Ricky held the door open for Marta and entered the bar after her. There wasn't only a lone female patron in the bar and the bartender Miguel. Since he took Marta in, Ricky spent less time behind the bar and handled more of the business end of things. Ricky smiled at him and led Marta to the bar.

"Miguel, could you get this little girl a cola."


Miguel smiled andcomplied. Marta took the offered glass and took a sip. "Can I sit over there"


Ricky nodded, and Marta headed over to.the table. Enirique frowned. He had hoped that today would change things a bit, but he had to keep working on building her trust. Regardless, something had happened today. He had taken her to a zoo and despite not smiling, he had seen her eyes light up at seeing the animals. She even had a slight smile when they saw the baby pandas. It was slow going, but today gave him the encoiragemt he needed.

"How's that going?" Miquel said.

"Rough, but I think I'm making progress."
he looked over at Marta. She was sitting at a table by herself dirnking her coca cola. "Did you get it."


Miguel smiled and pulled out a small stuffed panda. Seeing the smile gave him an idea. Ricky paid the man back and headed over to the table. "Marta, I have a gift you.


She looked up and Ricky handed her the toy. The brief smile didn't retuen, but her eyes lit up momentarily. It was only a moment. Marta took the bear and put it on the table and turned back to her coke.

Ricky headed back to the bar. "It will happen man. If anyone can help her, you can."

Ricky smiled and then turned to face the female patron. "Can I help you with anything."
He kept his eye on Marta , however. Despite the struggles he was dealing with, the little girl had changed him for the better. He knew that deep don she was sweet and couldn't wait to see it.

Within the corner office of a corporate building in downtown Dallas sat a campaign team around a board room table. Equal numbers men and women were present, and all were clean-cut, modest and professional. Pilar, a middle-aged lawyer with chestnut brown hair and lovely Texan tan, was seated to the right of the remaining empty chair. Her counterpart on the other side was a Cory, a 30-something year old campaign manager who earned a name for himself getting a republican governor in the state of California, a state that historically swung bluer than the Pacific Ocean. The remaining members of the team consisted of representatives from big business, including the now defunct Texas Oil, marketing specialists, and constitutional experts.

The door opened and both Pilar and Cory were first to greet the woman that entered. She was a beautiful women, but the severity of her expression gave her otherwise big and bouncy femininity a harsher edge. Her smile did not break that hard facade, but it did warm the room slightly. As well it should, a had cold-spell gripped Dallas lately.

She placed a thumb chip on the table and immediately brought up a screen from which they could all view.

Her voice was pleasant and patient, long Texan drawl quite noticeable to those without the natural accent: such as Cory. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, drinking in the sight of the beautiful Jessika. "As you know, the leading issue on my platform for the Governor's race is the Texas sucession from the United States."
A few nods here and there followed.

"I've read this first draft and well--"
she crossed her arms, "I think a pair of illiterate illegals could have constructed something better."
Her smile tightened like the corners of her mouth might crack, but the porcelain glass of her face did not fracture.

She swiped a hand through the projection, like claws down a chalkboard, and it disappeared from sight. "Do it again, and this time, I want to see a draft devoted to succession, not flirting around with her like a whore on Market street."
She clapped twice and the room bounced into action, most everyone filed out to return to their desks.

Jessika planted her hands on her hips and turned disappointed toward Pilar, "You let me waste my time reading that nonsense? I expected better from you."


The lawyer stood, unafraid of meeting the smaller, although no less frail, Texan that otherwise dominated the room. "Apologies, Jessika. These writers need clear instructions. I think nobody really expects you'll go through with it when elected. They wanted to give a loophole, in case it was necessary."


Jessika's eyes widened, "I don't back down on my word, Pilar. Make sure it's done right this time. I won't waste another 600 pages of reading again."
Pilar nodded and Jessika turned to see a sight for sore eyes. Cory was about the only one that understood her. As though he read her mind, he pat her on the shoulder and lead her toward the window where he offered her an iced tea - sweet as his baby blue eyes. "Either way, it's good practice. When it comes time for the governor's debate, you have to know your own work better than anyone, and trust me, the incumbent's team will have a dozen people ripping your proposal apart, yet only you will be there to defend it."


Jessika was soothed by the tea and Cory's calm presence. She toyed with the collar of Cory's sunshine yellow shirt. "Thank you, sweetie. I don't know what I would do without you."
They held one another's eyes for a moment, until the voice of an assistant interrupted. Jessika looked over.

"A message for you, ma'am. It's from Mexico City."


Jessika glanced at Cory, taken aback. "Who in Mexico City wants to talk to me?"

((This thread is to mark Ricky's journey in attempting to gain Marta's trust and help her heal. This will be an ongoing thread that I post in containing mostly their interactions. If you would like to participate, please PM me first.))

