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Family Pictures

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Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby RedRaine on Sat Aug 06, 2011 7:40 pm

In order to best understand the posts in this thread, you may wish to read the first two posts from the thread Leftover Tandoori Rice before reading this thread.
Last edited by CortexiphanGirl on Tue Oct 11, 2011 2:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: Lilaiy: Requested by Ylanne
~Still trying to fit all of my dreams in a pokeball.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Aug 06, 2011 7:44 pm

(Post collaborated between DemiKara, barney_fife, and I.)





Aerilyn wasn't entirely certain what she was doing here. After all, she had only met the woman once. Still, the aeromancer felt almost compelled. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door to the Drulovic home and hoped someone might be home. There had been lots of pictures. There should be a family of some sort shouldn't there?

Drulović was not home. Instead, the door was opened by a middle-aged woman with light brown hair curled around her ears, dressed in jeans and a purple cardigan. She shared Drulović's deep-set, twinkling eyes, and strong, square jaw. She frowned at the sight of the young woman on the doorstep. "Are you looking for someone?" asked the older woman. Behind her, visible in the hallways, were a few men and women in hushed conversations, who moved away from the door.

"I. I wanted to..." She looked down then took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what's happened with Miss Drulović. I didn't know her well but she was nice, and they took Ahmad too. He's...we were becoming friends, of a sort." Could have been. It was hard. "I'm. I've been in spots like that. She'll come out fine."

"You must be one of Mom's neighbors or agents," said the older woman. "Come in." She opened the door wider to admit Aerilyn. "I'm Jelisaveta, and this is my husband, Bozidar." She gestured to a bearded man sitting in the archway between the living room and the hallway, the color photograph of Drulović and the eerily-similar looking woman hanging at a crooked angle above him. Bozidar offered a half-hearted wave before returning to a conversation with another man further inside the living room. Some of the people appeared to be agents or police.

"Not quite. Ms. Drulović interviewed me for a position in a program she's starting a short bit ago. I'm afraid I ended up storming out on her in a huff. Your mother asked some hard questions." She said and stepped inside the room. Aerilyn looked nervous and hung back near the door. "I just wanted to reassure your. Ms. Drulović is a tough woman. She'll get out just fine."

"That's what we hope," said Jelisaveta, shutting the door behind Aerilyn. She moved further into the house toward the kitchen, where water was boiling on the stove for tea in an old-fashioned kettle. The distinct smells of Serbian food wafted down the hall and toward the living room. "Mom tends to ask hard questions. She always has. I'm sorry, did you say our name?"

"Oh! Sorry, my name is Aerilyn." She looked nervous as she followed after Jelisaveta. "Have you had any news?" She smiled at the scent, and had the feeling she was about to have food offered to her. Like mother, like daughter, she supposed. Still, it wasn't too big of a deal. She had a semi-steady source of income now, so didn't worry too much about eating anymore, but still, she would never turn food down.

"The Prime Minister called to tell us what had happened, but other than that, we've heard nothing," said Jelisaveta, reaching for one of the pots. "Here, have some rice and chicken," she said, deciding to give the normal English names as opposed to the Serbian ones. She heaped a generous serving onto a plate and handed it to Aerilyn. "My sister made a mountain of food when we got here last night."

"Your family must like to cook. Your mother insisted on feeding me, despite Ahmad having treated me to lunch only moment before." Aerilyn smiled at that, enjoying the thought. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" She asked with a gentle voice. After all, it was entirely possible that there was. Aerilyn wasn't one hundred percent certain, but she rather suspected the answer was no.

Jelisaveta rolled her eyes, in a gesture that mirrored the Director's perfectly. "Mom feeds everyone. It's in her nature." She put the lid back on the pot and headed toward the dining room, the same one where Drulović had conducted the interview. "I'm not sure there's anything anyone can do, really." Jelisaveta seated herself where Drulović had been seated. A half-empty plate sat in front of her, and she picked up a fork. Another woman was also sitting at the table, forlornly picking at some rice with a fork. "This is my sister, Natalija; Natalija, this is Aerilyn, a TIB applicant."

Natalija nodded at Aerilyn. "As long as you're not with the press," she said, frowning. "The damn journalists with their cameras have been here every hour, trying to get a word out of us. I wish they'd all go away and leave us alone. We just want our mom back."

Peace was something Aerilyn could understand. The young woman took a breath and smiled slightly. "I can help with that. I can't do much, but...well, I'm an aeromancer. I keep my privacy by living in the eye of a contained tornado. If you like..." It was an idea at least, and it would keep them safe. "I could do the same here. Nothing would really be disturbed inside or out. It's basically walls of strong winds."

"You could keep prying ears out of this house?" said Natalija, looking a mite more interested than she had a moment before. "That would be much appreciated. Mom doesn't exactly have great security, apparently. We got here and someone had already tried to rob the place. The agents stopped the thieves, thankfully, but not before they made off with some of Mom's jewelry."

"The man who took Mom, Guatrau, is the same one who put out the ten million Credit bounty on her. Cranford said he wouldn't dare kill her, but I'm not so sure." Jelisaveta let her fork drop to the side of her plate on the table. "I'm worried. Cranford's a politician, and politicians are all liars. Who knows if he's telling us the truth?"

Aerilyn nodded. "When I came in for my interview I noticed. I can help with security she'd feel comfortable with afterwards." She said quietly. The woman smiled and nodded. She walked over to a window to crack it open slightly. "I understand attacking, and how to guard against that. I suppose that means I understand security, too." She frowned at the crack, then smiled slightly. That was an odd noise, loud and impossibly like a tornado right about the house before it quieted down and everything was peaceful.

"There. That ought to set eh reporters on their heads, don't you think?" If Natalija or her sister looked out the window, she would see the inside of a tornado. Aerilyn grinned. It was, as always, relaxing to use her power.

Jelisaveta glanced out the window, and started, recovering after a few moments. "Good Lord," she breathed, returning to her food. She absently stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork before bringing it to her lips, savoring her sister's homemade gravy. "It won't hurt anyone, right?"

Natalija snorted. "I don't think Mom cares that much for security. When we were little, she was constantly paranoid about it, shutting blinds, staying away from 'certain angles.' She used to say something about snipers, and listening devices. After we came back to the States, everything changed. Mom freely disregarded all of her own advice. I heard from Cranford that the mere suggestion of additional security made her chafe."

Something must have happened to her. Aerilyn sighed. "It won't hurt anyone. If someone you know needs to come in, then it will part. People with cameras and recorders though it won't let in. The wonders of magic." She smiled slightly and shook her head. She took a seat at the table. "I can tell you that when I was a war prisoner, I was mostly left alone."

Jelisaveta quieted at that. She gave Aerilyn a hard look, searching the younger woman with her eyes. "I'm guessing Mom didn't tell you what happened back in Yugoslavia," she said. "She certainly wasn't left alone then." Jelisaveta chewed a piece of chicken thoughtfully while Natalija checked something on her phone. The two sisters were a contrast -- Jelisaveta the fairer one, and Natalija darker -- but both resembled their mother in uncanny ways, a crook of the chin, a glint of the eye. "And this time, this man wants her dead, her personally. That's why we're worried."

"Okay," She admitted quietly. "I lied. It's the sort of thing you tell the family so they won't panic or feel too sad. It's not going to be easy." Aerilyn said quietly. "Miss Drulovic is probably going to go through hell, but at least she's old enough she won't be raped. Trust me when I say that should be a comfort. And she is old enough that, if they want to really make a statement, they won't torture her too badly. They'll want her alive for their show."

"He'll kill her, Jelisa," said Natalija from the other end of the table. She replaced her phone and reached for her fork again. "I don't think we're going to see Mom again. Give it up."

"Don't say that!" Jelisaveta snapped, glaring at her sister. "Don't -- just don't say that. If we pray -- we don't know that he'll kill Mom. Maybe she'll come home."

Natalija gave her sister a patronizing look. "The last time Mom came to visit us was four years ago. I don't think she's coming home."

Aerilyn sighed. "I. If that's true then...it might be that she wasn't really...I..." She frowned. "I'm a merc. Was a merc. It's not a job you ever really leave well. It stays with you. Especially...I was captured, raped, tortured. I've got physical and mental scars from it, and it's taken years to...to be alive again. You're her family, and she would love you. But if she hasn't visited you in years than she was either protecting you, or whatever happened in Yugoslavia killed a part of her. It's called passive suicide."

"You don't even know what happened, Jelisa," Natalija sighed, staring at the other woman. "Mom has never talked about it. To anyone. Ever."

"She talked to Dad," said Jelisaveta. Natalija cocked her head to the side. "You never asked?" Natalija's look was an answer in itself. "Dad said they kept her in some hellhole in Kosovo for four years. From 1982 to 1986. He says they tortured her. You really never asked, Natalija? I wanted to know."

Natalija was silent for a long time, rubbing her hand against the other, much the same way her mother often did. "I was born in 1985," she finally said.

Aerilyn touched a hand to her stomach and considered herself lucky. She could still barely stand to see Ahmad, despite naming him a friend. He looked too similar... The woman shook her head. "And your mother still loved you." Aerilyn said forcefully. "Please. If she survived then, she can survive now." She told them very firmly.

"He'll kill her," Natalija repeated, though her voice had lost much of its conviction. "Mom has a lot of enemies." Jelisaveta carried her empty plate into the kitchen, disappearing from view. The men in the other room carried on their conversation in hushed tones, some of it sounding distinctly foreign. Natalija covered her face with her hand, leaning forward onto her elbow. "Mom never told us anything," she said.

Carefully, Aerilyn walked over and put a hand on her back. "Then she will be killed. If he kills her, that's the natural order. Miss Drulovićā€™s agents liked her. The men who killed my team, my only family, are all dead. Down to a one. This man, the one who you believe will kill your mother? He'll die too."

"It's little comfort," said Natalija, stiffening for a moment before she relaxed, finding this stranger's touch strangely reassuring. "Did you tell my mother what happened to you? It's probably why she asked you hard questions. She's probably terrified of anyone's life becoming like hers. Not that I'd know. Mom never talked to me about anything like that. Boys, sex, clothes, bullies, those kinds of things she talked about. Even drugs. But never what happened to her."

"A little bit. I shouldn't have, but..." Aerilyn trailed off, staring into the distance and sighed. "I should have handled myself much better that day. I know better." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have even said a word. I'm afraid even seeing Ahmad that day was too much for me, to tell the truth."

Natalija gave Aerilyn a curious look, turning to look at the younger woman. "How do you know Ahmad Fazari? I've never met him, but Mom told me over the phone that he was a talented young man she'd recruited into the agency. Then again, the TIB basically is my mother's life." She left her fork beside the plate, sliding it onto the table. The flowers in the centerpiece had begun to wilt and brown.

After a few moments there was a knock on the door, and when one of the TIB Agents answered, a single Tal'dorian soldier stepped into the house. "I apologize for the interruption... Are you Natalija Drulović... and are you Jelisaveta Drulović?" He asked, inclining his head. "Do you mind... if I have a few moments alone with you two?" He asked, inclining his head. "I have some news regarding your mother."

"We ran into each other rather literally. I wasn't paying-" Her eyes narrowed and she frowned darkly. There had been a damned torna-- Ah hell, that is why you didn't bother giving magic specific instructions. She sighed. "I'll be in the other room. Shout if anything happens." She instructed and slipped out of the room, remaining by the door. The shout would have her magic in before Aerilyn was even back in the room.

Jelisaveta returned from the kitchen, leaning against the wall under a black and white wedding photograph of Drulović's parents, Jelisaveta and Natalija's grandparents. Their husbands in the other room glanced toward the Tal'dorian agent, but turned back to their own conversation. "You have news?" Jelisaveta repeated, arching an eyebrow. Natalija massaged her temples. "Is she all right? Did they send an ultimatum?"

The Tal'dorian tapped a device at his wrist, and his Personal Magic disruption field disengaged, that was how he was able to get through the tornado. "Come with me." He said silently as he walked into the living room, his expression was dark and in his hand was a holocron. "I'm afraid it doesn't look good; what I am about to show you... is disturbing."

"How much more disturbing can you get than that?" Natalija muttered, nodding toward the only color photograph hanging on the wall in the hallway, the one taken in 1984. Jelisaveta elbowed her sister in the side as they came into the living room, Javor and Bozidar looking up to see their wives. The other men in the room grunted and excused themselves, heading toward the back of the house.

The Tal'dorian inclined his head, then tapped the holocron, and an image displayed, forming and solidifying for a moment. "This was released by the Hadantites fifteen centons ago." He said, flickering the image to a file, then he tapped the icon and brought the 11 x 11 hologram which showed Drulovic crucified in the Egyptian style room, beaten, lashed and dehydrated, she also appeared starkly younger. "She's been crucified."

"Centons?" Natalija frowned.

"Minutes," Jelisaveta muttered in an irritated tone. "Crucified? What the hell? I thought crucifixion was some ancient Roman execution method." She looked up, catching sight of the enormous icon of Christ hung in the living room, Christ crucified.

"I knew they were going to kill her," Natalija moaned.

"She's not dead yet!" snapped Jelisaveta.

The Tal'dorian tapped an icon and printed a small picture of the crucifixion. "Hadantite Culture, and Tauron Culture in general sometimes will use crucifixion as punishment for hated enemies, if your mother's not dead now, she will be before the day is out. I'm sorry." He said quietly. "The Solace has been crippled in battle, an attack on Hadante to mount a rescue.. is all but impossible."

"Hated enemies," Natalija repeated, shaking her head. She sank into one of the chairs in the room, rubbing her forehead. "I knew this was going to happen, Jelisa. I knew it. Why did you try to give us false hope?" She closed her eyes.

Jelisaveta stiffened. "There's nothing anyone can do?" She turned and left the living room, heading for the kitchen as she stifled a sob.

The Soldier nodded. "We're working on it, further updates... as I get them." He said, solemnly nodding before he quietly turned to leave, inclining his head to the Agents before engaging his antimana field and walking through the door, leaving the picture with them. His next objective was to inform General Ranida and Prime Minister Cranford.

Jelisaveta approached Aerilyn, who had been waiting in the kitchen. "He's in the process of killing her," she said flatly, opening a cabinet door, reaching for a small shaker of spices, and shutting the cabinet door. "They're doing it slowly and painfully." She lifted the lid of the pot and sprinkled some of the spices inside, almost angrily and with little regard for what she was doing.

Aerilyn's eyes narrowed. "They planet side somewhere?" she demanded, clearly pissed. "Can't she be rescued?" Aerilyn's eyes narrowed. And what about the others, she wanted to ask, but didn't have the nerve to. What about Ahmad? He was engaged for crying out loud. He ought to make it to his own wedding.

"I don't know," said Jelisaveta, slamming the metal lid onto the pot again. She leaned heavily against the countertop, squeezing her eyes shut. "Probably on Hadante, some former penal colony the Aschen used to use before the Aschen government disintegrated. Mom might think I'm ignorant, but I do keep up with current events." She tapped her fingers against the counter. "The man who did it, this Guatrau bastard, he's from there."

Aerilyn's mind raced and she shook her head. "I don't know anyone from there. I'm sorry. If I did, I'd call in favors and get her out as fast as possible." She sighed and took a deep breath. "I'll. I'm going to make some calls. Maybe I can find something out." she said and pulled out a cell phone, and began to make a series of phone calls.

Jelisaveta nodded. "Okay." She departed the kitchen, heading back toward the living room. She sat wordlessly beside her sister, leaning on her shoulder. Jelisaveta reached to wrap her arm around Natalija, but her younger sister scowled and swiped at Jelisaveta's arm. "Sorry," said Jelisaveta, keeping her arms to herself.

"I'm going outside," said Natalija, rising and heading for the back porch.

Aerilyn sighed, then hung up, looking frustrated. "Nothing." She whispered quietly. "I can't do anything." It hurt. Physically, it hurt. Almost as if she had lost another one. Did every death weigh so heavily on the heart? "Jelisaveta? I don't know what I can do now, but once again. Anything you need, that I can, I will give you."

Jelisaveta appeared in the doorway. "Thank you, Aerilyn. I don't know you that well, but Mom has always been a good judge of people's character. It seems she was willing to trust you. She won't interview people whom she doesn't think she can trust." She folded her arms, sighing. "I keep wanting to cling to some desperate hope." There was a knock at the door. "Oh, I better get that. It's probably Dad."

Aerilyn nodded and sighed. "I'll get it. He just... That tornado is the key and only line of defense in the sanctuary I have for others like me. Damaged soldiers. I'm shaken up. I'll grab the door." she said and walked over to get it. The woman cracked it open, eyes narrowed. "Who is it?"

An older man with hair almost all white, hardly taller than Drulović, stood on the stoop. "I'm Nenad Drulović, and this used to be my house; who the hell are you? Never mind." He brushed past Aerilyn. "Jelisa, Natalija, I'm here. I canceled today's homeland security symposium and headed up as soon as I got the news." Jelisaveta appeared, smothering her father in a hug.

"Dad," she whispered, and then pulled away. "They're going to kill Mom, Dad. They're going to kill her."

"Calm down, Jelisa," said Nenad. "Your mother's been through worse situations; I'm sure she'll be fine. It was nice to meet you too," he said to Aerilyn with a dismissive wave.

"Thank you again for coming," said Jelisaveta over her father's broad shoulders. "Come back anytime."
ā€‹ā€œAnother world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.ā€
ā€• Arundhati Roy

ā€œThe only way to survive is to take care of each other.ā€
ā€• Grace Lee Boggs

ā€œevery day is another chance to practice living out the values that matter most to us. to be our best selves. to be the legacy we want to leave.ā€
ā€• Mia Mingus

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Mon Aug 29, 2011 10:40 pm

(Post collaborated by Karato and Ylanne. Only minor spelling mistakes have been fixed, and some instances of "She" replaced with a proper name for clarification.)




Aerilyn glanced around and shook her head, hear up in a high ponytail. It was odd for her, but she had just come from work. Mind you, she was still in her usual dress. Hm. She had a job now, perhaps she should get more than her work clothes and her merc clothes. Of course, she also had the gorgeous dress from the ball, but she couldn't exactly wear that often, now could she?

The woman sighed and began to keep an eye out for a clothing shop that didn't look too expensive. She knew perfectly well she had made her mind up to buy at least one more outfit before even reaching the shopping district, but she needed to remind herself of why. If she was to get back in the game, then she needed the clothes, and the appearance, to match.

The slight, dark-haired woman sat on a wooden bench half-hidden beneath the canopy of a designer label outlet store and a rack of brightly colored skirts outside the shop's window, on sale for twenty Credits. A book lay open in Natalijaā€™s lap, and a mulberry-colored leather purse beside her, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention to the five Credit spy thriller. Twice, the shopkeeper had asked her if she was going to buy anything, but so far she had managed to wave him off without lightening her wallet.

Aerilyn glanced at the skirts with a bit of longing and slowed just enough to look through them. No doubt the shopkeeper would come chase her off in just a minute. She was, at best, threadbare, and the dye had pretty much faded as much as possible from her clothes. In short, she looked poor, and she knew it.

Well, she was merely tight with her money, not poor. Better to not spend, than spend and not have it when you needed it. Aerilyn sighed and shook her head. "Twenty credits...I don't know. They're pretty but..."

Natalija heard Aerilyn's approach, but she didn't look in the direction of the younger woman. They were actually quite close in age, although there was no way for either woman to know that. She rubbed her finger absently against a page in the book, sticking her tongue through her teeth. Natalija bit her nail, slouching on the wooden bench. The sun felt decidedly warm on her face. "Shopkeeper said he'd sell them for less if they're not gone by four," she said flatly.

Aerilyn bit her bottom lip. "Maybe I'll be back then. I don't like to pay too much, but I rather need new clothes.ā€ She admitted quietly. "Natalija, right?ā€ She was fairly certain, but not one hundred percent. "How is everything?ā€ That was the key question, but Aerilyn tried to keep it casual. She picked through the skirts, trying to see if there was one in her size, and wondering if she could pull off bright colors. Other than her red coat of course, which needed replacing rather desperately.

Natalija looked up from her book, startled. That's when she saw Aerilyn. "Uhā€”yeah. Natalija," she said, nodding. Natalija narrowed her eyes, peering warily at Aerilyn. "And you're... Aerilyn? You came to the house. Jelisaveta let you in." Natalija shrugged, closing the book that was on her lap. She folded one leg over the other, leaning back against the bench. "Things are fine."

"Y-Yes, that's me. And I think they'll be let go soon. If nothing else, it's looking up,ā€ Aerilyn said quickly. Technically, the chances of survival were slimmer than ever, but Aerilyn was trying not to think on that. "What are you doing here?ā€ Shouldn't she have guards or something?

"I don't know. Just wanted to get away from the hell house, I guess." Natalija shrugged, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. There was a strange quality to her voiceā€”an intensity that one would not normally hear in such a conversation, although it was not an emotional intensity. More an energy, or a tension, behind her words.

"I understand. I left shortly after your father arrived, and it was already very tense there then. I imagine time only made it worse.ā€ It must have too. It would have made it much worse for her, she was sure of it.

Natalija sighed, her fingers curling and then uncurling. "Yeah," she repeated. "My father." She exhaled heavily. She reached for her purse, sliding the zipper open and shoved the paperback book inside.

Aerilyn sighed and smiled slightly. "Um...girls like shopping together, right? You want to shop with me?ā€ She had never had the experience of shopping with a girl. Mostly, it had been the guys, and now, it was her on her own. "I could use some help. I haven't been shopping in two years.ā€ She thought. Maybe longer.

"Sure," breathed Natalija, swinging her legs over the bench and coming to stand. "I mean, I guess why not. Although the last few years, I've really only been shopping for my kids. They're all little, and it's not the same as shopping for myself." She headed toward the shop's open door, propped open by a blue doorstop. Inside, racks of clothing boasted handmade skirts, peasant blouses, wrap dresses, scarves, collared dress shirts, and colorful shoes.

Aerilyn bit her bottom lip and followed Natalija in. The woman might be able to afford this, but Aerilyn wasn't ce- She could do this. It was only a few outfits, and she could afford to splurge a little. The woman glanced around. "Ah, where to start?" This was harder than she thought.

Natalija stood in the middle of the store. For several moments, she didn't seem to move. Her expression grew blank, and she looked more than a little lost. The colors and fabrics around her seemed to have a dizzying, disorienting effect. Either that, or it was the pained face of the shopkeeper, keeping his eyes intently on the pair who had entered his outlet, leaning over on the counter, arms folded. Or the fact that she was standing inside a store. She blinked several times, and then looked at Aerilyn, something of life returning to her face. "Well," she said in a hollow tone, "that depends on what you're looking for."

"Ah. I need new clothes. All of them,ā€ Aerilyn admitted quietly. "Mine are rather worn out, and I need more before it grows cold.ā€ She whispered and looked down then sighed. "I should never have put it off for so long, but until recently, I haven't exactly been employed." Now she needed to be though and it changed things exponentially.

"An entire wardrobe?" Natalija blinked for a moment in disbelief. "Well, we better get started. You'll need at least two pairs of casual pants or jeans, one pair of dress pants, two pairs of shorts, one short skirt, one long skirt, two t-shirts, two short-sleeved nicer shirts, two long sleeve casual shirts, two long-sleeve nicer shirts, a sprint jacket, a winter coat, sneakers, dress shoes, winter boots... Wow. Okay." She paused then to catch her breath, and then wheeled, heading for the wall, where built-in boxes displayed folded pants in all sizes and styles. "What's your size?"

That was a lot. "Ah...Can't I just get a pair of jeans, two shirts a dress and a new coat?ā€ Aerilyn asked quietly. "And I don't know? I've lost a lot of weight...ā€ She had never known. The sales lady had chosen her things, and the ink was faded away by now. Her coat was in a similar position. "Are you sure I need so much?"

"Well, if you need new clothes for the entire year, don't want to wear the exact same clothes every day, and don't want to run out of clothes for the wash..." Natalija said rather dryly. She looked over her shoulder at Aerilyn. "You look like a zero. Hm." She pulled a few pairs of pants from the shelf, unfolding each of them. A pair of tight-fitting, embroidered jeans, a pair of black jeans with threaded designs, a pair of khaki chinos, a pair of black dress pants, a pair of brown pinstriped dress pants, and a pair of white fitted pants. Natalija draped them over one of the free-standing shelves in the store. "Which ones do you like? Or there are others on that side..." She pointed to the other side of the wall.

Aerilyn took a step back. "No really, I only have two dresses as it is. I hand wash every night. It's not a big deal.ā€ Hand washing meant the clothes lasted longer. It was considerably gentler. The aeromancer sighed. "It's all so...elaborate. I just don't know.ā€ This was hard. "I suppose I could try them on?"

"Well, that's what I was getting at," said Natalija, though she didn't annoyed so much as distracted. She waved a hand toward a partitioned area in the back of the store, with a hand painted sign that said "Dressing Room." The shopkeeper offered a rare smile. "Choose the ones you like and try them on to see if they fit, and if you still like them when you're wearing them. I imagine you do have preferences in color and such?"

"I uh.ā€ This was a bit much. Aerilyn bit her bottom lip. "I don't like bright color. Except my coat. Everything else is...I don't know earthy?ā€ She suggested, not certain that was what she meant. "Natural?" She slipped over to the dressing room area nervously.

Natalija turned back to the built-in boxes in the wall, heading for the other side of the wall. "I'll see if there's anything in browns, beiges, olive greens," she said over her shoulder. "Do you have a particular style preference?" Natalija rustled through a stack of dark gray pants, finding another stack of mocha-colored pants. She pulled out the zero, and laid it over the shelf in the middle of the room, continuing to look.

"I didn't even know there were different styles,ā€ Aerilyn whispered in mute horror. This was a nightmare. Still, she pulled the pants on in one of the rooms. "But not this..this...form hugging! It's like that stupid cat suit all over again!ā€ It was best not to ask.

"Okay, not form-fitting," said Natalija, shrugging. "Sorry, it's just what's usually in style. I assumed." She stooped by the wall again, looking through more pants.

"There are lots of different styles there, miss," said the shopkeeper, speaking for the first time since they had entered. "Some are more loose-fitting. Like those, there in the corner." He indicated the far right, bottom box, and Natalija bent over, finding a stack of olive-green colored pants in a looser style, made of linen.

Aerilyn looked through them and frowned. "These aren't so bad...ā€ It was like her uniform, almost. Or her old uniform. It was nice. "I think I'd like to try a pair of these on?ā€ Maybe. She was still very clearly nervous. But it was getting a bit easier.

"My mother told me that if you don't like it when you try it on in the store, not to buy it," said Natalija, handing the size zero to Aerilyn. "Otherwise, she taught me, you won't wear it when you go home."

"I suppose that makes sense.ā€ Aerilyn tried it on and found it a bit loose, but she liked it. She came out of the dressing room, the pants neatly folded over her arm. "Thank you. I do like them.ā€ They were just right. Not too tight or too loose, but she could still move around in them and they had plenty of pockets.

Natalija spread her hands. "Is that the only pair you like? What about any of the others? Don't get your hopes up, though. My kids drive me nuts trying to shop. I long since gave up trying to let them pick. They'll spend four hours and change their minds twenty, twenty-five times." She leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest. "Didn't your mother ever take you shopping?"

"Um, no. She died after my sister's birth when I was three.ā€ Aerilyn's entire family was dead actually. It was rather ridiculous. Her mother and father from things that, had they had money, were easily treatable, her sister in a church fire, and her adopted family in a fire fight. Some people had very little luck. "And my father wasn't much interested either, nor were the guys."

"Oh," said Natalija, feeling suddenly awkward. "I'm sorry to hear that about your mother." The words were sincere enough, but the voice behind them didn't seem quite capable of conveying the appropriate sympathy. "Areā€”were you close to your father?" Now, Natalija seemed curious. The shopkeeper had disappeared again to the back room.

