost four hundred years until now," said Vicky. "And it was supposed to be two hundred more. So he'd be slightly healed…but. Um. Not enough, obviously."
"I fear that the incomplete healing might have only made him more dangerous," Sig said. "When he was in the depths of his madness, he had spates of melancholia. His logic was compromised. He kept his intellect, believe you me, but…it was filtered though the lens of a fevered mind injured by torture and confinement. When Ruaidhri was apprehended he was a mass murderer prone to fits of alternating mania and melancholy. Now…"
Sig was silent a while.
"Now, I fear we may not have the small blessing of his melancholia to rely upon. We will be dealing with his madness coupled now with lucidity. He is not fully healed, but - he is healed enough to handle himself much more ably than he did before."
"Nous sommes fucked," James mumbled.
'not yet," said Sig. "Try to keep a clear head about this. I don't demand optimism but we cannot afford to give up the search before it's begun. We have the means at our disposal." he beckoned. "Follow me. We'll report this to your Guide and then to the Council. Farrell, Victoria, I will need you both."
Gavin saluted then looked sheepish. "Sorry. yeah. Done. I'll go."
Vicky nodded as well. "I - have the Sweepers come with the barrier tape and things?"
"They have; we can leave now."
"Oh thank the Lady and Lord both," Vicky said. She started to follow Sig, James and Gavin, but paused a moment to - what? She wasn't sure what held her back a step, but it was that pause that made it possible for her to hear the faint impact of something falling to the floor behind her.
Vicky turned to see what it was, fearing it was - well, something more gruesome that just a paper plane. This had been a school gym one; there were a lot of planes embedded in the ceiling.
Vicky picked it up automatically; it might prove to be useful somehow, one never knew.
She started to place it carefully in her backpack, then stopped and yelped.
There was something written on a wing of the plane.
Backward.
High script.
Nymph, in thy orisons
be all my sins remembered.
Vicky didn't even have the composure to freeze. She bolted, tearing out of the building. "SIGISMUND, WAIT!"
"Victoria?"
Vicky skidded to a halt on the wet pavement. "He - gah - that person - Ruaidhri - he's still IN there - "
'WHAT." Sig's bellow rang off the brick walls of the surrounding buildings. He was back in the gym immediately, and he began to prowl about. His surname was apt - the man was very, very lupine. "How the devil did I not see - where is he now? Where did this fall Victoria, did you sense anything of him?"
"No," said Vicky, "But - this place is so old. The steel's got too much iron in. I can't feel anyone after a certain - there. You're outside my range right there because of the damn lousy old steel this place is made of."
Sig, twelve feet from Vicky, grimaced. "Then if he were prancing about up in the bloody ceiling supports you wouldn't have felt his presence. …it's not your fault," he added. "He didn't - stay before…at any rate, he's gone now. He wouldn't be able to stay in here for long. He doesn't like having his senses dulled; as a result of his experiences he is rather hyper-vigilant..."
Vicky noticed that she'd squashed the plane and winced. She crossed the floor to Sig and handed it to him. "He dropped this. I thought it was just one of the ones up in the ceiling - "
"Why schoolboys feel the need to fly paper planes into the rafters I will never know," Sig said.
Gavin, who'd picked his way back in around the newly-erected Sweepers' barrier, approached Vicky and then hugged her very gently from behind when he was sure she wouldn't take it badly. "it's like a rite of passage thing, I guess," he said. "Or we just get bored too easily…"
James hung back at the door, pacing a bit. Being a Black Dog he was sensitive to death energies, and he'd probably worn out all this composure hanging around staring at the wall. Not his fault - it wasn't every day one saw backward fae graffiti a la Shakspeare.
Sig gestured a we're-coming to him. "Well. First the Appointed, then our Council, then I am providing you all with coffee. This turned into a very poor night and I feel I ought to make it less horrid, if possible."
"Thank you," said Vicky quietly.
"You mean the frightening spoon-dissolving Turkish kind?" Gavin started toward the door, steering Vicky in a half-playful half-worried manner.
"it's not that strong, Gav," she said.
'You put cream in it, you cheater, don't tell me it's not strong…"
***
Ruaidhri lingered a bit until the two of the Appointed and two of the Council were gone.