Continued from Heart of Sin

Marta sat in the corner of the room on the floor. She was able to see the closed door clearly. The man Ricky had taken her here - said he adopted her. Did that mean he bought her and she was now his property? That's what El Diablo had said. He owned her and leased her out to people...whatever leased meant.

The man Ricky had been nothing but kind to her, but she didn't trust him. He was a man and she was a girl and men hurt girls. That's what they did. The kinder ones were worse. They made you think you safe and then they hurt you. it was always more than physical. It always hurt on the inside. She could feel the pain in her heart and stomach and it gnawed for days with the feelings of betrayal.

Among his kindnesses was this room. Ricky said it was her room - her own space. He had bought her a bed, a dresser, and a chair. There was a closet that had some clothes hanging in it and a pretty dress that he had bought her hung on the door. The dresser had clothes in it as well. He bought her toys too. She didn't understand why it was taking so long for him to hurt her. Maybe he liked making her terrified.

Sometimes Marta would start to shake and feel sick. It was then that she got angry and sad. Ricky took her to a doctor. The doctor always smiled and asked her how she was feeling. She wondered what the two were plotting. They said big words like "heroin" and "withdrawals" and looked at Marta sadly. Then the doctor would give her a shot and she’d feel better. They had gone several times and Marta had noticed there was less liquid in the needle than when she started. She heard them talk about “weaning” and didn’t know what it meant.

She hugged her knees to her chest trying to hide in the corner and buried her face in her knees. He had never tried to hurt her, but Marta knew it was coming. Most of the time, she stayed in her room, avoiding those kind eyes and bright smile. The longer the kindness lasted, the worse it hurt. it was then Marta began to realize that Ricky wasn't a man. He was a monster. The pain would be really bad this time.

She huddled in the corner in fear and felt the stinging tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by the thoughts. Ricky confused her. She didn’t know why he was being so nice and lying about it. He was mean too - she knew it. Mommy and Rafael were gone too, and it was her fault. If she hadn’t been born, none of this would have happened.

Marta tried to hold the tears back and kept the whimpering low. Some men got mad when she cried and said it"turned them off." She didn't know what they meant by that. Others smiled at her pain and enjoyed it. She wondered what kind Ricky was. Maybe if she made him mad, he would let her go away and then she would really be safe.

There was a knock at the door and Marta jumped. She didn't think she would ever get used to that. At the brothel they never knocked. Marta wiped the tears as the door cracked open. Ricky never looked in either - it was strange. “Marta, it’s time for dinner.” He always let her eat with him too.

She stood and walked slowly and carefully to the door. Ricky was waiting outside and she didn’t meet his gaze. You never looked unless they said it was okay to. “Sir, may I use the bathroom please.”


“Of course, honey. You don’t need to ask to do that anymore okay?”


Marta didn’t answer as she went to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She wanted to cry again. He said things like that a lot. That she didn’t have to ask to get dressed or go to the bathroom He said she didn’t have to wait on him all the time. She knew it was a trick. He was doing this so he could hit her. She saw through his lies and wouldn’t fall into his trap. She took this time to wash her face before sitting down at the table to eat.

Ricky asked her questions, but she didn’t hear or answer. She quietly ate and planned. She wanted Ricky to hurt her because it would hurt less the sooner he did it. Maybe if she made him mad enough, he would get rid of her. Of course, maybe she could escape. That’s it. She would run away. If she got away she would be safe and if he caught her again, he could start making him mad.

Edited by Enrique, Dec 31 2014, 11:27 AM.

There were always risks to working the street when trying to dig up information. Surveillance in the heart of DI was a hard thing to manage without being noticed. Cameras, security systems, high paid guards. And that was just the commercial sector. There was always the risk of running foul of a government-paid sort. A cop that actually gave two flying fucks and had a half decent eye for detail was a headache he rarely had any interest in dealing with. Luckily for him, Hood was very good at his job. His old job.

METZAVED Solutions held an office in one of the city's less prestigious high-rises. Still a sign of a very succesful company that there head offices were in Moscow, let alone only a few miles from the Red Square. To one of those 'careful eyes,' there was no way someone like Hood fit in with the local foot traffic. Tall, well built, and far too still. Everything about the man denied the likelihood of him being a computer programmer or common businessman.

Luckily, he did look like, and did work as, a security specialist and had the cards, equipment, and trade lingo to pull it off. After nearly a week of observation and espionage, Hood had gathered the information he needed. Persons of interests, financial and familial connections. Hell, he even knew what schools the Board of Investors had attended and what clubs they had been in...which, oddly, had proven the hardest part. Sad that a prestigious university had been harder to crack then a world-class programming company.

With the information gathered, it was just a matter of sorting through it for the next piece of the puzzle. He knew that someone was watching for whomever was poking around. The timely death of Mr Volodya Fyodorov, of Krasnyy Medved Security Solutions, the night he had given Hood the information that had led him to METZAVED, was ample sign that they were watching for nosy folks, but were probably expecting a reporter. How aggravated where they that no reporter had wormed out of the dirt yet?

