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The Greater Good?

Exodar, Earth

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a part of The Greater Good?, by KrazyTigger.

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KrazyTigger holds sovereignty over Exodar, Earth, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Exodar, Earth is a part of The Greater Good?.

13 Characters Here

Scarlett Rose [0] How can such a small child fight a force so much stronger than herself?
Norman Winter [0] Kit Wilson's ever-faithful butler is more than he seems.
Lyulf Bareket & Tanwen Bareket [0] Brother and sister, wondering from their broken home, hoping for other survivors.
Derris [0] A young boy of 8, lost in this new and strange world
Jasper Devereaux [0] Derris's brother, searching for his lost sibling, and some way to make sense of what has happened.
Eris Becker [0] Once a serial killer, now "reborn", but old habits die hard.
Cain Rigel [0] A steadfast young man lost without an aim in his extraordinary sight.
Amelia Roberts [0] A determined young women who is caring and willing to help. But will she be tough enough to survive?
Katherine "Kit" Wilson [0] A young woman who survived the disease, but at the cost of her eyesight. What she has gained, though, may be even more important to her survival.
Evan Brookes [0] A silent, "i work alone" type guy. He is fighting for freedom. This world is everyones.

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet quietly trailed after Kit, watching her as the little blind girl expertly made her way to the kitchen. When Kit paused and fingered the wall, Amunet stopped and silently observed her. Kit mentioned the color of the sky, and it suddenly hit her how painful this must be for Kit. She didn't really think about it before, but losing her sight must have been horrifying. Amunet tried to think of something to say to comfort the girl, but Kit was moving on before anything came out of her mouth. caught off guard, Amunet hurried to catch up with her and immediately went on to drying the dishes. She worked in silence for a few minutes before finally getting her words together.

"You...may eventually forget the color of the sky," she said quietly, "But you'll always remember what's most important. I may bot be blind, but I did lose the only person who I ever cared for. I can see the world around me, but I can't see her. While that knowledge is painful, I know that because she was so important, I will never forget her. I'm sure it's the same for you, Katherine. Your sight may be gone, but you'll always have your memories, and now, you have a new, special way to remember things,...like smell, or touch, or taste. Use those to remember, and I know you'll find comfort in those things."

Amunet turned back to drying, embarrassed by her speech. She hoped it helped the girl find some solace, but she still couldn't help feeling shy after saying such a serious little speech. On the upside, at least Kit wouldn't see her blushing face.

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Katherine smiled a bit as Amunet spoke. She imagined that the young woman was not much older than Kit herself, but she seemed so much more... mature, better able to handle what was happening. The seventeen-year-old knew she was relying far too heavily on Norman as it was. Strangely, though they weren't really that much alike, Amunet reminded the blind girl of her own sister, Elizabeth.

"I lost my sister, too." She said quietly. "Liz was always much stronger then me, you know? I remember thinking, on the day they brought her in to say goodbye, that it just couldn't be happening that way. That if anyone could survive, it would be Liz." A shake of her head disturbed the immaculate ash-blond tresses. "I... her face was the last thing I can remember seeing. Perhaps it's best that way." She could feel Amunet's pain, and wished her friend to know that it was shared. What is it that Daddy had always said? Burdens are lighter when you carry them together with another. Something like that. It seemed to fit, anyway.

She could also feel the heat emanating from Amunet's face, and guessed that she was probably embarrassed, or afraid of having said something offensive, but Kit chose to pretend as though she couldn't know this, deciding that it would only be worse if she called attention to it. She handed the Egyptian woman the last of the silverware, and drained the sink, wiping her now-soaked hands on a dishtowel.

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet mechanically finished drying the dishes, watching Kit go about the chore. When she had first met her, Kit had seemed so young, but the longer she knew her, the more she thought she was a bit older, not because of looks but because of the things she said sometimes. In fact, a lot of her words were very similar to her sister's. Amunet wondered what Kit's sister was like. If she was the strong one but still like Kit, she may have been very similar to Isis.

"Her name was Isis," Amunet said in response, the words coming from nowhere and shocking her a bit, "My sister, I mean. She was the strong one too. I've always depended on her strength, and when she died,...it's like I lost that part of me, that strength I got from her...But I got up and kept moving. i had no choice but to live. I knew that's what my sister would have wanted, for me to at least try and live...So I found a reason to, to kill the people who killed her." Amunet clenched her fists with a mixture of anger and grief. She didn't know why she had spoken so much of Isis. Usually just a thought would bring her to tears.

In an effort to calm herself, Amunet took a few deep breaths and relaxed her hands, ignoring the crescents imprinted into her skin. She could not allow herself to lose control. With a forced smile Kit couldn't even see, Amunet began to gather dried dishes and put them away, finding their spots by rummaging through the cabinets.

"So, how old are you?" Amunet asked with pretty convincing cheer.

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Amelia followed them in, keeping completely silent as she watched the older girl set the younger one of the sofa. She herself, took her backpack off and set it on the floor, pulling out some food. She left it there for them to help themselves, as she retreated to what she felt was a comfortable distance. Mia watched as Madeline helped herself and the little girl slept, though from the tension in her body she could tell that it wasn't a peaceful sleep at all. Never tearing her eyes from the girl's face, she began to wonder what it would be like to have a child of her own. She'd never really thought it would be her sort of thing, even though she was the motherly type who loved kids. Had she now missed her only chance to be a mum? Right then, she didn't think she could meet anyone who made her feel the way Harry had and to be honest, she didn't really want to. Her heart had been broken once and it wasn't something that she wanted to happen again. Just the thought of his smile made her want to burst into tears, but she had other things to worry about, like surviving and apparently now helping these two survivel.

It startled Mia when the girl woke screaming and she broke out of her trance to see what the problem was. She looked frightened and Mia felt a wash of sympathy, causing her to get up and go to her side as well as Madeline. As she did, she noticed the girl staring at her and then crying harder. Stopping where she was, she frowned deeply, afraid that she had caused the girl more fright. She didn't move any further, instead watched the girl fall asleep from where she was. What had caused that outburst when the girl had looked at her? It made her squirm, her stomach twisting and clenching. She felt sick. Why? Was something wrong with her? She glanced at Madeline and quickly excused herself to the bathroom. Once there, she locked the door and stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror. She looked pale and the feeling in her stomach was still there. Without warning, she felt the need to be sick. Leaning over the sink, she was violently sick, wretching and sweating. Why did she feel so ill?

Fear gripped her, as she straightened up, her face was ashened. Was the illness coming back? Would it finish her off this time? She gulped, remembering the intense pain and agony last time. Wretching again, she was sick, but brought up nothing more than bile. She had barely eaten anything and now this had emptied her stomach once again. The taste in her mouth was vile and she searched for some toothpaste. Upon finding some, she used her finger to rub it around her mouth. Her stomach rumbled, but the feeling of sickness had left her and was replaced by hunger. Resting her head against the cold mirror, she hoped the other two hadn't heard her...