Still -
- There was hesitation. Time wasted, more lives potentially lost, yet more potentially destroyed.
Why did they still insist on complicating matters so?
He sighed, stood up, stretched, rolled his shoulders. He was rusty - he'd strained a muscle attacking those imbeciles…
The Appointed Knights were so young, really. Well. The boy was. The girl was like him; she might have been much older than she seemed.
She was a witty one. He rather liked her.
Perhaps the plane had been a bit much.
Ruaidhri wandered a small circle on the roof, out of sight of the Sweepers and police officers.
He decided after a fashion that it hadn't been too much and that there was a good deal of fun to potentially be had at this.
There was no harm in liking one's job, was there? And it -was- his job, as a Knight. The Appointed and the Council had proven themselves unable to uphold justice to any extent, try as they might. They got caught up in semantics and circular discussion and pointless gentleness.
The only thing some bastards understood were the tip of a blade and the expenditure of mana.
Fortunately Ruaidhri was very apt at getting the point (…what a horrid pun, he thought, rolling his eyes) across either way.
He leapt easily to the next roof over, soft-soled boots making little sound on the gravel.
None below noticed his departure. Well, that just proved his hypothesis, didn't it?
***
Rua, you are BATSHIT--ahem.
Yay for creepy fae!
Woo XD; the paper plane part actually scared me. Lol.
Gavin Farrell is a Daywalker. He's nineteen and often partnered with Vicky. He has a bottomless pit of a stomach - two double Big Macs is nothing.
Douglas James Tasgall is a Black Dog shapeshifter, and the boyfriend of the vampire Caleb Rainier (whom I wrote about once ages ago but that was before I knew what he was actually like; same goes for poor Brenn, who bullshat me into writing him as a total bastard when he ain't...yeah just ignore most of my prior stuff about Caleb and Brenn XD;). He works for the Council. He and Caleb are extremely cute.
Sigismund Farkas (or Farkas Sigismund, putting it the Hungarian way) is a 15th century warlord who calmed down and eventually became the local vampire magistrate of the city (it's a smallish city) of Comity. He's like a sane Vlad, kinda.
Vicky is - Vicky.
And the other guy is nuts off his gourd.
TYPOS ABOUND I BET XD; Beware of falling Carroll references.
***
"So is it technically still graffiti if it's not written on something?"
"Do what?" Gavin asked James, arching an eyebrow.
James Spock-browed right back. "I'm asking if it's still graffiti if it's not written ON something. Because this isn't. And it's not, as far as I know, a WORD. Or words plural. Like this isn't even an unintelligible tag. It's not any lettering I know anyhow…"
"The hell?"
Vicky stepped forward to peer at what James was indicating and then inhaled sharply. The letters weren't written on the wall at all; rather they were scorched into the ugly beige paint as if someone'd held up a lighter to it. The problem was that no one could hold a lighter still for THAT long, and - well - there was a fingerprint here.
"See, it's IN the paint," said James as Gavin came over to see. "Not on. So is it still graffiti, technically, if it's in the paint and random, random gibberish?"
"Why're you asking ME?"
'I'm getting nervous waiting for Magister Sig."
"YOU'RE nervous?"
Vicky crinkled her nose and then rubbed at it. The scent of scorched paint was never pleasant. That coupled with the smell of blood -
There'd been an illegal casting circle here. A wanna-be summoning. As these things tended to, it'd gone horribly wrong. All seven ex-wizards were sprawled on the floor, dead. They'd died speedily, which was a small relief. Even if they were homicidal bastards who were more than likely intent on razing a small chunk of Comity, they didn't deserve to suffer in death.
The only emotions that lingered around them were surprise, incredulity, maybe a little dismay. Whatever they called up, it was fast and it was misanthropic.
Why it would linger to doodle on the wall, though, was beyond Vicky.
She squinted at the jumble of letters and then blinked. Wait, what?
"…Uh. James?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think this is gibberish. I mean, it really LOOKS it because the writing is so damn BAD but I think it's just backward. And it's not roman letters - this is really old formal High Text."