As he often did when not working, Hood traveled by foot or metro. Considering the time of year, and the distance from METZAVED Solutions back to the safe-house, the metro was in order. He was one of few who enjoyed a small pocket of space on the otherwise crowded subway cars, and equally one of the few that had n real worry of pickpockets. In fact, he always hoped one would try their luck...but they never did.

The ride from the city center to his stop took the better part of an hour, and the train was steadily less crowded at each stop. It was still early in the day, such that most folks were headed the other way. The only ones that lingered were the homeless or the troublemakers. Of which there was no shortage in the Zamoskvorechye district.

There was a Kofe Khauz, a chain of 24 hour coffee joints popular mostly among the young crowd and night owls, located across from the Zamoskvorechye metro station, and Hood made his way towards it. Stopping for a cup of coffee would give him a chance to watch the metro station for any signs of pursuit; the next train was due twenty minutes after the one he had just left. Plenty of time to warm up and have a cup of coffee.

As he crossed the street, calmly waving traffic to a stop to allow his passage, he eyed a crew of shit-brained gopniks squatting at the mouth of an alley and being their usual public-nuisance selves. They were a pitiful Russian subculture that had somehow, and for the life of him he had no idea how, survived the many decades since their inception. Something to do with the fall of Soviets, as he understood it.

The group were up to their usual antics; loud 'music', bottles of cheap booze (probably homemade swill in recycled bottles) in hand, their ridiculous cheap brand-name sports attire. The alcohol and a dose of drugs was probably all that kept them from really noticing the winter chill, but who was he to tell them of the dangers of frostbite? Let them lose an ear or two.

They were the sort of people that Hood wanted to punch on sight. It was surely a sign of how well-adjusted he was to living among 'normal' people that he didn't go ahead and do it whenever the mood struck. He needed provocation first. It also made things easier with the law if anyone actually wanted to press charges. Self defense and all that.

So Hood had fully intended to ignore the gaggle of drunken idiots if it weren't for their own antics getting themselves onto his radar. It was a pretty cliche'd scene really. Really, the sudden convergence was almost enough for him to believe in a higher entity on high. One that must surely enjoy watching Hood punch things.

He was half way across the street when one of the idiot gopniks smashed an empty bottle of vodka on the sidewalk, spraying glass on baby carriage being pushed through the slush choked sidewalk, a woman and her baby on their way to the metro station to go into the big city. Another pair of tracksuit wearing idiots casually slashed an old man's grocery bag with a box cutter, and the group were laughing like the drunken idiots they were as they kicked the cans that fell out of the man's bags.

They weren't all that far out of his path, and he wasn't actually all that interested in a cup of coffee. Of course, he shouldn't have been drawing attention to himself, but how often was it that the universe handed him so ideal a punching bag?

The woman with the carriage hurried past, wanting nothing to do with the troublemakers, but the old man was someone Hood recognized from his neighborhood. Not the sort that could afford letting even just a few beaten up cans of food go to avoid a run in with a pack of gopnik thugs. The man was cursing the group out in Russian, which only earned him more laughs from the post-CCD generation punks.

Hood tugged his gloves on a touch tighter, flexing his fists a few times to make sure they had a good fit, then snatched one of the cans out of the air as a blond dye-job'd spiky-haired twit pitched it, likely meaning to hit the baby carriage. He bounced the can in his hand once, meeting eyes with the idiot that had thrown it, and just as the punk opened his gap-toothed mouth to curse Hood out for interfering in his fun, Hood whipped the can towards the idiot, catching him in the teeth.

The group, seven guys and two women, all froze in a brief moment of shock as one of their numbers was sent crumbling to the snow-crusted sidewalk, spitting blood and broken teeth. The old man didn't flinch though, simply snatching one of his cans from one of the momentarily frozen gopniks and quickly stepping out of the way. Or as quickly as man of his age could.

So something just struck me this morning as I perused books for a tabletop RPG my brother has. I seem to recall we had a master thief or two around. And there's magic in the world and stuffs. And it's all old and heralds back to past ages.

So shouldn't there be some interesting thingies that may be legit magical (Angreal, Ter'Angreal, stuff like that) that may be sitting in museums or in folks private collections all around the world? I mean, maybe Stonehenge is a massive Ter'Angreal of some sort (Portal Stones perhaps?). Maybe the heads of Easter Island are all stone-age replicas of a single one that's far older and still buried somewhere on the island? Or elsewhere, perhaps.

I've not had much coffee yet, so perhaps this is a thing that has already been discussed, but eh...figured I'd toss it up here now before I forget.

