The night was chilly and the street quiet. It had rained earlier and the air smelled of wet asphalt and garbage. Other smells too, but he wasn't exactly in a categorizing mood. The heavy sounds of bass music up the street competed with the shhh of traffic on the road. The Little Kitty was not the classiest place, that was for sure.

Anyway, where was he? Oh yeah. Last two days had been.....crazy. Looked like while he and Alex were hooking up, Nox had gone off and gotten himself in some real trouble. A city block torn up, chunks of rock and concrete and building material and whatever the hell else there was- was that lead spikes?- covered the place. Looked like a fucking war zone.

And Nox had been arrested, along with some pretty boy soldier (the way a couple of the guys had joked) or something. And then both of them just disappeared.

He wasn't sure about the soldier, but he had an idea about Nox. Well, more a suspicion. Not that he was a genius or anything. But it seemed familiar. He remembered a certain padded cell, the prodding of needles, tests. Course he'd also been suffering from the sickness, so for him the memory wasn't all that bad. It had saved him. And the Ascendancy had come to him, taught him to control himself, and put him back out on the streets with something in his record that gave him some sort of pull. Enough that the Cap had pulled him onto Domovoi.

No, not a bad memory for him. But he wasn't Nox. Nox could be a dick. More than one, really. Like a whole bag of dicks. But he was honest. Despite what he'd said to Alex- hey, his head was full of tequila and she was hot and he just wanted to kiss her, what did she expect?- he really did believe the guy's story. He doubted Nox wanted a job in the CCD, or would follow orders or whatever they wanted him to do.

And, of course, nobody told him anything. Pissed him off.

Top it all off, he got a call from Uncle Pol. He'd not seen him in years. To be honest, he didn't know why he was being called. He'd known Pol his whole life- his daughter Olena was Ivan's first kiss, first love, really- but it wasn't like they had any heart to hearts. He was pop's friend.

So why the hell was he calling Ivan and asking him to meet him at 2 in the morning down the street from a seedy strip club? Not like Ivan hadn't been tired or anything.

Bah, he was just being a pissy little bitch. Pol had gone down hard after Olena had been shot, bleeding out in his arms. That was a punch to the gut. They all took it hard. But Pol never climbed back out of the bottle.

He owed him. For pops. For Olena's sake.

Hello!

I told Ascendancy that it's totally okay to use Torri n the Facility whenever you need her around. I probably won't do much more with this character than be a presence as-needed.

So what do you want to accomplish down there? That'll give me some ideas of how to proceed.

Emily dropped off Natalie and Natalie gave her contact information in case she needed it for cleaning. It wasn't really an issue, but Emily accepted her number with gladness and gave Natalie her own in case she needed anything.

Jared was quiet on the way back, and Emily didn't press him much. He was clearly exhausted from whatever ordeal he had gone through. She did, however, give him an encouraging smile as they left Natalie's, and Jared returned it.

"Want me to take you to base, or to my place?"
She asked.

"I'm still on leave for awhile and don't want to go back yet. I'd rather not be alone either."


Emily could hear the exhaustion in his voice as he spoke. She drove back to her house, and they entered together.

It was the first time Jared had seen the inside of the house, and his eyes widened. "So this is how the other side lives."


Emily smiled and took Jared's hand, leading him to the living room. "Can I get you anything?"


"This might sound weird, but I could really use a shower, and then more coffee."


Emily smiled and led him to the shower, so he could clean up. While he was away, she put on a fresh pot of coffee. She could have asked Matt to do it, but she was content to do so herself.

Armande awoke in peace, something that was alien to him. In truth, it had been almost two decades since he'd awakened this way. He often had to meditate in the evenings just to quiet his mind enough to sleep. His only respite from the never ending onslought came from days where his physical activities sapped him of all his strength, from a hunt or from training.

And every morning his eyes would open and so would the floodgates, inundating him.

Today, though....today was different. The warm softness of Valeriya's bare skin against his, the silky smoothness, the firm roundnesses, the smell of her hair against his neck, the perfect fit of their bodies together. It had been an elixer to make any man fall asleep in tranquility.

His mind had gently ascended from the depths of his unconsciousness, a deep and soothing ocean of lapping waves, rose until it imperceptibly crested the surface, one moment asleep, the next awake.

He sighed contentedly, the feel of humanity restored to him. Gradually he became aware of sensations on his back, slight pain, and he smiled to himself. Valeriya and her nails. She had been an animal. It had been raw and consuming, a fire, an inferno that had engulfed them.

And he was content. It had begun.