"No. He was in jail more often than not. He actually died there.ā€ Aerilyn shrugged. "Our family was not...rich. Not by a long shot. Never have been. It's why it's odd for me to have money and why I don't spend it.ā€ Aerilyn looked through shirts somewhat nervously.

Natalija sank onto a padded bench inside the store, watching Aerilyn go through some of the shirts. "I lived in Yugoslavia until I was five. We were poor as shit then. Then Dad took Jelisa and I to the States. I didn't see much of him before or after." She nodded toward the shirts. "See anything you like?"

Aerilyn picked out a few shirts and held them against her torso. She chose two and smiled. "I think that's enough shirts. Surely, I won't need more?ā€ She couldn't imagine a reason she'd need much more, after all. She smiled at Natalija and picked up another pair of pants that were the same cut at the ones she had already tried on. "Thank you for all your help."

"Well," said Natalija, "you want at least one for the winter, and one for the summer, and one for nicer occasions, and one for every day. That comes out to at least fourā€”a nice and everyday shirt for the winter, and a nice and everyday shirt for the summer." She shrugged. "It's no trouble. I wasn't really doing anything anyway. Just out for some air."

Aerilyn frowned at this. "I...I suppose so.ā€ She said quietly and sighed. She glanced around and chose two more shirts nervously. This was hard. "Do you think it will all look good?ā€ She asked, clearly uncertain. This clothes shopping business wasn't exactly easy. "There's, well. There's this guy I like. I don't think he even notices me, except he lets me in his gun cabinet, and I think that may mean he likes me. Except I don't know.ā€ Ah, mercenary love. Nothing more promising than being allowed in the other's gun cabinet.

"Guns," Natalija muttered, rolling her eyes in an exact copy of her mother's favorite expression of amusement. "My parents always had too many of them lying around the house..." She straightened, eyeing Aerilyn closely. "The trick to getting a guy to notice you isn't your clothesā€”though they can't hurt. If your clothes are neither hanging off your frame like a curtain nor squeezing your body, you're probably fine. And ohā€”the colors, too. If they don't clash. You want to show that you're beautiful, but you don't want to show too much too soon. You don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention to yourself. You want him to like you for your mind, for your personality."

"I'm pretty sure he likes me because I can shoot.ā€ Aerilyn said hesitantly. "He seems to, at least.ā€ It was an odd relationship. "But I don't know. I wish Stets were here. He'd know.ā€ Stets knew these things. Aerilyn didn't. It was a bit difficult.

Natalija shrugged. "Well, I've never met him, so I wouldn't know. The best advice I can give you is to protect yourself. Make sure he doesn't hurt you." She looked down, rifling absentmindedly through some shirts folded on one of the tables. "A lot of men will."

Aerilyn shuddered and nodded, looking down. "Yeah. I know.ā€ She whispered and shook her head. "I. I don't think that. I don't think that he will, but I don't know enough about him to really know. But I know I'm attracted to him.ā€ She said and sighed. She was in so much trouble. Torn like this, and shy to boot, she didn't know if she'd ever act on her feelings.

"Yeah, well, sometimes people are attracted to the unattainable, or the harmful," said Natalija somewhat darkly, a hint of actual emotion escaping into her voice. She strode toward the shelves of shoes in the store, stooping to look through the different styles. Most were brightly colored, with a few darker or muted styles.

Aerilyn supposed she'd need new shoes too and joined Natalija and looked them over. "They're all so...colorful. Very colorful. And there are so many heels.ā€ Aerilyn had never worn heels. Except to the ball, but those hadn't even been an inch big. This was a lot. "And...fluffy."

"Well if you don't like them, there's a shoe store a street over that has a much wider selection," said Natalija, shrugging again. She tilted her head to the side. "Are you looking for any specific type of shoe?"

"I don't know?ā€ Aerilyn barely knew there were types. Shoes were shoes, weren't they? Aerilyn looked more than a little lost. she bit her bottom lip. "I suppose we could go there. Do they sell military boots?ā€ She was most comfortable in those, after all.

"Maybe, but a better bet for those would be the Army and Navy Store two streets down. They sell a lot of military and tactical type clothing. The kind of stuff my mom has in her closet." Natalija nodded toward the clothes draped over Aerilyn's arms. "You have everything you want to buy? You can pay for that first and then we can head over there."

Aerilyn hurried to the counter and paid nervously with her debit card. It was the first time using it in absolute ages and the woman did so with a wince at the price tag. It physically hurt having to spend so much. She felt the pang deep in her chest. Natalija waited by the door for Aerilyn, seemingly oblivious to her reaction.

Aerilyn accepted the bag and hurried back over to Natalija. "Lead the way?ā€ She asked and smiled at her. It would be nice to get this over with quickly. Somehow, Aerilyn suspected the Army and Navy store should have been her first and only shop.

Natalija nodded, pushing the door open with a jingle of the bells hanging over the door. "I haven't actually seen my mom since she moved to Wing City last year. Like Jelisa said. Four years since she last came to visit us. Her grandchildren have seen her once. Exactly once. At least, my kids have. Jelisa's have seen her a few times." Natalija strode down the tree-lined street, a facade of urban tranquility belying the tensions and crime rampant in Wing City.

"It's because she doesn't want you hurt. And the closer it seems you guys are, the more likely it is someone will hurt you to hurt her. Or at least, that's what I would do it for. She's got lots of pictures though, so I think she probably adores you all."

Natalia scowled. "Have you actually seen the pictures in her house? She has exactly one picture of Jelisa and I, and she let Dad take all the rest of them when they split. They're all of dead relatives, grandparents, great-grandparents." She picked up the pace a little, moving faster along the sidewalk. "If she really loved us that much, why didn't she visit more often? Jelisa's oldest, Zoran, told me that Mom avoids visiting her too."

"Like I said. She doesn't want you hurt.ā€ Aerilyn kept up and sighed. "I have one picture of my team. All of us at once. It was the only one the team had, because it wasn't safe to have pictures. Drulovic has strangers, possibly spies, in her home all the time. She may risk her own life constantly, but she would never risk her children's." How to explain the dangers to a woman who didn't want to know? Aerilyn had no clue.

"She doesn't know a damn thing that goes on in my life. She never calls; she never writes; and I never see her. And of course," Natalija said bitterly, "she refuses to use email. Everything I hear about what's going on in my Mom's life, I hear from the news. Don't you think there's something wrong with that?"

"Yes. You're being bitter because your Mom is keeping you from being killed.ā€ Aerilyn sighed. "Look. Say I were hired to get your mom. The first people I would take are her grandkids. Then her kids. The grandkids alone are guaranteed to grab her, make her vulnerable. But the kids. If I went for her kids, she'd get sloppy, easy prey.ā€ Aerilyn shrugged. "But if she seemed distant, uncaring, then I would go for...Ahmad for example. Someone she is visible with. Seen with often."

"I swear she cares more about Ahmad than she does about her own her family," said Natalija, shaking her head. "But maybe you're right. After all, what the hell do I know? I went to school for marketing. I work at a school. Mom encouraged me to become a teacher. She said there would always be a need for everyday heroes to inspire kids and guide them away from violence and extremism. I didn't want to do that though. I didn't want to be like her either."

"I didn't want to be what I am. Do you know what I wanted? I wanted with all my heart to be a teacher. But I dropped out of middle school,ā€ Aerilyn pointed out. "I could never be a teacher if I tried, or a scientist, or even tackle college. I can barely control my magic. We don't always get what we want.ā€ Aerilyn shrugged.

Natalija paused under a tree, smoothing some of the wrinkles from her shirt. It was perhaps odd, that she was wearing long sleeves in the eighty degree weather. Over twenty-five Celsius. "I don't think I could stand up in front of a bunch of kids and keep smiling all day long. It's too depressing."

"I could. They have so much potential, so much spirit. It's like...looking at something amazing happening right before your eyes. Beautiful.ā€ Aerilyn shook her head. "But I can't. I can barely read well enough to get by, much less teach."

"Have you ever thought about going to school while working?" asked Natalija, and she directed Aerilyn around a corner onto South Street. A row of brightly lit windows and flashing signs above doors greeted them. The shopping district was filled with all manner of stores and wares.

"That was an opportunity your mother would have offered. But I'm afraid...Well, your mother is, frankly, a pain in the ass, and asks questions she's no business knowing.ā€ Aerilyn grumbled. She did not appreciate them whatsoever. They were ridiculous questions about a past that was better buried.

"Are you kidding me? I would kill for my mom to ask me something. Anything about my life. But you're right about one thing," said Natalija, shoving her hands into her pockets. "She's a pain in everyone's ass. I'll bet that's why half the world would be quite happy if she turned up dead somewhere." The Army and Navy Store had a decidedly plain facade, with a few pairs of combat pants and weapons holsters on display in the window, and a simple black and white sign announcing the shop. "Dad says that when Mom used to interrogate prisoners, she gave them tea, and would spend hours just sitting there and asking questions about their lives. I don't think she's ever spent more than one straight hour with me in my entire life."

"She didn't get a chance to with me. I have been interrogated enough.ā€ Aerilyn sighed and shook her head. "Perhaps when she returns.ā€ The woman finally said, realizing she wasn't going to get through to Natalija. It was a hopeless task. They were too different.

"If she returns." Natalija paused at the door to the Army and Navy Store.

Aerilyn stepped in the store and immediately began to pick up clothes. A new uniform, new tank tops and new boots. This wasn't clothes shopping. This was a restock in supply. And this, this Aerilyn knew well how to do.

Natalija followed Aerilyn inside. Two large, well-toned men stood by the counter. They silenced their conversation at the entrance of the two women, watching them with what seemed to be wary looks. Natalija kept to the wall nearest the door, watching Aerilyn move about with relative ease, much unlike the unease she had displayed in the other boutique. A rack of guns and other weapons was mounted behind the counter.

Aerilyn gathered up the necessities, then looked the guns over. Perhaps she could...well, she needed bullets anyway. The woman made her way to the counter. "Hello! I need a new handgun, and to purchase bullets.ā€ She smiled brightly. "Any suggestions?"

"Well that depends on what you want a handgun for," said the man behind the counter, leaning forward to stare at Aerilyn. "Is it for target practice, self-defense and home protection, tactical purposes, or what?"

Natalija watched with morbid curiosity from the back of the store. "My mother always told me that I should always have a gun with me, but I haven't taken that particular bit of advice," she said, moving closer to Aerilyn.

"Tactical purposes,ā€ Aerilyn said and began to look the hand guns over. Hm. She pointed one out. "I prefer Sig Sauer myself. I'd like the feel the heft of that one, if you please.ā€ Aerilyn placed her previous purchases on the ground and waited patiently.

"The Sig Sauer P220 Combat?" The man stooped, using a small copper key to unlock the glass display case, and removed the steel weapon. He checked to see that it was unloaded, and handed it over the counter to Aerilyn.

Aerilyn pointed it to the ground and checked the heft of the gun, seeing how she felt with the weight of it. "How's the recoil?ā€ She checked it out, checking the bullet chamber and frowning at it intently as she adjusted her grip. A little big, but still in her comfort zone.

"It's meant to be reduced with the steel frame," said the man behind the counter, "but it's definitely noticeable. Do you want to try it out back? We have a small yard."

"What do you need a gun for?" Natalija asked curiously, peering over Aerilyn's shoulder.

"Well, I can't use Absolutions all the time. And besides, it's important to be well armed. I'd love to try it out back.ā€ Aerilyn was an excellent marksman, but really wanting to feel the recoil herself to judge it. "You should consider getting one too." Of course, Aerilyn's was for work.

"That's what my mother used to say all the time," Natalija muttered, following Aerilyn as the tall man led them through a side door. The other man stayed behind, presumably to man the counter and prevent shoplifting. Out back, there was about half an acre of land, surrounded on all sides by high-risesā€”other stores and places of business. Five human-shaped targets had been erected on the farthest side, and a long piece of disintegrating yellow duct tape marked a line near the back door of the store. "I don't know what the hell I'd do with a gun. Then again, I do live in Texas..."

"There you go. Every Texan needs a gun.ā€ Aerilyn teased and loaded the provided bullets into the gun. "Earmuffs.ā€ She instructed Natalija, pulling some on. She adjusted the fight and took a classic shooter's stance, bracing herself and using both hands. It was always best to shoot a pistol two handed, rather than one, to help with the recoil and with accuracy. Aerilyn waited for Natalija to cover her ears before she shot three bullets in quick succession.

Hm. Not bad recoil for its size.

Natalija flinched at the sound of the gunshots, involuntarily stepping backward. Her eyes widened, and her hands began to shake. "I think there's a reason I've never gotten one," mumbled Natalija, rocking back and forth on her heels. She glanced hurriedly left and right, as if expecting someone to appear, and realized she had backed into the wall, pressing herself against the stone.

Aerilyn lowered the gun and examined the target. Hm. Looked decent. "Perfect. I'll take it, and several cartridges of bullets, please,ā€ she said and glanced to Natalija. Geez. She forgot that some people couldn't handle guns. "Hey. Relax. No one's shooting at you."

"That's what my mother used to say back in Yugoslavia," said Natalija, to whom the storeowner had raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made little of her sudden reaction. "She was on the run from something, or someone... She said that every time we heard gunfire. No one's shooting at you, she said." Natalija shrank further, her eyes darting all over the place. "She was lying."

"Well, I'm not shooting at you, and he's not shooting at you, and no one else has a gun in hand, and if they start shooting, well, I'll shoot back.ā€ Aerilyn rolled her eyes. "Come on. Easy peasy, let's go.ā€ She said and tugged at Natalija. "I have to pay for this and my new duds."

"Okay," said Natalija, still looking decidedly panicked, as she removed the earmuffs, returning them to the man who replaced them in a locked box. He waited for the two women to re-enter the store through the door before following. "Sorry. I'm not usually like that."

Aerilyn shrugged. "A lot of people panic around guns. It's perfectly normal.ā€ She assured the woman and smiled at her. Aerilyn made her way to the counter and began to fill out the paperwork needed to purchase the gun. "I can't actually take it home until I pass a background check,ā€ she explained to Natalija. "All those movies of walking in, then walking out? Totally fake."

"Well, it's not like my mother has ever explained the law to me," mumbled Natalija, standing beside Aerilyn at the counter. "Did you know she went to law school before joining the CIA? I think she would have made everyone's lives happier if she became a lawyer instead of, whatever she did." And Natalija might not have existed, she added to herself. Somehow, the thought was more comforting than not. "She would have spent more time at home, too. My mother keeps several weapons in her house. It's like fucking Final Destination."

"Lawyers don't spend time at home at all. Not without paperwork. Trust me, the CIA was a better decision.ā€ Lawyers were the bane of any merc's existence. They were plain evil, didn't everyone know that? Aerilyn sighed and shook her head. "You would have been unhappy no matter what, Natalija."

"Maybe. But all unhappy families aren't alike." Natalija peered over Aerilyn's shoulder at the extensive form she was supposed to complete. Not too unlike the forms that had come her way a few months ago, without anything but a brief note from her mother.

"Once it's been processed, I'll give you a call," said the store owner, leaning over the counter.

Aerilyn nodded. "Thanks.ā€ She said and stretched out. "I'll be by once it's all through.ā€ It'd be nice to have a new gun too. The check shouldn't take too long or hit any bumps. Aerilyn never feared anything of the sort.

"You can seal it in that envelope and slide the envelope under the door over there. Now, would you like to pay be credit, debit, check, or cash?" The man assumed his place behind the register, waiting expectantly. Natalija flipped absently through the pages of a catalog.

"Debit, please,ā€ Aerilyn said and slid her card. She then placed the form in the envelope and smiled. "Thank you. I'm keeping this place in mind.ā€ It was a nice store. Aerilyn smiled and glanced to Natalija. Not interested in guns indeed.

"We have a clientele mostly of law enforcement and mercenary types, but occasionally other people come by too," said the man, printing a receipt and handing it to Aerilyn. "Sign here," he said, pointing to the line.

Natalija tapped her fingers against the catalog, where photos and descriptions of tactical equipment adorned the glossy pages. "Maybe," she said, almost choking over her words, "it might be a good idea to get a gun." She glanced over her shoulder, almost as if looking for someone, and then looked back at Aerilyn. "I could protect myself if I learned how to shoot."

Aerilyn signed and smiled. "Thank you.ā€ She glanced back to Natalija. "You could. I'd be happy to teach you.ā€ She said and grinned. "If you'd like, I can teach you how to use at least a taser.ā€ Anyone could handle a taser. It just took practice.

"Well," said Natalija, looking up towards a poster hanging on the wall, "my mother always recommended something with deadly accuracy. And something... portable. For lack of a better word." She gave a sidelong look to the guns in the display case. "But I don't know anything about guns. So I don't know which kind would be best."

"A pistol or a taser,ā€ Aerilyn said firmly and smiled. "And something that feels right in your hands. If it doesn't feel right, it's not a good gun for you. A lot of people forget that and buy any-man guns. Pain in the bum.ā€ She said and shrugged.

"What are the different kinds of pistols?" asked Natalija, leaning over the glass display case. The man behind the counter looked amusedā€”yes, actually amused.

"Derringers, single shot pistols, revolvers, and automatics.ā€ Aerilyn said automatically. "Along with a few more esoteric types, that you don't have to know about. Derringers are good for concealed carry. Single shots are for hunting, or target practice. Automatics load themselves, and police use them. They're good for defense. And revolvers are good general purpose guns. Hunting and defense." She summed it up. There was more, of course, but that about covered the basics.

"What's the difference between an automatic and a revolver?" asked Natalija, her fingers flipping the now-curled corners of the catalog. She leaned against the display case, facing Aerilyn and the store owner. The second man in the store had disappeared through another door.

"Automatics load themselves. Auto-loading. Revolvers, you load,ā€ Aerilyn said and shrugged. "And they revolve. Obviously.ā€ She smiled at that and shook her head.

Natalija nodded, shifting her weight. The color had returned to her face, and in the right light, the focused pressing of her lips together and furrowing of her brows eerily resembled Drulović. "What are the different types of automatics?" she asked.

Aerilyn led Natalija to a display and began to explain the differences to her. "Here you get into plenty of different types, most centered around how the bullets are reloadā€”blowback, recoil, or gas. The handguns usually use blowback, or recoil operation in order to reload the bullet. The larger guns might use gas.ā€ She began to point out the different models, explaining what she knew about each.

"What about that one?" asked Natalija, pointing to a Smith and Wesson .45 in the case. "Do you think that one would be okay?"

Aerilyn frowned at is. "Perhaps a smaller model? Smith and Wesson has smaller frames than that, and you want a gun that you can get your hand around. Aerilyn pointed out the J-frames and the K-frames. "Those are probably a better bet. Handguns are tricky for women, because of the size of the grip. The bigger the bullet, usually the bigger the grip, and that means that you won't always be able to hold it correctly."

"Can I hold that one?" asked Natalija, pointing to one of the K frames. She looked at the man behind the counter, who unlocked the display case again, checked to see that the weapon was unloaded, and handed it to Natalija. She ran her hands over it gingerly, not quite sure how to hold the gun. "Um."

Aerilyn smiled and placed the gun in her hands, facing the ground, and wrapped her fingers around it. "Like this, and the other hand around it. Like holding onto a stick. Since you don't plan on shooting, keep your trigger finger outside of the guard and along the barrel."

Natalija tried to squash her confusion. "I feel like I'm in some action movie," she said. "Is this how you hold it to shoot too?" She allowed Aerilyn to manipulate her hands, watching closely.

Aerilyn nodded and smiled. "Just like that. And you keep your feet shoulder width apart and you knees very slightly bent.ā€ She said with a bright smile. "You're doing great.ā€ Hey, she was holding it right, which was better than half the idiots out there.

A few drops of sweat trickled from Natalija's hairline onto her forehead, despite the air conditioning inside the store. "And how am I supposed to load?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in concentration, her voice sounding a bit more rough around the edges than it should have coming from anyone else.

Aerilyn smiled. "It pops in the handle and pops out the same way.ā€ She promised with a smile. "Very easy to do,ā€ she promised and smiled. "I'll show you at a range where we can rent some guns, okay?ā€ She said very gently. "For now, hand the gun back and remember to keep it facing the floor."

Natalija handed the gun back to the man behind the counter as if it were an explosive device that could have been triggered at any moment. He returned it to the case. "Are you going to make a purchase, ma'am?" he asked.

Natalija rocked on her heels for a moment. "Yes, I'll take that," she said. The man stooped and opened a drawer, sliding several forms in triplicate and a pen over the counter for her. Natalija took a deep, shuddering breath, looking at the first line. Last name. The pen hesitated in her hand before she etched Drulović.

Aerilyn put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry. You'll be fine.ā€ She said quietly and stayed with Natalija as she filled out the paperwork.

"Maybe," replied Natalija. "You still have to teach me how to shoot. I don't want to shoot myself in the foot by accident. I read a news story about some idiot who did that." She filled in most of the forms quickly, address, phone number, criminal history (none), a crapload of information she didn't particularly feel important.

"You bet, no problem. We can go now, if you like, or we can wait.ā€ Aerilyn offered and shrugged. It wasn't exactly a hardship for her, in anyway. After all, she had very little to do, and a lot of time to do it in. Other than sporadic work times, she was all set.

"I don't think I can right now," Natalija said, slipping out her phone to check the time. She frowned. "Javor will be wondering where I am." She signed her name at the bottom of the forms, and handed them to the store owner, who sealed them in an envelope. "Do you have a phone number I can call you at? I don't want Javor to wonder where I am... I didn't exactly tell him where I was going." She tugged at her long-sleeved shirt.

Aerilyn bit her bottom lip. "Um. I do.ā€ She pulled out her cell phone, obviously new, and cheap, and scribbled the number it displayed as hers on a scrap piece of paper, handing it over to Natalija. "Call me to set a date, okay?" Cell phones. They made her nervous, hence the brick she carried.

Natalija took the slip of paper and slid it into her purse, sliding it behind her driver's license, where it was not visible to anyone taking a casual look. "I'll do that, thanks," said Natalija with a nervous smile and slightly trembling hands. "I didn't think I'd ever do that, but. Damn. It feels good."

Aerilyn smiled at this. "Want me to walk you home?ā€ She offered politely, not wanting her to get hurt or kidnapped or something. In Wing City, you could never tell.

At first, Natalija blanched, but she recovered quickly, pulling the facade she had practiced so often over her features. "Iā€”uhā€”thatā€”" Her hands began to shake visibly, and her eyes darted about the store. "W-well. Yeah. Yeah. Maybe that'd be okay."

Aerilyn smiled at that and sighed. "I'll take you to the end of the street. Not too close. How does that sound?ā€ She didn't want to butt in, after all.

"Iā€”but the press is there. If you're going to come, c-can you take me to the door?" Natalija rocked on her heels for a moment, rubbing her hands over her wrists.

Aerilyn smiled and nodded. "You can throw my coat over your head if you like, so they can't get good pictures.ā€ She offered, gently as possible. "I don't mind.ā€ She wouldn't either, though it did mean they'd get shots of her.

Natalija paled again, taking longer to recover this time. "Iā€”uhā€”no, Iā€”I'm fine," she said, the mounting anxiety evident. "Let's go. I'm going to be late." She glanced at her phone. "Shit. He's probably wondering where I've been..."

Aerilyn shrugs and starts walking, leading the way by memory alone. "He can relax. You've been just fine, perfectly safe.ā€ The aeromancer reassured Natalija. Nothing had happened and nothing would happen.

"Yeah," echoed Natalija absently, though her voice lacked conviction. She followed Aerilyn out of the Army and Navy Store, the store owner behind the counter watching them curiously as they left. Out into the ninety-something heat again. And Natalija drew her coat closer over herself. Sweat moistened her forehead.

Aerilyn frowned. She wore her coat to hide her scars. Why did Natalija wear hers? It was something to ponder along the walk to the other woman's home.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the upscale neighborhood where Drulović lived, and where her family was staying. The brownstone on the corner of Luna and Liber was easily the humblest home on the block of ostentatious, ornate edifices. It was identifiable immediately, even without the house number, by the small corps of journalists sitting outside. Several white SUVs were parked along the street or on neighboring side streets, most with government plates.

Natalija grew increasingly distracted as they continued toward Drulović's house, her hands shaking and her eyes darting every which way. She seemed to shrink, losing much of the aura of caustic anger and bitterness in favor of twitchy eyes and shudders. As they ascended the stairs to the house, Natalija took three tries to arrange her trembling fingers around the brass knocker, knocking twice on the wood.

The door opened, and Javor appeared, his lips drawn into a tight, thin line. "Where have you been?"

"Just taking a walk," Natalija mumbled, stepping over the threshold.

Javor squeezed Natalija's shoulder. She winced visibly. "Next time, don't forget to tell me where you're going. I didn't know where you were." He glanced over Natalija at Aerilyn. "I didn't know you had friends in town."

Aerilyn smiled at him. "We're recent acquaintances. I know Arianne.ā€ She said politely. Aerilyn nodded to Natalija. "Give me a call when you decide on a time to hang out again, or I'll call you later and we can arrange something. Like I said, I work odd hours, so I don't know when I'll be free.ā€ She smiled brightly. "See you!"

"Yeah," Natalija responded absently.

"Nice to meet you too," said Javor, before shutting the door firmly.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Sep 17, 2011 11:26 pm

(Post collaborated by Nemo [RONlN] playing Austin Marshall, and Ylanne playing Arianne Drulović. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact.)



Corner of Luna Street and Liber Street
Wing City, Terra

Austin Marshall exited his car just outside Arianne Drulović's house, grinning a bit as he found himself in a familiar place. Here was again. Every mission... every assignment... every heart-warming cup of tea... It all started and ended here. It was good to be back. Austin approached the door, knocking several times.

Drulović started at the first knock, setting the Dickens book on the table in the living room, and rising, heading toward the door. "Coming," she called, walking slowly, her feet padding on the carpet. "It's open," she said with a small smile, moving down the hallway towards the front door. She made a mental note to herself to have it repainted a prettier color than its current monotonous and fading dark red.

Austin opened the door cautiously, remembering to remove his shoes and set them aside as he came in. It seemed like it had been years since he had been inside the Drulović house. "Director?" he called out, looking down the hallway to see her at last. So much had changed.

Drulović paused beside the wooden hall tree. There was a new welcome mat in the doorway that already bore marks of use in the bent bristles. She met Austinā€™s eyes and nodded to the young agent. "If you wouldn't mind closing the door behind you, Mr. Marshall," she said, her voice cracking halfway through her sentence. "I've made some food for lunch, and I imagine you must be hungry..." She blinked slowly, looking almost blank for a moment.

Austin couldn't help but stare at Drulović for some time upon first sight. He had known Plishkin had done a number on her...but even so, he could never have been prepared for how strikingly different she was now. "Lunch...?" Austin said in a daze, as if he'd never heard the word before. "...Oh yeah! Lunch... yes. Good. Quite. Lunch is good, yes." He regained composure of himself shortly, closing the door behind him. His mind worked furiously to collect the monstrous list of questions he had for the Director. There was a lot to know, and lunch sounded like the perfect time to talk it over.

Drulović offered Austin a small smile. The worry lines and a number of scars that, for the most part, had never been visible to observers anyway, were now gone. Her face had regained its lost youth, and she more closely resembled the woman in the color picture hanging behind her on the wall, the figure whose eyes stared desolately toward the camera's lens. "Take a seat, Mr. Marshall. I made some soup and meat, although I must admit that I ought to go grocery shopping. I haven't had an opportunity in over a month now... It's a shame, really."

Austin shrugged. "I'm sure it's delicious. I'm actually pretty hungry... I haven't eaten since I first got back to Wing City, and that was a light meal." The agent stepped forward, ready to follow her down the hallway. "I think we've got a lot to talk about, Director," Austin said, a serious, perhaps even impatient tone in his voice. Too much had happened since he had been gone, and most of them weren't very pleasant happenings. The agent couldn't but feel somewhat responsible for being unavailable at such times. He was ready to redeem himself... to put himself in action, to prove himself all over again.