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Kit was somewhat humbled that Amunet had chosen to share the story of Isis with her, since it seemed like something she carried very close to her heart. In a sense, they were suffering from a very similar loss, and while distressing to think about, in a way it was also comforting that someone could know her pain. Was that selfish of her? No, if there were any way Kit could bring Isis back, she would, so perhaps it was more of taking the best from the situation and trying not to let the worst of it rule her.

When Amunet asked after her age, Kit was at once relieved at the lighthearted topic change and somewhat amused. "I actually get that question a lot," she replied with something approaching humor in her tone. "Because I'm so short, I've never looked my age. I'm actually seventeen." she knew she was lucky if she looked fifteen, although perhaps the blindfold obscuring her large, childlike eyes might help, since her figure was no longer quite as girlish as it once had been. Then again, she never really wore the sorts of clothes that made it too easy to tell.

"How about you?" she added conversationally, helping put the last of the dishes back into place and heading for the door. She intended to pass a bit more time in the living room, even if it was just talking to her guest or perhaps playing a little more if Amunet was inclined to get to sleep soon. Kit had never been much of a talker, but she had missed her conversations with Liz a great deal more than she had realized; talking to Amunet was almost the same, in a way. Perhaps it was simply the force of circumstance, but they were indeed speaking on subjects both serious and not, much as Liz had been wont to with changes in her fancy.

There was something about that which reassured the young woman. If people as good as Norman and Amunet were still around, than surely all could not be lost. no, she most definitely had reason to hope even still. the thought brought a small, gentle smile to her face as she opened the door to the luxurious salon, gesturing easily in the direction of the couches.

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet was honestly surprised by the girl's admission. Seventeen? She had expected the girl to be much younger, but she was almost an adult. Still, she supposed it made sense. The girl was very intelligent and wise. Even after all she had gone through because of that wretched disease, she still wouldn't seem as mature had she been younger. Amunet mused over this. It wasn't until they were seated on the sofa before Amunet answered Kit's question.

"I'm twenty-one," Amunet said after a slight pause. She hadn't realized it, but her and Isis' birthday had passed when they were sick. Isis had been twenty-one before she died. "I'm the opposite, though. Isis and I grew tall and...developed by the time we were 14. Plus, the streets tend to harden people. It was good, though, for us to look older. More people would have taken advantage of us if we hadn't." Amunet shook her head, musing over all the scrapes they'd been in. True. Looking older helped fend off some criminals, but it also did a lot to draw the attentions of others. If they hadn't learned to fight at a young age, they definitely would have been raped.

"So," Amunet said brightly, drawing herself out of her thoughts, "I'm only four years older than you. That's not too bad. I was starting to feel old...How old is Norman, by the way. Do you know?" Amunet tried to calculate in her head, but his strength caught her off guard. He seemed old, but...she honestly just couldn't guess.

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Kit listened with rapt attention to the tidbit about a life lived so differently from her own. She knew of course, that she was quite lucky to have led the life she had, and her parents had been most vigorous in their charitable efforts for just that reason, but she had never directly met someone from a world so alien to her knowledge.

When Amunet inquired after Norman's own years, Katherine his a smile behind her hand. She'd once been quite curious about the same thing herself; the man hadn't changed much in appearance since he'd started serving the Wilsons ten years ago. She'd tried really hard to get it out of him, but at first he'd been unwilling to share, saying that he was old enough not to want to talk about it. This had not satisfied the then-thirteen-year-old Kit, and she had continued to pester him until he relented.

"Let's see... I think he must be... sixty-four by now," she mused. Yes, that sounded about right, though he really didn't look any older than his mid-fifties or so, at least the last time she had seen him. Perhaps the disease had aged him somewhat, it was hard to say. He still sounded the same as ever to her ears, anyway. "I was actually really surprised when he said that about the Secret Service," she ventured. "I mean, he was always strong enough to lift me, but I always just thought that was normal, since I didn't really know anyone else his age back then. He's like my grandfather, and I guess... well, i just thought he had grandpa powers." She smiled ruefully. The view was naive in retrospect, but she hadn't really given all that much consideration.

She was caught off-guard by a yawn, and quickly smothered it behind both palms. "I think I'm getting sleepy," she managed, a slight joke at her own expense. "Like I said before, feel free to do whatever you like, the house is yours as much as mine. I for one am taking a nice shower and heading to bed." She felt a little bad for not staying up as long as her guest did, but the plan was to go into Exodar proper tomorrow, and she wanted to be well-rested for it, guessing it had to already be approaching ten on what seemed one of the longest days of her life.

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#, as written by syrafay
"All right, then," Amunet said, "Good night, Kit,...and thank you." She hoped her sincerity was apparent. If she had been in Kit's position, she wasn't sure she would have as much mercy to strangers, given her own personality. The girl was so sweet and, honestly, the cutest person she had ever met. Amunet smiled at Kit as she left, musing over all of the little parts of her. Amunet, in one day, found herself completely charmed by the small 17-year-old, and she was glad for it. She knew that Kit's innocence and kindness would be a great comfort for her in the future.

"Sixty-four," Amunet muttered out loud when she was alone. It seemed like just the right age for the older man. Amunet also had the feeling that, despite his age, he would outlive all of them. The thought stopped Amunet's train of thoughts in their tracks. How long would they live? She hadn't really thought about it before. All she really knew about the disease came from the time when her dying world screamed for answers, and they came on whispers in the wind and in the darkness of rotting alleyways. She knew it gave strength, enhanced senses, and a better immune system, but she didn't know much more than that. Did it cause them to live longer? Did it cause anything else? The thoughts troubled Amunet as she, too, made her way to her room. Following the instructions she'd been given, she found it in no time, but it barely registered in her brain that she had gone to the room or gotten in the bed, so absorbed she was with her thoughts. She nodded off with the conclusion to find out more about the disease that changed everything.

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"Good night, and you're quite welcome," the young woman responded before taking her leave. Just up the first flight of stairs was her room, and it was here that she entered at last. Ah, how long the day had been! Not to say that she hadn't enjoyed it; it was good to be back in Exodar after all that had happened, and even though she could not share it with her family, Kit figured that being here with Norman and Amunet was more than she could have expected.

Amunet's presence was so very warm, Kit thought, and she felt things so truly that it was almost refreshing for the young empath to experience it. Smiling a little to herself, she absently stroked Bastet (who had taken to sleeping on her bed) and arranged her covers for sleep. Rather than crawl straight in as she was inclined, Kit decided now would be a good time for a shower.

Bathing was one of those things that you took for granted until it wasn't easy anymore, and it took the blind girl a considerable amount of time to arrange her toiletries and then find the shower knob and adjust it to the proper temperature. Ten minutes later, though, she was quite glad she'd gone to the trouble. The hot water was soothing, but she had to shampoo and everything before it lulled her to sleep.

Once adorned in her nightgown, she brushed out her hair and braided it, cleaned her teeth, and was about ready to clamber onto her queen-sized mattress when a thought struck her. Did Amunet have spare clothes? The woman hadn't seemed to be carrying anything, though Kit could not be sure. Pursing delicate-looking lips together, the girl padded to the room next to hers, the one which had once belonged to Liz. She didn't know exactly how tall Amunet was, but from the way she walked, she and Liz were probably close at least, since Kit's sister had been on the slightly more voluptuous side as well, or at least moreso than Katherine herself.