Awake, however, he wasn't one to lie abed lazily. While the temptation to wake her in a manner that they might continue their play was certainly there-
as was his readiness- there was too much to do. For the Khlysty. For the Atharim. For Valeriya herself.

He found himself looking forward to being out and about again. He rolled on his side to peer at her, her mass of dark hair laying about the pillow and on her face in disarray. Her eyelids were closed, hiding those green eyes that captivated him so. Her mouth was relaxed and slightly open, showing a hint of her front teeth, no smile or frown to alter its shape. He just watched her, wondered at what images and visions played in her mind.

More than that, though, he tried to imagine her reaction to the surface, what she called the Above, when they left the safehouse today. Part of him was content to let her sleep peacefully. To stay in this cocoon as long as possible. But the other part knew that was impossible. And he did want to show her everything. That surprised him. He laughed to himself at how foolish he was, behaving as some schoolboy might. There was a war on. Still, he did watch her slumber for a minute more.

Gently he shook her bare shoulder. Softly, "Valeriya, wake. It is time. We go outside today." He couldn't help adding that last part.

There was more to tell her, more to plan. And he did mean to keep his promise to her, to include her in those plans. That was his intention anyway, though he knew that habits were hard to overcome. Sharing had not been his nature for a very long time.

But she needed to wake first.


Edited by Regus, Jan 22 2018, 06:50 PM.

[[Continued from Under Guard]]

The last time she had set foot in Tar Valon, it had ended with her heart shattered to pieces and a disgraced escort to Yelendrian’s office. The memories curled about her thoughts like mist; how eagerly she had descended the ivory steps from the Tower, cheeks flushed with anticipation. Ignorant. Stupid. There was no such keenness today, only business-like resolution. The sooner this was over with the better. The organisation alone had taken far more time than she would have liked, especially balanced against her new duties as an aspirant. And it annoyed her, the repressive obligation she felt to offer protection to the family she had rejected – moreso when that protection was so limited in its scope. As if an ill-conceived confession could have such repercussions. Would Jai be pleased to know how his actions had avalanched the collapse of five years of silence? Probably not, if he had any clue what a grim cast it lay on her thoughts.

Such a pity these things had to be authorised in the flesh, or the light knew she would not have come at all. The appointment had been made ahead of time, and Nythadri had ensured she would be the last to arrive. It would solve the matter of an awkward family reunion; not that she expected a scene, but the fewer opportunities for awkward small talk the better. She would help her family, but it did not mean she relished interacting with them. And it was certainly not to be misconstrued as invitation to build bridges burned long ago.

Only when she entered the bank’s immaculate foyer and was led to the door of the appropriate office, Mishael waited outside. Her stride did not falter its rhythmic click against the floor tiles, though her expression tightened with displeasure. His own did not flicker; but then, he was already frowning. Nythadri had inherited her looks from her father, that unsettling mix of pale and dark. He was more gaunt than he had been five years ago, and lines that did not stem from easy laughter creased his eyes. More silver lined his temple, and shot through his neatly trimmed beard. For a man who had brought his House to near ruin, he had the bearing of steel. Perhaps another thing she had inherited. She went to move past him. His hand beat hers to the door handle, and locked it in place. “Are you involved in this, Nythadri?”


Her hand retracted before their skin met, jaw tight. The pendant. He had never mentioned it in any of their recent correspondence, and it occurred to her that he had been waiting to confront her in person. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. She could read the uncertainty in his expression; pain coiled like a wire round his heart. Did he ever blame me? For what happened? Or perhaps he resented how the mud of their pasts again clouded what had been calm waters, and once more his wayward daughter appeared to be at the heart of it. “If this was down to me, we would not be here. I would have had all the money safely secured in my own name in the first place, until the scandal died down. And I wouldn’t have waited so long to settle the score. Father.”


Five years, and no sentimentality on either side. She remembered how she had left things the day Karina Sedai had removed her from Caemlyn; remembered every jagged edge to their relationship. How easy it was to slip into old, abrasive roles. Only what purpose did it serve now? A sigh inflated her lungs, but she refrained from releasing it to sound like insolence. “I do not know for certain where the coin came from. I can only guess it once belonged to Winther. Even if it didn’t – and I can’t see an alternative – it hardly looks good with your names as the payees. If he, or anyone else, were to dig and find an account against my name, they will also find the White Tower. It’s the best protection I can offer. You can say no.”
Her words were low; Mishael would never notice the glow of saidar that lit her from the inside out, or the ward against eavesdropping that cast a protective net about them.

Either way he did not answer, only twisted the handle and held the door open for her.