Drulović inclined her head, padding slowly toward the kitchen. She appeared starkly younger than she had before, but the way she moved suggested that she had aged incredibly. "Oh, everyone always has a lot to talk about with me these days, Mr. Marshall," she said, tiredness creeping into her voice. She motioned with her left hand toward the dining room. "Go ahead and have a seat while I serve lunch." The Director headed into the kitchen, where a pot and a glass pan lay on the stovetop. "I imagine you have some long list of questions for me, hm, Mr. Marshall?" she called over her shoulder.

"More then I can count on my fingers," Austin smiled as he took a seat, "or hairs on my head, for that matter." Ah, where would he begin? Her de-aging? Her kidnapping? The situation with the Taurons? And what were these reports he was getting about Marlene Angel involving herself in TIB affairs? There was so much to know, but Austin refused to rush the Director. Knowing her, all would be revealed in pleasant time over a hot meal and a piping cup of tea.

Drulović chuckled at that, spooning copious amounts of soup into two painted porcelain bowls and setting them on the sides of two large ceramic plates, where she lay some home cooked lamb with her own sauce recipe. Drulović reached for the kettle on the back of the stove, with tea inside, and opened the cabinet above the stove, removing two teacups and saucers. She carried the kettle in her right hand, and cradled the teacups and saucers in the crook of her left elbow, bringing those inside the dining room first.

"Some tea for you, Mr. Marshall," she said, setting first the cups and saucers, and then the kettle on the table. There was the same lace tablecloth, protected by a plastic covering. Drulović poured the tea, using both hands, although her grip was not entirely steady, characterized by trembling.

"Thank you," he nodded, taking a satisfied whiff of the soup. Once the tea was poured, Austin waited until Drulović was seated before beginning. "I guess we should start off where we left off," he began. "I think the last time I saw you face-to-face was when Plishkin was working with you after the collapse of the Confederation. I see that the operation went... smoothly."

Drulović rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't flatter me, Mr. Marshall. I look terrible." She returned to the kitchen, balancing the plates with the bowls of soups with a combination of her hands and elbow nooks. "Mr. Plishkin is quite an unpleasant fellow, not at all the sort of man around whom I like to spend my time. I trust you enjoyed your tour of the Reverence? I do hate space travel myself," she said, setting the plates carefully on the table. "It's rather unnatural."

"Well I can't say I'm fond it myself, Director," Austin mused, "though it beats taking the public bus." He took a short spoonful of soup, followed by a cup of tea. "Were you up to anything directly after your alteration? Any more visits from George?"

"Pfft," said Drulović, rolling her eyes. "I haven't seen Mr. Montgomery in quite some time, although I can't say I'm all that disappointed. His mother obviously never taught him any manners. He never quite learned how to knock..." She reached for her cup of tea, taking a good long sip. "I've not had much interesting, Mr. Marshall, as meetings with Mr. Cranford are inevitably as interesting as first-year chemistry at the university. I imagine you've felt quite the same in certain situations, no?"

"More or less," Austin smiled after another spoonful, "although I doubt Cranford puts a bowl of homemade soup in front of you before your meetings." Austin took a sip of tea, mustering a more grave tone as he approached a darker topic. "I also understand you were... kidnapped. I was distraught to hear of it when I did."

Drulović frowned, setting her cup of tea down on the table. "Yes, it seems Mr. Fazekas made the news again... Although it wasn't just me, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, returning her gaze to Austin. "Three of the twenty passed on. Mr. Dobrovich, Mr. Fereydoun, Ms. Ramirez... Ms. Ramirez you may have met before. She worked for our colleagues at the National Police Agency."

"Perhaps. If so I'm afraid I don't recall," Austin half-murmured, "the whole thing is tragic. What those men did to our Terrans was just... evil. Completely and totally." There was no disguising the obvious disdain in Austin's voice. Once again, regrets flooded his mind. If only he hadn't been absent... perhaps he could have done something. Prevented it from ever happening. Logic told him he would have probably ended up dead, but the fact remainedā€”Austin hadn't been there. "Terra's on the brink of war as it is, no? I imagine the politicians didn't exactly like the idea of three of our citizens being crucified."

"Mr. Fazekas already declared war, Mr. Marshall," replied Drulović, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Ten of us were crucified... Seven survived. The funerals were yesterday. Ms. Ramirez's father seemed more upset than any of the others. I offered him my condolences, but I'm afraid he was not particularly accepting." Visible in the shadow of her jaw was a nasty, dark bruise that could only be seen at the right angle. She sipped at her tea and then reached for a fork, eyeing the lamb on her plate.

"I see." Austin hadn't eaten throughout the whole ordeal. "Well for what it was, I'm glad it's over with. It's awful what happened to our fellow Terrans, but I'm certainly glad that you made it out all right, Director." The agent took a sip of his tea, letting the intricate Arabic flavors dispel some of his previous aggression. God, this was good stuff. Almost made Austin wish he knew how to cook. Or boil water, for that matter. "Oh, and another thing," Austin said after a bite of soup. "...I couldn't help but glance over a few documents. Did 'Marlene Angel' apply for aā€”a job? With us Terrans? The TNG?"

"With the National Police Agency, yes," replied Drulović, "and Mr. Mulavi, Mr. Lebrun's temporary replacement, chose to interview her personally... He sent me an audiotape of the interview. It's actually quite interesting, and in Ms. Angel's official file, though I don't recall if you have clearance to listen to that... You've met Ms. Angel, yes, Mr. Marshall?" Drulović took a bite of lamb.

"Not personally, actually," Austin confessed, "though I've heard quite a bit about her. She's got a considerable reputation on Terra. After all," Austin raised an eyebrow, "she hasn't always been 'on our side.'"

"Very few truly are, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović between bites of lamb. "You? Hmph. Yes, you I trust. I imagine you find it hard to believe that Ms. Angel wishes to work for our government. She's the one who came to rescue me from Hadante, in fact, although I'd appreciate if you didn't share that particular detail with the press." There was a considerable amount of disgust in her voice when she referenced journalists.

"Be as it may, Ms. Angel's track record is far from perfect," Austin pressed. "She's taken many Terran citizens into Aschen custody, executed some of them even. There have been reports of her torturing Terran men and women, some of them publicly. She also stood idly by while her people cut the population of our world in half." Austin digressed, allowing himself another cup of tea. "Truth be told, Director, I'm not fond of the idea of having Marlene Angel involved in Terran affairs. She's a femme fatale, and I doubt if she can be trusted with any position in the TNG."

For the longest time, Drulović did not say anything, only watching Austin with a most curious look that suggested an entire array of emotions. "So few of us have the distinction of perfection, Mr. Marshall," murmured the Director. "I don't imagine you've been placed in a situation where you've had to do things you never dreamed you would do... In any case, Mr. Marshall," she said, sighing, and returning to her usual tone, "I don't make Mr. Mulavi's hiring decisions, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović with a small frown. "I only make that decision for those who seek a position with the Bureau." She sipped at her tea, savoring the mint-tinged Arabic liquid.

"I understand," Austin nodded, "and of course I'll respect any decision made by Mr. Mulavi. I suppose it was a bit out of my place to speak as I did." Austin returned again to his soup, taking several mouthfuls this time. "Those are all the big happenings, no?" Austin asked. "Am I missing anything? Those were my biggest concerns, I suppose."

Drulović set her cup of tea back on its saucer. "Here, yes," she replied, "but you may wish to know that there is currently an armed effort to subjugate the Tauron prefecture on Langara... If it succeeds, the Caprican government may seek to reunite the Aschen Confederation." She reached for her fork, taking another bite of lamb. After swallowing, she spoke again. "It's cold in here, Mr. Marshall... I've noticed lately that I seem cold in most places. Even outside, and it's not yet the end of summer. Sometimes I worry."

"Director?" Austin asked curiously, "are you sick, perhaps? The temperature seems fine to me. Maybe I'm just not noticing it." Well, wasn't that just a strange thing for Drulović to say. Why would she feel compelled to tell him something so... obscure? "And the Confederation might get back together? That's interesting," Austin smirked, taking another sip of tea.

"Oh, I suppose it's nothing after all," Drulović said. She looked past Austin to the row of pictures hanging in the hall. She brought her fingers to her lips and chuckled softly. "Did I ever tell you where I found my family pictures?" she asked, her brows furrowing as she stared at the wedding photo of her parents. Drulović suddenly looked very small in her chair in the dining room.

Austin looked onward at the various pictures, recognizing many of them. "You told me about the story behind many of them, but you never told me you found them." Austin's eyes flickered from photograph to photograph, remembering that day not long after Drulović's divorce when they had put them up together. "How did you find them?" he asked, finishing off her tea with a final sip.

Drulović offered a small smile again, an expression as typical and normal for the Director as the twitch of an eye might have been to another. She swallowed the last of her tea and set the teacup in its saucer, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed it there. "In different places, actually, Mr. Marshall," she answered, eyeing the black and white image of a schoolgirl with Drulović's face. "That one, I found in the CIA's files. They kept copies of photos taken at Ellis Island, a secret program to counter the influence of foreign Marxists..." Drulović tapped her fingers idly on the table for a moment, leaning back in her seat.

"CIA files? Well I suppose you've got all kinds of connections, Director," Austin mused quietly, admiring the photograph as he spoke, "although I hope the rest weren't so difficult to find." Austin's eyes shifted to more of the photographs arranged about the house, particularly those of a "less-pleasant" nature. It was almost a bit eerie... the Drulović in some of the photographs didn't look too different from the one sitting across from him now.

"I looked through the files when I was still with the CIA, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, rubbing her jaw. "With the aftermath of September 11, I imagine my superiors weren't particularly concerned about the contents of 1950s era photos from Ellis Island..." She trailed off, turning to the photograph of herself in the black graduate's robes. "That one, naturally, I found in the offices of my law school. Not too far away from Langley, actually." Drulović's gaze turned toward the photos of her grandmother, the younger portrait and the bridal portrait. "Sladjana's pictures, Mr. Marshall, I found trampled on the floor of her house in Belgrade after Jasenovac. The looters took the jewelry, the furniture... Destroyed the icon of Saint Sava and most of the pictures in the house. But those two were still there."

Austin nodded gravely, his eyes shifting to each photograph as they were addressed. Even the way she had collected them told something about her past. "Geez," Austin murmured under an exhale, "I guess you're lucky to have what you managed to salvage. These pictures must be worth their weight in gold to you." The agent's hands reached briefly to numbly grasp his spoon before returning it back into the empty bowl. He wondered if there were any salvaged pictures of his own brother, Eddie, back at their old house. He wondered if they had even taken any pictures together.

Drulović nodded toward Austin, her eyes alighting on his face. "Do you keep family pictures, Mr. Marshall? I imagine most people do." She slumped slightly to one side in her seat, although she maintained her gaze on the young agent's face. "I always thought of wealthy families as having one important luxury better than any otherā€”the luxury of pictures of every day in the life of the family. And today, with all this... technology," Drulović added, looking a little distraught with that word, "it seems easier to take pictures and keep them."

Austin smiled sheepishly, looking down towards his empty teacup as if slightly embarrassed, "Ah, mine was never a wealthy family, Director. We never took many pictures. My mother was in my life for only a few years before she died of a disease." The agent paused, bringing the memory back with obvious caution. "Syphilis, I think. My brother, eighteen at the time, raised me afterwards. We lived in one of the poorer parts of the Wing, so it wasn't easy." A small twinge of pain flashed across Austin's face as he remembered his brother. But just as soon, the same boyish grin etched across Austin's jaw, quickly masking any previous vulnerability. "But we loved each other to death. Nothing was too hard with Eddie around."

"You are lucky that you had such a brother," said Drulović with an affirming nod. She fingered the gold saint's medallion hanging about her neck, rubbing the saint's face. "I imagine you are still close to your brother today..." She looked at Austin closely, as if searching him for something unfindable. There was a hint of something almost a little like envy in her gaze, but a second later, whatever had been there disappeared. Drulović reached for her spoon, eating some of her soup in silence for a bit.

"Not as close as I was, maybe," Austin reflected. "He got into some trouble a while back with some local gangs before I ever joined up with the TIB. He split town and I haven't seen him face-to-face since, though we talk often enough." The agent stretched his arms behind his back, quietly letting the conversation linger a bit before changing it all-together. "By the way, whatever happened to that other agent I saw with you after your injuries from ol' Georgie?" Austin asked curiously. "I think she was with you during your brief brawl. Maria, was it? I can't quite remember..."

Drulović nodded. "Ms. Lopez, Mariella Lopez," she answered. "She has been on permanent assignment elsewhere on Terra, but I'm afraid I can't say much more than that, Mr. Marshall. You understand." She ate her soup quietly, until it was nearly gone, before she resumed speaking again. "The picture of my parents," the Director said, nodding toward the wedding photo of the Bjelacs, "I found in the Jasenovac files. The UstaÅ”a kept records of those they killed."

Austin gulped quietly at the statement. It was so... callous. So immediate and factual. Drulović's parents had been killed. Austin had never known. "I'm... sorry, Director," Austin fumbled, unsure what else to say. "...That must have been a hard loss." The agent racked his mind for any familiarity with the word 'UstaÅ”a'. The word 'fascists' seemed synonymous, though he could have been wrong.

Drulović shrugged, eyeing the moment captured in the picture, where both her mother and father looked positively vibrant. After all, how else could one feel on a wedding? "I was three, and already well aware of what the UstaÅ”a did. They kept the children in a separate part of Jasenovac. There was one soldier, Mr. Marshall," Drulović said, her voice softening considerably as she stared at the picture of her parents, "who liked to practice shooting with the babies... He'd stand at twenty paces one day, or one hundred the next. But they don't teach that in history classes anymore, do they, Mr. Marshall? Did they teach you about the UstaÅ”a in the university?" She arched her eyebrows, pressing her lips together.

"No," Austin shook his head, offering her a warm smile, "I guess it wasn't my major." The agent's eyes softened as he took another glance back at the picture. Austin could never understand how much the smiling, light-hearted people in that photograph meant to Drulović. He was never close to his own mother. He never looked his father in the eye. But he did know something about family. His brother hadn't taught him much, but he taught him how to smile; a skill Austin had never forgotten as long as he had lived.

"There are bad people in the world, Director," Austin said calmly, knowingly, "villains that do horrible things, often for no true reason at all. I'm sure you know that better than anyone else. That's why you're here. That's why we're here. To protect Terra." Austin nodded. These were the virtues that convinced Austin to join the TIB in the first place. "To protect people like them." He nodded back at the picture of Drulović's parents.

Drulović reached for the fork and the lamb on her plate, now tepid. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while Austin spoke. Her eyes returned to the man's face. "Actually," she said lightly, "I'm here because I like the trees. They're quite beautiful in full bloom." She pointed with her fork out the front window at a green-colored tree beside the azalea bushes. "That's a cherry tree, Mr. Marshall. Come April, its blossoms grace the entire yard with their sweet fragrance. Have you ever been to Washington in Spring? It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." Drulović beamed, as if she were like a child sharing a special secret. She returned to her lamb, blinking slowly, before she remembered that there was one picture left on the wall.

Austin was quite speechless for about five seconds after Drulović had spoken. What? Just... what? When did they leave the grave, delicate subject of her parents being murdered to talk about the fragrance of cherry trees? For the first time in his life, Austin found himself with reason to question some part of Drulović's sanity. Perhaps talking about such a personal topic wasn't good for her. Perhaps she actually just wanted to change the topic. Austin just wasn't sure anymore. "Iā€”I've never been to Washington," Austin stammered. "Wing City doesn't have many trees, besides the Gardens. I don't go there very often."

"That's a shame, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović between bites of lamb. "You ought not to learn to appreciate nature the way I did. In Jasenovac, there were no trees." She set her fork on her plate, removing the small notepad from her inner pocket along with a pen, and set the notepad on the table beside her plate. Drulović began jotting a few lines in Cyrillic script. She took a long time to form each letter, and the letters themselves had an odd slant to the left, though she was writing with her right hand.

Drulović's tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration as she wrote. Finally, she put the pen down and looked up at Austin again. "Perhaps God had a reason for letting it happen as it did. I'm sure my parents wouldn't have wanted to know where Helena went." She eyed the last picture, the color picture of herself and the similar-looking blonde woman in the blood-stained room.

"I'm not sure if I believe in God," Austin answered plainly, looking down at his thumbs. "Eddie was strict Catholic. Took me to church a few times, even." The agent grinned. "He always punched me square in the jaw whenever I fell asleep. Happened a lot. But," Austin shrugged, "if there is a 'good and loving' God, then I like to think that he wouldn't let bad things happen without having some greater purpose for it all."

Drulović chuckled at Austin's story. "I imagine you didn't find church that interesting, then. I was born Orthodox, Mr. Marshall, and masqueraded as Catholic as a child after leaving Jasenovac," said Drulović, reaching to touch the saint's medallion again, "but stopped going to church in university. I hadn't thought I'd ever go back." Drulović's gaze grew distant, and she rubbed at her jaw. "It was a few months after that picture was taken," she said, nodding to the last picture of her and the other woman, "that I became sure of God. A stranger time I don't think there ever was, Mr. Marshall. That picture, I found too. It was in the prison files in Kosovo."

Austin nodded. "Well it's definitely one of your more explicit photographs," Austin confessed, "but it says a lot for what it is." The agent leaned back in his chair, grinning a bit as he made another quick sweep-through of all the pictures with his eyes. "Which do you like the best?" he asked.

Drulović stood, rising slowly, and made her way to the hallway from the dining room. She paused beneath the pictures of her grandmother, and of her aunts and uncles. "I never knew these people," she said, her voice sounding almost hollow, although that wasn't exactly the best word to use. She walked to her parents' wedding picture. "These were my mother and father. I wish I could have known them longer than I did, Mr. Marshall."

Drulović rubbed her hands together. "Here, I look terrified," she said, touching her fingers against the glass of the Ellis Island picture. "Here, I did not know God," Drulović said, and tapped the glass of her graduation picture. She came to stand in front of the last picture. "Here," she said, with a small laugh, "I look terrible." Drulović rested her palm against the glass, covering the image of herself so that only the figure of the other woman remained in sight.

"Like this, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, nodding, "this is the one I like the best. I only wish I had another picture of her."

Austin grinned, admiring the photo. "Not half as bad as I do in the morning." He laughed quietly, looking from face to face across the photo. "Do you remember anything about them?" he asked curiously.

"My mother sang in Serbian to me," said Drulović, turning to face Austin. She folded her hands over one another in front of her. "That is why, I believe, she was killed. The guards in Jasenovac would use any excuse, really. My mother, my father, my sister, and I, we were called vlach. It's a little like saying the word 'nigger,' Mr. Marshall. A vlach was less than human. A vlach has no reason to be alive." Drulović leaned against the wall -- against the framed picture, really. She eyed Austin most curiously. "But I imagine you don't want to hear those stories. There are far happier things to remember, hm? You must have happy memories, too."

"That's awful, Director," Austin winced, "but I don't mind hearing about it. Life isn't all fun and games, and I guess you would know that better than anyone else." The agent looked away briefly, gathering his thoughts. "Eddie and I made a boat load of good memories together, though. I leaned everything I know about Wing City from that that kid. Most of it wasn't good advice, but..." Austinā€™s voice trailed off into laughter.

"You are very fortunate, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, "to have the memories you do of your brother. I never knew Helena half as well as you did Eddie. Jasenovac made us strangers, I'm afraid. I did get to know my sister, but it was much later, and at a time when sisters should be sharing in each other's company and children." Drulović rubbed the saint's medallion, her brows furrowing closely together. "I came to know Helena quite well in that room." She half-turned, so she could see the picture again. "She was always the fair one," Drulović observed, speaking more to herself then than to Austin.

"I imagine you dearly treasured any time you had with your sister," Austin considered, "though I admit I am fortunate. I wouldn't be half the person I am today without Eddie." Austin nodded back to Drulović. "Surely you had someone special though, Director. Some special friend to help you through your tough times?"

"I had Saint Sava," replied Drulović, fingering her medallion again, "for however short a time, and when he was not there, I had Mr. Drulović. You met him once, Mr. Marshall. But friends?" Drulović chuckled, and then sighed. "In this line of work, you learn quickly that friends are hard to find, Mr. Marshall, if not outright impossible. I have neighbors, colleagues, even enemies. Oh, plenty of those all the time. But I'm afraid friends are an incredibly rare breed. Rarer then, too, than today."

Austin shrugged, mulling over her words carefully. Austin supposed that Eddie was his best friend. He had had a few close acquaintances throughout the years, but no one he could ever call as close as his own brother. "Maybe so, Director," Austin nodded, "but I think that, 'in this business,' trusting people is just as important as knowing who to trust. Who can you trust better than your friends?" Austin furrowed his brows, looking about himself briefly. "They say that love is a pretty strong bond, and with it comes loyalty."

"They say that, hm, Mr. Marshall?" Drulović raised her eyebrows, giving him a look that suggested she was amused before it quickly faded. She moved away from the picture, returning to the dining room and settling into her seat again, resting her elbow on the table. "I wish that were true. I thought so, too, for quite a long time. But it seems even 'love' has its limits."

Austin smiled, believing that Drulović was obviously referring to her recent divorce. So far as the agent could recall, he had not even once discussed the topic of the Director's former husband. Not so much as a passing word of gossip with his fellow agents.

"My brother always told me," Austin grinned as he remembered, "that true love is like a 'circle.' 'A circle,' he said. No ending... just keeps goin' round and round." Austin chuckled a bit. "He said Mom loved us like a circle. Even if she was gone, the circle wasn't. He said God loved us like a circle, too." Austin leaned forward then, his forearms resting on his knees. "I haven't loved much, Director. I think I've really only ever loved one person. But I'm inclined to believe him. Love just doesn'tā€”end. Ever. I can't ever imagine not loving my brother."

Drulović nodded. "Oh that I know, Mr. Marshall," she said. "I can't say that love ends. What Christian could?" She gave a small laugh at that, glancing momentarily at the Christ icon in the living room. "But God, I imagine, has far greater capacity for love than we do. I've trusted plenty of people in my lifetime, Mr. Marshall, and loved about half as many. Most of them aren't here anymore."

Austin nodded. "I'm sorry, Director," Austin said, unsure what else to say. Austin usually wasn't one to engage in "philosophical" discussions of the sort. He always hated Socratic seminar in high school. "By the way, Director," Austin asked, a note of boyish curiosity in his voice, "you wouldn't happen to have any assignments you've been waiting to give me since I've been absent, would you?"

"Don't be sorry, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, reaching for her fork and the now-cold lamb on her plate. "You have nothing for which you need to apologize." She took a bite of lamb, chewing slowly. "I'd like you to do something for me, Mr. Marshall. You might remember the former Fleet Admiral of the Aschen High Space Command, Ms. Kendra Shaw, hm? Ms. Shaw is the lady responsible for Terra's glassing last year. I'd appreciate it if you could find her, Mr. Marshall."

"Shaw," Austin muttered under his breath. He knew the name well. "Police reports say she was last seen in Gambit's. You think there's any chance she's still on-world?"

"I think we would have noticed if she left," said Drulović, shrugging. "But I imagine there are holes in even the tightest fortress... Truth be told, Mr. Marshall, I don't know with certainty one way or the other. That's why I'd like you to find out. I'm sure Ms. Shaw is somewhere. I'd like to have a word with her." There was something uncanny about the way she said that last sentence that suggested something far deeper there.

"Just a word?" Austin grinned, rising quietly from his seat. "Well I'll get right on it, Director. I think I'll start by paying the WCPD a quick visit. A local detective was one of the last to have words with her, I believe."

"Come back soon, Mr. Marshall," replied Drulović, looking up at Austin as he stood to leave. "I have so little in the way of polite conversation. The papers certainly don't count." She rose as well, standing slowly, and yet still did not come up to quite chin height beside Austin. "I'm glad you came today."

Austin nodded, giving her a quick play salute from the top of his brow. "I'm glad I came. It's good to be back, Director." He meant every word.

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Mr. Marshall," responded Drulović. She moved toward the door, peering through the windows. "I really ought to trim my azaleas. It looks like they've overgrown and started to take over the lawn."

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Ylanne
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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Mon Sep 19, 2011 2:22 pm

(Post collaborated by DemiKara playing Aerilyn Rayburn-Jones, and Ylanne playing Natalija and Arianne Drulović and Javor Nesic. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Firing Range
Wing City, Terra

Aerilyn had arrived to the range first, and had been allowed through with a wave of the hand. She was known pretty well here. She patiently set up the target and waited for her friend to arrive. It shouldn't be too hard to teach her. Shooting was easy to teach. It was the practice that was the hard part.

A car door slammed and Natalija appeared in the parking lot, striding toward the administration building with her ID already in her hand and her large leather purse slung over her shoulder with her Smith and Wesson inside, safely hidden from prying eyes. She glanced left and right before stepping almost hesitantly to the attendant in the booth by the building.

The attendant checked her ID, and offered her a smile. "Miss Rayburn is waiting for you in the third shooting range. Just keep heading straight," she said with a smile, and motioned past her to the range.

Aerilyn was waiting, earmuffs on already, and she smiled as she shot down the range at a target. This one was hers. A similar target was on the board next to hers. Natalija blinked, resisting the urge to turn tail and run RIGHT NOW while the door was still there, within sight, where the car was parked, baking in the sun on the black tarmac ready right now to go to leave to get the hell out of Dodge and back to home sweet home where there would be hā€”she blinked again and realized she was still standing there with her ID in her hand, unmoving.

She gave a small, nervous smile, before heading in the direction indicated, flinching badly at the sound of Aerilyn's gunshot. She moved her feet back and forth over the grass, crushing blades beneath her sneakers. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Natalija looked much more like a college student than a mother of threeā€”or a shooter, for that matter. The sun suddenly felt far too warm on her face. "Um, hi," she mumbled.

Aerilyn didn't hear her, but she did see her, and she placed the gun on the small table provided, facing down range, and removed the ear muffs. "Natalija! Glad you could make it,ā€ she said brightly and offered her a hug. "Ready to get started?ā€ It would actually be a bit. Safety first, after all.

Natalija looked around again, bouncing on the balls of her feet for a moment before meeting Aerilyn's eyes. "Um, yeah, I guess," she said, barely avoiding the mumble she seemed to adopt around certain situations. "I don't, uh, exactly know what we're doing, though." She glanced at the table, and unloaded her purse onto it, where it made a solid thud that most purses didn't make. "So, um."

The nervousness made her smile and Aerilyn looked her over. "All right. Let's see, first up is basic gun safety. It's important to know to prevent accidents, especially if there are children in the house. You might as well take a seat. We won't start shooting right off." Better to ease her to the sounds of gunfire in the other ranges first. She was still too nervous. Besides, Aerilyn wasn't about to let anyone get out of this without a serious gun safety lesson.

Natalija looked about before seating herself beside the table, her movements stiff, almost wooden. "Right. Yeah. I have three. They're very young and I don't want them to get hurt. I have to make sure they're safe." She spoke with a strange intensity that did not seem to usually accompany her voice. Natalija glanced toward the other people shooting, resisting the massive temptation to crawl into a small fetal ball and cry and hide under the table. She was a woman, not a child. She had to remind herself of that.

"All right. First rule is to unload the gun and keep it unloaded and the bullets and the gun in a separate locked containers. This is for the safety of your kids.ā€ She bit her bottom lip. "I wouldn't tell anyone the combo, or give anyone the key. Especially your husband,ā€ she said. She hadn't liked what she had seen. "The only time it should be loaded is when you intend to shoot.ā€ She continued to go over basic gun safety rules, and hoped it all sank into Natalija's head.

Natalija wouldn't meet Aerilyn's eyes. "I should hide the key somewhere safe then," she said, looking distinctly uncomfortable as the other woman mentioned Javor. "Somewhere no one will find it." As Aerilyn continued describing safety rules, she found herself staring at a place on the other woman's chin. "Waitā€”what if there's an emergency situation? How am I supposed to think quickly enough to load before shooting?"