It was with some reverence that Kit opened the doors to a massive armoire. Elizabeth Wilson had been much more fond of clothes in general than Katherine, but she had never owned anything ostentatious. Kit was about to grab some clothes when she paused mid-reach. The closet still smelled like Liz's perfume.

Taking a moment to gather herself, Kit brushed the thoughts aside and grabbed a few articles, some of the longer ones maybe, that would have an allowance for someone a bit taller. Folding them neatly, she exited the room full of memories and laid the clothes outside Amunet's door, unsure if the woman was yet inside or asleep.

At length, she was finally back in her own room, and almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, she felt Bastet curl next to her arms, and slipped into slumber.

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Jasper traversed the streets of Exodar without much direction. The young man was searching, that much was clear, but he had absolutely no idea where to begin his search. Derris could be anywhere by now. He certainly wasn't back in their crappy apartment, where his elder brother had woken some days ago. This had been the pattern every day since. Wake up, dress, search for Derris, eat, sleep. There was nothing else to his life, and there would not be, not until he found his younger sibling.

The hard days with little sustenance were starting to wear on Jasper. Gray eyes typically alight with a dangerous mischief were dull and glassy, his clothes disheveled and his hair not too much better. His mother would have wept to see him, perhaps, but for the first time, Jasper was glad that car accident had claimed her before the disease could. At least then she had received a proper burial, with people to mourn her as she should be mourned. Not so for the bodies that lay strewn about the street like so much garbage, simply refuse to be avoided in the aftermath of the worst disaster the world had ever seen.

In truth, the likelihood was that his brother was long dead as well. What was the chance that the both of them had survived the disease the news reports told him had killed ninety percent of the Earth's population? Somewhere inside him, anger stirred, that someone could simply release such a virus into the world, but it was quickly suppressed under the urge to find his brother, or what remained of the small child, anyway.

At least a body would be resolution. If Derris had indeed died, Jasper would be able to say with certainty that there was nothing that made the world worth living in anymore. What he would do then, he couldn't say, but a part of him refused to believe that his little brother was truly gone. Ever since his birth, Derris had been the single most important thing in Jasper's life. When the two had lost their parents, this bond had only intensified. They had needed each other to survive, then. Jasper had raised Derris, and Derris had supplied the hope that one day there would be something worth living for.

So the nineteen-year-old forced his battered body onwards, unceasing in his search.

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet woke the next morning with the early morning rays spilling through the window. She hadn't paid much attention the night before, being so preoccupied with her thoughts, but the guest room was obviously the byproduct of the rich, conclusively the nicest room Amunet had ever stayed in throughout her entire life. The dark cherry stained four poster bed was probably queen size and covered with a blue comforter with golden stems and leaves stretching out from the bottom corner. It came with matching pillows and sheets, still all nicely set since she hadn't even bothered to crawl underneath the covers the night before. The rest of the room was furnished with a vanity table, a bookshelf, a dresser and two bedside tables stained the same dark cherry color as the bed, all tastefully decorated to match the blue and gold of the bed. Amunet stood and made her way across the tan, carpeted floor to a door she hadn't noticed before. Her mouth formed a small 'oh' of surprise when she found that the door led to a private bathroom. The bathroom was polished and sparkling, elegant in it's black marble and tile. It had a jacuzzi bathtub, a shower, a walk-in closet, and an extra room to the side where the toilet was. The counter was large too, providing plenty of mirror space. Standing in such an amazing room, Amunet suddenly felt very dirty and wanted to take a shower as soon as possible. After some rummaging around, she found shampoo, conditioner, body soap, razors, toothbrush and toothpaste, towels, and even bath salts, but she couldn't find a change of clothes. Amunet moved back into the bedroom to go and find Kit and see if there were any spare clothes. When Amunet opened the bedroom door, she almost stepped right on a stack of clothes left on the floor just outside of the frame. Smiling, Amunet picked up the stack and retreated into the bathroom. She had a feeling that Kit had left it for her, and she was touched by how considerate the girl was.

Amunet was stripped and in the shower in no time, relishing the feel of the water on her skin. After fiddling with the shower-head a little bit, she left the setting on pulse, allowing the warmth and slightly painful pressure of the water relax and massage her tired muscles. Amunet turned to washing her hair, thoroughly working her way through every bit of her long tresses, until she was humming in satisfaction. She scrubbed down every bit of skin and shaved her legs, and eventually, she exited the shower squeaky-clean and smiling. She quickly toweled herself down, shivering in her nakedness and decided on a pair of black jean shorts and a cream button-up shirt from the clothes she'd been given. Then, she found a brush and muscled it through her tangled hair. When her black strands were sleek and orderly again, she braided it up quickly and tossed it back over her shoulder, frowning when she noticed that the braid reached just below the waistband of her shorts. She would need to cut it. The length was just inconvenient.

Once she was finished getting ready, Amunet made her way downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to get there before Norman and Kit, so she could make breakfast for the two of them. She wanted to show them her thanks, but she only had so many things she could do. Luckily, one of them was cooking.

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Kit arose slowly the next morning. The girl had been the early riser of the family, but yesterday had so exhausted her that she took her time getting out of bed, which had become a pleasant bubble of warmth with Bastet's assistance. she stretched languidly, a trifle catlike herself, before sitting up, toes just barely touching the floor due to her height and the elevation of the bed. Her legs were long proportionally, but that meant little when you were as tiny as Kit.

Her feet hit the plush Persian rug that adorned her floor, and she glided over to her closet, feeling through her clothes. In contrast to the dress she had worn yesterday, she chose a simple pair of jeans that she thought were a dark-wash, but couldn't be sure. Luckily, anything matched jeans, and Kit chose a familiar blouse with flowing elbow-length sleeves and a modest neckline accented with ribbon. She was fairly certain this particular garment was green and white.

Loosening her braid from the night before, she brushed out her nearly-white hair, which remained in soft waves because of how it had dried. Satisfied with the simplicity of this, Kit donned a pair of sandals before walking down to the kitchen. Her nose informed her that breakfast was being prepared, and she made her way to the dining room in anticipation of something that smelled delicious but unfamiliar.

*

Norman was up before the sun, and took a jog around the estate a few times before showering and donning not his usual suit, but simply a collared white shirt, meticulously ironed, and dark slacks. It would not do to appear too conspicuous when in Exodar proper, after all. His own hair required little maintenance, receding as it was, but he still ran a comb through it and straightened his mustache neatly.

Intending to cook breakfast for his charges, it appeared that someone had beaten him to it. Entering the kitchen, he noticed Amunet hard at work and offered her a nod in acknowledgment. He recognized what she was making, but it was not on his usual menu, and so he thought Miss Katherine might be pleasantly surprised.

"Good morning, Miss Amunet," he offered in a genial tone, supplying her with the occasional utensil as was necessary and piling dirty dishes into the sink. The family had owned a dishwasher, but Norman preferred to do such things himself, as did Kit. He chose to wash as Amunet cooked, which would save everyone trouble later. "I trust you slept well?"