"Ooh," said James. "Fancy fae scrawl. Someone trying to implicate you guys in something?"
"Damn if I know." Vicky squinted at it again, tilted her head, and then rummaged in her backpack. She got out the little pocket mirror she sometimes used to check around corners and held it up, tilting it until she could see most of the text in the text in the glass.
"Cry 'havoc'," she read, "and let slip the dogs of war." A pause. "Uh. Yes, and - what?"
"It's a Shakespeare demon," Gavin said. "They lurk within those hideous, overacted tape recorded play readings. Or some shit. Sorry, that was below my average funny."
James straightened then, knocking his blond-dyed bangs out of his eyes. 'Magister."
'Ah fuck," mumbled Gavin, and tried to straighten his rumpled hoodie.
People often reacted to Sigismund as if he were a drill sergeant, and Vicky didn't blame them. He'd once been a warlord, and he gave off a distinct military sort of an air still. Vicky often found herself correcting her posture around him.
Sig inclined his head and bowed; James and Vicky bowed formally back and Gavin followed suit after checking their form. It was a knight-to-knight greeting, and Sig got the slightly lower bow because he was a senior.
"You seem perturbed," he said to Vicky. "As do you, Farrell. Dare I ask?"
Gavin pointed at the wall, then yanked his hand back and make an annoyed noise. "Sorry, sir. Uh. That - uh. That writing. it's burned into the paint of the wall and Vicky says it's old fae text written backward…"
"A Shakespeare quote for whatever reason," James added. "Julius Caesar. The cry-havoc bit."
Sig's eyes widened a fraction. He stared at the wall, looked back and Vicky, and then said, "You're very certain this is what it says?"
"Yes, sir. It's adjusted for English grammar and style rather than fae but that's pretty much it."
Sig hissed softly and then swore under his breath. "Damn," he growled. "He's not meant to be awake. What the hell is going on?"
"…Um - " Gavin raised a hand a bit. 'Sir - what - ?"
"I know the 'artist', as it were," Sig murmured. "Or I believe I do. There will be more crimes of this nature, if my suspicions are correct. if it's simply a copycat, I can't say, but the writing's familiar enough." He sighed. "Have any of you three ever heard the name Ruaidhri Cinaed?"
James twitched. "Aw fuck no."
"I take it this is a bad name, yes?" Gavin bit his lip. "Goddamn."
Vicky mrred. "it's kind of familiar to me but not - it doesn't ring any big bells."
"Ruaridh is fae," said Sig, "of the Lord's Court. He is also very much mad. I met him once before he was sentenced to sleep in the Glass Citadel - "
"They - they sent him to Caer Sidi." Vicky stared. "That's - wait, Rua-- Ruaidhri - the Red King!?"
"Oh, this is bad,"James mumbled. "very fucking bad."
"Rather," Sig said, pinching he bridge of his nose. "Whereas King Nuada's brother fled there, Ruaidhri was bound there in sleep. He should have stayed there another two hundred years or so - that was as long as it would have taken for him to heal. Which he was doing, slowly. But now these idiots, these dilettantes have ruined all that and set him free - set him loose on the populace like the fools they were. Normally I would not speak ill of the dead, but - " The rest was muttered Hungarian cursing.
"I take it this man is shit news," Gavin said, and moaned. "What the hell, why can't all wizards just be like Ric or something? Look kinda stunned, live on Cartwheel cookies, wear huge robes, sometimes accidentally summon demigods of lightning and their startled boyfriends--"
"Dare I ask?" James spluttered a bit, trying not to laugh.
"Why do you always say Ric looks stunned?" Vicky said, biting back a giggle of her own.
Sig smiled in spite of himself. Well, better to not be so gripped by fear - "He does look very startled often, Victoria."
"It's just that his eyes are so bright-coloured and he's so eyelashy that they look huge - "
"He - never mind, forget this - " Gavin shook his head. "I'm being stupid, sorry. Sir - what are we gonna do about this? Who is this guy, why is he psycho - ? I'm sorry to grill you but you're here and you know and this saves messing with books for hours --"
"I was planning on telling you either way," Sig said. "Thank you, Farrell." He took a deep (unnecessary) breath, then let it out slowly. "During the middle ages there was a rash of assaults on former inquisitors. All were done by one particular pack of vampires. They lost one of their member to those murderers, and wanted revenge that would last. So they sought out these men and turned them."