"The gun you loaded is fairly easy. Pop the cartridge in, and you're loaded,ā€ she said and smiled at the other woman. "When you are home, just keep it unloaded, okay? For the safety of your kids. Accidents happen, and nearly thirty kids each year die because of this type of accident. Your kids aren't going to be a statistic, okay?ā€ She demanded of the other, and then nodded. "Any other questions? And Natalija. I want you to know that it is okay for you to use the gun to defend yourself. No one would blame you."

"I want to make sure my kids are safe, too," Natalija said almost defensively, meeting Aerilyn's eyes for just a moment before finding herself unable to maintain eye contact. "I just want." She sighed. "I don't really know what I want. It's so complicated, you know? Life. Ugh. So, if there was an emergency, all I need to do is put the cartridge inside? I don't think I can do that that quickly..."

"So let's practice," she offered and smiled, pulling the cartridge out. "Push it in until it clicks," she said with a smile. "Gotta know how to load in order to manage it. And hey. I'm here for you, okay? " She hadn't liked Javor's attitude that day, but didn't know enough to validate what she suspected. So she'd stay quiet, for now. He could have just had a bad day, after all.

Natalija pressed her lips into a thin line, looking very much like her mother when the Director was deep in contemplation, as she practiced inserting and removing the cartridge a few times. Her movements were slow, clunky, but she developed more familiarity with the motion with each attempt. Wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, she pushed her sleeves up just a little so she could maneuver her fingers with greater control. The edge of a nasty bruise was barely visible along her arm. "Is this okay?"

Aerilyn spotted the bruise. ā€œYou're doing great,ā€ she said and smiled at her, then reached for her sleeve. ā€œLet me pull the sleeves up a bit more. They can be a pain when shooting,ā€ she said, in excuse. If that was what she thought it was... It was tempting to take the gun away and shoot Javor herself. Very tempting. Aerilyn's eyes narrowed on the bruise.

Nervous, easily frightened, flinched at loud noises. All symptoms. The need to learn the gun, despite being scared, was a dangerous thing if what Aerilyn suspected was true. Let it not be, please let it not be.

Natalija jerked away from Aerilyn. ā€œI'm fine,ā€ she replied, checking that her sleeves were pulled down right to her wrists. She removed and inserted the cartridge a few more times, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in concentration. From the right angle, she was the very image of her mother. ā€œI think I'm getting the hang of this. Maybe my mom was right. She has guns all over her house... in a cabinet somewhere. She never exactly told me where.ā€

ā€œNatalija, you have a bruise on your arm. Lift. Up. Your. Sleeve,ā€ Aerilyn said very firmly. She crossed her arms, the very picture of sternness. ā€œNo one else can see you here. No one else will know. Show me,ā€ she said. Please don't let it be hand shaped. Please.

Natalija flinched, growing visibly and distinctly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. She set the gun on the table, and slowly lifted her sleeve, revealing the outline of what looked like finger-shaped marks along her wrist. They were partially faded, but looked recent enough. ā€œI swear I'm fine.ā€

Aerilyn's eyes narrowed. ā€œI'm going to come home with you when we're done. Your husband and I are going to have a little conversation. If you or your children ever need a safe place, or just a peaceful place, come to my home. I'll give you directions.ā€ She stood. ā€œThis is non-negotiable, Natalija. Now come on.ā€ Her voice softened on the last sentence. ā€œLet's work on shooting.ā€

ā€œFuck no, you're not coming to my house,ā€ Natalija sputtered, jerking her sleeve back down over her arm, effectively hiding the bruise from sight. ā€œNervous habit; I grab myself; when I was little, I used to hide under desks because of the fucking gunfire in the middle of a fucking war zone. I'm fine, dammit.ā€ She took several rapid breaths before calming. ā€œI don't live there anyway; it's my mom's place, and now that she's home, I'm sure she'll kick us all out within the week.ā€

Natalija reached for the gun on the table, holding it carefully, pointed toward the ground, just like Aerilyn had showed her. ā€œI've never fired a weapon before,ā€ she said.

ā€œThat was the wrong size bruise, Natalija.ā€ she murmured. ā€œAnd the fingers weren't right either.ā€ She smiled though. ā€œAll right. Stand with your knees bent slightly. It's to help you stabilize. Shoulder-width apart. That means a foot under each shoulder.ā€ A lot of people didn't get that, for whatever reason. Aerilyn smiled at her friend. ā€œBoth hands on the grip. The first will pull the trigger; the second will help stabilize. Hold it like so.ā€ She demonstrated on her own gun, keeping her finger out of the trigger guard.

ā€œWhat are you, a fucking forensic scientist,ā€ Natalija muttered, almost inaudibly. She watched Aerilyn's movements and attempted to replicate the correct posture and grip on the gun. ā€œI wonder how my mom holds her gun,ā€ she said. ā€œShe can't use her left hand. Is that possible?ā€ Natalija squinted at the target on the other end of range.

ā€œYou can use them one-handed. But it's more accurate with both. Plus, you'll feel the recoil a little less,ā€ Aerilyn said and gently corrected Natalija. ā€œYou're doing great so far.ā€ She was coming back with Natalija. She could use Drulović as an excuse, if she had to. ā€œDon't worry about shooting the middle. Just concentrate on the target, okay?ā€

Natalija nodded. ā€œOkay.ā€ I can do this, she told herself. I can do this. She took a deep, shuddering breath, standing with feet shoulder-width apart, eyeing the target. She raised the gun, holding both hands wrapped around the weapon. She imagined his face superimposed over the wooden target. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her finger down on the trigger.

With a miniature explosion, the bullet erupted from the barrel of the gun, creating a small hole on the upper side of the target. Natalija staggered backward. Aerilyn caught her and smiled. ā€œThat was recoil. Are you ready to try again, or do you need to watch me a few times, and let your arms recover.ā€ Pistols had recoil, and more than most people were expecting. The first time you shot one, you tended to stagger a bit.

ā€œJesus.ā€ Natalija shook her head, lowering her weapon. ā€œNo, I'm fine. I can try again.ā€ She nodded toward the hole in the target newly created by her Smith and Wesson. ā€œWas that good?ā€ For a moment, the twenty-six year old woman sounded more like a child waiting for heaps of approval.

ā€œIt's great! You're a natural. Most don't hit the target at all.ā€ Aerilyn put earmuffs over Natalija's ears, and then over her own. ā€œAgain!ā€ she demanded and motioned to the target.

Natalija squinted, squinching her face into a weird contortion. ā€œProbably genes from my mother,ā€ she muttered, lining the target in her mind again, and raising the weapon. A breeze ruffled at her hair as she fired, this time the bullet dinging off the edge of the target. ā€œFuck.ā€

ā€œKeep trying,ā€ Aerilyn encouraged and smiled.

They continued for another twenty minutes. By the end, Natalija's arms were aching from the recoil. Aerilyn had a cream to help with it, but nothing was perfect, after all. Natalija collapsed into the seat by the table, laying the gun there, but not before she remembered to remove the cartridge. She rubbed her arms, wincing as she did so. There were more bruises hidden under her long sleeves. ā€œIs it supposed to hurt this much?ā€ she moaned.

ā€œRecoil,ā€ Aerilyn quoted, ā€œis a bitch.ā€ She grinned wickedly at Natalija. ā€œCome on, I'll walk you to your mother's. I haven't seen her since she returned,ā€ she admitted and smiled weakly. ā€œIt's... it's only right.ā€

ā€œN-n-no, I'm fine,ā€ Natalija stammered, standing beside Aerilyn. ā€œYou really don't need to do that. She's probably having a meeting or something anyway.ā€ Her face had paled considerably. ā€œI can get home myself. Besides, I drove.ā€ She pointed to the car in the parking lot. ā€œI borrowed Jelisa's car.ā€ Her eyes pleaded with Aerilyn not to go.

ā€œI'm going. She's still recovering, right?ā€ Aerilyn said and smiled. ā€œI took the bus, so it'll be fine! I'll just ride with you.ā€ And if she didn't let it happen, she'd take the bus to the house anyway.

ā€œI know as much as you do,ā€ said Natalija, grumbling. ā€œMom won't talk to me about almost anything. All she said was she's fine. That's it. About what happened. She almost fucking died.ā€ Natalija crossed her arms across her chest. ā€œFine, you can come, but no eating in the car or Jelisa'll kill me.ā€ She uncrossed her arms, putting her gun inside her purse and burying it under an assortment of cosmetic items before zipping the bag shut and slinging it over her shoulder.

ā€œI don't even have food,ā€ she said cheerfully and packed up her gun. ā€œSo I'll be sure not to eat any of my non-existent food,ā€ she said and grinned at the woman. There, she was going, and she had an excuse to go inside.

Natalija bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment. She took another deep, shuddering breath. ā€œYeah, well, I guess Mom'll feed you,ā€ she said, and turned to head for the car, nodding toward the attendant in the booth. ā€œShe feeds everyone. If you come over, you might never leave.ā€

ā€œShe fed me last time. She's a good cook,ā€ Aerilyn said with a smile, finding the car easily enough. ā€œAnd a good woman, if a bit absorbed in the wrong things.ā€ Traumatized and, like Aeri, had no doubt declined ever seeing a counselor over the trauma. Why would she?

ā€œPeople tend to either love or hate her,ā€ said Natalija, frowning. ā€œI hear a lot about her from other people, and every time, I feel like I know my own mother a little less well than I thought I did.ā€ Natalija unlocked the car, and opened the driver's side door, climbing inside and shutting it after her. She waited for Aerilyn to climb in on the passenger side and buckle her seatbelt before turning the key in the ignition.

Aerilyn smiled and buckled up, hoping to reassure Natalija. If they could just keep her mind off of everything, they might do all right. Maybe. Natalija pulled out of the parking movement, her driving noticeably jerky, with awkward, sudden turns and presses of the pedals. ā€œAfter mom came back, they stopped sending my paychecks and put me on unpaid leave. Bastards.ā€

ā€œThat's just plain...why the hell would they do that? Did you run out of leave or something?ā€ Aerilyn didn't even know what Natalija did. ā€œAnd you can't go back yet, can you? Your mom was pretty bad off, wasn't she?ā€ She couldn't imagine otherwise.

ā€œNot yet, no,ā€ said Natalija, ā€œand I really don't want to. I do kind of need that paycheck though. But I've only been there for two years, and I'm not really senior.ā€ She paused at a red light, tapping her fingers against the wheel. ā€œSo once mom came back, they said, no more paid leave, Natalija, and that was that.ā€

ā€œOuch. I can't really help there,ā€ Aerilyn admitted. ā€œHow did your family take it?ā€ That would have to be talked about, right? It seemed like it must.

ā€œI didn't tell anyone. I don't want anyone to worry about me. I mean, my mom almost died.ā€ Natalija's foot shifted to the gas pedal and she shot forward before easing the speed back, slowing to a regular 55 km/h. ā€œIt'd be kind of selfish to talk about me.ā€

ā€œYou have to let your husband know, right?ā€ Aerilyn said suspiciously. She frowned and sighed. ā€œI hope your mom will heal up all right. It's just... I want to kill the idiots who did this, you know!ā€ It wasn't right. Kidnapping and torture, and it made Aerilyn entirely too frustrated.

ā€œI'll tell Javor,ā€ snapped Natalija, too quickly. ā€œLater. Eventually.ā€ She took a sharp left and then almost slammed on the brakes, her driving almost erratic. ā€œI don't think they'll do anything though. The government has too much to worry about, not enough money, and almost no power to do anything. It's not like my Momā€™ll do anything about it either. She's probably too concerned about other things.ā€

Aerilyn held onto the panic bar. ā€œNatalija, calm down before you get pulled over,ā€ she said very, very firmly. ā€œAnd you don't get pulled over with guns in the car. We will get arrested. Both of us.ā€ They should have locked them in the trunk, but Aerilyn hadn't been thinking about that.

ā€œYeah, wouldn't that make my mother happy,ā€ Natalija said, the corners of her lips twitching. ā€œA Drulović arrested with a gun in the car. It'd make the second page of the paper, I bet.ā€ She slowed again. They were on Liber, approaching the corner of Luna where her mother's brownstone sat.

ā€œThat would be interesting,ā€ Aerilyn said amused. ā€œYou'd be first page on the tabloids, if it's any comfort.ā€ She grinned at Natalija. They were almost there. ā€œI'd say it'd be nice to see your mom, but, you know, I stormed out on her last time.ā€

ā€œYou wouldn't be the first or the last person to do that,ā€ Natalija said with a dark expression, pulling into the driveway. She put the gear in park and removed the keys, her knuckles nearly white. She took several shuddering breaths.

Aerilyn put a hand on Natalija's knee. ā€œHey. We can go somewhere other than here if you want,ā€ she offered, and glanced to the house. ā€œIt's just fine.ā€

Natalija caught a glimpse of the curtains moving on the first floor. ā€œN-no. Hā€”they know we're here.ā€ She reached for the door, opening it and climbing slowly out of the car. There was another car in the driveway with Texas plates. ā€œHe's back, too.ā€

Aerilyn spotted it and frowned. ā€œWell, I'm here, so relax,ā€ she said firmly and slipped out of the car. ā€œWe can handle them together, I promise.ā€ She owed Natalija's husband a gun between the eyes.

Before they could ascend the few steps past the overgrown azalea bushes, the door opened and Javor appeared, dressed in a green polo and khakis, looking for all intents and purposes like any other worried husband. ā€œYou've been 'out with friends' three days this week,ā€ he said, standing at the top of the steps. Footsteps creaked in the house behind him and the door opened wider, revealing the Director holding a cup of tea.

ā€œWell, don't keep them standing there, Mr. Nesic. Come inside, Natalija, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, laying her hand on Javor's arm as if to pull him back into the house to allow the two younger women to enter.

Aerilyn raised an eyebrow at Javor. ā€œYes, Natalija and I get along well. Mr. Nesic, I gather?ā€ If he hadn't moved out of the way, Aerilyn would have firmly moved him herself. She gave Druvolic a smile. ā€œI'm glad you made it back,ā€ she said and put a hand gently on her shoulder. ā€œIf you ever need to talk, let me know.ā€

ā€œHi, Mom,ā€ Natalija mumbled, ducking into the house and standing on Drulović's other side, keeping the Director and Aerilyn between her and Javor, who shut the door, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly. ā€œAerilyn wanted to see you.ā€

ā€œOh, everyone wants to talk these days, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, the dark circles readily apparent under her eyes, the hands holding the teacup trembling visibly. ā€œHow have you been? Iā€™m afraid I havenā€™t been able to see many visitors in these recent weeks.ā€

"Yes, but not everyone has been through hell," Aerilyn pointed out smoothly and shrugged. "You and I have been through hell. Perhaps not together, perhaps not the exact same hell, but hell none the less. And you have to talk to someone, eventually." She gave Javor a nasty look. "And I can't see you talking to anyone the government tries to provide."

ā€œRemind me again why youā€™re standing inside this house,ā€ Javor said with thinly-veiled aggression, his eyes narrowing at Aerilyn. He took a step toward Natalija, who seemed to shrink behind her mother, a strange image as Drulović was decidedly shorter than her daughter.

Drulović nodded, indicating the living room visible from the hall beside them, where two couches and chairs sat arranged around an Ottoman-era coffee table, all under the enormous icon of Christ crucified hanging prominently on the wall. ā€œWe all have our own private hells, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, giving Javor a dismissive look before looking toward Aerilyn again. ā€œI imagine you too would find it hard to discuss certain topics, no? Sometimes it is better to keep silent. But please, come in, have a seat.ā€

Javor really annoyed her. Aerilyn smiled at Drulović and looked to the icon. Well, she supposed if the woman wanted to be reminded... Aerilyn shrugged that off. "Natalija, why not introduce me to this... man?" she definitely made that a slur. It didn't get much ruder actually. She knew it too. "He seems like someone I wouldn't mind introducing to my coworkers."

ā€œOh, um, Aerilyn, this is Javor,ā€ said Natalija, almost mumbling and not looking up at anyoneā€™s faces. ā€œJavor, this is Aerilyn.ā€ Though the words were spoken in the style to which she was accustomed in the marketing sector, her voice was utterly hollow and lacking in depth. At Drulovićā€™s ushering, she headed into the living room, where she positioned herself on one of the chairs in the corner.

Javor stared at Aerilyn with hardened gaze before stiffly offering his hand. ā€œJavor Nesic,ā€ he introduced himself. ā€œIā€™m a partner at a firm in Dallas. And you do what, exactly?ā€

ā€œYou all sit down in the parlor while I fetch some tea, hm?ā€ said Drulović, heading toward the kitchen, in the opposite direction of the living room.

Aerilyn shook his hand with enough force to grind his bones together. "I'm a bouncer at Gambit's Bar. I take great joy in pointing my rail gun at the public nuisances who try and fight on my shift." Aerilyn had a high success rate at preventing fights from even starting and ending the few that broke out quickly. She may not be as big or as intimidating on first glance, but she was strong, and her aim deadly. "I'm sure it's a pleasure to meet a member of Natalija's family."

Javor nodded shortly, sitting in the living room on the couch beside Natalijaā€™s chair. She visibly shrank under his gaze, although there was nothing out of the ordinary about the way he looked, not with a quick inspection, at least. ā€œIā€™ve heard all sorts of riffraff populate the place,ā€ he commented. ā€œCriminals, foreign saboteurs.ā€

ā€œMom says itā€™s a bad place to go,ā€ Natalija practically whispered, folding her hands on her lap.

"It is. You have to be pretty tough to survive it. Working there takes a special kind of power," she admitted and her eyes narrowed on him. "One you lack, considering the fact that I wouldn't trust you to protect a puppy, and trust me, being a bouncer there is to be in the protection business." She definitely didn't like him. The urge to shoot was growing. How could one man be such a bastard? Well, she did have her gun on her...

Drulović appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with four cups of tea, including the one she had been holding earlier, now refilled. She set the tray carefully onto the coffee table, offering the tea. ā€œPlease, have some tea,ā€ she said, seating herself slowly on one of the chairs in the room.

ā€œI think Iā€™m going to go upstairs,ā€ Natalija said, and Javor gave a small, tight nod.

ā€œWeā€™ll talk tonight, Natalija,ā€ he said, and she all but ran from the living room and up the stairs. Javor reached for a cup of tea and took a large drink from it. ā€œYou always make good tea, Mrs. Drulović,ā€ he said.

Aerilyn shot a smile after Natalija, then smiled at Drulović. "Mrs. Drulović, are you aware there's a hand shaped bruise on Natalija's wrist. I noticed it today, quite by accident," she said, her voice concerned. "It was rather large, and looked like some cruel beast of a man had been treating her much too roughly."

Drulović blinked slowly, looking at Aerilyn with intense concentration. ā€œNo, Iā€™m afraid I hadnā€™t noticed, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ she replied, her gaze sliding toward Javor. ā€œI imagine if anything uncouth is happening in this household, it will cease, no?ā€ she said mildly, and Javor seemed to wither under the Directorā€™s gaze, if only for a few moments.

"I should hope so. I'd hate to half to get involved, after all. I find killing to be very messy business." But Aerilyn would do it. She hated abusers. "Occasionally necessary, but very brutal and messy," she said politely. "How old are your grandchildren, Drulović? Natalija didn't say, but I confess I didn't ask," she said and smiled at the woman.

ā€œSonja and Sasha are now three, and Aleksandar is two,ā€ replied Drulović. ā€œOf Jelisaā€™s children, Ivana is the oldest, and she is twenty. Petar is nineteen, Konstantin sixteen, and Teodor fifteen.ā€

ā€œSonja and Sashaā€™s birthday was last month, actually,ā€ said Javor. ā€œIt was a pity you werenā€™t at their party, Mrs. Drulović. But you had some ā€˜businessā€™ here, is that right?ā€

"Such a big range! I'm so glad they all have both their parents. It was just my father until his death. I'm afraid my mother didn't survive my sister's birth. Only having one parent is a hard thing," she said and looked sad for a moment. "I hope the children are safe, what with the dangers of Wing City. They must be quite adorable."

ā€œIā€™m terribly sorry to hear of your motherā€™s passing, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ replied Drulović. ā€œBut you are fortunate, no? You had one of your parents. Mine,ā€ she said, looking over Aerilynā€™s head to the black and white wedding photograph of her parents hanging in the hallway, ā€œI hardly knew.ā€ She sipped at her tea.

ā€œTheyā€™re staying with my sister in Houston right now,ā€ said Javor. ā€œI didnā€™t want to take them to Wing City. I was too worried they might get hurt.ā€ He said all the right words, but there was something just off to his voice. ā€œAnd if I remember, Bozidar and Jelisaveta left their kids home alone in New Delhi. Personally, I would never leave my children alone in whatā€™s basically a foreign country, but ā€˜weā€™re all Terra now,ā€™ right? Of course, Ivana and Petar are in university now, so it doesnā€™t really matter for them.ā€

"Yes. I had him until I was a teenager. I never knew my mother well, but my father did his best by me. I am glad to hear that you would never dream of hurting your children, Javor. At least not through negligence," she tacked on, and gave him a tight smile. She turned her attention to Drulović. "I hope you'll consider not going back to work too quickly, if only to recoup some health," she said, concern in her voice.

Drulović offered a small, tired smile. ā€œI only wish I could,ā€ she said, ā€œbut Iā€™ve already been called back. Iā€™m afraid Iā€™ve fallen too far behind with my work.ā€ She smoothed the wrinkles from the scarf she wore, and fingered the gold icon of Saint Sava hanging from her neck, an almost absent look coming over her face for a moment.

"If you need assistance, please let me know. Even if it is only running papers about. YOU shouldn't overtax yourself. You would think your superiors could see that." Aerilyn almost asked to look her over, to be sure she was healed enough to even be able to do work, the poor woman. Aerilyn had heard rumors about what had happened, but didn't care to find out the gory details. What she imagined was bad enough.

ā€œThatā€™s what she has an army of agents for, isnā€™t it?ā€ said Javor, leaning back in his seat. ā€œThatā€™s what youā€™re always so busy doing. Running the affairs of the government behind Parliamentā€™s back.ā€ He almost snickered. ā€œThank God for free speech laws, huh? At least the TIB isnā€™t a thought police. Yet. Youā€™ve got what, a couple thousand agents to do your errands for you? And that Arab camel, whatā€™s his face. Muhammad something?ā€

Her gun was out and in her hand, in moments pointed to Javor. "You will behave yourself. If I find another bruise on Natalija for any reason, I will shoot. If I discover you have been harming children, I will kill you in the night, after waking you long enough that you could be aware that I emasculated you. If you do not respect those who have been forced through tragedy, Ahmad included, I'll shoot. I do not keep kindly to abusers, Javor. The only reason I don't shoot now is your children," she stated simply. "I would hate for them to lose a parent." Though they might just celebrate. Aerilyn kept the gun trained on him.

ā€œI donā€™t know who the hell you think you are or where the hell you came from,ā€ Javor glared back at Aerilyn, rising in fury. He set his teacup on the tray with great restraint. ā€œBut I will not be talked to in such an insolent manner. If I have to, I will file an injunction against you for slander and intimidation.ā€

Drulović massaged her temples for a moment, looking up at Javor. ā€œI think you ought to leave, Mr. Nesic. You have been in Wing City long enough, and I imagine you wouldnā€™t want to start any trouble.ā€ Visible for just a moment were new scars along the Directorā€™s wrists.

Aerilyn removed the safety, making certain it clocked off loudly. "I quite agree, Mr. Nesic. I believe your children should come visit their grandmother and spend some time with their mother though, don't you? I'm sure they will be kept safe." She gave him a secret little smile. She took the protection of her fiends quite seriously.

ā€œI donā€™t think Drulović has time for children,ā€ Javor said, casting a decidedly nasty look in Drulovićā€™s direction before returning his eyes to Aerilyn. ā€œItā€™s a shame; we havenā€™t seen you at Christmas in four years.ā€ He turned toward the door of the house. ā€œI have to get back to the firm anyway. Iā€™m sure Natalija will be coming back to Dallas as soon as she can. Donā€™t think youā€™re going to get away with this, Aerilyn.ā€

ā€œPut that thing down, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ Drulović said, sighing as she spoke. She sounded far more in that instance like a worried mother than she did the director of a planetary spy agency.

Aerilyn put the gun away. "I apologize, Mrs. Drulović. Seeing the bruise on Natalija, combined with how he was behaving? It wasā€¦ He is a despicable man," she said lowly. "I hope that Natalija and her children will be safe," she fretted, not certain she had done strictly the correct thing.

The door had already slammed shut with Javorā€™s departure. ā€œIt seems Iā€™ve been out of touch with my childrenā€™s lives, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, reaching for her tea and taking another sip. ā€œAnd I donā€™t imagine Natalija will want to talk to me.ā€

"Children rarely do. But try and keep her here a while longer. She loves you, but is a tad frustrated. Spend time with your family, Drulović. You only get one." In rare cases, you were lucky like Aerilyn, and blessed with a second family to take you in, one you made yourself. But it was hardly the same and she knew it.

Drulovićā€™s now clearly shaking fingers moved to brush some of her hair behind her ear. She set her cup on the tray on the coffee table, looking up at the icon of Christ. ā€œArianne,ā€ she corrected softly. ā€œPlease. Call me Arianne. ā€˜Drulovićā€™ is the name on my dossier, Ms. Rayburn-Jones.ā€ Drulović visibly slumped in her seat, looking tiny and frail, a stark contrast to her public image.

Aerilyn moved to kneel at her feet. "Arianne, please. I am here for you. If you want, I can spend a few nights here. You and yours don't deserve to suffer as you have, and I want to offer what comfort I can for you," she said sincerely. "It isn't much, but it may help."

Drulović started, leaning forward to hoist Aerilyn to a standing position. ā€œIā€™m no ruler to be kneeled to, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ she said with a great deal of weariness. ā€œYou are always welcome here. It is nice,ā€ said Drulović, a bit ruefully, ā€œto have a full house. It hasnā€™t been like this in decades.ā€

"Then I will stay," Aerilyn said firmly. "And I'll try to care for you. You're still hurt, and shouldn't have to work hard," she said firmly and shook her head. "And there is more to repair here than just your body." She glanced up the stairs, concerned.

ā€œIf Iā€™m not working, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović with a small, sad smile, ā€œthen I am not doing my job of serving the Terran people and protecting them.ā€ She followed Aerilynā€™s gaze, allowing her eyes to alight on the black and white photograph of a group of men and women seated stiffly around a white-clothed table. ā€œDid I ever tell you about my family pictures?ā€ she asked.

"Tell me, please. You never did," Aerilyn said, following Arianne's gaze. "Is that all of them?"

ā€œAll seven of them, yes,ā€ replied Drulović with a small nod. Seven framed pictures lined the walls of the hallway, going up along the stairs. All were in black and white but one, hung between the stairs and the living room archway. A somewhat blurry image of a young woman in a Victorian-style knitted shawl and a floor-length dress hung beside a bridal portrait of the same woman. A school portrait of Drulović hung along the stairs beside another wedding portrait taken inside a grand cathedral and the picture of the group of seven at the table. Barely visible was a picture of Drulović in a graduateā€™s robes, and at the bottom of the stairs, commanding attention, was a color picture of two women in a bloodstained room, one bloodied and beaten, recognizable only after careful observation as the Director, and the other who closely resembled Drulovićā€™s older daughter, dressed in a military-style uniform. ā€œThose are the only pictures I could ever find.ā€

Aerilyn sighed at that. "I am sorry. I wish I could help. If you like, I can look myself, but I doubt I'd have much more luck." She admitted.