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet smiled as she worked. She hadn't cooked in a while, so the simple task seemed all the more precious. After rummaging around, she had decided to make a breakfast quiche and was in the middle of scrambling the eggs when Norman walked in. By this point, she was enjoying cooking so much that the smile on her face and the bright, happy tone in her voice were sincere when she replied to his greeting.

"Good morning, Norman. I slept very well, thank you," she said, "And, please, there's no need to add 'miss' to my name. I'd prefer just Amunet." Amunet paused as she added cream, onions, and green chilies to the egg mixture. When the mixture was beat well, she added various cheeses and flour and whisked it all together one last time before pouring it into a pan already lined with pie crust and sprinkled bacon on top. After sticking it all in the oven, Amunet then turned back to her working area and cleaned any mess she had left there. With her hands free, she realized she had gotten lost in cooking again and turned back to Norman, who had been helping her as she was cooking, and smiled.

"Thank you for your help," she murmured. Then, she fetched herself a glass of water and drank it thirstily. It wasn't until she was about halfway through when she started. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Forgive my rudeness. Do you want some water, Norman? I went and got myself some and didn't even think...Anyway, sorry."

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The elderly man simply shook his head. "That is not necessary, my dear. And I am glad to hear you enjoyed your rest. We will have much to do today, I imagine." His eyes, which had been smiling along with the rest of him, fell into seriousness, and the transformation seemed to age him. His shoulders fell slightly, and the lines on his face, few for a man of his age, deepened. Nevertheless, he did not lose the impression of strength he seemed to exude; on the contrary, it but amplified into a sterner picture.

"I can trust you with Miss Katerine's safety; I truly believe this. However, you must understand my position. She is too kind to survive on her own. I believe miss Katherine intends to extend the offer of hospitality to anyone who she believes needs it. I am powerless to stop her in this, nor would I presume to try. But: I intend to watch anyone she brings back here. My job is above all to protect her, by any means necessary." The last words were not unduly emphasized, but the pause that followed made his meaning clear enough. "I say this because I wish to ask for your help, only in keeping an eye on her. I am afraid that however sharp my own may have become, I am only one person, Amunet, and I cannot be near Miss Katherine at all times. My request is merely this: should you find yourself in her company and it does not interfere with whatever it is that you intend to do, please look after her."

Norman knew he was asking a lot, but he was willing to do so for Kitty's sake, no matter what anyone might think of him for it. He did not trust people generally, and he feared for his surrogate granddaughter because she did. At some point, her soft heart was going to prove a liability, and he simply wished to make sure that when it did, that as many people as possible would be around to help. At the same time, he understood that asking Amunet to set aside her own goals to do this was unreasonable; hence the caveat.

Having said his piece, he turned back to the dishes without another word and finished them with admirable efficiency, born from years of practice. The oven soon made the characteristic pinging noise of having completed its work, and he pulled a couple of mitts from a drawer, passing them to the chef for the morning. Having reassumed his more casual demeanor, he nodded to her. "I shall go attend Miss Katherine. I look forward to tasting this; it smells simply delicious." And with that, he was gone, headed for the dining room.

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet's eyes softened as Norman spoke of Katherine. She knew he was right. She'd only known Kit for a day, and what a long day it had been, and she already knew very well how gentle her heart was. It was why she had been so hesitant to allow Kit to help her. They would go down a road not suited for one so kind. It worried her. Amunet knew it wasn't fair, but in the short time she had known her, she was already using Kit to fill the hole her sister's death had left in her heart. She couldn't allow anything to happen to Kit from her own resolve, so Norman's humble request had only solved to strengthen what was already there. Still, she wanted to say something to reassure him, to let him know that she had no intention of letting Katherine come to harm, but she couldn't find the right words to do so. Before she could get her thoughts together, the oven had dinged, and she moved to hurriedly pull the quiche out, not wanting it to burn. By the time she had turned around to put the dish on the stove, Norman was gone. No matter, she thought to herself, I'll just explain it to him later.

Tugging her hands out of the oven mitts, Amunet found some fruit, washed it, cut it up, and put it in a bowl. Then, she put together three glasses full of water and the fruit bowl on a tray she had found. After she used a pie-cutter to get three good sized slices onto separate plates and balanced them on the tray as well. With a practiced air earned from the many waitress jobs she'd had over the years, Amunet lifted the tray and moved to the dining room.

"The food's ready," she called out in a singsong voice when she opened the door. Bustling about, she placed the plates and water glasses in their respective places at the table and placed the fruit bowl in the middle. After that was done, she brought the tray back to the kitchen and fetched silverware and a serving spoon for the fruit. When she reached the table again, she sat down gracefully in her seat.

"Bon appetit," she exclaimed, Norman and Kit expectantly. She wanted to see their reactions when they tried it.

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Kit lifted her fork to her mouth experimentally. She knew what quiche was, of course, but it had never smelled quite like this. The girl was pleasantly delighted when it tasted of some nice herbs as well as egg, cheese, and all the things one commonly expected of quiche. Chewing it over to appreciate all the flavors, she swallowed and smiled brightly.

"Delicious!" she exclaimed, and Norman was not far in echoing her praise.

"Most delightful, Amunet," he agreed, reaching across the table for the fruit bowl, offering Kit some, which she accepted, before spooning a bit onto the edge of his own plate. Kit did not much care, but Norman was one of those people who was meticulous about food not touching, and generally about tidiness in his life, as evidenced by his usual appearance. Fastidiousness had always served him well; and so he saw no reason to slacken in it.

Kit ate as quickly as was strictly polite, both because of the taste of the meal and also because she was eager to go into Exodar. "So, Amunet, what will you do while we're in Exodar?" she asked conversationally. She knew Norman wanted to buy supplies of some sort, but if the older woman was going to do something more interesting, she might ask to accompany her instead.

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Amunet smiled, almost giggling at the enthusiasm Kit had for the food. She was glad that her useful skills were able to bring pleasure to such a happy girl. Norman seemed to appreciate it too, which very flattering. He just seemed like the type to be good at everything, and if he liked it, then it had to be good. Amunet turned to eating her own food, relishing the rich taste. She had done a good job with this one. Then, when Kit asked what she planned to do, Amunet glanced up, a grim expression on her face.

"I am planning to do some detective work, I suppose. I might also check out some abandoned houses and see if they have anything useful," she replied, "You can come if you'd like, Katherine." She didn't really have faith that she'd find much, but she needed to try anyway. Besides, it would be nice to go out casually instead of wandering the streets for survival, and Kit's company would be a nice addition. Amunet finished her food and took her plate to the kitchen. She needed to cover the rest of the quiche and refrigerate it, so it would last longer. After that was done, she cleaned her own dish and went back into the dining room to collect Norman and Kit's plates.

"Let me take care of those," she said when they finished, "I'll clean up here, and you two can get ready to go out." Amunet headed back to the kitchen and finished cleaning. Luckily, she really only needed to put on her hiking shoes, not the slippers she'd found, and she would be ready. When she finished cleaning the dishes and putting them away, Amunet stood and basked, for a moment, in the light pouring in through the window. It was a nice day, and she would enjoy being outside. With a smile, Amunet rolled and stretched her limbs, almost like a cat, and left the kitchen. With the practiced air of doing it a million times, she yanked her shoes and socks on and stood. She hoped the day would end with her having found something.