"Fuck," Gavin breathed.
"That - really isn't - " Vicky trailed off. Well, neither side was fair. And those were much different times. The Appointed were not a new group then, having been established during the First Crusade. Sometimes, though, they weren't really approved of. During the Spanish Inquisition's heyday they did a lot of fast-talking. "So- what happened from there?"
"Most of the inquisitors found a way to commit suicide without really committing suicide. Some went into hiding and endured, taking it as a test of God's giving. Some went mad. One of these found Ruaidhri - a red-haired fae nobleman who can conjure fire. I doubt he knew Ruaidhri was fae at all - he merely saw a fire-starting witch and acted according to his instinct." Sig sighed. Then, with a dark look, "He was missing for two years. The turned inquisitors were very good at going underground. Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on your outlook, the silly ass made a critical mistake."
Sig's smile was unpleasant.
"He told Ruaidhri, whom he thought to be broken and near death, that he would seek out the other members of his coven - his family - everyone dear to him. He told Ruaridh that he would do to them as he had to him. And then he attempted to burn his witch. Now, recall I said that Ruaidhri is a pyromancer - "
"FUCK," James exclaimed. "That's - oh gods damn it, how little of this ass did they find?"
"A few bones," Sig said. "The house was simply gone. The iron implements were warped - it was not a soothing sight. Ruaidhri was at the epicentre of the explosion, of course. He was unconscious, but as soon as he revived - "
"He went batshit fucking crazy," Gavin guessed.
"Yes," Sig said. "That would be about the size of it. He vanished from the Day Court's healers' chambers and we saw nothing of him for two hundred years, and then THIS sort of thing began."
"What landed him in Caer Sidi?" Vicky asked?
"Many, many crimes like this," Sig replied. "He was quite the efficient killer. He wasn't kind about it either - he usually sought to drive the offenders mad before killing them. While all his targets were targets of our Circle and the Appointed, he - was someone who had the potential to upset the balance entirely. …Of course, the quotes he used then were…" A pause. "No, come to think of it, he always did like Shakespeare. Marlowe as well. Pope. Chaucer. He was very well-read. Why he wanted to be so sure we knew it was him is beyond me. Perhaps he wanted to be apprehended. Either way, he was sent to Caer Sidi and bound to sleep, that he might heal. None can wake him but the Four Monarchs…we thought. I suppose Ruaidhri may well be summonable, he's more than strong enough to count as a minor demi-god."
"You'd need his name, though," James said. "Right?"
"He's mentioned in a few annals," Sig sighed. "He was VERY prolific."
"So - he was sleeping something like - almost four hundred years until now," said Vicky. "And it was supposed to be two hundred more. So he'd be slightly healed…but. Um. Not enough, obviously."
"I fear that the incomplete healing might have only made him more dangerous," Sig said. "When he was in the depths of his madness, he had spates of melancholia. His logic was compromised. He kept his intellect, believe you me, but…it was filtered though the lens of a fevered mind injured by torture and confinement. When Ruaidhri was apprehended he was a mass murderer prone to fits of alternating mania and melancholy. Now…"
Sig was silent a while.
"Now, I fear we may not have the small blessing of his melancholia to rely upon. We will be dealing with his madness coupled now with lucidity. He is not fully healed, but - he is healed enough to handle himself much more ably than he did before."
"Nous sommes fucked," James mumbled.
'not yet," said Sig. "Try to keep a clear head about this. I don't demand optimism but we cannot afford to give up the search before it's begun. We have the means at our disposal." he beckoned. "Follow me. We'll report this to your Guide and then to the Council. Farrell, Victoria, I will need you both."
Gavin saluted then looked sheepish. "Sorry. yeah. Done. I'll go."
Vicky nodded as well. "I - have the Sweepers come with the barrier tape and things?"
"They have; we can leave now."
"Oh thank the Lady and Lord both," Vicky said. She started to follow Sig, James and Gavin, but paused a moment to - what? She wasn't sure what held her back a step, but it was that pause that made it possible for her to hear the faint impact of something falling to the floor behind her.
