07-21-2016, 07:13 PM
His memory froze and he breathed carefully, making sure not to be overwhelmed. It was why he never came here, why it was guarded. It was the thing that he hid even from himself. He was mostly successful. The core memory stayed locked, only the peripheral emanations radiating outward, the sun eclipsed, ghostly corona still waving gently around the edges.
Now…Jump cuts of memory flashed across his mind, played out before him.
Flicker. A cafe patio, the sounds of birds and faint strains of a violin, the hum of traffic and the clinking of glasses and silverware floating above the air, aroma of coffee redolent, mixing with the wet salt. Armande with Lissandra, blue ice peering into green fire, listening to her speak, probing, curiosity fired. She is passionate, angry, fiery- so very alive, so very hungry; steely, determined.
Flicker. The small row boat gently rocks in the azure Ionian, the noise of waves softly lapping against the side, against the sand, the wind in his ears, the heat of the sun beating down on his head, Lissandra's attention focused on his words, her brows knitted against the glare of the sun not hiding wide eyed excitement, nostrils flaring, breath shallow.
Flicker. An alcove under a church, the smell of old parchment and candle wax. Flicker. A beach, near the caves, the flash of arms and legs and feet and metal. Flicker. A tower wall, the full moon hanging fat overhead, climbing each foot- and finger-hold carefully sought out and tested. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.
Life had come back to him again. Not as a partner, not as a lover, not as an equal. But a protégé, a student, a companion. And even a friend. His daughter. Only 17 but already better than he was at that age, instincts and skills honed to razor sharpness. The ache in his heart, the emptiness, the loss that had threatened, during the dark nights when he allowed himself to be human, to feel the vast weight of his isolation contrast with the joys he’d known only months before, that ache that had threatened to overwhelm him had been filled.
And Armande was happy. Cautiously happy, warily happy, provisionally happy. But happy nonetheless. He was content.
Flicker. Armande crept along the wall, Lissandra behind him. The only sound the whisper of their breathing misting in the cool winter night air. The island of Caprera off the coast Sardinia was quiet, especially here in the country. Garibaldi, the ‘father of the fatherland, ’a united Italy, had lived out his final years here in this place, his home and the church once a heritage site and tourist attraction, now a private residence. This was what they had sought, following the trail of whispered rumor.
The islands of La Maddelena and Sardinia both had reported missing people, tourists and vagrants mostly. No one local, no one to raise alarm. Quiet investigation had turned up only a few leads, but it was enough. A sports car riding off into the night. They traced and followed until they were here. The tan coupe sat off to the side of the building under an awning, reflecting the supernatural glow of the winter moon.
Armande turned and looked at her, her eyes green fires that burned with excitement from behind the slits of her hood. This was their first real hunt together. Her primary weapons were blades, tucked into sheaths along each forearm. A gift from him from a craftsman in Spain, the telescoping blades would extend with the force of unsheathing to the desired length. Like himself, she wore lightweight mail armor, spike and stab resistant, as well as numerous other melee and ballistic weapons for any situation.
A dangerous hunt, but he was confident. Not just in her, no, but in his training of her. Their prey was dangerous, if it was what he suspected. And he was sure it was. They affected to be rich playboys from the French Riviera, renting the house, who occasionally went into town or to the surrounding islands to enjoy a discotheque or restaurant.
They crept to the window and carefully Armande lifted his fiber-optic lens to the corner and looked at the shadowed display. Four “men”, lounging, attired in riche-casual. He angled the display to her, letting her see the positioning. Removing the lens, he switched to Through-the-Wall (TTW) mode, allowing him to get a good idea of where other bodies might be. It wasn’t perfect. TTW was useless when walls were thicker than a meter. But it was enough. Two more in another room, a third body supine between them. He showed her that as well.
Surprise was one of their biggest tools, but not the only one. Dreyken were sensitive to light. He pulled his flashbang and motioned for her to do the same. They wouldn’t use HUDs for this. They would need natural peripherals, not those overlaid with delay and the interpretation of software. He would take the four out front, she the two in the room.