ā€œOh, I doubt it too, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović with a small laugh. ā€œMost I found in my grandmotherā€™s looted house or the Jasenovac campā€™s records. The UstaÅ”a wanted to keep track of who they killed. That last one,ā€ she said, nodding to the color picture, ā€œI found in Yugoslavia. The only one that I did not quite ā€˜findā€™ is my law school graduation.ā€ She smiled at that. ā€œBut no, I doubt you could find others. Theyā€™ve all been destroyed or lost.ā€

Aerilyn sighed at this, and the aeromancer placed her hand over Drulović's. "I'm sorry." She said quietly. "Tell me of your family?" She asked and looked the pictures over.

ā€œBy the stairs, that is my grandmother, Baba Sladjana. I believe I met her once in my life.ā€ Drulović nodded to the two portraits of the same woman. ā€œIn the wedding portrait, that is Stefan, my grandfather. They had many children, seven, actually. Katarina, my mother, was third.ā€ Drulović nodded to the portrait of the seven decidedly bored young people at the top of the stairs. ā€œShe met my father at a dance club in Belgrade. I can only imagine the scandal.ā€

"In a dance club? I'm willing to bet there was definite scandal, all right!" she said and looked amused. Aerilyn looked the portrait over and smiled at them. She didn't have any pictures of her family, only memories, so considered Drulović very lucky to have any. "You are a lucky woman, Arianne. I would love to have met my grandmother, even once."

"It's a shame, really," said Drulović, eyeing her grandmother's pictures. "She, too, was killed." Drulović looked at the remaining pictures. "Those are my parents," she said, nodding toward another wedding portrait, the one taken inside the icon-filled cathedral. "That picture was nearly destroyed in the looting. I came to America, Ms. Rayburn-Jones, and they took a picture that I later found among the records of the CIA." She indicated the picture of herself as a schoolgirl, looking very much afraid even in the faded ink.

Aerilyn sighed and put a hand on Drulović's shoulder. "They were cruel to you, Arianne. Do you have any pictures of your grandchildren, or daughters? Or just old memories of what should have been happiness?" She said, heartbroken at the stories behind the pictures. No one should have to suffer as this woman had. Aerilyn felt a slight sort of pity for her. How she could even use her hands at this point was beyond the young aeromancer.

Drulović shrugged lightly. ā€œI was happy with Mr. Drulović, in the time we had together. Although Iā€™m afraid I havenā€™t any pictures to show of our family. After Mr. Drulović left, he took all of those pictures. At least, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, ā€œI do not have to look at the pictures of my wedding gown. Itā€™s in a trunk, upstairs.ā€ She eyed the last of the seven pictures on the wall, with two women, one looking much like Jelisavetaā€”tall, fairā€”and the other who could have been Natalijaā€”darker and diminutiveā€”but was, if one could see past the blood and bruises, Drulović herself. Drulović rubbed her thumb along her jaw.

Aerilyn nodded. "He should have left you some at least," she said and smiled at Arianne. The aeromancer looked them over. "I've been giving Natalija shooting lessons. I hope you don't mind terribly." She said and shrugged. "Hopefully, it will make her feel a bit more confident about herself."

ā€œI tried to teach her myself,ā€ said Drulović, her gaze flicking toward Aerilyn. ā€œIā€™m afraid she didnā€™t care to hear it from me. Natalija was always my wayward daughter.ā€ A small smile crept across the Directorā€™s face. ā€œIā€™m glad sheā€™s home, but I imagine she wonā€™t stay much longer.ā€

"Yes well. She's still very scared of it," Aerilyn said and smiled weakly. "I hope she grows less frightened over time." There was no telling. "I think you're right though. I don't imagine she'll be staying too much longer, which is a shame."

Drulović stared blankly toward the curtains hanging over the windows on either of the Christ icon. Painted in a distinctly Slavic style, it depicted Christ in agony as he hung suspended from the cross, his eyes staring mournfully at the viewer, his gaze direct and not allowing for any aversion. She knew now all too well how He had suffered. Her fingers found their way to her icon of the saint again. ā€œThe last picture,ā€ she said, looking back toward Aerilyn and indicating the only picture in color, ā€œthat one I found in Yugoslavia in the prison files.ā€

Aerilyn looked it over and touched it, heart breaking at the sight. She shook her head, and looked away. "Arianne, if I could give you and yours a happier life, I would have," she said quietly. "I would have given you a much, much happier life."

ā€œMy life has been happy, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ Drulović said with a bit of irony. ā€œOnly the happy parts are separated by such wide gulfs. Helena might not be here to share that anymore, but believe me, I have very few regrets in this life.ā€ An understatement if there ever were one.

"I am glad then. Regrets only hold you back." Aerilyn took out a business card and handed it over. "Here. My number, if you need anything. I've got to go now though. Just. Just don't let Javor back in this house? He is an evil man," she said quietly and shuddered. "Though I may have over reacted myself."

ā€œDo come back, Ms. Rayburn-Jones,ā€ said Drulović, taking the card and slipping it into her pocket. ā€œHave tea with me sometime. And stay in touch with Natalija. She needs friends, and perhaps more than I can give her myself. I imagine she wouldnā€™t take too kindly to my interference with her life, but you have much to offer her.ā€

"I will. I'll call her frequently, if I can. And I think I'll come by once a week for tea with you. You need friends too, Arianne. And please, call me Aerilyn," she said with a smile. "Since you want me to call you by your first name, it seems only fair," she admitted and winked. The Director was interesting... so long as she wasn't probing.

Drulović nodded, rising slowly. ā€œAerilyn, then,ā€ she said, giving the younger woman a small smile. ā€œA truer thing has never been said, I think. Itā€™s very difficult to have friends when you are placed in my position. The closest thing was Mr. Drulović. We worked together, you know, before we were married in Belgrade. Such a beautiful city. But Iā€™m afraid I had very few colleagues then, and fewer friends.ā€

"Well. I'll be your friend," Aerilyn said firmly and smiled at her. "But now, I do have to go. I've got to return a gun I was practicing with to the weapons locker at work," she admitted. A bar with a weapons locker. Oh yes, Aerilyn enjoyed her job most thoroughly. After all, she had plenty of new guns to threaten people with.

ā€œThank you for coming home with my daughter today,ā€ said Drulović, leading Aerilyn to the door. She clucked her tongue at the state of the overgrown azalea bushes. ā€œOh, dear. Those really ought to be trimmed,ā€ she muttered absently. ā€œDo call if you need anything, Aerilyn. Oh, and Aerilyn? Mr. Fazari asked for you yesterday. I think he wanted to see you for lunch.ā€

Aerilyn blushed at that. "I'll give him a call then," she said with a smile. She looked to the flower bushes and gave Drulović a grin. "I'm sure lunch with him will be interesting as well." He had been kidnapped too, hadn't he? And she had yet to check in on him. What a woman she was.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Sep 24, 2011 12:11 am

(Post collaborated by Cubrick, Ylanne, barney_fife, AzricanRepublic, and Vampiric-rage. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact. Other posts were made during this scene in Gambitā€™s Bar, but were omitted due to irrelevance and lack of reference to this scene.)

Vampiric Rageā€”Vampiric-rage
Natalija Drulovićā€”Ylanne
Marie Damasā€”Ylanne
Daniel Romeroā€”Ylanne
Raphael McGregorā€”barney_fife
Cally McGregorā€”barney_fife
Hansā€”Cubrick
Captain Kovodnikā€”AzricanRepublic




Gambitā€™s Bar
Wing City, Terra


Hans sneaked himself inside Gambits about the same way as always. His eyes and face hidden by a baggy hood covering his face, and his hands stuffed inside the pockets of the jacket he was wearing. He was very well adapt at getting past people unnoticed, he hated attention in all forms. Eventually Hans plopped himself down on his usual bar stool and settled in with a heavy sigh. Today had been another long walk back to drinking, and Hans was ready to relax already. He waved a hand lightly to order himself a glass of scotch, all the while he dug into his pocket to pull out a crumbled cancer stick and place it between his lips lighting it up soon after. With a heavy drag on the cigarette, he began his nightly substance drowning.

Natalija took another swig of her beer before setting the can down on the counter. Her knuckles were white, and in the other hand, she had the phone crushed in a vise-like grip. "I'm fine, I swear," she insisted in a low tone to whomever was on the other end of the line. There was a long pause while an indistinct voice spoke. "Please. I'm out. I'm with friends. I'm just having a drink. I don't need this right now." She glanced at Hans, who had seated himself beside her. "I'm begging you," she whisper-screamed. "For once in our fucking lives, can you fuck off?" She slammed the cell phone against the counter, jarring her can of beer. Natalija heaved several short breaths, leaning on the counter with wide eyes and pale face. She was shaking.

Hans snatched up his glass of scotch and took a good swig of the substance before only BARELY glancing over to Natalija. Even he couldn't help but notice the scene she was creating. He wasn't a guy for comforting another human being, or really giving a rat's ass about anything besides drinking and smoking. He just kept to himself and took another drag of his smoke. His hand worked the glass around its base in a circle, swishing the deadly liquid inside of it around, and around.

Cally approached Natalija and slowly moved to sit beside her, noting the scene she was creating, quietly she wrapped her hands around the cell phone in the other woman's hand, and then taking it. "Listen buddy, leave the poor girl alone," she said firmly, her accent was clearly an Aschen one, Caprican, which was distinct from a Terran accent. "Got it buddy? She's out with friends, now frak off," she said before smiling to Natalija. "Name's Cally, you ok?"

"It's no use. I already hung up." Natalija shuddered for several moments before reaching for her beer, swallowing the last of it. She put money on the counter for a second, trembling fingers sliding the five Credit bill across the bar. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm Natalija." That last part was more rote than anything. She couldn't bring herself to look Cally in the face, and instead stared at Drulović's face in the photo on the newspaper as if that image alone could focus all of her terror.

Cally looked to the phone. "How could a phone call cause you so much terror and disdain?" she said, sitting down and making herself comfortable. "Controlling boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Natalija looked at the phone with visible disgust. When the second beer came, she popped it open and took a generous swig. "It's nothing. I'm fine." To the unobservant onlooker, Natalija could have been a stressed university student suffering from academic overload early in the semester.

Hans took another drink of his scotch before settling down some more in his seat. His elbows slid across the bar top and another long drag was taken from his smoke. Hans yawned lightly before taking one last glance towards the conflict at his side, assuming it was almost overā€”-he relaxed a little more.

Cally chuckled. "Nothing huh?" she said, looking to the phone. "If it was nothing you wouldn't have put on a show like that." she said as she leaned back in her seat. "I've been in the service enough to pick up on when I am being lied toā€¦ come on you can talk to me."

"The service?" Natalija laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "No shit? Seems like everyone has some kind of super-secret spy/military/something background these days. Well, good for you." She offered a smile dripping with sarcasm, and then took another swig of beer. "I'm not going to talk to you or anyone else. You can't possibly understand. Everything's complicated."

Cally laughed. "Super secret spy? Not hardly... I was a deckhand on the Battlestar Acropolis for awhile, did a couple terms of service and then went to dental school, if you're going to be a bitch thoughā€¦ I'll find someone else to share a drink with," she said scowling.

"Did you just a call me a bitch?" Natalija's eyes flashed dangerously. She stared hard at Cally, narrowing her eyes. "Excuse me, did I hear you right? Cause I could have sworn you called me a bitch." She gripped the can of beer tightly, the aluminum crinkling.

Hans took the final sip of his scotch and dropped the glass on the bar top. It wasn't high enough to actually cause a very noticeable sound, but it did make a distinct, "Tink!" like sound before settling back down in a resting position. Hans smiled to himself before waving a hand and ordering another scotch. He finishes his smoke tossing it off into the corner of the bar. Oh the journey to forgetting was always a fun one!

Cally glared at the other woman. "I didn't say you were a bitch; I said you were being a bitch. Now if you want to start a fight with me, go right ahead; I'll kick your ass," she said, narrowing her eyes some. "I was just trying to be friendly."

"Being a bitch and are a bitch are the same fucking thing," responded Natalija with growing belligerency. "And it sure as hell isn't funny to say that. Do you think you're being funny, huh? Is that what you think? You think it's funny to say I'm being a bitch? Woman, you don't even fucking know me."

Cally flicked open a pocket knife and held it to the other woman. "I said quit being a bitch now before I frakking cut you," she said, holding the blade up and outwards. "Calm down and go back to your drink; quit starting fights," she said before she flicked the blade shut. "Gods damned," she muttered. "Hasn't your mother ever taught you not to pick fights with Aschen? We're stronger and faster than you."

"My mother?" Natalija's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "What the hell do you think you know about my mother, bitch?"

Cally glared at Natalija. "Then put your frakking dukes up and fight me!" she shouted, surprised that the woman didn't flinch at the withdrawal of a knife. "I guarantee I will whoop your sorry ass."

Natalija took another swig of her beerā€”she was clearly affected by it by this timeā€”and paused, glaring at Cally. A moment later, she lunged across the bar, hurling herself at the other woman. "You don't know a fucking thing about me or my mother!" In her state, she wasn't quite able to ask why or how Cally had figured out her identity. After all, Natalija hadn't given her last name.

Cally caught the woman as Natalija lunged and landed on her back as they fell to the ground. "You want to fight bitch!?" she shouted as she tried to get the upper hand. Of course the Aschen woman had the advantage of nanites and increased strength on top of military training. "You're done for now," she said as she tried to kick the other woman off of her, and then moved in to throw a series of punches. It turned into an all out cat fight on the floor of the bar.

"I'm not a bitch," Natalija snarled, reflexively lifting her elbows to shield her face in what looked like a well-practiced movement, before grabbing for Cally's shirt collar and attempting to slam her fist into the side of the woman's head or shoulder, whichever was closer. Her long sleeves slipped, revealing what looked like old, yellow bruises along her arms.

Cally was starting to become consumed by her own alcohol consumption, and as they tussled on the floor, Cally groaned when Natalija's fist struck her face, blood seeping from the corner of the woman's mouth. Then Cally cocked back her fist and tried to throw a haymaker before she broke from the tussle and rolled to the side, quickly getting to her knees. "Aarrgh!" she screamed before she quickly tried to get on top of the other woman, in an attempt to slide her hands around her neck and choke her, and then follow up with attempted blows to the face. "You want to die!?" Cally screamed before leaning in for a bite.

Cpt. Kovodnik firmly pressed the door open, taking a brief pause at the sound of a scuffle all too familiar to the establishment. Standing at a touch below the frame above him, Kovodnik killed a faint smile that he had worn on his trip over as he entered the bar and left the door closing behind him; passing through the bar with a lazy stride, the Oriyak appeared more on a leisurely patrol, practically trying to pass as uninvolved while he hauled himself atop a stool. "One of the ..." Kovodnik muttered under his breath to a digital menu, one gloved hand eagerly tapping at the display. "That!"

A new, shining bruise decorated the side of her face, above Natalijaā€™s jaw. She threw herself from the floor toward Cally, attempting to viciously elbow her in the face. She accidentally toppled one of the stools, but her can of beer and the Terran Independent sat untouched on the counter. "You fucking cunt!" she screamed, her words slurred. "Campesina sucia, pieza de mierda, communista immunda!"

Vampiric Rage tilted his head and uprooted his rear from the seat in which it was planted. he moved himself to the two females that where sprawled on the floor like two vicious lovers in the heat of abusive sex. "Umm, excuse me, but do you two think you can calm it down a bit? Or I may simply have to separate the two of you, okay? Now kiss and make up please," he both stated and asked.

Cally caught Natalija's lunge and the elbow to the face. It was then Cally decided to conclude the fight, and in a hazed, alcohol-fueled rage she swung her fist in a wide arc towards Natalija's gut. Only this time there was a glimmer of metal. Cally aimed to stab the other woman in the gut not once, but twice, prison style before shoving the woman off of her. "Perge ad inferos!" she screamed. "Vos ite ad inferos! Vos ite ad infernum, moriemini!" she screamed in between pants.

Cpt. Kovodnik eagerly received the milkshake with a bright smile and popped a fresh straw from a dispenser nearby on the counter. Diving the straw into the mixture, the Soviet Captain leaned himself onto the counter with one elbow as he cringed from the growing noise and sudden outburst of hostilities. Kovodnik coughed a bit as one of the belligerents stumbled through a pair of stools to his right, releasing a curse at her opponent. Wiping away at some renegade milkshake the Captain soon glanced over his shoulder, in preparation for his proximity soon becoming a dangerous AO. "What in the fa ... "

Natalija screamed, falling hard on her shoulder to the unwashed floor of the bar, two perforations appearing in her shirt before the tears turned red, blood spilling onto her light blue shirt. "Vete al infierno, puta," she shouted, her hand automatically going to the wounds. Her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, but in the dim light of the bar, she could have easily passed for her mother. After Plishkin's operation, the two looked more like sisters than mother and daughter anyway, though Natalija hadn't had much opportunity to make the comparison. She crawled to her left before staggering to her feet, grabbing the edge of one of the tables for balance.

Vampiric sighed and went for the first aid kit before returning. "Okay, on the table and expose the wound to me," he said shaking his head. "Donā€™t you know..." he said sniffing the air and bit his bottom lip from the scent of blood.

Cally stood there with the bloody pocket knife in her hand, blood seeping from the edge of her mouth and bruises forming on her face and body, clothing torn and hair matted against her head. "I told you... not... to frak... with... an Aschen," she said, flicking the knife shut and pocketing it, and then she spat on the other woman. "You are beaten; now piss off."

Vampiric looked at Cally. "That was immature and uncalled for. You fight without honor, bringing a blade into a fist fight. You cheated in the fight. Not only that, you could have killed the woman. Shoo, get the hell out of here so I can dress her wound; you've done enough damage for one night."

"Fuck off," Natalija shot back, heaving slow breaths, her hand clutching at her gut as a wave of pain moved through her.

That's when Marie Damas returned from where she had been upstairs. The NPA agent immediately looked between the two women, and struggled to keep her jaw clamped shut. "That's it," she said, thoroughly fed up with her ruined evening. "I'm taking both of you into custody."

"The fuck?" Natalija raised an eyebrow at Damas.

Vampiric sighed at the agent. "Can ya at least wait till I clean and patch her wound? Otherwise you'll get blood everywhere," he said. "Cuse me," he said starting to lift up Natalija's shirt just enough to show the wounds, and opened the first aid kit and started to clean the wound.

Cally laughed before she held out her hands. "Try it; I'll be out by morning... It was self defense; she attacked me... You can't arrest me; I know my rights," she said, backing up a few steps. "I'm an Aschen! You can't touch me! Not without political backlash!" she said, stepping back towards the door. "I know people!"

Damas glared at Cally. "I have you on charges of assault; save it for the jury. You too," she said, looking at Natalija, who had at first tried to slap Rage's hand away out of reflex. "I'd be remiss if I didn't take you into custody; you can talk to the people from your government after I take you downtown."

"Puta immunda," Natalija growled at the agent, her eyes flashing. "Muere! Nadie te quieren! Gatea en un agujero y muere!"

Vampiric frowned and returned to clean the wound. After doing so, he started to patch it up the best he could. "There. She should hold well. I ainā€™t no doctor, but I would suggest having that looked at." He then lowered the shirt.

Cally rolled her eyes. "I'll make sure I have a good lawyer and my friends take action, there might not be any Article Five, but I was defending myself! You're going to arrest me for self defense? She assaulted me! I'm the victim here; you can't arrest me! I was defending myself; I'll see too it you're working in Siberia for the rest of your career! Frakking bumbling idiot!"

Vampiric looked at Cally. "Your self defense turned to assault with a deadly weapon the moment you pulled the blade out. And I AM a witness to such a thing."

"Defendieā€”defending yourshelf?" Natalija stared incredulously, starting toward Cally, but Damas laid a hand on her arm, restraining her. "Fu'ing liar; you inshti'a'ed the'ole fight; you calle' me a bish, you bish!" She attempted to lunge toward Cally, but Damas stopped her, slapping a pair of handcuffs over her wrists.

Damas spoke into her earpiece, leaning toward her shirt. "Romero, get in here now," she said tersely as she locked the handcuffs. Natalija muttered obscenities.

The strawberry-blonde, bearded agent returned, appearing from the backroom. "What the hell?" He looked at the two bloodied, bruised women. "Remind me again never to drink in here."

"Cuff her, will you, Romero?" said Damas, nodding toward Cally. "I'm taking both of them into custody." Romero headed toward Cally with his own pair of handcuffs. "You can argue whatever you want to the judge or the jury," Damas said to Cally.

After he had spoken with Elise, Raphael McGregor finally turned to see that his former wife was in trouble, bloodied and beaten. Raphael heaved a sigh and then he slipped off the barstool and adjusted his hat. "This is really a Tech Con matter, Agent Romero. Allow me to take her in and discipline her accordingly," he said as he slung his Plasma rifle across his back. "She is a contracted worker for Tech Con, and it's my duty to take her in and address her actions for review. If we determine that she has committed a crime, I assure you she will be handed over."

Cally slurred out. "Yeah! I work for Tech Con! My supervisor will take me in," she said, jerking away from the other agents. "You can't take me in; I won't go to a Terran prison! They'll kill me!" she shouted backing away and resisting her arrest.

"I'm sorry," replied Romero, advancing upon Cally. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. If the charges are judged unfounded and dismissed, she will be released promptly." He took rapid steps toward Cally, attempting to grab her by the shoulder and push her against the wall so he could cuff her.

"Why's that, huh?" Natalija sneered as Damas began to escort her from the bar. "Cause you're Aschen, huh? You thing that gi'es you an 'scuse to do whate'er you damn pleashe? You don' call me a bish. You don' e'en know who I am!"

Raphael heaved a long, drawn out sigh. "Then I am sure the Terran Government is prepared for the media circus that will follow should you arrest her," he said. Of course the man wanted to intervene. He could gun down the two agents right there and run, but he chose not to. "Can I get your names and badge numbers when you complete the arrest? I'll need to file a report with the company so the proper measures can be taken," he said, taking out his cell phone. "Mr Vogelā€¦ We have a problem," he said, before he nodded. "Yesā€¦ very well then. I have the go ahead? Goodā€¦ thank you Mr. Vogel," he said, hanging up the phone, and making a straight face. "This is my last warningā€¦ Biggest mistake of your careers."

Cally struggled against the Agents before she growled. "I am a citizen of Langara and I am entitled to certain rights! I demand to speak to a Caprican Consulate!" she screamed.

"You'd probably be surprised by how often we get that," said Damas, entirely unfazed by Raphael's threat. Romero locked the cuffs around Cally's wrists, her arms cuffed behind her back. "I'm Marie Damas, badge number 472, and that's my partner, Daniel Romero, badge number 259." The tall Black woman was at least two heads taller than Natalija, while Romero stood only a few inches taller than Cally. "Let's go. You'll get your chance to talk to a Caprican consular when we go downtown."

She and Romero led their arrestees from the bar toward the white SUV with government plates across the street. "Wai'tul my motha hears abou'this," Natalija slurred, glaring at Damas. "She'll have your fu'ing badge!"

Vampiric shift his eyes to Raphael as he shook his head. He felt that the guy was about to do something stupid and he would be a witness to it all

Raphael heaved a sigh as he headed out to an armed Toyota HiLux that was idling outside the bar. He was going to follow the group to the city jail so he could post bail and get Cally safely. The other mercenaries quietly hopped onto the truck as he started it, and it started down the street after the SUV.

Once Cally was in the SUV, she stared at Natalija. "You attacked me and now my government is going to make your world pay," she said, looking to the floor of the SUV. "Just you wait until Mr. Vogel catches wind of this!" she said as the door was shut.

Natalija returned Cally's stare with all the hostility of a caged and starved tiger. "You provo'ed me," she shot back. "You called me a bish! My motha won' stan' for this, you know!" The two were seated across from each other, with Romero between them in case anything broke out. He sat with an impassive expression, debating how pissed to be at his partner for getting them in this mess. Damas took the driver's seat, and navigated onto Main Street, toward the Wing City lockup.

Raphael followed in the HiLux silently with his band of mercenaries. "Cally, if I get you out of this, you owe me," he said as he turned a corner and continued to follow the SUV, the white Tech Con armed truck keeping its distance, but not losing the SUV.

Cally muttered and grumbled. "Your jobs are both forfeit! Do you know that? Your world will burn until its surface is but glass!" she shouted, spitting at the agent. "Frak you; I hope the new regime executes you and your bumbling idiot partner first, televise it!"

Romero kept an expressionless face, ignoring Cally's wild rants and ravings. The woman was intoxicated. There was no reason to engage her. "You fu'ed wih the wrong people," Natalija added, drunk and pissed. "My mutha'll have your badges, an' you'll shpend the res' o'your creers in An'ar'ica washing penguins!" She meant "watching," of course, but was not quite able to articulate normally. Damas continued toward the lockup, pulling into the secure garage.

The HiLux was stopped and directed to the public garage on the other side of the building. Raphael drove around to the public gate, holding out his hand to receive the bail in a briefcase. He was going to pay it in cash, and ensure Cally was taken to Tech Con property.

Cally grumbled once they were in the lockup. "Under Aschen Treaty, I have to have a Caprican Consulate waiting for me at the lockup," she said growling and narrowing her eyes. "I hope Dane Vogel pushes the both of you into poverty," Cally said as they escorted her into the lockup. Then she turned to Natalija. "This is your fault. I hope the Aschen swiftly destroy this world."

"My fault?" Natalija stared incredulously. "My fault? This is your fault!" Damas and Romero separated the women, leading them into the booking room to have their fingerprints and photos taken. Voices echoed on the walls, bouncing all around the room and creating an incredibly loud milieu.

"Look through their pockets for anything," said Damas, as the two agents began to conduct thorough searches of their arrestees. Romero would, in all likelihood, find the knife Cally had used to attack Natalija, as well as any other items or IDs in her pockets. Damas removed Natalija's wallet, which had less than ten Credits in it along with her Terran-issued ID. "Shit. She wasn't lying," Damas muttered, flipping the ID and turning it around so that Romero could see the surname.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Romero shook his head. No, this little venture did not seem to have a good end in sight. He began to enter first Cally, then Natalija's information into the central booking system's computer.

Cally's information also didnā€™t bode well for the arresting agents once they read her Caprican driver license as Callandra Henderson-McGregor. The McGregors were notorious for having quite an influence on Aschen foreign policy.

After she was in the actual lockup, Cally was compliant. "Where's my frakking consulate?"

"You go on ahead and contact the Caprican embassy," Damas said, nodding toward Romero, who was now feeling more than slightly nauseated. He disappeared around a corner, while Damas kept an eye on the two detainees, who had been separated in holding cells next to each other while Damas decided how best to inform their supervisor that they had arrested two people with potentially disastrous connections. At least she had had the foresight not to place the two of them with the other drunks in the drunk tank.

Cally grumbled at the two arresting officers. "I sincerely hope that you both are sued into poverty."

Sooner or later, the doctor in the building would come to see Natalija and give her a brief check-up just to ensure she was okay. Damas didn't want to set herself up for another potential lawsuit for neglect. Down the hallway, Romero dialed the number for the embassy. When they tried to contact the Caprican Embassy, they found no answer as the embassy was closed until the nineteenth for a holiday in the Aschen Calendar. Fortunately, Raphael was working to get his wife freed. And it wasn't much longer before Raphael hired Joseph Adama, a Caprican criminal defense lawyer, who approached the front desk with Raphael.

Raphael grumbled. "I'm here to post bail for Callandra McGregor. You mustn't tarry. Additionally, this is paperwork for a Tech Con lawsuit against Agents Damas and Romero. I would like the summons to reach them in a timely manner," Raphael explained. Dane Vogel was quick to file the appropriate papers.

"Bail for assault is automatically set at one thousand Credits," the clerk said, logging onto the terminal to access Cally's booking record. "Lawsuits need to be filed with the clerk of the court down the street. It's a block away. If the lawsuits were already filed, I can have the officer on duty serve the summons."

Raphael nodded as he placed the suitcase on the table. It was the equivalent amount in Aschen Cubits. "Here you go," he said calmly as he slid the money forward. "The lawsuits have already been filed with the clerk by a Tech Con lawyer; I am here to serve the papers, but your officer can also serve them if you so desire," he said calmly, waiting for Cally to be released.