Vicky turned to see what it was, fearing it was - well, something more gruesome that just a paper plane. This had been a school gym one; there were a lot of planes embedded in the ceiling.
Vicky picked it up automatically; it might prove to be useful somehow, one never knew.
She started to place it carefully in her backpack, then stopped and yelped.
There was something written on a wing of the plane.
Backward.
High script.
Nymph, in thy orisons
be all my sins remembered.
Vicky didn't even have the composure to freeze. She bolted, tearing out of the building. "SIGISMUND, WAIT!"
"Victoria?"
Vicky skidded to a halt on the wet pavement. "He - gah - that person - Ruaidhri - he's still IN there - "
'WHAT." Sig's bellow rang off the brick walls of the surrounding buildings. He was back in the gym immediately, and he began to prowl about. His surname was apt - the man was very, very lupine. "How the devil did I not see - where is he now? Where did this fall Victoria, did you sense anything of him?"
"No," said Vicky, "But - this place is so old. The steel's got too much iron in. I can't feel anyone after a certain - there. You're outside my range right there because of the damn lousy old steel this place is made of."
Sig, twelve feet from Vicky, grimaced. "Then if he were prancing about up in the bloody ceiling supports you wouldn't have felt his presence. …it's not your fault," he added. "He didn't - stay before…at any rate, he's gone now. He wouldn't be able to stay in here for long. He doesn't like having his senses dulled; as a result of his experiences he is rather hyper-vigilant..."
Vicky noticed that she'd squashed the plane and winced. She crossed the floor to Sig and handed it to him. "He dropped this. I thought it was just one of the ones up in the ceiling - "
"Why schoolboys feel the need to fly paper planes into the rafters I will never know," Sig said.
Gavin, who'd picked his way back in around the newly-erected Sweepers' barrier, approached Vicky and then hugged her very gently from behind when he was sure she wouldn't take it badly. "it's like a rite of passage thing, I guess," he said. "Or we just get bored too easily…"
James hung back at the door, pacing a bit. Being a Black Dog he was sensitive to death energies, and he'd probably worn out all this composure hanging around staring at the wall. Not his fault - it wasn't every day one saw backward fae graffiti a la Shakspeare.
Sig gestured a we're-coming to him. "Well. First the Appointed, then our Council, then I am providing you all with coffee. This turned into a very poor night and I feel I ought to make it less horrid, if possible."
"Thank you," said Vicky quietly.
"You mean the frightening spoon-dissolving Turkish kind?" Gavin started toward the door, steering Vicky in a half-playful half-worried manner.
"it's not that strong, Gav," she said.
'You put cream in it, you cheater, don't tell me it's not strong…"
***
Ruaidhri lingered a bit until the two of the Appointed and two of the Council were gone.
Still -
- There was hesitation. Time wasted, more lives potentially lost, yet more potentially destroyed.
Why did they still insist on complicating matters so?
He sighed, stood up, stretched, rolled his shoulders. He was rusty - he'd strained a muscle attacking those imbeciles…
The Appointed Knights were so young, really. Well. The boy was. The girl was like him; she might have been much older than she seemed.
She was a witty one. He rather liked her.
Perhaps the plane had been a bit much.
Ruaidhri wandered a small circle on the roof, out of sight of the Sweepers and police officers.
He decided after a fashion that it hadn't been too much and that there was a good deal of fun to potentially be had at this.
There was no harm in liking one's job, was there? And it -was- his job, as a Knight. The Appointed and the Council had proven themselves unable to uphold justice to any extent, try as they might. They got caught up in semantics and circular discussion and pointless gentleness.
The only thing some bastards understood were the tip of a blade and the expenditure of mana.
Fortunately Ruaidhri was very apt at getting the point (…what a horrid pun, he thought, rolling his eyes) across either way.
He leapt easily to the next roof over, soft-soled boots making little sound on the gravel.
None below noticed his departure. Well, that just proved his hypothesis, didn't it?
***
Rua, you are BATSHIT--ahem.
Yay for creepy fae!
Woo XD; the paper plane part actually scared me. Lol.