He nodded to her and they worked their way to back door. He felt the thrill of anticipation and could see it in her movement as well. She wasn’t bouncing impatiently. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on specifically. And yet it was there. He could feel it. The years of being helpless, of life on the streets, the prey of so many others, had forged her as his own life had him. And now, she would be the hunter.
It all went so fast. The door kicked in, the flashbangs going off. The Dreyken screamed, the sound of nails on chalkboard. Claws raked at them, finding no purchase on armor as blades flashed. They were like the wind, blowing through trees, flowing around and through them, death incarnate, splitting into streams, he the whirling dervish to the front, her into the room.
In moments, he stopped, sprays of blood fanning out across walls and over-turned furniture. The sounds from the room came to him and he rushed in to find Lissandra fighting like a demon with the two Dreyken. Pride swelled his heart. So deadly, so graceful. Of course, they had been feeding and were in a dazed and satiated state. The dark red stains of wine on the table and floor, when it was differentiated from blood, absurdly indicated their drink of choice to go along with their meal. Had they been completely alert, Lissandra might- might- have been overwhelmed.
But she was up to the challenge and he let her have this. He quickly cleared the other rooms before returning to watch the ferocity of her strikes, her quick dance of death, flowing from one form to the next. In what seemed like minutes at the time but had to have been seconds, it was over, their butchered bodies now slumped, as if puppets with cords cut. The mewling victim was beyond saving and she mercifully dispatched her with a simple blow, an end to her suffering.
The kills weren’t as clean as his had been, but that was to be expected with her youth and inexperience. The Dreyken had required more strikes to put down, limbs and torsos the main focus of her attack rather than head and neck and chest. They had suffered, something he didn’t mind in the slightest, but that strategy had also increased her danger. She would learn though.
The house was silent, the quiet palpable after the clash of violence that had filled it moments before. The ticking of an antique clock in the other room seemed to echo throughout. Lissandra pulled down her hood, a rapturous smile on her face, green eyes radiant with joy. Breathes deep and satisfied.
He found himself smiling. So alien. So foreign. How long since he had smiled? Surely a long time. Pride coursed through him. He saw the future.
Edited by Regus, Jul 21 2016, 08:31 PM.
Now…Jump cuts of memory flashed across his mind, played out before him.
Flicker. A cafe patio, the sounds of birds and faint strains of a violin, the hum of traffic and the clinking of glasses and silverware floating above the air, aroma of coffee redolent, mixing with the wet salt. Armande with Lissandra, blue ice peering into green fire, listening to her speak, probing, curiosity fired. She is passionate, angry, fiery- so very alive, so very hungry; steely, determined.
Flicker. The small row boat gently rocks in the azure Ionian, the noise of waves softly lapping against the side, against the sand, the wind in his ears, the heat of the sun beating down on his head, Lissandra's attention focused on his words, her brows knitted against the glare of the sun not hiding wide eyed excitement, nostrils flaring, breath shallow.
Flicker. An alcove under a church, the smell of old parchment and candle wax. Flicker. A beach, near the caves, the flash of arms and legs and feet and metal. Flicker. A tower wall, the full moon hanging fat overhead, climbing each foot- and finger-hold carefully sought out and tested. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.
Life had come back to him again. Not as a partner, not as a lover, not as an equal. But a protégé, a student, a companion. And even a friend. His daughter. Only 17 but already better than he was at that age, instincts and skills honed to razor sharpness. The ache in his heart, the emptiness, the loss that had threatened, during the dark nights when he allowed himself to be human, to feel the vast weight of his isolation contrast with the joys he’d known only months before, that ache that had threatened to overwhelm him had been filled.
And Armande was happy. Cautiously happy, warily happy, provisionally happy. But happy nonetheless. He was content.
Flicker. Armande crept along the wall, Lissandra behind him. The only sound the whisper of their breathing misting in the cool winter night air. The island of Caprera off the coast Sardinia was quiet, especially here in the country. Garibaldi, the ‘father of the fatherland, ’a united Italy, had lived out his final years here in this place, his home and the church once a heritage site and tourist attraction, now a private residence. This was what they had sought, following the trail of whispered rumor.