The clerk glanced at the duty officer, a young man who had been taking a smoking break outside only a few minutes before. "You can serve them yourself if you like." He picked up the phone, making a quick phone call downstairs. "Both Agents Romero and Damas will be here in a moment with Ms. McGregor."

In the cellblock downstairs, Natalija glared at Damas and Romero, who seemed to be the targets of every insult. "And out of jobs, too," she added. When Romero received the message from the officer downstairs, he headed toward Cally's cell door, unlocking it.

"Bail's been posted for you. Let's go," he said, motioning for her to follow him.

Cally grinned at Natalija. "Thank the gods for a quick Tech Con response," she said, sticking her tongue out as she was led upstairs. "I'll be back on Langara and free from all this crap," she said as she was led up to the front desk.

Raphael nodded and silently held the papers in his hand. "I very well could," he said as he looked to the door where she would be led through. Then Raphael turned back to the clerk. "Will there be formal charges filed? I can pay all relevant fines here and now, if needed, as Cally will be returning to Langara."

"I don't know," the clerk answered. "Whenever someone is arrested, charges are filed, but whether they are pursued, dropped, or reduced is up to the prosecutor's office. I work here in the lockup, not over at the prosecutor's office, so I don't have access to that information. I'm sure you can talk to him though, if you want. The Wing City prosecutor is Tom Greble. I heard he keeps late hours, so who knows, he might be over there now."

Romero emerged with Cally, followed by Damas, who had her hands resting on her hips, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tightly together. Romero was holding the bag with Cally's effects inside it, including her ID. He handed it to Cally, and then pointed to a form on a clipboard. "Sign here," he said, indicating the receipt for the inventory.

Cally signed the papers and then pulled away from the two Agents, taking her effects. "Frak you," she grumbled. Then she backed away towards Raphael.

Raphael made a face, and then approached the agents, handing them each a summons. "This is a summons to appear in court; you're both being sued," he said calmly.

"Great," Romero grumbled, glaring at Damas. "Wait'll round two. When Drulović gets word of this, I'll bet we're gonna get another summons." He looked at Raphael. "Thanks for letting me know," he said, taking the papers and disappearing down the hallway.

Raphael nodded and then led Cally out. "Don't you be getting into any more trouble," he said as he pulled her out to the waiting Tech Con technical APC. "You owe me a second chance," he added as he faded into the distance. Cally muttered under her breath.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Sep 24, 2011 1:53 am

(Post collaborated by barney_fife, Ironman11, Nemo, and Ylanne. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact. A few other posts were made during this scene in Gambitā€™s Bar, but were omitted due to irrelevance and lack of reference to this scene.)

Kendra Shaw ā€“ barney_fife
Mute Mouth ā€“ Ironman11
Torin Illium ā€“ Nemo (R0NlN)
Marie Damas ā€“ Ylanne
Daniel Romero ā€“ Ylanne
Randin D. Kaye ā€“ Nemo (R0NlN)




Gambitā€™s Bar
Wing City, Terra

Kendra Shaw stumbled through the bar doors with a spaced-out look on her face. Her attire consisted of a tattered, stained, and torn Aschen duty-blue uniform. Along her arms on one of the torn sleeves were sores, ulcers, and evidence of injections. There were blood-crusted sores on her face, and she was caked with dirt. Her hair was matted and unkempt, and the woman appeared malnourished and somewhat dehydrated. "Muurrrhhh," she moaned as she stumbled across a barstool catching herself before she fell. "Doesā€”does anyone have a fix? I'll do anything,ā€ she moaned aloud.

Mute Mouth could be heard slowly stomping and clanking down the street, the large towering mechanized warrior pausing as it analyzed what appeared to be just another junkie reaching inside the premises of the barroom. As per usual, Mute Mouth uttered no verbal response, merely tilting its massive helm-head sideways in brief inquiry as it stood there in the doorframe, staring at the broken-down shell of a woman now on its targeting computers.

Kendra braced herself against one of the tables before she looked around through blurred vision. "Come on, I'll do anything; I just need a fix!" she shouted to anyone who would listen. She was plagued with nightmares, the faces of millions of people running. She could see them in everyone's eyes, the computer screens of her Reverence II. "Something to take the pain away from me, please..."

Torin Illium lay against one of the walls of Gambit's, his ragged hood drawn over his downcast face as he tried fruitlessly to sleep. There was just too much... energy here. Too many people. Too many thoughts. Too many emotions. Most didn't interest Torin, though the fighter did raise his head as Kendra stumbled into the bar, groaning like some sort of zombie. She sort of looked like one too... Slowly Torin rose, walking quietly over to the former Aschen Fleet Admiral. "You...uh...need a drink?" Torin asked, unsure as to what it was she needed exactly. A 'fix' sounded like some sort of drug though...

Kendra reached out and grabbed Torin. "Pattern, I need pattern," she said. Her hands seemed withered and spotted, ulcerated with whatever myriad of diseases the woman had due to the lack of any medical care in the last several months. "I'll sucā€”" Her attention was quickly diverted to the hulking power armored individual that was looming in the bar, before she turned back to Torin. "Pattern. I just need a smattern of pattern. Please, I want the pain to go away. I want the voices to stop. I can see their faces. Oh gods, their faces. I can hear their cries, their pleas for mercy."

Mute Mouth took a lingering inspection of this one focal point of intrigue throughout the entire bar. The somewhat distressed addict crying out to an almost apathetic public for donations to feed her chemical hunger. The mechanized soldier stood there somewhat motionless, like a great deal of the patrons about. She had seen beings that were greatly devoid of life like this before, a sad littering of cases spread through a hellish assortment of places. She found that no matter what, after this deadly point of no return there was only one way to end the misery, the suffering and the poison that drove so many to blatant madness. As though obtaining these signals as Kendra pleaded to Torin about stopping the voices, stopping the horrors, the unit detached a P-40 Gauss pistol from her own armor, prepared it in almost a systematic method, and applied the barrel to steadily align with the poor woman's head.

"Pattern," Torin murmured as he reached out with his mind to touch her life-force, sensing out to feel her energy. The poor woman was incredibly ill, that was for sure. Her body was clearly craving whatever this "pattern" thing was, and Torin was pretty damn sure it was a drug. She was a druggie. A user. A junkie. Obsessed with her candy of choice. Torin pitied her. In a way, he even understood her. Everyone had their obsessions. Things they couldn't stop doing if their life depended on it. Torin had his of course, and in some ways it was more dangerous and deadly then any drug this woman could take. "There's med-packs with painkillers in the back," Torin said slowly, mulling it over in his mind. "If you need it that bad, I couā€”"

The young fighter stopped abruptly as Mute Mouth suddenly held her Gauss pistol to Kendra's forehead. For a split second, Torin was speechless. "Da fuck!" Torin grunted, his eyes flaming as his right hand shot out. In a blurring motion, Torin attempted to heel-palm the mechanized soldier in the chest plate of her armor, releasing a powerful blast of energy from his hand as he connected. If successful, the blast would likely send Mute flying across the bar, sprawling on her back.

There was a massive indent within the shell of powerful machinery and Neo-Steel as a coating of bright plasma shielding blinked about its frame as it was hit. Steam shot out of the indentations of the armor as the hulking, mechanized soldier was pushed several paces back, though the gravity lock on the unit's boots allowed it to remain standing for now. It merely paused, slightly tilting its sardonic, panda-faced helm in almost a quizzed gesture as the internal interframe scanned Torin diligently. It paused, gesturing its weapon causally to the Aschen woman as though empathizing that it had to be done.

Kendra looked over to Mute Mouth with weary eyes. "Go ahead, end it. I want to die," she said as she outstretched her arms, but of course Torin quickly intervened. "I need my pattern, the pain," she said as she held her head, the faces of men, women, and children flashing across her vision. The Scylla, a ship that her ship had scuttled for parts and drafted for crew, entire families gunned down because they wouldnā€™t comply. Then she saw the faces of Terrans as her ship moved over a city to glass it. "The voices," she rattled off, before she looked to Mute Mouth. "Kill me; it makes little difference." Of course anyone with access to the media would have known her face.

Lucky for Kendra, Torin didn't watch the news much. Of course he knew all about the horrible holocaust Terra had endured at the hands of the Aschen. At the moment though, the young fighter had no idea that Kendra, buried beneath filth and rags, was the admiral behind the attack. Torin stood between Kendra and Mute defiantly, his fiery eyes flaming as he shook his head at the armored soldier. "Jesus Christ, she's a human being!" Torin roared. "You don't just kill human beings for being fucked up! Get the fuck out of here!" The fighter flared his energy for a brief moment, a bright red aura exploding and fading over his physique as he did so.

Mute Mouth, like usual, remained as silent as ever. The resocialized goon did not give rejection to that claim, now raising its pistol to a formidable position once more, this time aiming its iron at Torin. The amount of heat and pressure that the person before him was producing matched that of a powerful explosive, which now categorized the stranger as more of a potential threat. As for the request, the mechanized warrior shook its head in rejection before attempting a preemptive strike by firing the thick uranium-shelled rounds for the fighter's knees to try to disable him from further conflict.

Kendra flinched as the shell cracked across the bar, and she ducked behind a table, peering back through matted hair and fearful eyes. She was incapable of being a razor anymore, and so she remained a drugged-up fiend that watched in horror at what transpired. Silently, she scooted over to a telephone, and with shaky, withered fingers, she began to dial the numbers 9-1-1. "There's an attack going at the bar," she said before she hung up.

"Don't even fucking think abouā€”" Torin warned as Mute charged, aimed and fired her weapon. With wide eyes, Torin crouched low, arms crossed over his head as he flared his life energy once more. The magic prevented the uranium from doing any serious damage, though the force of the impact sent Torin flying. "UUUghhnnnnā€¦" Torin groaned as he slammed against the far wall of Gambit's, momentarily knocked out of the fight.

Mute Mouth paused to examine the expiration of the nearby threat and made the determination that its potential threat level had staggered steadily. Slowly its entire mechanized form shifted all gears and frames over to the figure it picked up beneath a nearby table. Without remorse the killing machine placing its weaponry at the scene before pausing. A comm link was established within its interface and the image of her superior arrived in front of her. "Local authorities have been alerted of your actions. You have orders to stand down and flee into Side Alley. A transport should be waiting to depart fully from the scene. We do NOT want an incident of embarrassment for our employers," the voice instructed. Without another word, the unit stared at the woman once more before attaching its pistol into the power armor and assuming a very quick pace through the barroom and out the back door towards Side Alley.

The authorities did indeed respond. The NPA agents assigned to watch Gambit's (as evidently, Abdalhaq Mulavi thought the place warranted constant surveillance) rushed in with weapons drawn, bursting in through the front door. "Everyone on the floor now!" shouted the first of the agents with narrowed eyes. "Put weapons down now!" WCPD Detective Randin D. Kaye was among the agents, a magnum steady in his hands. His eyes flickered about the bar cautiously, his face betraying no signs of alarm or concern. Fights at Gambit's happened just about every other day.

Kendra was already on the ground and could not get on the ground any further. Silently she crawled across the floor towards the kitchen door. "Pattern, someone has pattern; I want pattern," she said, before she crawled over to a table and began to hug its leg, curling around in the fetal position and crying.

Torin rose quietly from his slump, wincing as he rubbed furiously at his temples as if trying to dispel a headache. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now. Torin couldn't say he'd miss it. "Hey, you okay?" Torin asked as he approached Kendra, offering her a hand. Just then, the NPA burst in. Hm. That was a surprise. Usually it took the cops a good hour before they decided to do anything about a Gambit's fight. Pretty damn good time. Nonetheless, Torin complied. Being a frequent brawler himself, the young chaos mage knew how things worked with the feds.

"What the hell happened in here this time?" the lady agent asked, casting a venomous glare about the bar. The other two agents fanned out to look for any stray weapons or dangerous items in order to secure them and clear the establishment of any imminent danger. Damas pushed some of her long braids behind her shoulders, looking about the bar with sharp eyes.

Kendra looked up to Torin. "Iā€”no," she said as she closed her eyes. "I want to die," she said, holding onto the leg of the table. "Iā€”I can't stand to live anymore. I hurt all over. I justā€”I can't," she said and looked to the nasty floor of the bar. "I want to die so badly. It's cold... It's cold and it's lonely," she said, shivering and pulling the soiled, tattered, and torn uniform jacket close to her form.

"You kiddin'?" Randin grinned, stepping into the bar. "As far as fights at Gambit's go, this is one of the tamest I've seen." He eyes glanced over at the few patrons still in the bar. A few regulars, to be sure. But what was this? Randin walked steadily over to a shivering, tattered woman as she desperately clutched the leg of a table. That uniform. That face, dirty as it was. Her voice. It couldn't be. The detective knelt quietly down to Kendra's level, his cobalt blue eyes glaring curiously into the woman. "Kendra?" he half-whispered. Could this really be the decorated Aschen Admiral he had seen in here so long ago?

Torin submitted to the agents and would likely be taken away for some brief questioning. Fighter though he was, he wasn't stupid enough to get into trouble with the law.

The wall of the scene was wedged with a bullet shell large enough to rip off the skull of a fully grown gorilla hammered into the wall. The shell was depleted and made of a spent uranium alloy that was now slightly compressed by the gun fight. The flooring had a large cit mark pairs across the floor indicating armored legs or boots and small bits of plating were littered across the floor. The bullet had a license code still marked on the shell, though the coding was a format not familiar to any local setting upon Terra's armory.

"Take them aside," Damas ordered the other two agents, nodding toward Torin and Kendra, "and find out what happened. You're WCPD?" she asked Randin, raising her eyebrow. She glanced at her phone for a moment and then surveyed the area again, making her way toward the bullet shell hammered into the wall.

Kendra looked up. "Thatā€”that name holds no meaning for me. You have any pattern? I need a fix. Come on, man. I hurt so bad," she said, still clutching the table leg like a frightened animal. "Kill me," she begged as she looked down to the floor. "I can't take the pain anymore; I want to die. Kill me or give me pā€”pā€”pattern," she managed to utter, before she looked up to the NPA agents, then back to Randin. "Their faces, their voicesā€”oh gods I can hear them begging, screaming for mercy! And thenā€”silence."

The faces, the voices. Of course. The last Randin had seen Kendra, the Admiral had been completely dependent on a strange Aschen drug, the equivalent of heroine, to function properly. The poor woman had been so tormented and distressed over her past misdeeds, and the drug had been her only escape. "Uh, yes," Randin nodded to Damas. "Detective-Investigator Randin Kaye. If you donā€™t mind miss, I'd like permission to take this woman here into WCPD custody." The detective paused, fumbling with an excuse. "She'sā€¦ involved in a series of other cases I'm working on."

Damas eyed Randin with something a bit like surprise. "I'm not stopping you," she said, and she certainly wasn't about to involve herself in another shitfest like the one she'd accidentally created with Cally and Natalija. "Go right on ahead. And it's Agent Damas. Marie. Call me Marie." She peered about the bar, gritting her teeth for a moment. She would really need to request different duty.

Kendra hissed in anger. "Don't touch me! I have rights!" she said as she grasped the table leg firmly and would not budge. "I was only following orders," she murmured before she let go with one hand and began to thumb and pad her jacket. "I think I have some. I think I have some. Yes, pā€”pā€”pattern!" she said, clenching the fabric and withdrawing a glass vial that was a quarter full. "Pā€”pā€”pā€”pattern. No more pain, pain in the brain, brain," she said as she fumbled with the liquid, and then withdrew a syringe. "No mā€”more pain, pain. Voicesā€”no more."

Randin was quite willing to let Kendra take the drug. Sudden withdrawals were extremely dangerous to a drug addict's health. In all truthfulness, a fix WAS the best possible thing for Kendra at the moment, though probably in smaller quantities. Still, he wasn't sure how the NPA would feel about a WCPD Detective letting an addict take an injection right in front of his eyes. Randin turned his back on Kendra for a moment, shaking Damas's hand, perhaps pretending not to notice Kendra as she took the pattern. "Good to meet you, Marie," Randin smiled as he extended his hand. "The WCPD is pretty damn appreciative of the NPA's recent crackdown on security throughout the city. A definite boost to the efforts of the force. Gambit's is a rough place, but you get the hang of it after a while." The detective droned on, hoping that Shaw would have managed to get her fix in by now.

Damas shook Randin's hand with a vise-like grip. She nodded as he spoke, still looking about the bar, when she noticed what Kendra was doing. "Hey!" Damas moved toward the woman. "You ought to search her for illegal substances; who knows what she has with her? If you're taking her into custody, you'll have to inventory everything anyway."

"I've collected the bullets," said one of the other agents from across the bar. "Maybe we can go now. It looks like things are under control. Besides, I want to see the game. It's on in twenty minutes."

Kendra shook. She drew the last of the liquid into the vial and then she injected it into her neck, feeling the sudden rush of the chemical as the vial was now empty. She would be good for several hours, high the first few hours and normal the next several. With a satisfied sigh, she relaxed from the table. Kendra capped the needle and glared at Damas. "Piss off. I needed my pā€”pā€”pattern," she said, stumbling to her feet. The woman looked like a walking skeleton almost, she was so malnourished. She hadn't eaten in some time, but for now the voices had quieted. "The pain is gone. Peace for awhile," she said with a pleasurable sigh.

Randin quickly moved behind Kendra, happy that she had managed to get the drug into her system. "That's possession," he stated firmly, moving to put her hands behind her back as he reached for his binders. "You're under arrest." The detective wondered if she recognized him at all. In her current state, she probably couldn't recognize her own mother. Hopefully the drug would wear off and she'd be more or less functional after a short while. Randin definitely had something he needed to talk about with the Admiral.

Kendra tugged away. "Possession, possession? Unhand me before you start something! I have rights! You can't touch me!" she said, struggling against his grip. "Haven't you barbarians heard of Article Five?" she slurred. "No more pain, pain in the brain, brain," she added, struggling again. "Just waitā€”untilā€”you hear from my lawyer! You're in for it now!"

Damas looked about the bar and with a satisfied nod, motioned for the other two agents to accompany her back outside. "Fucking bar-watch duty. I don't know what this is." Although it was more rhetoric than anything else. The lawsuit that Cally had filed loomed large in her head, and it was hard not to think about it. For all she knew, she'd get exactly what she said, a post somewhere remote, cold, and monotonous at best, and a massive debt at worst. The lawyerā€”parasite was a more apt description, she thoughtā€”was notorious. And she was fairly certain there would be a second lawsuit coming from the Drulović family once the Intelligence Director found out what had happened... She was in for a shitfest.

Randin smirked. "Confederation's been dissolved, sweetheart. It's limping to pick itself back up, but that 'Article Five' shit isn't gonna' work this time." The detective would cuff her abruptly behind her back while sternly, though not forcefully, leading her towards the exit. "You're a long way from home, Admiral," Randin would half-whisper quietly in her ear as they walked.

Kendra struggled again. "What? How?" she shouted, struggling to break free once more. "I demand to see a Consulate!" she screamed, struggling, unaware of the charges that awaited her back on Langara. And then when he whispered in her ear, she tried to head-butt him in a drug-fueled rage that began to brim and boil in her mind and blood. "Let me go!" Kendra shouted as she tried to break free. Of course, she lacked the muscle mass or the nutrition to break free of anything. She was weak. "Lasă-mă vă Terran bucata de rahat!" she shouted, slipping into Gemonese.

Randin thankfully saw the move coming, ducking below her shoulder and avoiding the strike. Randin wrestled for control amid her rage, his grip tightening as he flexed to keep Kendra down. In her current state, it wasnā€™t too difficult for the detective to assume control. "Easy, Shaw," Randin warned gruffly. "You ought to save your breath. There's no pattern on Terra. Whatever you just took is likely the last of its kind on the planet." They were nearing the exit now. "We got a lot t'talk about, Admiral," Randin added, a grave tone in his voice.

Kendra grumbled as they stepped outside, and then she sneered at the man. "You going to have to torture it out of me. I won't say nothing; I will not be a shol'va." She tried to struggle again. "Aş muri mai degrabă decĆ¢t să vă spun nimic!" she said, spitting at him. "Kill me or release me, but I will tell you nothing," she said. "Were it not for McGregor's counsel, I would have glassed this entire planet!" she shouted as she was hauled out.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Oct 01, 2011 4:36 pm

Family Pictures
Ylanne S. (no collaboration on this post)


Wing City, Terra

It was close to one in the morning when Arianne Drulović finally arrived at the lockup downtown. Yellow streetlamps cast an eerie glow about the street. Her shiny black shoes were reflected in distorted images in puddles along the sidewalk. Her steps made little splashes that announced her arrival as she approached the stairs. The lockup was a nondescript concrete building sandwiched between high rises on either side, marked only with a small sign with the police seal. Fluorescent lights shone harshly in a few windows on the upper floors, but the street was otherwise darkened. In contrast, the business district to the west was a constellation of flickering lights along the nighttime skyline.

Drulović approached the side of the building, gripping the wet wrought iron banister tightly as she climbed the stairs at a slow pace. She opened the door and stepped into the lobby, where a tired-looking young officer sat behind a desk, finger resting on a computer mouse as he idly clicked through some social networking siteā€”Drulović wouldnā€™t have known which. With his other hand, the officer rubbed the stubble along his jaw, his eyes flicking upward at the dark-haired woman as she closed the door behind herself.

A moment later, and recognition sparked. He sat straighter, withdrew his hand from the computer mouse, and looked closely at Drulović as she approached the desk, fumbling with her right hand inside her worn leather purse. He straightened his name badge, which proclaimed him to be Ted Wilson. ā€œDirector Drulović,ā€ said the officer, reaching for a clipboard holding several sheets of poorly-aligned pages with the corners curled. ā€œI just need to see your ID and you can sign in here. What can I do for you?ā€

A small frown tugged at the corners of Drulovićā€™s lips as she set her purse on the counter, partially covering a coffee-stained desk calendar with illegible appointments scribbled outside the squares. ā€œOh, dear,ā€ she muttered, going through her purse again while peering into it, her eyebrows knotted tightly together. ā€œI canā€™t seem to find my license, Mr. Wilson,ā€ she said. ā€œI had thought I had put it in hereā€¦ā€ Drulovićā€™s fingers closed around her agency identification, and she struggled to slide it from her wallet, using only her right hand. ā€œIt has my picture on it, hm?ā€ she said, her voice sounding a little empty. She slid the card across the desk to the officer, who glanced at the name and photo with a nod.

ā€œSign right here, Director,ā€ said the officer, returning the ID card and handing Drulović a pen. He indicated the next blank line on the sheet of papers on the clipboard. Drulović pressed her lips into a thin line, taking the pen in a careful grip in her right hand. She scrawled her name, the date, and the time in painstaking cursive, taking great effort to form the letters, which were written with an odd slant to the left. ā€œWho are you here to see, Director?ā€ the officer asked. ā€œI didnā€™t know the Bureau had a relationship with the department.ā€

Drulović blinked at Wilson, setting the pen atop the clipboard and straightening, returning her ID to her wallet and closing her purse. ā€œIā€™m not here on official business, Mr. Wilson,ā€ she said softly. ā€œI am a worried mother. Perhaps an upset one. I imagine you would be worried and upset, much the same, if it were your child in the lockup.ā€

The officer stared for several moments before he managed to politely avert his eyes. ā€œUh, are you here to post bail for someone?ā€ he asked, glancing at the computer screen again.

ā€œFor my daughter, yes, Mr. Wilson,ā€ replied Drulović, sliding her purse over her arm again. ā€œNatalija Drulović? I imagine you have the records all in yourā€¦ computer.ā€ There was distinct distaste at the utterance of that word. ā€œNo?ā€

A few clicks and Wilson sat back in his seat. ā€œYes, I have a record for Natalija Sanjati Drulović. Bail for assault is automatically set at one thousand Credits. Will that be in cash or by bond?ā€ He slipped back into the businesslike, emotionless tone that usually accompanied such conversations, trying to avoid scrutinizing Drulović too closely.

Drulovićā€™s frown deepened, cutting into her face, as she opened her purse again, removing the wallet, and slowly peeling ten one hundred Credit bills from a stack of bills held together with an old rubber band. With a slightly trembling hand, she slid the money across the counter, where it was quickly counted and logged into the system. Wilson picked up the phone, speaking in low tones, before replacing the receiver. ā€œSheā€™ll be up in just a moment, Director,ā€ said the officer, motioning for Drulović to take a seat on one of the thinly padded chairs in the waiting area.

A few minutes later, the duty officer appeared with Natalija in tow. The younger woman could have been a mirror image of her mother, with the same short, dark hair framing a square jaw and deep-set dark eyes. She met Drulovićā€™s eyes and immediately looked away, staring at the pale, blue-green tiles on the floor. ā€œLetā€™s go home, Natalija,ā€ said Drulović in a soft voice, rising from her seat and laying her hand gently on Natalijaā€™s arm. Her daughter jerked violently away, and Drulović paused. ā€œItā€™s getting rather late, I think.ā€

Natalijaā€™s eyes narrowed, but she followed her mother, refusing to look back at the officer at the desk as Drulović opened the glass doors into the night, leaving the brightly-lit waiting area behind in favor of the damp darkness of the city at night. ā€œThe other one, someone came for her a few hours ago,ā€ said Natalija, allowing a hint of anger to creep into her voice. ā€œWhat the hell took you so long? Didnā€™t they tell you right away? Tell me you didnā€™t do ā€˜just one more thingā€™ before coming to get me,ā€ she spat.

ā€œItā€™s late, Natalija,ā€ said Drulović, walking slowly toward the 1964 Oldsmobile parked on the other side of the street, its light blue paint appearing a ghastly green beneath the streetlamp. She unlocked first the passenger side door, holding it open for Natalija, before climbing into the driverā€™s seat with slow, almost awkward movements. Natalija sulked in the passenger seat, folding her arms, and glaring at the dashboard. Drulović shut the car door. ā€œLetā€™s get home and to bed, hm?ā€

ā€œTo home and bed?ā€ Natalija stared, curling her bottom lip. ā€œYou think you can suddenly be my mother after not visiting for five years?ā€

ā€œPlease, Natalija.ā€ Drulović turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, a stark, sudden explosion of sound against the stiffness of night usually punctuated only by distant, inaudible blips. She peeled away from the curb and headed north on Main Street, leaving the shabby, lifeless neighborhood around Gambitā€™s farther back with each passing second. Natalija stared through the window, leaning against the door.

It was close to ten minutes into an uncomfortable but familiar silence when Natalija spoke again, her voice dark and almost accusatory. ā€œThere are some things I want to talk about.ā€

Drulović gave a small nod. ā€œMm?ā€

ā€œJelisa told me that you were in prison when I was born,ā€ Natalijaā€™s tone was cruelly casual, her chin tilted upward although she refused to look at her mother. ā€œShe said youā€™d already been there for three years.ā€

Drulovićā€™s shoulders slumped, and she came to a stop at a glowing red light, the Oldsmobile the only car at the intersection.

ā€œWhy didnā€™t you tell me before? Were you ever going to tell me?ā€ Natalijaā€™s face was taut, her words harsh and demanding. But Drulović did not offer an answer. Natalija faltered. ā€œWere you?ā€

Drulović closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, the light had turned green, and her foot pressed on the pedal. ā€œYour father and I love you very much, Natalija,ā€ she half-murmured. Her words only sounded weak, lacking the strength to close the gulf.

ā€œNenad Drulović,ā€ said Natalija in a savage tone, ā€œis apparently not my father. Did you think I was so stupid I would never find out?ā€ She slammed her palms against the glass. ā€œListen to me, Mom! Listen to me, God damn it!ā€

The car came to a stop beside the brownstone on the corner of Luna and Liber, in front of the wooden garage door. No other cars were parked in the street. Drulović cut the ignition, her trembling hand reaching for the key to slip it into her pocket. ā€œYou were younger, Natalija,ā€ she said. ā€œYou wouldnā€™t have understood.ā€

ā€œI understand perfectly now.ā€ Natalija turned, finally, to meet her motherā€™s eyes only to find that this time, it was Drulović who was looking at the dashboard.