Within the richly decorated office, already seated at the long table, were her sisters. For a moment Em looked as though she might rush to hug Nythadri; she half rose from her seat, face alight with the biggest of smiles, but Oshara stilled the movement with a hand on her wrist and she sank back down, a blush warming her round cheeks. They had been children the last time Nythadri had seen them; eleven and fourteen respectively. Emria retained a soft youthfulness to her features, and gentleness reminiscent of their mother. Not so different. Oshara was now a woman grown, though. And she wouldn’t meet Nythadri’s eyes.

At the head of the table, flanked by neat stacks of paperwork, the notary lifted his head. “Shall we proceed?”


Relieved at the brusque, no nonsense manner, Nythadri took her seat. Opposite her sisters. Opposite her father. An ornately wrought jug of water marked the half-way distance between them, but no-one had touched it nor the glasses clustered around its base. So they're all as uncomfortable as each other. It might have been kinder to defrost the tension; act the sister she had always been and poke gentle fun at the situation. They saw an Accepted. She could show them a person still existed beneath all that white. But she wouldn't. What would be the point? She finally caught Shara's gaze; but eyes of deepest blue froze over on contact. The animosity was startling; though, unperturbed by the challenge, it wasn't Nythadri who looked away first. Oshara's fists had curled in frustration; she removed them from the table, and pointed her gaze resolutely at the waiting paperwork instead.

Nythadri gestured her father to make the affirmative. She had meant what she said: this was his choice.
*
Afterwards, once the final signatures had been inked, Mishael was the first to stand. The pierce of his eyes caught her own, like he tried to unravel her from her Accepted shackles; to find some hint of the familiar beneath the porcelain cast of her empty expression. Nythadri’s white-sleeved arms were folded tidily on the table. The serpent ring glittered prominently on her finger; like she really were nothing more than an extension of the Tower, providing an impartial service to people in need. But she needn’t have feared. There were no saccharine goodbyes.

Mishael helped his two daughters into their cloaks, as the notary packed his things away. Nythadri watched. She felt so removed. “I’ll keep my ear to the currents in Caemlyn.”
Though it would take time to start a network from scratch. Light, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Too late to back away anyway, now that things had been set in motion. "I'll be in touch. You don't need to contact me."
And in the meantime think about how you’re going to explain all that money once things have blown over.

She was glad when they had gone. A sigh left her lungs like fallen armour, and if she had been alone she might have succumbed to the urge to bury her head in her arms to seek a moment’s respite. How long since her last restful night? Now she either dreamed of Winther’s smug face or faces bloodied beyond recognition. Guilt that had buried deep and dormant for years flourished fresh like flowers after winter. The need to make loose ends neat. She hated the mess, like inkblots spilled on crisp paper. Still, she had become good at convincing herself to feel nothing.

As it what she merely stood, nodded a formal thanks to the notary, and left. Outside, she caught Em’s face in the window of the carriage as it slid past, a sad smile tilting the edges of her lips and her fingers fluttering a goodbye. Nythadri did not smile back.
*
Less than an hour later she sat in another office in another building, with more paperwork and another bank clerk. The tension from earlier had knotted in her back. Her neck throbbed dully. A headache built behind her eyes. She’d worked through worse though; she’d endured worse. I’m doing all I can do. So why didn’t it feel like enough? Beyond the narrow path to the goal she had set herself lay a dark rush of confused and unanalysed thought. Purposefully unanalysed. Why worry about the things she could not control? Could not change? That was good judgement, but accepting impotency did not seem to help. Which was probably why, of all the banks in Tar Valon, she had chosen the Kojimas.

Upon completion of the paperwork, the clerk told her that the account would need managerial approval - owing to the sheer quantity of coin to be deposited. Obviously, was her only, scathing answer, accompanied by a dismissive wave that the man should hurry along with whatever procedure was necessary.

[[Continued from Through the Storm]]

She woke several times that night, panicked in the dark, echoes of its's me, it's me in her ears. Her heart beat erratic until the feeling washed out with consciousness. It wasn't a restful night. By the time fingers of pale light pressed a tentative entry through her windows she unfurled from her blankets and padded into the kitchen on stinging feet to gulp down a glass of water. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, and she still had that headache. Her mood this morning was still. Like a wound still healing, she didn't delve too deep, just coasted around it. Washed. Dressed. Still didn't unpack.

Two days ago she hadn't thought this far ahead, focused solely on answering her father's message and untangling all that festering conflict. Her promises beyond that had been peripheral, the simplest way to secure her flight to Moscow unchallenged. She'd yet to truly consider what registering meant for her future. Not that she could have stopped her family from submitting the paperwork. The secret was already out there; she might as well make use of it.