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Jasper stumbled heavily back to his apartment, one hand absently wrenching the door open and leaving it slightly ajar without much concern. His other arm hung uselessly at his side, blood dripping slowly from his fingertips to the floor. It left a trail from the entrance way through the living room and to the solitary bathroom, but he was heedless of it staining the beige carpet or pooling on the white tile floor.

Mechanically, he removed his jacket, exposing the wound on his upper arm to open air. Grabbing a washcloth from the towel rack, he ran it under piping-hot water before wiping the excess blood away, watching the pinkened liquid flow down the sink's drain without any visible reaction. The mirror, which he studiously avoided looking directly at swung aside to reveal a small assortment of medicines, but he ignored these in favor of a roll of bright white bandages. With the same robotic movements, he wrapped the wound before it could start to bleed again, lacking a proper disinfectant. Replacing the bandages, he flexed his arm muscles experimentally. There was a twinge of pain, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

A few moments later, he dropped heavily onto his bed, closing his eyes against the tide of his thoughts, swinging as they always did towards his brother. A day and a night of searching, and still nothing. Well... not exactly nothing. He thought he'd had a lead there for a while, but as it turns out some thugs had decided to mug him instead. It had worked out even less well for them than it had for Jasper himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should eat, but he ignored the gnawing in his stomach. That could be resolved later. After he slept. After he found Derris... it was not long before he slipped into oblivion, dreams still haunted by nightmare visions of what might have happened to to the only person he'd cared about in a long time.

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Kit nodded to Amunet's offer, certain from her peculiar new sense that Norman would somehow not object to this. When Amunet took their plates, Kit made her way back out to the foyer, rummaging through an expansive hall closet until her fingers alighted on what she'd been looking for: a pair of canvas-and-rubber shoes. She'd never owned any hiking boots or anything like that, but Kit figured that something like these would do. She'd always preferred what she thought of as "real" shoes to heels and dressy things like Mum and Liz had both been fond of... she was more like her dad, who would have worn tennis shoes to work every day if he could have.

A bittersweet smile tinged her lips as she ran her hands over the other shoes still there. Mum's favorite lacquer-smooth heels, Liz's old strappy sandals, Dad's patent-leather work shoes... she could still smell the polish on them. Shaking her head to herself, Kit straightened, pulling the sneakers on over soft ankle-length socks, tying the laces by muscle memory alone. Norman, she knew from the sound of his walk, was already wearing shoes, so she did not set his out for him as she might have otherwise.

The lock made the characteristic clicking noise of the tumbler locking into place, and the three of them were soon on their way to Exodar via car, a nondescript black sedan that did not ooze wealth so much as anonymity, a much preferential state fro what they were doing, perhaps.

The city itself was quiet, even to Kit's enhanced hearing. Certainly, there was movement in a few of the nearby houses and apartment buildings, but the place seemed less like a city and more like a ghost town, which, she supposed, it might very well be. The stench of death was enough to turn her stomach, but she held the instinct to retch in check. It wouldn't be quite as bad for Norman or Amunet, but then, they'd have to see what she was smelling: the garbage piled haphazardly, the stains where bodies had begun to decompose before being somehow removed, the corpses where they had not been so.

"Well," she said, trying not to let her discomfort show in her tone, "where should we begin?"

"I shall be headed to the Northeast," Norman broke in, tone grave and without the joviality she was accustomed to hearing in it, "I will be back at this spot in precisely three hours." Unseen to Kit, he passed Amunet a look that clearly indicated he was placing an important trust in her. There was not quite a threat in it, since he did not feel this necessary; it was obvious enough how he would react if harm came to either of them, particularly Katherine.

With that, he moved off in the promised direction to do she knew-not-what, and the two young women were left alone to do as they would.

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Amunet waited until Norman's figure grew small in the distance before speaking. Amunet chewed on her lip and glanced around the city. Obviously, she needed to go where the political offices were if she was going to find any evidence as to where her targets were, but where exactly were the political offices. She never paid attention to these things before...that was Isis. With a twinge of pain in her heart, Amunet looked to the downtown skyscrapers to the west. It wasn't too far, but she didn't like the grim emptiness of everything. She almost wished she had died or lost her vision like Kit instead of having to see the world so dead and decayed in its emptiness.

"Well," she said with forced cheer, trying to brighten the darkness this scene had put in her soul, "I guess we should start heading West if we want to be back in three hours." Trying to ignore her creeping feeling of regret for her mission, Amunet took Kit's hand and gently led her in the direction of the downtown area. The walk felt longer than it looked, and by the time they actually reached the tall buildings, she was getting tired. Not exhausted, because she was used to long journeys, but enough for her to know that Kit was probably exhausted. Still guiding Kit by the hand, Amunet sat her on a street bench and sat beside her.