ā€œI did not want you to be hurt,ā€ Drulović continued, a little more firmly now. She folded her hands in her lap, one atop the other.

ā€œAnd you think Iā€™m not hurt now?ā€ Though her eyes were dry, Natalijaā€™s voice was strangled.

ā€œI did not want you to grow up confused, Natalija,ā€ said Drulović, as if she were fumbling to find the right words. ā€œYou needed to know that you are a part of our family as much as your sister. How could it have been so if you had known, hm?ā€

ā€œWhat confuses me,ā€ said Natalija, ā€œis why you didnā€™t tell me, why I had to find out from Jelisa. So maybe five would have been too young. Fine. I can accept that. What about ten, then, huh? Thirteen? Even sixteen, Mom. Did you think I would go my entire adult life and never find your dirty secret? I am twenty-six. I am not a child. I am an adult.ā€

A pair of street-side trees towered over the car and the streetlamps, their gnarled branches and crowns of leaves shifting in the cool nighttime breeze and casting strange, amorphous shadows over the two womenā€™s faces. ā€œI imagine you want the truth from me, no?ā€ said Drulović in a strangely defeated tone.

ā€œObviously.ā€

ā€œI had hoped, Natalija, that you would never have to know. Believe me,ā€ said Drulović, speaking with a heavy sigh, ā€œI have not enjoyed keeping the truth from you, but it was hard enough for me already alone. I did not want you to share that with me. You have your own life to live, Natalija. Why ruin it, hm?ā€

ā€œYou donā€™t get it. You continually fail to grasp what Iā€™m trying to tell you.ā€ Natalija gripped Drulovićā€™s arm, staring intently into the older womanā€™s face. ā€œIf you had told me, I would have accepted it. I wouldnā€™t have been happy. But I would have been a hell of a lot happier than I am right now. And eventually, I would have let go and moved on, something it seems youā€™ve completely failed to do. Did you ever see a damned counselor? Did some quack in a white coat with letters after his name tell you to hide this from me? Or maybe you could have used some professional help.ā€ She released her motherā€™s arm, staring bitterly through the windshield at the empty sidewalk. ā€œMaybe a shrink would have forced you to do the right thing.ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ said Drulović, suddenly seeming very tired. She slumped further in her seat, her fingers touching her saintā€™s medal. ā€œNo, Natalija, I have not seen a counselor.ā€

ā€œOr maybe,ā€ said Natalija, continuing, ā€œyou could have taken me to a counselor. Did the thought ever cross your mind during my entire childhood? Oh wait. You werenā€™t there until I was fourteen. Dad took Jelisa and me to America without you. Of course it didnā€™t cross your mind. Iā€™m just not that important to you, am I?ā€

ā€œThatā€™s simply not true, Natalija,ā€ responded Drulović. ā€œI love you. You are my daughter. It was not safe for me to be with you then, and believe me, if it had been possible, I would have been there with you the whole time.ā€

Natalija lapsed into silence. Finally, she opened the passenger door and climbed into the street. ā€œTalk all you want, but until you actually do something that suggests otherwise, I canā€™t believe that thatā€™s true.ā€ She slammed the door and headed toward the front steps of the house, removing a loose brick for the spare key.

Alone inside the Oldsmobile in the dark, Drulović watched her daughter ascend the stairs and disappear inside her house. Her shoulders shook, and she leaned over the wheel, squeezing her eyes shut. When she looked up, her cheeks glistened, and Drulović leaned back in her seat, reaching inside her jacket pocket to remove a small, square piece of paper. It was a color photograph of two girls, one far older than the other, standing in front of a building with a sign in Cyrillic script. In childlike, almost illegible handwriting, Drulović had written their names: Jelisaveta Hrabrost (20), Natalija Sanjati (5).

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Tue Oct 04, 2011 2:35 pm

(Post collaborated by barney_fife playing Kendra Shaw and Ylanne playing Arianne Drulović. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact.)





O. Hewad Durrani Building
Terran Intelligence Bureau Headquarters
Fort Veritas Complex
South of Wing City, Terra


Under cover of the wee hours of morning, before anyone in the city had stirred, Kendra Shaw had been taken to the basement of the TIB Headquarters building inside the Fort Veritas complex outside Wing City. The basement of the O. Hewad Durrani Building housed arguably the most advanced medical facilities on Terra -- although the technology still paled in comparison to Aschen advances.

Arianne Drulović had, for the first time in well over a decade, spent the night in the office instead of at her house on the corner of Luna and Liber. She awoke around six, her eyelids sliding open to find herself curled into a fetal position in the corner of her new office on the fifth floor inside the Durrani Building, with sunlight peeping through the window blinds. The plain ivory carpet and simple wooden desk and chair were all that furnished the room, aside from a bookcase with a few volumes of Serbian and Russian poetry.

The Durrani Building's basement did not officially exist. In fact, not one single member of the public had so much as crossed the threshold into the lobby of the Durrani Building without receiving a quick escort back outside. The Bureau kept a few of its detainees there. After all, who would suspect them of confining prisoners inside the shining new headquarters building? Concrete walls and fluorescent lights were standard in the basement levels, in both the secure communications center and the few holding cells. Drulović kept the temperature at a cool fifty Fahrenheit.

Kendra held her tattered AHSC uniform close as the cells were kept to a cool fifty degrees. She was sitting in the corner of her cell and staring outwards at the door. "This is the price I pay for following orders... A razor she tells me," Kendra fussed before she shook her head. She was eager to get everything over with, get out of this empty cell. Though the woman was still emaciated, she looked leagues better than she had the night prior. Plishkin was known for his works. Kendra paced back and forth in her cell before pounding on the door. "Do I at least get a gods damned book!?"

Upstairs, Drulović rose slowly, reaching her hand to her desk for support as she raised herself to her feet, blinking rapidly. She made her way toward the bathroom, leaning over the sink and splashing cool water against her face before heading back to the office. A small frown appeared on Drulović's face as she went to the closet, opening the door to find a large canvas bag that she had brought with her the night before. Some of Natalija's old clothes were there. Kendra and Natalija, who seemed unnaturally thin, were about the same size, Drulović had seen by looking at the woman.

She took the bag and slung it over her shoulder with some effort before opening the office door to see Ahmad standing there. "Good morning, Mr. Fazari," Drulović said, looking up at the young man.

"Good morning, Director," responded Ahmad, inclining his head. "Can I help you with that?" He nodded toward the bag.

"No, no, I'm fine, Mr. Fazari," said Drulović, offering a small smile. "But if you could fetch two cups of tea, and bring them downstairs, please. Thank you." Ahmad nodded and disappeared down the hallway, as Drulović closed the office door, leaving it, like her house, unlocked. She headed to the stairs, making her slow descent into the basement. The elevators weren't quite functional. Not yet. Ten flights of stairs later, and Drulović emerged into the decidedly cool basement. She struggled a little to adjust her scarf, pulling it to cover more of herself, and found herself trembling a little.

Kendra was at the end of the hallway, alone in the row of cells, behind a solid metal door preventing her from seeing out into the corridor. Drulović waved at the guard assigned at the end of the hall, and he disappeared, locking the exit from the corridor. She set the bag down beside the cell door, and her trembling hands reached for the lock mechanism, the fingers of her left hand flexed with awkward movements.

Kendra heard the door actuate. She stared at it, eyes on the metal door and arms crossed in front of her chest. "Finally someone hears me, frak," she said staring at the door, beginning to pace back and forth. During her recovery period in Plishkin's lab, she had heard of the current state of affairs, and knew exactly what buttons to press when she would be greeted by someone.

With a final small grunt of exertion, Drulović manipulated the locking mechanism and the door slid to the side, clanging into place. She stood, seeing Kendra inside, and rested her hand for a moment on the doorway to the cell, her eyebrows knitted closely together, and a small frown deepening over her lips. In the bright, fluorescent lights, dark circles were evident around Drulović's eyes, and her movements seemed made with concerted effort.

"Good morning, Ms. Shaw," she said, speaking neither in a business-like, pleasant tone nor in a mocking one, but merely with all the eloquence of one who would rather sink into a chair and read something quieting than be where she was standing.

Kendra stared up at Drulović. "I will not tell you anything until I speak to a Gemonese consulate and a representative of the Tal'dor Military. Until such time that I am allowed to speak with the aforementioned people, Terra will be in violation of the treaties it has with Tal'dor," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "I know my rights, and I will exercise them. Keeping me in solitary confinement is also a violation of my Langaran Convention rights, so until I speak to a consulate, I will not speak to you," she said, moving to sit down on the bed. "I've also yet to receive my phone call."

Drulović shrugged, sliding her hands into her pants pockets. "Whoever said I wanted to interrogate you, Ms. Shaw? I'm no detective; I don't need a confession. In any case, I believe I'm the only one who knows where you are..." She stooped, reaching for her bag. "I brought you a change of clothes. I had to guess your sizes, but I imagine these will do, hm?" She removed a carefully folded pair of charcoal gray pants, a short-sleeved collared shirt, a jacket, and a clean set of undergarments, and stepped through the doorway, offering the set of clothing to Kendra.

Kendra looked to the change of clothing for several long moments, eyes on them before she slowly changed into them. It was several moments before she allowed the Director back into the cell block. ā€œI am being detained without my rights being observed. I may be a wanted woman in the former Confederation, but I still have connections, and I want to speak to a consulate. I don't care if this is an interrogation or a frakking midnight social; these conditions are deplorable, and I am being detained without being charged. This is unacceptable,ā€ she said, shaking her head some more and sitting on the metal bench. ā€œThe longer I go without a consulate, the weaker the NPA's case is going to look. I was following orders; your world's got nothing on me, and they know it. So, what do you want with me?ā€

"I'm not particularly concerned about Mr. Mulavi's case, Ms. Shaw," responded Drulović, pulling a chair across the concrete to sit in the doorway of the cell. "And actually, the conditions where you are right now exceed those of Jasenovac by far... But I imagine you don't know much about the UstaÅ”a. It's not something most institutions teach, particularly away from Terra." She rubbed her hands together absently, looking very small where she was seated.

Kendra frowned, and then stared at Drulovic. ā€œIf my mother were still alive, she would have nipped this travesty in the bud,ā€ she said, sighing. ā€œSiress Marta Shaw of Gemenon. You might have heard of her, died of cancer prior to my assignment to Pegasus,ā€ she said, watching Drulović. ā€œI want to know what you want. More importantly, I want to know why I haven't talked to a Gemonese consul, and why I have not been charged with anything. If I haven't, then am I free to go? Can't you just, walk me out of here?ā€

"Well, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, sighing as she spoke, "you have been charged with war crimes, but that's not of particular interest to me. I imagine Mr. Mulavi would like to know where you have gone... " She watched Kendra for a moment with mild curiosity, fingering the saint's medallion hanging from around her neck. "Your mother, yes, there is a dossier on her too." Drulović shook her head in distaste. "Dossiers on everyone these days," she said, rolling her eyes.

In the hallway, a door opened and shut, and Ahmad appeared carrying two cups of tea, one in each hand. Drulović rose, taking first one and offering it to Kendra, before taking the other. She nodded at Ahmad, who quietly slipped away. Drulović inhaled the sweet aroma of her tea before taking a sip.

Kendra glared at Ahmad. ā€œI demand to speak to a consulate of Gemenon!ā€ she ordered, glaring at the man before she glared to Drulović. ā€œWhy do you refuse to answer my questions? My orders? When the Gemonese find out what you have done to me, your world and your regime are finished. I want a lawyer, and I want a consulate,ā€ she said, shaking her head and snubbing the tea. ā€œYou're crooked, detaining me and then offering me tea. I will not consume your drinks. I want to go home.ā€

"Call me what you will, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, inclining her head almost dismissively. She sank into her seat again, wrapping both hands around the steaming cup of tea. "I imagine I could be called almost anything, and it would be, at least partially, true." Drulović met Kendra's eyes. "What do I want with you, hm? To tell the truth, Ms. Shaw, I'm not sure even I could understand that. Such a strange thing, I think, to suddenly discover myself here with you, in this place."

Kendra simply stuck her nose up and silently ignored Drulović. ā€œI want to talk to a consulate and I want to go home,ā€ she reiterated, glaring at the woman from her puffed up position. She shook her head. ā€œI want to at least be moved somewhere else, and be allowed my most basic rights. Just wait until Gemenon learns of this travesty; your world will be politically doomed.ā€

"I don't think you understand the situation, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, frowning. "Parliament wants your execution. Mr. Khamtai is eager to mobilize his court for War Crimes. You and I, we might understand better than anyone else about following orders, I think, but the Terran people -- that is not a concept or a defense they can understand. The only reason you are not facing imminent trial and execution, Ms. Shaw, is because I have had you brought here." Drulović took another sip of her tea.

Kendra offered a nod. ā€œAnd if I am tried and executed without my rights to a consulate or a defense attorney being honored, it will start a political shitstorm not even the Capricans can handle. Do they even know I've been found and incarcerated? That alone is enough to start an international incident,ā€ she said, shaking her head. ā€œThe Terran people are going to have to face the fact that even I have rights. Has Khamtai even informed the Capricans or the Tal'dorians I've been captured?ā€

"Oh, everything these days can become an international incident, Ms. Shaw," answered Drulović. "I believe Mr. Khamtai is going to the embassy this morning, but then again, I'm not a keeper of his schedule. In any case, Ms. Shaw," Drulović said, "there was no international incident when it happened to me. Nor," she added between sips of tea with her eyebrows arched, "did I have any rights."

Kendra offered an acknowledging nod. ā€œYou're not the Fleet Admiral of one of the largest Aschen fleets ever assembled, nor are you the daughter of a prominent Siress. I don't even know who you are,ā€ she said, shaking her head. ā€œIt all depends on who you are or whom you know. I'm Helena Cain's protegee; I am sure she'd be looking for me too,ā€ Shaw said, crossing her arms again. ā€œAnd that is why it'll be made an international incident.ā€

"Oh, that's a pleasant surprise," said Drulović, offering a small smile. "You can call me Arianne," she said, "though it used to be Arijana. Little facts that most people don't know. I wish it happened more often, Ms. Shaw, that I encountered people who do not know who I am." She sipped at her tea, leaning back in her chair so that she appeared almost to be slumped there. "At the time it happened, I was the American CIA's chief asset in Yugoslavia. I don't know, Ms. Shaw, whether anyone looked for me... I was never told. I did not read that part of the dossier, anyway." Drulović shivered a little. "It's a bit cold in here," she observed.

Kendra mocked after a moment. ā€œā€˜It's a bit cold in hereā€™... she says,ā€ she said, rolling her eyes. ā€œIn accordance with Aschen wartime doctrine, I did nothing wrong. I followed the orders I was given, and I carried out the mission. The Terrans can't charge me, and when the Gemonese Government learn of this, they will extract me,ā€ she said, nodding. ā€œIt haunts me, but sometimes you have to do what needs to be done to survive. Your world was going to destroy mine. Sometimes we need to set aside our fear and even our revulsion... Admiral Cain told me that if you could become a razor... She said that this war is forcing us all to become razors because if we don't, we don't survive. And then we don't have the luxury of becoming simply human again,ā€ Shaw explained. ā€œIf I disobeyed my order, we would not been having this discussion.ā€

Drulović nodded, sipping the last of her tea, and setting the empty cup on the floor outside the cell, behind her chair. "My control officer, Mr. Pollman, told me a similar thing," she continued in a conversational tone. "In order to survive, I had to forsake religion and the myriad ideas that come from it. You understand, Ms. Shaw, no?" Something in Drulović's voice pleaded for Kendra to understand. "I had orders. All of us knew," said Drulović, staring at the far wall, her eyes offering little hint of her emotions, "that disobedience to an order was unimaginable. It simply wasn't done. I had orders... "

Kendra sighed. ā€œThen why am I being charged? I followed orders, legal orders given to me by my superiors. If anything, they should be going after Helena Cain, President Adar even. I had orders... but the Terrans don't understand that... Picon was destroyed in the bombing. They still haven't recovered from the attacks... I need to get out of here; I need to get to Gemenon!ā€ Kendra pleaded, understanding Drulović's pain. After several long moments, it began to set in, the position Kendra had been put in. Her eyes fell to Drulović and a single tear began to well up in them. "Would--would you pray with me?" she asked, clenching the fabric of her pants.

"Mr. Khamtai only ever saw things from the other end of the gun's barrel," Drulović answered in explanation. She blinked slowly, her expression visibly softening at the other woman's request. Drulović hesitated, and then nodded. "I'm afraid I never was good with this," she said, rising to stand beside Kendra. Drulović wrapped the fingers of her right hand around Kendra's hand, squeezing gently. She touched her saint's medallion with the fingers of her left hand, and began to murmur in a vaguely Slavic-sounding tongue. Lord, forgive me. Forgive us. There was a distant look in her eyes, unfamiliar to those who might have recognized her picture.

Kendra looked to the ground, and then she spoke. ā€œLorzi ai Kobol auzi rugăciunea mea ... ajuta-ma ... ajută-mă să găsesc puterea de a face faţă necazurile viitoare ... lasa-ma .. au puterea de a mă ridica spre bunătatea ta, şiputerea de a se Ć®mpăca cu crimele mele,ā€ she said, looking to the ground and clenching the other woman's hand. She began to recite another prayer, which was similar to a creed, perhaps the Aschen version of the Lord's Prayer. ā€œDei Kobol una apita uthoukarana, Ukthea mavatha gaman kerimuta, Obe satharane mua osavathamanabanta, Api obata yagnya karama,ā€ Kendra said in a language that sounded like Hindi, but was slightly different. Once she opened her eyes, she inclined her head. ā€œThank you for praying with me,ā€ she said, reaching up to look for her medallion, only to find it was not there. ā€œThey--they took my amulet.ā€

Drulović looked at Kendra's neck and saw that the Kobollian medallion common to the Aschen was missing. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know where Mr. Moulavi's people would have put it, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, a small frown appearing on her face. She squeezed Kendra's hand again before withdrawing her hand, and reaching with unsteady fingers for the delicate golden chain around her own neck, taking several attempts before successfully undoing the clasp. She took the medallion of Saint Sava in her hand and offered it to Kendra.

"The icon is Saint Sava," said Drulović, her finger brushing over the embossed image. "He died about eight hundred years ago... I had this with me when I was in prison in Yugoslavia. Afterward, too, when I spent nights wandering about the Kosovan streets. Oh, it was a strange time to be alive, then. Mr. MiloÅ”ević became President not too long after."

Kendra pawed at her neck again, then she looked to the icon. ā€œI couldn't accept this. I--I wouldn't know the history behind the Saint, or its context. It's dear to you. I couldn't,ā€ she said, before she pawed at her own neckline again. ā€œMy family was deeply religious. Our patron was Aurora, goddess of the dawn,ā€ she said, looking down. If Drulović were familiar with the various Aschen symbols, she would have recognized the silver chain and silver woman holding up a golden sun with a brilliant yellow topaz in the center. ā€œMy mother gave me the amulet when I was a child. It was dear to me. Why did they take it?ā€

"I wouldn't know, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, shaking her head helplessly. "I don't know Mr. Moulavi well..." She held the icon in her hand, palm up. "Take it, Ms. Shaw. You need it more than I do. Saint Sava is the patron saint of schools... He founded the church in the country where I was born, was its patriarch, and in the centuries since then, well, differences in language and religion brought many wars. I imagine war is something you too know better than you hoped you ever would."

Kendra looked to the icon, and then she thumbed it for a moment. She put it around her neck; it was no matter if the Temples would kill her for it. ā€œCan--can you get my amulet back? I promise I will keep this safe and return it when I get mine back. And -- could you do me a favor? If the Terrans do execute me, I want to be executed a war hero, not a shol'va. I would like my uniform mended, cleaned, and prepared for my departure of this world. I want to face a firing squad. The moment I am confirmed dead, I want my body to be taken into orbit and ejected directly into Langara's sun; I want to return from whence I came,ā€ she said, looking down. ā€œPlace a coin in my mouth, a denarius, so I may pay Charon his toll to cross the river Acheron. You can usually purchase a funerary denarius from any temple. The proceeds go to starving children in Tauron and Sagittaron,ā€ she added.

"If it comes to that, Ms. Shaw," said Drulović, speaking heavily and looking away, "then I will see to it that it happens according to your traditions." She nodded slowly. "I will find your amulet of Aurora for you. I imagine Mr. Moulavi's agents put it with other items they took from others. And, Ms. Shaw," she added, meeting Kendra's eyes, "I will see that a consular officer can see you." She stood again, unsteady for a moment before stepping outside the cell. Drulović paused there, almost as if frozen. Finally, her lips formed the words, "Thank you."

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sun Oct 09, 2011 5:50 pm

(Post collaborated by barney_fife playing Gina Inviere and Kendra Shaw; AzricanRepublic playing Admiral Vechov and J. Stamp; and Ylanne playing Ed Cranford, Luis GaldĆ”mez, Sisavang Khamtai, Prachai Ranida, Ahmad Fazari, and Arianne Drulović. I edited posts for clarity with pronouns, especially in dialogue tags, punctuation errors, obvious grammatical or spelling errors, and obvious word omissions. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Just beyond Terra's moon, the Gemonese made their presence known. A slight subspace distortion began to open up, then grew wider, flickering into a brilliant sphere of light, which shot forward and then shot back, flickering in the hulking twenty-seven mile length of the Rapid Conversion. This flickering subsided as the massive Reverence II began to ignite its engines, slowly pushing forward before two more flickering lights appeared beyond Terra's moon, two CNVs each equipped with dorsal-mounted Mk I Singularity cannons. Their eleven point six mile hulks twirled and idled as they pushed forward, and then several more flickers appeared beyond Terra's moon, most of them Battlestars and other support ships, forming up beyond the defensive lines of the Terran grid. The Reverence II pushed forward towards the planet itself.

"Attention Terran Government, this is Admiral Gina Inviere of the Gemonese Navy. We are here regarding the communique sent by the Gemonese Consulate. I am here to negotiate the immediate extradition of Admiral Shaw, how copy?" said Gina Inviere, her voice firm and collected, while the swathe of Gemonese ships formed up behind the Reverence II.

Admiral Vechov stood in the Command Hub of the Coalition starbase locked in orbit above Saturn. Turning to a digital hologram, the Admiral identified the loose task force of Coalition ships arranged through the system; as the command deck around him began to stir, Vechov turned to the two Captains waiting at the door of the command deck. "Prepare for Condition Zero, you know your orders," Vechov muttered, before grabbing hold of a communications transceiver, boosting the signal through the Coalition frequencies, and into wide band broadcast. "All Coalition ships prepare for immediate deployment to your sectors."

The transmission from the Rapid Conversion crackled in Fort Veritas, in General Ranida's command center; in Government Center, in the secure communications center, where Cranford's staffers received the message; and in the Durrani building, where Ahmad quickly made for the Director. Ranida was fetched by one of the lieutenants monitoring the channels, and the General grabbed a headset from the wall, sitting along the row of communication interfaces inside Fort Veritas.

"This is Grand General Prachai Ranida of the Terran Armed Forces," responded Ranida. "Stand down beyond the moon," he directed, his voice crisp, without any excess emotion.

Inside Wing City, Cranford was hurried into the secure communications center to listen to the communications, all while he flipped open a shiny new cell phone and dialed Khamtai's mobile number, wondering where the hell the Justice Minister was and what he was doing. It took several minutes before one of Cranford's aides could locate Khamtai, who had been locked in the library for a meeting with Terra's Attorney General regarding the Kendra Shaw situation. Luis GaldƔmez and Khamtai, dressed in identical dark suits and tri-colored striped ties, joined Cranford in the secure communications room, allowing Ranida to speak... for now.

Gina turned to her XO and the holographic Artificial Intelligence that controlled the functions of the massive Reverence II planetary assault carrier. "Power to the singularity cannon. Target the San Andreas fault line. Do not fire until we have a clean line. I will not allow the Terrans to bully us, or use their Coalition allies as a bludgeoning stick," Gina said before the AI nodded.

"Nuclear devices are primed; power is being located to the singularity drive. We should be ready to fire in twenty centons," the AI said, and Gina nodded.

"CNV Acheron, CNV Tiberius, loop around on Terra's broad orbit. Put yourselves between us and the Coalition assets. Prime your MAC guns and fire only when fired upon," Gina ordered, before the CNV Commanders clacked their acknowledgement. The two massive ships began to break away from the main fleet, heading towards the Coalition presence in the Terran system. "Battlestar Nautilus, Battlestar Sunleth, Battlestar Hestia, move your battlegroups outwards and cover me," Gina said, before she narrowed her eyes. "I am not going to let you execute my men..." She then responded to Ranida. "Standing down beyond the moon. I trust in the spirit of diplomacy and cooperation, Gemenon's demands will be held. I have a warrant for Kendra's immediate extradition signed by Siress Porter and approved by the Gemonese Senate."

The CNS Wicked Fury, a Mako class heavy destroyer, peaked around its orbit of the Far East. Asia slowly tilted away underneath the vessel before the moon slowly crawled around the shape of Terra. In the seconds following the broadcast, the vessel had begun a rapid acceleration around the circumference of the planet, preparing itself for a gravity well jump at the end of its preparation. "This is the Fury in orbit above Terra -- possible contact analysis incoming, hardwire this data back to the Admiral," the Captain of the Wicked Fury commanded as he watched a hologram of the ships weaponry slowly coming to life.

"Multiple contacts confirmed on the comhars, opponents maneuvering into tactical position," the Ensign shouted from below in the Communications Pit, while an hologram audio feed from the station appeared beside the Captain.

"You are set Condition Zero, Fury. Stand by, hold out and wait for back up."

"Negative," came the voice of Sisavang Khamtai, his English clearly marked with an East Asian accent, interrupting before Ranida had a chance to respond. "This is Minister Sisavang Khamtai. Kendra Shaw is in Terran custody, and will stand trial for war crimes before any consideration will be given to a request for extradition, especially in the absence of an extradition treaty."

GaldƔmez, sitting behind Khamtai, adjusted his glasses, shifting nervously in his seat. A tall, thin man with thin, silvery hair, he was a strong contrast to either Khamtai or Cranford. Khamtai was shorter and plumper, with a moon-shaped face and distinctly Asian features, while Cranford was not quite as tall as the Attorney General and sported thick white hair. GaldƔmez scratched at the side of his jaw, where beard stubble grew, blinking as he listened to Khamtai. Cranford rose with a grim -- and somewhat irritated -- expression, departing from the secure communications center without a word.

Gina growled, before she leaned towards the flickering hologram of the audio feed. "I trust that Terra understands the political ramifications for executing an officer of the Gemonese Military. If her blood is spilled on Terra's soil, you will be at war with Gemenon; your allies will also feel the ramifications of this affront to Gemonese sovereignty," she said, as the AI chimed on.

"San Andreas fault line is targeted. Admiral, you understand that discharging a weapon of this magnitude on a fault line will be sufficient to cause serious seismic disturbances across the entire planet, possibly fragment it at the plates. The resulting explosion and destabilized planetary matter will destroy this vessel and all nearby vessels," the AI warned, before Gina scowled.

"Your world is being openly defiant, refusing the requests of its potential allies, willing to go to war and risk destruction over a single woman who was only following orders. I have my orders, and they are to bring Kendra home whatever the cost."

A Lieutenant then turned to Gina. "Admiral, I'm getting status reports from the homeland. The Oranu military ICBM site is priming its nuclear inter-continental ballistic missiles and setting their targets for Caprica City and the Tauron-Sagittaron border. The Gemonese Senate is drafting a resolution to side with the Tauron Alliance."