She took a car into the heart of the city, watching expressionlessly out the window as city-life blurred by. The traffic slowed the closer they crawled to Moscow's heart; Natalie lifted the sleeve of her blouse to check the time, but didn't seem in any hurry to see the bars of the cage snap shut. Perhaps she was being pessimistic. But she could have done this a thousand times in a thousand lives, each time with cold acceptance and little passion. In the distance the Kremlin's red towers thrust from its protective wall like spears, still across the dazzling river. The building itself was brilliant white, and for some reason that settled in her chest like it meant something she couldn't quite grasp.

By the time she was able to get out of the car, her body remembered all last night's aches. She forced herself to walk without a limp, though caught at a wrong angle the pain was enough to force a grimace. So her pace was careful, and the purposeful measure of it did not push her to rush. The driver had directed her where to go when he opened the door for her exit, and for the briefest moment she had the urge to explore beyond the confines of the path before her. She pressed her hand against the ancient stone, but after a moment's stillness denied herself the temptation. It was only delaying the inevitable.

She'd grown up with wealth, but this outweighed anything they'd ever had at home. Government officials hastened to their business, inured to the grandness, but Natalie did pause to draw in her surroundings before giving her name. No fanfare. No escort. Though she was careful to remember that here she was a Northbrook; there was no space for Grey, and it would not do to remind anyone of her father.

After various security measures, she was shown into a room to wait.

A number of messages blinked in a rapid beat for attention when she limped into her apartment. The grey light of evening cast an unfamiliar gloom over the sterile furnishings; it was as far away from home as a place could feel. Her suitcase splayed where she had left it, untouched but for the clothes she had dug out before slipping out into Moscow's nightlife. And how well that venture had gone. For now she ignored her responsibilities in favour of getting clean, lingering a little too long under the stream of water and steam, trying not to let the lull unravel her calm. Such a list of ghosts these days, just waiting for that moment of weakness. The crusts softened from her arms, leaving long pink strips where she'd used the power to slash her bonds. The feel of those bonds lingered.

Later, she sat on the sofa with a mirror and steristrips and let the messages run through. There was a wound on her foot cutting between her toes and right into the pad, still oozing, the rest simply scrapes and bruising she ignored but for a layer of antiseptic. The whole thing stung like fuck now, but in some ways the pain stopped her mind from straying, and the precision of sealing the wound allowed her not to dwell too deeply on what she was hearing. The first message yesterday evening; her mother, checking she'd landed safely. Another this morning, still cheerful and discussing her registration. Two silent, in quick succession. Then one from Laurene that perked her ears, especially when it pinged a recording. She paused what she was doing as the holoscreen activated.

"Hi Natalie, just a quick message to say how're we're doing!"
The screen wobbled, filmed on a cheap smart phone, and suddenly blurred. Then Ekene's face filled the picture, teeth white and gappy. Laurene laughed as she instructed him to move it further back. He chattered away about his life the past few weeks, almost more words than she'd heard from him the entire time since Masiaka. Then he giggled. Giggled. Like a normal child. A ginger paw patted the boy's shoulder, and Shredder sprung up with a mewl, bumping her little face up against Ekene's cheek.

A smile softened Natalie's face, the first real one in what felt an age, but something like guilt tightened in her chest too. She shouldn't have left them, left her duties, left her life. All to go chasing after her father's summons, knowing it would cage her here but accepting the consequences anyway. Just for that chance. She hadn't even made the meeting; wasn't sure she could risk arranging another, not with her mother's scrutiny sharpened on her actions and the promises she'd yet to fulfil. After all this time what had he even wanted to say? He'd cut her out like she was nothing. Not even met her eye the day they led him out after sentencing. And she'd never forgiven him.

She played the holo again, melancholy the second time. Washing out the sorrow for having left Africa. Burying thoughts of her father. They looked well. They didn't need her.

Afterwards was another silent message. This time she paid attention, frowning, but it rolled quickly to the next: an official response to her registration that plummeted her stomach, requesting her to attend a meeting to discuss further. Then her mother's voice gradually losing tolerance and rising in worry. The last was not an hour before, simply a terse Call your mother. Not a war she wanted to wage tonight, but she did need to smooth things over. It wouldn't keep until morning.

The call connected after two rings.

"Where have you been?"


"Hello to you too."
She smirked grimly, piecing together an approximation of the truth; she didn't much relish lying, even if it might have been easier. "I over indulged my last night of freedom. That and the jetlag haven't made for a great combination. You should know better than to worry."


"Cut the sass. Please, Natalie. We have been worried."


"I know. I'm sorry."