"We'll take a bit of a rest," she explained to Kit, stretching into relaxation. The weather seemed so perfect, sunny with a touch of breeze to keep everything cool. She surveyed everything with a sleepy haze until a movement in the alley across from them caught her attention. Focusing on the place she had seen the movement, she watched carefully until she caught another movement. Cautious, she stood and, keeping her eye on the alley, she said to Kit, "Stay here. I'll be right back." Then, with the quiet grace of a predator, moved across the street. She needed to make sure that whatever was hidden in the shadows was not a danger.

~~~

Derris rummaged through the trash. No matter how much he could fins in the contents of the trashcans in the alleyways, he was still hungry and the edible trash decreased daily. Still, he was too afraid to venture out into the street. The thought of being open to the world terrified him for reasons he couldn't fathom. It was the same terror he felt when he woke from his nightmares, so he preferred not to wonder where it came from. Each time he tried, he just ended up crumpled on the floor clutching his aching head. To the outside eye, Derris barely resembled a child anymore. His dark hair hung in greasy locks to his shoulders, and mud and grime caked his pale skin, hiding what its true color may be. Even his clothes were in tatters, ripped, worn, and long past overuse. Lastly, he was starved, so skinny, and so hungry. He had become so wrapped up in rummaging for food that he didn't even notice Amunet slow approach. When her footsteps crunched in the trash, however, he spun around and backed up, watching the stranger with obvious distrust. Amunet had been watching him with pity from the entrance of the alleyway. The moment he saw her, she knelt to get to his level and held her arms out with the palms up, a defenseless position to show her friendliness.

"It's okay," she coaxed in a soft voice, "I promise I won't hurt you. I want to help you. I want to get you some food, but you'll have to come back with me." Slowly, she reached her right hand out further, offering it to him. Derris didn't budge, continuing to just stare at her suspiciously. Sighing, Amunet leaned back until she plopped onto her butt and folded her legs casually. Glancing around, she spotted a marble nestled in the trash. She snatched it up and held it up, indicating to the boy that he needed to watch it closely. In slow movements, she folded the marble away and made it disappear. Despite his caution , Derris couldn't hide his delight, and it shined through the grime on his face. For his benefit alone, she had it appear then disappear again and let it stay gone. Smiling, she reached her hand out one more time.

"My name is Amunet," she said kindly. Derris, curious about the strange magic-lady, took her hand without hesitation. Amunet gave him a pleased grin but stayed seated.

"What is your name?" she asked when he didn't offer it on his own. Derris looked surprised at her question and frowned a bit in thought.

"Derris," he replied, his voice so soft that Amunet wouldn't wouldn't have heard it were it not for her enhanced senses.

"All right, then, Derris. Let's go meet my friend," she explained, standing and leading Derris back to Kit, "Kit!" she called as she almost reached Kit's bench, "This is Derris. Derris, this is Kit."

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Amunet's emotions were confusing to Kit. There was a measure of... regret there, perhaps? Accompanied by no small amount of uncertainty, which was a little more expected. Still, she would not say anything about it, not exactly sure how comfortable the other woman might be with knowing that Kit could decipher what she was feeling. Such things were supposed to be private, and for now the best Kit could do was pretend she didn't notice them. Some time, perhaps, she would have to tell Amunet what she could do, but now there were more important things, like helping her with her mission.

Which is why even as she grew tired of walking, she did not once utter a complaint. She would keep on going until her friend wanted to stop, and that was that. Luckily for Kit, then, it was not too much longer before he two of them parked on a bench, and she felt herself relax almost immediately under the warmth of sunlight.

Kit heard the noise at the same time as Amunet caught the motion, but nevertheless, she stayed put when the other woman went to investigate, knowing she'd be little good in any sort of confrontation, which she sorely hoped this would not be. Sometimes, she wished she were not so clearly a hindrance, but there was little she could do, for the moment. She caught pieces of conversation, but it was not until Amunet returned that she discerned the other speaker must have been a child, from the lightness of the footsteps.

The other woman performed an introduction, and Kit smiled warmly. This, at least, she was good for. She could help this child, and that made it worth being here, right? "Hello, Derris," she spoke softly. "It's nice to meet you." Her sense of smell informed her that the young boy was filthy, the sounds of his breathing might have been exhaustion, but he was definitely uncertain, and she did not want to do anything to startle or frighten him. In this case, perhaps it was lucky that she never struck anyone as any sort of threat.

She next addressed Amunet. "Do you wish to keep going? I would, but..." she left the sentence hanging, understanding that Amunet would be able to discern the reason for her hesitation without much difficulty. Still, if Amunet still had things to do, Kit could watch Derris for a while, and she trusted that her friend would guess this, too.

***
Norman exited the rather decrepit building, pulling the door shut behind him, sighing slightly to himself. It appeared that the state of things was worse than he had expected. about three of his old contacts had survived, and they were now the sole bastions of order in a city given over to chaos. He supposed it was a credit to them that more pandemonium was not obvious, but then the population had decreased so much that it was not likely there were enough people left for riots or mobs, simple as that.

Still, they had been able to supply him with both information and certain items of convenient purpose,both of which he felt a great deal more secure in having. It seemed he now knew the likely place of origin of the disease, and maybe had a hint as to the identity of the perpetrators. Now all that remained was to decide what to do with the knowledge. it was not as simple as to circulate or not circulate; certain things would have to be verified and considered first.

Still, the idea that there had been a vaccine available before the spread of the illness was a troubling one, and he knew that it would infuriate a number of people. Hell, it had infuriated him, which was not an easy thing to do. For now, he'd find his way back to the meeting place and go from there.

On his way back, he trained his senses on the houses and apartment buildings he passed. Most of them were quite empty, but he took note of one with three people inside, at least one of them a child from the sound of the heart. As he was considering this (Miss Katherine would certainly wish him to offer assistance) a golf cart and what appeared to be some kind of four-wheeled ATV or similar passed him, carrying three more people in total. The flashes of thoughts mingled together, but he could not help deciding that at least one of those three was someone he would most definitely not allow near his employer.

He was almost back to the rendezvous point when he heart another heartbeat, this one an adult, perhaps, but weak. Checking his watch, he observed that there was still another hour before he was expected to be back. Norman's logical self demanded that he just keep walking, but another, smaller part whispered that Kitty would not appreciate knowing that he had failed to help someone who's life was perhaps at stake.

Resignedly, he approached the open door of what appeared to be a ground-level apartment, drawing his gun carefully from where it was hidden at his side. Miss Katherine might request that he help, but he knew better than to go in with anything other than extreme caution. Knocking first, he was slightly alarmed when nothing within changed. You wouldn't have even needed enhanced senses to pick out the noise, and he had heard no movement at all. Pushing the door open with his foot, he stepped inside.

The flat was not well-made, but it was well-kept, all things considered. Alarmingly, there was a trail of blood leading from where he was standing to a door that must have been a master suite of some kind. Now he definitely had no choice. Grimacing to himself, he opened this door as well. As he suspected, a bedroom. The bed was pushed to one side of the room, against a corner. A small end table and dresser were the only other items in the room, save the young man sprawled out over the bed, breathing harsh and ragged.

Holstering his gun, Norman cautiously approached. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, he gave a brief shake before stepping back. Falling into what he privately termed "butler-mode," he spoke gently. "Excuse me, young sir, but I think it would be to your benefit if you awoke." The youth looked more than a little malnourished, and Norman wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten, or if this apartment was even his.

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Jasper's slumber had been fitful at best, but it still took the contact of a hand on his shoulder to wake him. At the touch, he started, sitting up quickly, perhaps too much so, judging from the way his head started reeling.

His vision slowly cleared, and he noted the presence of an elderly man in his room without registering too much surprise. It was most certainly strange, but then, what wasn't these days? The man looked awfully out-of-place in the dingy apartment. Even dressed somewhat casually, there was an air of upper-class about him that didn't leave. It helped that every hair, down to the ones in his gray mustache, seemed to be perfectly in place, his clothes clean, bright, and obviously not on the cheaper side of things.

He'd said something, but Jasper had missed it. "My... benefit?" At first the young man was puzzled, but he eventually caught up with the situation, and slowly grew cold. "And what do you know about my benefit, old man?" he asked sullenly, sending the intruder a glare. Who was this guy, that he thought he had the right to intrude into somebody's private home and tell them what they should do? It was just like the rich to think they knew best. So many of the families that had wanted to adopt him had been just like that.

And why was the guy just standing there, anyway? Nothing made any sense, and it was starting to hurt Jasper's head. Then again, maybe that was just the fact that he hadn't eaten in a couple of days. His stomach, which had initially protested painfully, had since subsided to a dull aching sensation that he could ignore if he chose.

Jasper made to stand up; that guy was going to leave, one way or another, but it looked like he'd have to force the issue. Unfortunately for him, the dizziness combined with the lack of sustenance combined was a bit much when coupled with his current state of injury, and he stumbled forward. This is gonna hurt, he conceded mentally as the floor rushed upwards to meet him.

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Amunet smiled at Kit's soft and kind greeting to the little boy. She didn't know why, but Derris had already begun to pull at her heartstrings. She supposed she just needed someone to care for, and though caring for Kit helped a lot, the girl was way more independent than Derris would be. Amunet knew, in the near future, Derris' vulnerability would fill in the hole her sister's death had put in her heart. Glancing down at him, she looked back at Kit, thinking about Kit's question. She wasn't too worried about Derris being looked after. She had a feeling that he might even enjoy a bit of sneaking around, but she knew she was hungry. Just looking down at his skinny, malnourished body and feeling his slim hand let her know that getting some food in him soon was important.

"Our original reason for coming out can wait for another day," Amunet decided aloud before looking fondly down at Derris to show her delight, "Let's get some food into this little one." Her smile was bright and happy, though she could not pin down why this much happiness was within her. Gently ruffling Derris' hair, she bent down again to get to his eye level.

"Now, Derris," she began, her tone serious, "I'm trusting you with this. Miss Kit can't see, okay? While we're walking, I need you to hold onto her hand, so she won't trip." Once she finished, Amunet stood again and motioned for Derris to take Kit's hand, so they could go.