The islands of La Maddelena and Sardinia both had reported missing people, tourists and vagrants mostly. No one local, no one to raise alarm. Quiet investigation had turned up only a few leads, but it was enough. A sports car riding off into the night. They traced and followed until they were here. The tan coupe sat off to the side of the building under an awning, reflecting the supernatural glow of the winter moon.
Armande turned and looked at her, her eyes green fires that burned with excitement from behind the slits of her hood. This was their first real hunt together. Her primary weapons were blades, tucked into sheaths along each forearm. A gift from him from a craftsman in Spain, the telescoping blades would extend with the force of unsheathing to the desired length. Like himself, she wore lightweight mail armor, spike and stab resistant, as well as numerous other melee and ballistic weapons for any situation.
A dangerous hunt, but he was confident. Not just in her, no, but in his training of her. Their prey was dangerous, if it was what he suspected. And he was sure it was. They affected to be rich playboys from the French Riviera, renting the house, who occasionally went into town or to the surrounding islands to enjoy a discotheque or restaurant.
They crept to the window and carefully Armande lifted his fiber-optic lens to the corner and looked at the shadowed display. Four “men”, lounging, attired in riche-casual. He angled the display to her, letting her see the positioning. Removing the lens, he switched to Through-the-Wall (TTW) mode, allowing him to get a good idea of where other bodies might be. It wasn’t perfect. TTW was useless when walls were thicker than a meter. But it was enough. Two more in another room, a third body supine between them. He showed her that as well.
Surprise was one of their biggest tools, but not the only one. Dreyken were sensitive to light. He pulled his flashbang and motioned for her to do the same. They wouldn’t use HUDs for this. They would need natural peripherals, not those overlaid with delay and the interpretation of software. He would take the four out front, she the two in the room.
He nodded to her and they worked their way to back door. He felt the thrill of anticipation and could see it in her movement as well. She wasn’t bouncing impatiently. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on specifically. And yet it was there. He could feel it. The years of being helpless, of life on the streets, the prey of so many others, had forged her as his own life had him. And now, she would be the hunter.
It all went so fast. The door kicked in, the flashbangs going off. The Dreyken screamed, the sound of nails on chalkboard. Claws raked at them, finding no purchase on armor as blades flashed. They were like the wind, blowing through trees, flowing around and through them, death incarnate, splitting into streams, he the whirling dervish to the front, her into the room.
In moments, he stopped, sprays of blood fanning out across walls and over-turned furniture. The sounds from the room came to him and he rushed in to find Lissandra fighting like a demon with the two Dreyken. Pride swelled his heart. So deadly, so graceful. Of course, they had been feeding and were in a dazed and satiated state. The dark red stains of wine on the table and floor, when it was differentiated from blood, absurdly indicated their drink of choice to go along with their meal. Had they been completely alert, Lissandra might- might- have been overwhelmed.
But she was up to the challenge and he let her have this. He quickly cleared the other rooms before returning to watch the ferocity of her strikes, her quick dance of death, flowing from one form to the next. In what seemed like minutes at the time but had to have been seconds, it was over, their butchered bodies now slumped, as if puppets with cords cut. The mewling victim was beyond saving and she mercifully dispatched her with a simple blow, an end to her suffering.
The kills weren’t as clean as his had been, but that was to be expected with her youth and inexperience. The Dreyken had required more strikes to put down, limbs and torsos the main focus of her attack rather than head and neck and chest. They had suffered, something he didn’t mind in the slightest, but that strategy had also increased her danger. She would learn though.
The house was silent, the quiet palpable after the clash of violence that had filled it moments before. The ticking of an antique clock in the other room seemed to echo throughout. Lissandra pulled down her hood, a rapturous smile on her face, green eyes radiant with joy. Breathes deep and satisfied.
He found himself smiling. So alien. So foreign. How long since he had smiled? Surely a long time. Pride coursed through him. He saw the future.
Edited by Regus, Jul 21 2016, 08:31 PM.