The silence stretched an age. Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose, the words heavy as cement. She meant it, but admitting it cut too close to the quick. That coffee was wearing off and her mind fuzzed quietly. She had no intention of confiding, and the need to escape the conversation was suddenly overwhelming. She murmured something about needing to sleep. Vague promises to call tomorrow.

The lights had dimmed low. She raked the hair away from her face, skirting the weight in her chest. The worry was like miasma, underpinning everything else. Her feelings swirled. The aftershock of waking restrained. The crash and fall of hope, her father's face still a blank space. And the idiocy of one legionnaire admitting to murder. That bothered her more than it should. The hands that cupped hers in the hospital were rough, calloused, but gentle before they moved away. He killed to protect, but he still killed; it was soldier's due.

Danjou would care for his own, she didn't doubt it. And Jared would fight his corner. She had no real reason to interfere, and at least one why she shouldn't.

And yet.

And yet it made her restless, the anger deep, a thousand blurred hurts and a deep-seated desire to do something. The phone rang for a while and she began to wonder if it was just too late. When someone picked up it was with weary tones. He hadn't heard the name. No one had been brought in tonight. The receiver clicked silent

She spent another few hours cycling through an unfamiliar system, seeking answers. The business card Detective Vega had given her rested on the cushion beside her, but he would still be at the hospital with Nox. Or resting himself; by now it was late, and the city glittered like startlight beyond her windows. She laid back, staring up at the ceiling. Yet another call still on hold.

It seemed Jay Carpenter was gone.

Whatever games were being played Aria didn't want anything more to do with. Nox was a god. He should die! But he was a god. He would die but not today.

There were easier targets. And easier ways to get the weapons she needed to kill the gods. Those who killed Dane. She would find him. No matter what he thought to hide in the power, to mask who he was. Aria would find him.

There were safe houses around the world. Safe houses, with clothes, and food and weapons - weapons most of all. Her sword was still missing. ZARS agents were having a difficult time finding it. She had a feeling no one was even looking. Aria wanted her sword back!

But guns were better against gods. Though cutting someone open was far more fun, far greater a conquest. But gods were not close targets.

Aria knew of a safe house. It was quiet. She walked in and found a few friendly faces. They were wary and they should be. They offered her clothes and food and Aria gratefully took it.

The clothes didn't fit as well but the food was warm and edible and the bathroom had a large tub. Aria wanted to wash the blood from her skin. She wanted to drown in the blooded remains of her obsession. He was gone - forever. And this was all that remained of him. And it would wash down the drain like his ashes would when Nox was done with him.

Nox hadn't killed Dane. But he'd burnt the body insuring it! There was no fury at hit. No hatred no angst. Aria was done feeling things. But the gods and the Atharim would pay for their transgressions. All of them.... and when she was done here - they'd know the price...

Dreams. Nox hated dreams. He never had any good ones. They were always filled with death and failure and waking to nightmares was never fun. He'd chosen to sleep very little and drink lots of caffeine every day. He worked hard and tried to pass out. It rarely worked the nightmares still came.

They came even with the pain. His head felt better, but whatever they had jabbed him with made it all go away and he passed out into the darkness. But then the nightmares took hold. All his failures come to bear. Everyone from his mother and now even a new one - failing his father. Failing to be the son that he had wanted. It had always been there. Nox failing his father, but the images of Jaden and then Jay and Sage and shit the countless guys he'd seen and wondered then forgot because of his father.

Failure after failure played over and over again and as the pain came back the dreams died and sounds came to the forefront. Beeping and voices. Soft and close.

A rattled chain against metal. The sound rang as Nox tried to move. Opening his eyes hurt. Moving hurt, but he had to move. Sit up. "Water."
But little sound came out of his mouth.

Nox opened his eyes and found a glass of water held in front of him my a small hand. Nothing familiar. He looked up, blinked away the tears from the bright light behind the man, woman, who?

"Do you know where you are Mr. Durante?"

"Moscow I hope."


Things were coming into perspective and Nox pressed back into the bed and sighed when he felt the cold metal against his skin. "How long?"


"About 6 hours. We are treating the burns and your head CT came back clean despite the blood dried in your ears."

Nox rattled the cuffs again. "Where are the officers?"


"You have a guard outside your door, and Detective Vega went to the station to try to help your friend. His words."

And then the whole situation came crashing in. Jay had confessed to the murder of the stygza. Dumb ass! "Am I under arrest?"


"Not yet, Mr. Durante. This is a percaution we are told, you are dangerous." She said with a genuine smile.

Nox laughed. "Cuffs aren't going to stop me if I really was dangers, Duckling. Can they come off?"


She shrugged. "I'll ask, and I'll get the doctor. You hold tight."

Nox smirked, "Not going anywhere Duckling."