~~~

Derris looked tentatively up at Kit. He didn't respond when she greeted him, not because he distrusted her. In fact, he decided that Kit seemed like a very nice lady, but he suddenly felt shy and hesitated in talking to her. Still, when Amunet had asked him to hold Kit's hand, he obeyed, grasping her hand so lightly, he could barely feel it. As they walked, he looked between girls with curiosity. Kit was shorter, but she wasn't as short as him. She was pretty and nice-looking, like a princess, and he decided he liked her. Amunet was the opposite, taller and darker, with dark hair like him. She was pretty, in a different way from Kit, and after her magic trick, he knew he liked her too. He was glad to have met them.

When they passed the meeting spot, Amunet paused just long enough to scratch "GONE BACK" into the dirt using a stick before they quickly headed back to the mansion. After they were inside, Amunet led Derris into the kitchen, while he still held onto Kit's hand, and gave him a plateful of leftover quiche. Eyes wide, Derris released Kit's hand and scarfed down the big slice and then another, but he started feeling sick right away. He hadn't eaten in so long that the food was heavy in his stomach. Derris, however, kept his queasiness to himself, because he knew he could handle it. When he finished, Amunet took him by the hand again.

"We're going for a bath," she said to Kit before leading Derris up the stairs to her bathroom. He was very subdued and tired, but Amunet was too eager to have him clean before she let him sleep. Plus, she didn't want his grime on her bedsheets.

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Kit smiled to herself as the little boy led her as gently as possible down the street. In reality, her other senses were good enough that she required little assistance, but she had a feeling that having something to do would put his mind at ease, and s she allowed him to tug her along gently. In truth, she hadn't ever interacted much with small children, and so she was a bit out of her depth. Still, kindness and the desire to help were as much a part of her nature and the way she had been raised as anything else, and she was going to do whatever she could think of to help Amunet take care of him.

When the three reached the mansion, Kit kept the other two company as Derris ate, retreating to her room when Amunet expressed the wish to get him cleaned up. This one was going to be a bit harder; she had very few articles of clothing within her reach that would suit a young boy. Maybe some of her cousin's old things would work? Where were those, anyway?

Kit's father only had one sibling, and her mother had been an only child. As a result, Kit only had three cousins, all of whom were a good deal older than her. The clothes, which she remembered were most likely in the attic, had been passed to the family in the event anyone had a boy. That was the thing about the Wilsons: they were wealthy, but not wastefully so. Hoping that for once her father's thrifty attitude might come in useful, Kit climbed the balustrade stairs up to the sixth floor, the attic. Upon reaching it, she sneezed several times in succession, sniffling a bit. Hardly anyone ever came up here; the only things around were old clothes and the occasional picture, saved from Kit and Liz's childhood efforts at art or something similar.

With no way to differentiate between the boxes, Kit had to open several before she came across something that seemed right. A pair of jeans, maybe a bit big for Derris, since everyone in Kit's family besides herself had been a good deal taller than average. Still, they might work. A long-sleeved shirt was the next article she laid hands on, and she decided that given the early stage of spring, it shouldn't be too warm yet. Everything else was simply too large, anyway. They would hopefully get the chance to purchase something else eventually, and she would be sure to do some laundry soon, but this should work for now.

Closing the box back up, she slowly felt her way down the stairs, leaving the clothes outside Amunet's room much as she had the night before. For now, she'd give them both some space. It was surely difficult enough dealing with the new surroundings; she didn't want to overwhelm Derris or anything. With this in mind, Kit returned to the living room and laid herself out on the couch, smiling when Bastet moved to lay on her stomach. The day had been an eventful one already, and it had only just passed noon.

**

Norman had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the initial comment. The young always seemed to think they knew best about everything. He was certainly glad Miss Katherine was not like that, and it did not seem that Miss Amunet was either. He considered once again just leaving and pretending he'd never been here, but the sullen young man gave a lurch as he tried to stand before falling forward, apparently unconscious.

Surprisingly strong arms caught him as he fell, and Norman sighed to himself, pulling back the youth's eyelids to discover that he was, indeed, unconscious. Shifting his grip so that he was performing a fireman's carry, Norman observed that he was also far too light to be healthy, leading him to believe that starvation was not far off. What do I know about your benefit, indeed. Apparently far more than you, my boy, he thought with a tinge of sarcasm. Well, there was no way he was getting out of this now. He'd have to take the young man back to the rendezvous point and see what it was that Miss Katherine wished to do with him, though he suspected he already knew what the answer would be.

He's starving, Norman, we can't just leave him. It was rather odd, how the voice in his head that he identified with his conscience was beginning to sound like her soft soprano, down to the gentleness in it. either that, or he was going soft.

The thought was disconcerting, and he did his best to ignore it as he approached the meeting-place. With some trepidation, he observed the note on the ground. Had they walked all the way back? What would have prompted such a thing? His first suspicion was a trick, but in the end he discarded it. Nobody who would have wished them harm could have known about the rendezvous point; he had been sure there was no one within earshot (including an enhanced one).

Perhaps he would pass them on his way, he mused as he placed his burden in the back seat. But it was not until he reached the mansion itself that he saw or heard any sign of them. Someone was running water, but as he entered the foyer he could easily discern that both Miss Katherine and the cat were in the living room.

She apparently heard him, too, for it was not long before she poked her head out the door and addressed him. "Norman?" she called, curiosity evident in her tone. "What's going on?"

Now there was a worthwhile question. "Ive... found an injured person. Kitty, I need you to boil some water and make some soup as well. Can you do that for me? I'll be taking him to the third floor; the room next to mine."

Bless her heart, Katherine asked no more questions, but simply nodded. "I will." She headed off immediately for the kitchen, a black ball of fuzz trailing after her. Norman sighed with relief, adjusting his burden a bit before trudging heavily up the stairs. He really was getting too old for this. he'd once lived in the servant's quarters, which were in this case just slightly-less-fancy versions of the guest rooms, but Master Wilson had long since required he move upstairs. The floor had been his alone for quite some years, though he shared it with some security equipment and a few guest rooms. Katherine and Elizabeth had claimed the second floor, and the fourth belonged to the master and mistress of the house. The fifth had offices, exercise equipment, and a few other assorted things. The sixth was storage and the attic.