I'm sure I'll be around reading tomorrow but in case I'm not. I'd like to wish ya'll a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays etc to everyone.

Wishing you the best in the up coming year, and looking forward to even more great stories come the New Year!

I'm sure I'll be around reading tomorrow but in case I'm not. I'd like to wish ya'll a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays etc to everyone.

Wishing you the best in the up coming year, and looking forward to even more great stories come the New Year!

Aurora had met Aria briefly. She'd met her outside of her apartment with Nox at her side. She was pretty, but Aurora was more impressed that the girl wore a sword, and a gun, and from what Nox had told her was far more deadly, he wouldn't mess with her. But then again, the two of them had had a very long conversation and now they seemed to be best friends. They shared things with a glance. Aurora wasn't sure she liked that. It was what her and her brother used to do. But she had to admit, since he'd met Aria he was less volatile and far more cooperative. Aurora wondered why that was, but it really didn't matter.

But Aria had shown her to the Atharim headquarters, the library inside was wondrous. Aurora had wandered around for a few minutes while Aria was off doing something else, but now she was here alone.

Aurora wandered the aisle thumbing the books on the shelves, sitting at the computer scrolling through the data available. Aurora had been told that another friend, someone to which Aria trusted with her secret, and Aria's secret was nearly as deadly as her own. A godling in the Atharim, apparently that was not new, though Aria said she'd not tell anyone's secrets.

Tehya was of Native American descent from Aria's description and she was hoping to meet her today. Aria said she'd be in. So today Aurora wandered the library with dual purposes, to meet kindred souls and to browse an awesome library of treasures. Aria also said that the library in Vatican City was twice the size and even far more grand. She'd love to see it. Maybe someday. She still had to decide if she wanted to join an organization officially that hunted her kind. She wasn't quite so sure as Nox was. But he was here to stay, so she would stay for now.

The car shifted and Enzo swayed accidentally into lady standing next to him. She lifted a brow and glared, and Enzo nodded apologetically. The underground was full today, so there wasn't much room to stand apart. Her perfume reminded him of Mireille's.

With a sigh, Enzo stuck a hand in one coat pocket and retrieved the crumpled card given to him by M. White. In this day and age, business cards of this kind were obsolete. That the store still used them bespoke to an era gone past. A web search said the store was around since the mid 1990's, which meant it was a product of the fall of the USSR.

'They say we will all soon be Soviets....',
he heard his mother sneer from the recesses of memory. Enzo had been one of the many accepting of the CCD's offer all those years ago. His mother had begrudgingly agreed, but she never liked it. Her grandparents remembered fighting the Russians in the Great Wars. How times changed.

The car rolled to a stop and many individuals filed off. Thankfully, the woman with the perfume was not one of them. "Bonne journée,"
he bid her farewell and left her behind.

Under the grand chandeliers of the metro station, he felt a tug on one sleeve. A graying man in a long trench coat stopped him. He spoke with a french accent. "You're in the Central Kremlin District of the Central Dominance. You could get a ticket, or worse, for that."


Enzo blinked. "For telling a woman to have a good day?"
The man nodded.
"Stay with English here. You'll attract attention to yourself otherwise. Attention you want to avoid,"
and with that, the man left by a different set of escalators than where Enzo was heading.

Enzo scratched his head sadly, but when he emerged on the surface, the looming presence of the G.U.M. department stores and the red walls of the kremlin fortress greeted him like a stoic reminder of his presence. How he yearned for the peaceful life on the beautiful Blue Coasts of the Riviera.

The store suggested by M. White was somewhere inside the monstrosity mall before him. In a working man's coat, hoodie, jeans and knit gloves, he already stood out. He pulled his knit winter hat from his head, stuffed it in a pocket, and scruffed the black hair beneath into some semblance of a style. He wondered for the tenth time if there was any other way, and went in, allowing himself to be swallowed by opulence.

Continued from What Comes After the Fall

The train stopped and her and Lucas got off the train and walked the short distance to her apartment. Aria lifted the rug and found the spare key still in place, they had arrived before Nox and his new found friends, she was surprised but glad, gave her time to clean up the place a little bit.

Aria unlocked the door and went into her room. Aria smiled at the picture Lucas had drawn for her tattoo above her bed, it always made her smile. It wasn't that the picture was awe inspiring, but that it was done just for her that made her smile.

Aria hung her leather trench coat on the coat rack by the door and smiled. "Make yourself at home."
Aria busied herself with cleaning up the books on the table. There wasn't one that should be left out to the public, except maybe as a joke. All the journals she placed in a neat stack in the closet, on the floor and left the Monsters A to Z book on the coffee table. It was innocuous enough, a printed manuscript, could look like a joke. But Aria knew better, and so did Lucas and Nox.

Now all that was left was for Nox to show up. "Water?"
It was all she really had to drink, but she'd play hostess since it was going to be accepted of her later.