The room next to his was dark in coloration, the walls a deep red, the carpet a complimentary shade of gray. With an exhalation of relief, Norman at last laid the youth down atop the four-poster bed, relieved to note that his breathing at least was still regular. He set about opening the long-closed blinds and generally trying to prepare the room for occupation. he was unsure how long this particular guest would be staying, but it never hurt to be prepared.

It wasn't long before Kit appeared, and Norman moved to relieve her of the soup, hot water, and medicine she seemed to have added to the order of her own volition, but the girl shook her head. "Allow me, Norman. You should rest." For once, her tone was firm, and he could tell that this was simply one of those things she was going to be stubborn about.

"Very well, Miss Katherine. Don't try to force him to eat; it will do little good. If the fever gets any worse, let me know." He might have said more, but his young employer just smiled and shook her head. She would know all of this, of course, and probably had been able to guess the appropriate medicine with healing even better than his. She seemed to be able to do that, to read vital signs with a surprising accuracy. He wondered what application it had, but this was something for another time, perhaps.

Norman left Kit to her task, and settled himself in the living room. the running water had stopped by now; he wondered if Amunet would have any news of what she had found. He certainly had a few things he might share regarding the source of the disease, though how much would depend on what she herself had come across.

**

Kit regarded her patient curiously. The same senses that allowed her to guess at emotion were informing her that this person's metabolic processes were quite slow and weak- a bit like Derris's were, though apparently it had been a bit longer since this one had eaten. Still, it would do best to break that fever first. To this end, she wetted a washcloth and placed it on his forehead. The medicine she'd brought up included a fever-reducer, but it might be difficult to get him to take it.

When it came time to try and get him to intake some of her broth, Kit realized she had a problem. This would have been much easier to do if she could see. For a moment, she considered asking one of the others to help her, but somehow she rebelled against the notion. She wanted to be able to do this herself. She was not the sort who wanted to remain dependent on others, even though she appreciated their help. Now, here was someone who was depending on her, and she wasn't going to let them down, not if she could help it.

Judging from his breaths, she could guess quite closely at the location of his nose, and that was where she'd start. Tentatively, she leaned in until she was sure she had it, then swallowed her polite instinct to keep her distance and gently touched his face with one hand, finding his mouth as quickly as possible before replacing her fingertips with the bowl of soup.

That was well enough, but he wasn't swallowing. Remembering a trick Norman had used on her when she'd refused to take medicine as a child, she set the bowl aside and ran a hand down his throat, smiling to herself when he swallowed reflexively. There. You're going to eat, whether you like it or not.

But something was getting to her. Norman had asked her to boil water, obviously not for the fever. she thought about it for a minute before she recognized the metallic smell that had been hitting her nose this entire time. Blood. He was bleeding, somewhere. Oh, how much easier this would have been with sight!

Still, she couldn't ask for things that were not there, and her nose could help anyway. It wasn't long before she located the wound on his arm, peeling back the bandages carefully. The smell got a great deal worse, and Kit flinched. She hadn't liked blood before, now ti felt like the very substance assaulted her in some way. Holding her breath, she dabbed gently at the wound with a hot cloth, and then quickly fumbled around in the medicine cabinet for more bandages, which she used to redress the wound.

"There," she said out loud, using an arm to wipe a small bit of sweat from her brow. "You have no excuse not to get better now."

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#, as written by syrafay
Amunet ran the bath with a cool air of assurance, trying to appear in control for Derris, who seemed to be uneasy about the idea of bathing. She wasn't too surprised. He looked and smelled like bathing would be something unfamiliar to him, and her enhanced sense made the stench of him a thousand times worse. She was eager to get him in the water and start scrubbing that filth off. When the bathtub was full, Amunet motioned for Derris to approach her, which he did, hesitantly. The moment he was within arm's reach, she moved in a flash to strip off his cloths and plop him in the tub. In fact, she moved so quickly, the boy didn't even have time to struggle before the warmth of the water enveloped him. Then, when he thought to struggle, the water felt so comfortable that he didn't see the point.

"There," Amunet said, "That's not so bad, is it?" Gently, she began soaping him up, and using a soft rag, she scrubbed of the layers of dirt and grime settled on his skin. By the time she had cleaned his arms enough to see his true skin color, the water was already murky and dark. With a small grimace of disgust, Amunet pulled the plug and allowed the water to drain out, not even bothering to pull Derris out of the tub. Once the water was all drained out, she turned on the tap and left it running, realizing it would be faster and cleaner than filling and refilling the tub many times over. Inch by inch, Amunet scrubbed down every patch of skin until it was spotless and pink from the friction. As she worked, she learned that Derris had very pail skin, he was skinner than she thought, definitely needing some fattening up, there was a strange scar beside his left eye, and all in all, he was a beautiful little boy. Finally, after she cleaned out his natty hair, she observed that his hair was a little closer to gray than black and very fine. Once he was clean, Amunet pulled Derris out of the tub and dried him off. Suddenly, she was at a loss. She definitely was not going to put him back in his nasty clothes. In fact, she planned on burning them if she could. Sighing, Amunet moved to the door to go find Kit and see what she could dig up, but a set of clothes was already waiting just outside her door.

"Kit thinks of everything," Amunet said aloud as she brought the clothes back to the bathroom where Derris stood awkwardly. Without ceremony, Amunet helped him into the clothes, rolling the pant legs and sleeves up, and, once she finished that, glanced over the finished effect. With a frown, she noted that his hair was too long. Rummaging around, she found some scissors and trimmed his hair until it reached just below the tips of his ears. With a triumphant laugh, Amunet lifted Derris onto the counter to face the mirror.

"You're all done!" she exclaimed with delight.

~~~

Derris calmly endured Amunet's ministrations, somewhat enjoying the feeling of being cleaned. He watched her face as she worked, entranced by the kindness and pleasantness he saw there. The entire time she cleaned, no matter how filthy he was, she had a smile on her face, as if she enjoyed his company. Once in a while, though he didn't think she knew she was doing it, Amunet would hum as she scrubbed away, and the sound of her humming caused Derris to feel more safe and secure than he could remember feeling in a long time. Because he felt so comfortable with her, Derris didn't think to object when she decided to cit his hair or even when she picked him up, something he had though he disliked immensely, but when she did it, it made him feel like he had a mother.

Once Derris' own reflection caught his eye, he forgot all else and stared, open-mouthed. Shocked, he reached a tentative hand up and ran it up his face to his hair. He'd seen his scroungy reflection in windows and metal, so he had assumed that he was ugly or malformed, since he couldn't remember what he looked like before being alone, but the boy in the mirror was normal-looking, maybe even handsome. In awe, he traced the crescent shaped scar near his eye and frowned. He wondered how that got there. Suddenly, a pain stabbed in his head, and Derris remembered he wasn't supposed to try and remember. Once he tried thinking of something else, the pain went away. Out of nowhere, Derris yawned, realizing that he was exhausted. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept well. Amunet noticed his yawn and carried Derris to her bed. She rubbed his back and sang some lullabies until Derris nodded off to sleep, and then, tired from cleaning him and entranced by her own efforts to lull Derris to sleep, Amunet followed suit, falling asleep with Derris curled up in her arms.