Admiral Vechov scowled under his breath before turning to a marine Colonel geared in the typical vacuum combat garb. Around him, the Coalition personnel monitored to the radio frequencies of the message, cycling through the task force communications through the system. As Vechov turned to a holographic display of the planet, surrounded by the enemy contacts, the Major grumbled beneath his breath once, shifting the helmet under his shoulder. "Oxcar Three is ready for deployment, sir. Forward firepower is online."

Onboard the Wicked Fury, the Coalition starship continued its circular loop around Terra's orbit, the vessel banking and swaying in the high altitude velocities of the planet. The maneuver was capable of causing quite an interference and lag between sensor surveillance opportunities. "Keep weapons armed and ready -- nuclear ordinance is active and on high priority. Divert CPU for internal targeting."

"You don't understand, Admiral," replied Khamtai, folding his hands atop the table in the communications room, his tone growing quite firm. "Shaw is charged with war crimes and crimes against humanity for the murders of billions of Terrans -- civilians, not military targets. If it were one of Terra's officers who had done the same on your world, I am certain your response would not be dissimilar."

"Minister, ought I to go now?" asked GaldĆ”mez softly, leaning behind Khamtai and looking down at the shorter man. "I don't think you need me." And truth be told, GaldĆ”mez didn't particularly want to be seen near this political shitstorm. Besides, what he wanted to know was where exactly Kendra Shaw was. Abdalhaq Mulavi hadn't been able to produce an answer when GaldĆ”mez had asked earlier. Unbeknownst to the men in the communications center, Arianne Drulović had collected Kendra Shaw's belongings from the NPA's "collections," and spent another night inside the Durrani building with Kendra safely inside, away, for the moment, from the political battle.

Gina laughed. "Minister, I don't think you understand. I have a lot of very big guns pointed at your planet, and I will use them if I don't get what I want," she said flatly, before she turned to the AI, who protested again.

"I will reiterate; if we discharge that weapon, Tech Con assets, Aschen assets, and other assets on the planet will be destroyed. The political ramifications from Leonis will be quite massive,ā€ the AI said, before Gina nodded.

"Maintain charge, shields double front, triple bottom. Prepare the energy projectors for deployment; Battlestar crews need to be prepared for deployment. Initiate combat maneuver, standard formation beta," Gina said. The massive ship prepared for battle, turning slightly on its axis, and then it began to push itself back behind the Aschen support ship screen. This was classic Aschen doctrine, where the heavy-hitting, long-range ships fell back beyond the range of combat and functioned as artillery. The two CNVs acted as a solid wall between the Coalition ships and the Reverence II. "Minister, Terra is not in a position to send ships to do anything. You can't go after every criminal you see fit; you either charge everyone or no one. Now you will release Admiral Shaw or I will take her from you," Gina said, before she turned to the AI. "Prepare the ship's Bifrost system and a combat contingent. Inform the CNVs to prepare for landing, and all ships to prepare for engagement. I want a nice wide berth to begin the landing procedures."

Admiral Vechov poured over the information on the holographic table set as the station began releasing the first contingent of ten starships: three Coalition battleships and their subordinate escorts, missile carriers and a cruiser detachment in support. As the first transmissions began arriving to the deployable forces, Admiral Vechov monitored the progress of a platoon of twenty COLSOG special forces. The Marine Assault Group Oscar Three assembled at an Attack Carrier, the CNS Mopac, located on a segregated shipping hub attached to the station. "This is Admiral Vechov to the Mopac. Come in, Captain," Vechov talked with a small communication piece in his ear, hearing a brief static over the coded line before the Captain responded.

"Yes sir, I have received your package -- ready and waiting to step off, Admiral."

"Good, Captain. See to it your sector is administrated."

The Wicked Fury boosted to a maximum altitude before descending once again, this time, burning the weaponry red hot on the electronic frequencies; the weapon systems of the Fury burned on the sensors before the ship descended back towards the planet. As the Captain of the Fury monitored a readout on the ship's structural integrity, the Captain parsed through a line of commands in the networked hub of the starship. "Boost capacitators Hotel through Juliet into the Electronic Warfare suite; these guys are in for a light show."

Khamtai had been under the impression that defenses in place prevented the use of Bifrost to enter Terra from outside Terra. Khamtai shook his head, leaning forward. "The Special Court for War Crimes has issued an indictments of Helena Cain and all the others involved with Terra's glassing. Shaw is the only individual in custody at this time."

GaldƔmez rose while Khamtai spoke, removing his own headset and hanging it back on the wall inside the secure communications room. The Attorney General disappeared from the room, replaced by Abdalhaq Moulavi, who looked decidedly distraught, rubbing his thumb along his jaw and narrowing his eyes. Moulavi wished that Lebrun were here instead of him, but as it were...

"Admiral, you cannot make threats like that without endangering a hell of a lot more than you and I," continued Khamtai, massaging his temples for a moment. "Every word that comes out of your mouth, right now, will have international repercussions, although I'm certain that Minister Ashkenazi could tell you that better than I. Point those guns all you want, but fire or not, the fact that you're already sitting there and trying to intimidate me into making a decision that goes directly against Parliament's resolution and our laws won't sit well with anyone."

Gina shook her head. "I don't particularly care what you or your Parliament thinks," she said, before she turned to her AI. "See if you can't get a Battlestar to strafe Terra's low orbit. Get them right over Wing City and deploy OIST; ensure that Kendra is extracted." All the while, Gina paced back and forth in the CIC of her Reverence II. "Minister, does Terra pride itself on provoking others? I mean, you have all this protection, all these people chomping at the bit to help you. Us poor Gemonese are trying to get one of our own back. I tell you what, I'm sure that when I come back empty-handed, Terrans will be given the wonderful gift of summary executions in Gemenon. We don't tolerate defiance from a joke of a government. I am not. Going. To let you execute. My men," Gina said flatly, while a single Battlestar pushed its engines forward towards the planet and began accelerating.

"Battlestar Hercules is moving in for OIST Deployment. With all the Coalite jamming, they'll have to eyeball it," a lieutenant said.

"Minister, I have an indictment from the Gemonese Senate for your immediate arrest. Kidnapping, I think the charge is," said Gina. The bitstream data came in as the Gemonese Senate frantically tried everything it could to get Kendra back. After all, it was what Marta Shaw would have done.

The Wicked Fury roared in low orbit, zipping below the Aschen Battlestar's trajectory at a quickened velocity through the mid-atmosphere of the planet; the orbit of the vessel was hard to track, considering the interference of the atmosphere, allowing the Coalition commander quite a leniency in his situation. As the Coalition ship passed low over Wing City, probably causing even more of an immediate scare, the intensity of electronic interference burst from the Coalition ship, bouncing the electronic broadcast within the planetā€™s own atmosphere before radiating it outward from the planet.

As the Mopac pulled away from its station umbilical and docking arms, the five-kilometer-long heavily armed carrier eased away from the station. Ten kilometers in the distance, two Sigma-Cruisers orbited the station waiting for the Mopac. In the Command Bridge, the Captain of the Mopac saluted to the Major as he appeared on deck. Addressing the marine commander, the Captain indicated a picture of the Aschen supership. "Limited resources, sufficient ordinance, but few alternative plans. What can the MAG work with?" he responded.

The Major planted one finger on the hologram and shifted through to a weaponry display. "Oscar Three is prepared to act with full retaliation ... If they'll pull their gun, we'll pull ours. That gun is the Mopac," the Major returned, looking to a separate image of the two heavy cruisers, the CNS Pallidine and Jericho.

"If you're going to be like that, I don't think we have anything else to talk about, Admiral," said Khamtai, and he stood to leave the secure communications room, running his fingers through his hair. Had the Gemonese any actionable intelligence on the situation, they might have realized that if they wanted Kendra returned, Khamtai would not be the one to seek.

Moulavi moved to follow Khamtai as one of Cranford's aides took up his post in the room again. Outside Wing City, in Fort Veritas, Ranida spoke again. "This is Ranida. Standby, Admiral, while we wait for Parliament's directive."

Indeed the Gemonese had some modicum of intelligence; it was in the form of their AI, aboard the Rapid Conversion. Drulovićā€™s phone chimed with a simple text message from an unknown number. "Meet me in Gambit's Bar for the exchange - Inviere." And of course, the AI sent a similar message to Gina. "Meet me in Gambit's Bar in Wing City - Drulović." This was to get the two to meet and negotiate the exchange of Admiral Shaw.

Gina growled before she picked up her phone. "AI, tell the fleet and the Hercules to hold at the formation... I am going to Terra."

The AI chimed to Ranida. "This is the Rapid Conversion. Admiral Inviere is taking a single ship to Terra to meet with someone in person. I will hold my assets back if she is allowed secure passage to the planet."

Admiral Vechov looked at the audio grapher of the conversation on a widescreen display, watching a trio of other screens nearby as the Command Hub readied the weaponry onboard the station: a contingent of high-velocity anti-ship cannons, and subordinate defensive and offensive missile launchers located at strategic sections of the orbiting body. "This is Section 6 Offensive Battery Control; all nuclear ordinance prepared and active." As the Admiral received the confirmation in a small information packet, he disengaged himself from the digital interface before addressing a Captain standing besides a network post. "Ready your ships, Captain."

The Mopac burned away from Saturn on a high-azimuth trajectory, taking the course of leap frogging over the planets with a series of high-velocity gravity well boosts to cut the travelling time. As the contingent of the Mopac prepared for engagement, a pair of the M87 Cricket heavy transports were requistioned by MAG Oscar Three and, through utilizing the Mopac's spare armory, began outfitting the Cricket into a heavy gunship. "This is the Mopac on quick trajectory to Terra -- repeat, to all contacts, the Attack Carrier CNS Mopac is en route to unresisted arrival at Terra."

Ranida nodded. "You're cleared for passage to Terra, if you go alone and unarmed," he said, allowing Inviere safe passage. "You will not be fired upon, unless you fire, or harmed on-world, and you will be permitted to return at your leisure. You have twenty-four hours." Ranida looked about at his lieutenants, and settled into the command center in Fort Veritas, where he suspected he would be sitting until war started or the Gemonese fleet departed the Terran system -- whichever happened first. He asked a lieutenant to fetch him a mug of coffee.

"Ranida to all ships in the Sol system," he said on an open channel to address the Scatterrans as well as the planetary defense installations on Terra itself. "Allow the Gemonese admiral's shuttle to enter Terra's gravity well and land; do not engage unless engaged; repeat -- do not engage unless engaged. Standby."

The single Raptor finally left one of the massive, gaping hangar bays of the Reverence II, it then began to move on its course towards the planet itself, Several moments went by and the Raptor began to ease its way into Terra's atmosphere, while the Gemonese fleet maintained their position and held fast. "Gods, I hope this text message was right. If I can just get back with the Admiral, this shitstorm can be avoided," Gina mumbled.

The Wicked Fury was zooming away on a straight path as the order came from the Terran General. As the Captain slowly eased his crew off the throttle, the Coalition ship was noticeably receptive to the message, disengaging the internal targeting ordinance before reading to climb to a higher orbit. "This is the Wicked Fury on-station. Heard you clear."

The Captain of the Mopac beamed a brief IFF to the Terran broadcast, a small green indication of the order becoming affirmative as the Attack Carrier crested above Mars. Identifying the small vessel, the Wicked Fury still in low orbit of the planet through a use of the integrated networks of Scatterran ships. The information was coordinated between the two, as the Mopac's heavy Electronic Warfare unit began to fire as well.

"Load the heavy pulse accelerators and then put the beam on high ... turn up the volume for them," the Captain ordered down to the Electronics Pit; soon the high-powered spectrum amplifiers were creating heavy ship-to-ship interference, blotting the Wicked Fury from even Coalition sensors for seconds-long bursts of time.

J.Stamp dangled his feet over the edge of the Vulture as he strapped himself into one of the floor mounts, wrapping his hands around the 35mm anti-material rifle and lifting the multi-spectrum scope to his eyes. As the Vulture pulled away from the flat launching platform of a Coalition FOB across the city, the lights slowly crawled away as Stamp adjusted the helmet and sealed armor as it integrated to the electronic scope of the weapon. "This is Action Team Six Three Eight on surveillance and reconaissance -- all support online for mission."

In Government Center, frantic conversation was muffled behind the wooden doors to Cranford's office among the Prime Minister, Mulavi, Khamtai, and GaldĆ”mez, none of whom seemed to know precisely where Kendra had been taken, only that Drulović had apparently vanished with the woman, and that no one in the TIB was talking to anyone in Parliament or the NPA.

"You have no idea where she is?" Cranford's white eyebrows shot to the ceiling. He leaned back in his seat, staring hard at Khamtai, who looked at Moulavi for support and found none.

"I don't know what Drulović did, sir," said Khamtai, shaking his head. "Can't you order her to produce Shaw? I don't like that the TIB always seems to keep secrets from us." Moulavi looked at the patterned rug in the office in deference to Khamtai.






It was around nine in the evening when Arianne Drulović returned to the O. Hewad Durrani TIB Building within the Fort Veritas complex with the collection of Kendra Shaw's belongings obtained from the NPA. The agent driving her dropped her off inside the front gates, taking no risks with the life of a woman who had been receiving death threats for months now. Drulović scowled, pulling a long, black robe over her head and folding it on the backseat of the car before shutting the door.

She was in the Durrani Building's basement, heading toward the cell where Kendra had been held, holding a thick black folder in one hand and clutching something in the other. Drulović shifted the folder to the other hand as she strugged with the lock mechanism again, taking a good two minutes to get the door open, when the cell phone that first Haima, and now Cranford insisted she carry, hummed.

The cell door slid open as Drulović dropped the folder in an effort to reach for the phone in her pocket. The phone clattered to the floor along with dozens of pages of sheet music drifting to the concrete. Drulović sighed.

Kendra looked up to Drulović as she thumbed the icon at her chest. "You're back," she said quietly as she moved to stand up. "Have you managed to get me a Gemonese Consulate?" she asked, as she looked to the sheet music. Kendra stooped to help Drulović gather her things. "Here, let me help," she said as she then helped the Director up. "Well, are they going to send someone, a lawyer maybe?" she asked, tilting her head. "I sure hope so... I don't want to die, Arianne."

Drulović ran her hand along the top of the folder, evening the pages inside so that they were aligned. "It seems the Gemonese have sent a fleet here, Ms. Shaw," answered Drulović, who despite having been away from the Durrani Building for the last few hours, had been kept well-informed of the developments thanks to Ahmad. She steadied the phone in her hand, pressing the wrong button at least twice before she managed to access the text message. "It seems Ms. Inviere is coming to Terra to speak to me."

A small frown appeared on Drulović's face. "Work never seems to end," she said with a sigh. She offered her closed hand to Kendra, her fingers unfolding to reveal the amulet of Aurora. "I found this for you, Ms. Shaw. Mr. Moulavi's people had left it in a backroom in their building... A shame really. But I imagine I ought to be going if Ms. Inviere wishes to speak to me." Her unsteady hand reached toward Kendra with the pendant.

Kendra made a face. "They sent a fleet? So I guess they either plan on publicly executing me, or they want me back because someone pulled some strings," she said, clutching the pendant and handing the icon back to Drulović. "You're going to meet with Inviere? She's the Admiral of the 3rd Fleet. She commands a Reverence, and she's pretty damn ruthless. You think you could take me with you? So--so I can go home?" she asked, her hopes getting up. "That's got to be why they're here, and if you know the Gemonese, they bite and they don't let go," she said, sitting back down. "You're bringing my belongings back to me. What do you plan to do with me? Arianne?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Ms. Shaw," responded Drulović, taking the icon of St. Sava back from Kendra. She set the folder of music gently on the floor against the wall and struggled for several long moments to clasp the delicate golden chain around her neck once more. Drulović touched her fingers to the saint's face. "Not yet, in any case. If you can go home, I'll see that it happens. But I can't make promises, Ms. Shaw, especially promises that I do not know if I can keep. Our Minister of Justice, Mr. Khamtai, is adamant that you stand trial here." She shook her head slowly. "I'm not one for trials, Ms. Shaw. They're too pretentious, I think, no?"

Drulović shrugged her rather large purse from her arm and opened it, removing Kendra's folded, mended, and cleaned uniform. "This too is yours, I think, Ms. Shaw," said the Director, holding it out with trembling hands. "If this meeting goes well for you, I'll send Mr. Fazari for you while it is still dark tonight. You met Mr. Fazari earlier, I believe..." Drulović stepped back, preparing to close the cell door again and depart the Durrani Building, but she paused, if only to wait for any response or acknowledgement.

Kendra nodded to Drulović, as she began to slowly change into her uniform. "Pray Admiral Inviere does not frak this one up," she said, nodding as she saw the woman off before going to change into her uniform. She would be ready to either rejoin the Gemonese fleet, or stand trial as a proud officer of the Aschen Confederation.

Gina Inviere had finally arrived at the predetermined location, parking the Raptor just outside the bar complex. She eyed the surroundings before she tightened the form fitting latches that kept the hardplates of her combat skin attached. She flicked a small switch and the pressure-sealed helmet folded over her face and sealed her face in. The woman stepped from the Raptor, letting the suit's systems scan her surroundings. She grasped a Disruptor Mk II from the weapons bay of the Raptor. She was taking no chances, and would not wind up captured like Kendra had. After several long moments, Gina clamped the Disruptor to her back and waited for Drulović to arrive.

Drulović exited the Durrani Building as the sun's last rays were barely visible over the horizon. The young aide assigned to drive her was waiting, and she directed him -- much to his surprise -- toward Gambit's Bar. It was a location anyone in Wing City knew, but one the wiser and saner citizens dutifully avoided, just as even those who rarely visit museums know not to touch anything. As the unmarked, simple Corolla rolled through the front gates of the Fort Veritas complex onto the Wing City Highway, two vehicles belonging to the NPA trailed at a comfortable distance, under strict orders, despite repeated protests from the Director, not to let Drulović out of sight except when inside a government installation.

Gina silently waited in the late evening sun at the bar, waiting for the woman the AI had helped summon. Of course Gina was not one for semantics, nor were the six SpecOps clad in T-65 Combat skins hidden in the Raptor. They kept hidden, using the Raptor's ECM jamming to prevent anyone from spotting them within the dedicated ECM Craft. The only visible person, even to the dedicated assets to the Coalition, was Admiral Gina Inviere. The Aschen had to have impressive jamming technology too, bending light and using buffeting electrojamming pulses to prevent nosy neighbors.

It was a good twenty minutes before Drulović arrived across the street from Gambit's. She kept the folder open on her lap, her finger resting under each bar of music as she mouthed quietly in the backseat, her brows knitted in concentration in the same look she affected during meetings with Cranford. "It's a bit cold in here, Mr. Holt," said Drulović to the driver, who reached wordlessly for the thermostat to raise the temperature by a few degrees. As they arrived, they saw that the usual denizens had gathered inside Gambit's, and so the Director instructed Holt to park a few buildings away across the street. She caught sight of Gina in the combat suit immediately, and the frown on her face deepened considerably. Drulović closed her folder, taking it with her as she stepped out of the car and quietly shut the door.

Gina silently waited for Drulović to approach, while the soldiers within the Raptor chimed into her earpiece. "Two cars following at a comfortable distance. It might be a trap, Admiral," they said, but Gina was wise and knew how to keep them out of earshot. "Fan out from the Raptor. I'll have my discussion with the Director in private," she said, before she pushed herself off the side of the wall. She began to approach the Aschen ship parked in the side alley. It was a tight squeeze, but the skilled pilots of the Aschen military managed the squeeze. And so, Gina waited, eyes on Drulović.

The other two cars parked separately, first one and then the other, on opposite sides of the street, the headlights fading into darkness on both escorts. Drulović walked slowly across the street, first checking for oncoming cars, and seeing none, moving toward the side alley, her gold saint's medallion occasionally glinting in the light from the bar's windows. She folded one of her hands over the folder with the music, and rubbed the icon with the other, seeming to watch one of the apartment high-rises beside the bar as she approached at a slow, steady pace, her shoes occasionally creating small splashes in puddles leftover from rain.

Gina looked up to Drulović, her face obscured and hidden by the opaque plazen-glass visor that kept her identity hidden, she was a random person in an Aschen combat suit, and Gina intended on keeping it that way. Silently she motioned for Drulović to get into the Raptor. Gina had the cabin door closed shut with an audible thunk, before she turned to the Director. "You were followed." Gina said, her voice distorted through the suit's vox caster.

Drulović looked around for a place to sit inside the cabin, setting her folder on her lap. "I noticed," she said dryly, folding her hands on top of the black folder. "Mr. Cranford refuses to let me out of someone's sight. It's actually quite unfortunate. Whatever happened to taking quiet evening walks alone?" Drulović shrugged, her shoulders slumping a little. Her dark gaze rested on the visor hiding Gina's eyes, her eyes narrowing a little.

Gina's visor hissed for several moments before it retracted, revealing the woman's face, blue eyes looking to Drulović. "I heard it took some string pulling for a Gemonese consulate to even be informed of Admiral Shaw's detention. Terra boasts its ideals of freedom and sovereignty, but then it turns around and violates the most basic rights of its detainees. I'm glad you agree with me. A military tribunal reviewed Kendra's case. They have decided that she will be punished. We're going to strip her of her rank and assign her to a Battlestar peeling potatoes. The problem is Khamtai has her locked up, and we would like her back. Since Terra was so quick to lock her away like a rat in a cage, did she get decent medical care? Meals? Or did they just lock her up and throw away the key?"

"I arranged for Mr. Plishkin to see to Ms. Shaw's health a few days ago, Ms. Inviere," replied Drulović, inclining her head. "She has eaten what I have been eating," which admittedly wasn't the best, as Drulović had been eating leftovers that Jelisaveta had cooked for the last few days, having Ahmad take some each day for Kendra as well. After all, everyone deserved homecooked meals. "Ms. Shaw is fine, Ms. Inviere, be assured of that." Drulović settled firmly into her seat, leaning back to look up at Gina with a thoughtful expression.

Gina nodded. "Good, I am glad someone is tending to her needs," she said as she shifted in her seat. "Now let's get to details. What do I need to do to ensure that Admiral Shaw is safely in Gemonese custody? I will not let the Terran Government try and execute Admiral Shaw."

"Pledge your support for our continued sovereignty, Ms. Inviere," responded Drulović without shifting in expression or tone, as she rubbed her hands against one another idly. "It does not need to be public, but your pledge to support our sovereignty is all I need to hear. I can have Ms. Shaw here in twenty minutes with that pledge, Ms. Inviere." Drulović blinked slowly at the taller woman, in her simple black suit and scarf looking very starkly different from the Admiral in the combat skin.

Gina looked to the metal floor of the Raptor. "You have my word that I will work towards Terra's continued sovereignty so long as that sovereignty does not put me in conflict with the values I have sworn to uphold," she said, nodding. "The Gemonese Government will support Terra's sovereignty. As soon as Shaw's feet are on Langaran soil, Siress Porter will sign the reunification treaty."

Drulović nodded, apparently satisfied. She reached for her cell phone, twisting a little to get at the irksome little object, the folder shifting on her lap and spilling more of the music across the Raptor's floor just as Drulović grasped the phone. "And Mr. Fazari asks why I hate technology," she muttered, stooping for the music while attempting to find the correct button to call a number.

Gina nodded, seeming too satisfied at the outcome of the situation. "I trust that we will be able to depart freely and without attack. It would be a shame if Mr. Khamtai got an itchy trigger finger. I also wonder if your agents will be ambushed by the NPA," she said, shifting in her seat before opening the cabin door. "I am glad Terra has some reasonable individuals. This planet would have been glassed if it weren't for people like you."

"Don't speak of me, Ms. Inviere," said Drulović, rising with her music and the phone in hand. "Ms. Shaw knows why I will have allowed her to leave." She brought the phone to her ear, speaking quietly in Serbian before turning back to Gina and slipping the phone into her pocket. "Ms. Shaw will be here in twenty minutes. I will wait to ensure her arrival." Drulović stepped from the Raptor into the alley, for a moment in the dim light looking almost lost. She glanced toward the cars parked on Main Street with narrowed eyes.

Gina stepped out behind Drulović. "Those two cars. They're agents. I trust they won't be interceding?" she asked as the familiar clacking of a fuel rod gun was heard, evidence of one of the concealed agents preparing for attack. "What will they do when they see Kendra step out of that car and into this Raptor?"

"That depends on what orders they have from Mr. Mulavi," responded Drulović, tiredness creeping into her voice. It was close to ten at night. "I would hope they would know not to interfere with my operations. But in these days, it's hard to be sure of anything, hm?" Drulović rubbed her fingers against the image of St. Sava, watching the NPA tails. Were they there for her protection, or were they surveilling her? It was impossible to tell.

Gina nodded. "You understand if they attack me, I will have to defend myself," she said, turning to the pilot, whom was already spooling the Raptor's FTL drive to make a quick escape.

It had been nineteen minutes. "She should be getting here soon," Gina said.

"Oh, I doubt it would come to that," Drulović brushed some of her hair behind her ear. As she had said, a white SUV with government plates appeared at the other end of the street, twenty-one minutes after having made the phone call. Drulović stepped toward the street, and at once the SUV slowed, approaching the mouth of the alley where Drulović and Gina were standing. It came to a stop, and Ahmad Fazari opened and slammed the driver side door, walking around to the windowless back doors. He opened the back doors, revealing Kendra, and offered his hand to help her down. Ahmad had been well trained, and had done this so quickly and efficiently that not only where they now out of sight of the NPA agents watching, but that it had all occurred in less than thirty seconds.

Gina quickly helped Kendra into the back of the Raptor, where she would be safe and protected from the prying eyes of the NPA Agents. Gina shook Fazari's hand and then she turned to Drulović. "Thank you. I can take Kendra back to Gemenon. This never happened," she said, looking around. "Gemonese shock troops extracted Kendra and Bifrosted out after a power outage; how's that for a cover story?"

Ahmad gave Gina a firm shake, coming to stand beside and just behind his Director. "To cover what, Ms. Inviere?" Drulović smiled innocently for a moment before assuming a somber expression. "Remember what you said to me, Ms. Inviere. Mr. Cranford needs more allies. In any case," she said with a sigh, "Ms. Walsh keeps reminding me that I'm usually off-key and miss too many rehearsals." She tapped her fingers against the black folder.

Kendra peered out of the Raptor and then looked to Drulović. "Thank you," she said, grasping the Lieutenant pins from the small box and affixing them to her collar, before turning back to Gina.

Gina nodded. "Your world needs allies more than it needs enemies. This is a step in the right direction. I must depart now," she said as she climbed back into the Raptor. With a roar of the engines, the ship began to lift off, and then it accelerated off into the sky.

Ranida learned that after several moments from Inviere's return to the Rapid Conversion, the Gemonese fleet began to FTL out of the system, one by one. Coalition assets saw the same result, and the day was saved again.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sun Oct 09, 2011 5:58 pm

(OOC: Post collaborated by Nemo [R0NlN] playing Rubano Malijin and Ylanne playing Arianne Drulović. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Fourth Floor
Government Center
Wing City, Terra

Rubano Malijin's office was an impressive place to behold. The Parliament member had furnished the room with an elegant black and dark red theme, boldly modest while subtly professional. The carpet, a deep shade of sanguine, lay stretched about the floorspace, slick-ebony furniture jutting from the red artistically. Several portraits and artifacts of Ugandan make lay arranged about the room, mounted on displays or hung up fashionably. A massive window made up most of the far wall, giving way to a stunning view of nighttime Wing City. The golden glowing lights below shimmered and danced like fireflies.

It was these lights that Rubano watched now, his arm rested against the glass as he delicately sipped from a crystal glass of red-wine. His face was thoughtful, his thick brows knitted together in focused concentration.

Arianne Drulović strode through the halls of Government Center, her shoes clicking on the polished marble floors. She moved slowly, watching her distorted reflection in the floor as she went, eventually coming to the door with Rubano's name plate on it. She raised her fist and knocked twice, rapping her knuckles against the wood. Dressed in a plain black suit with a colorful scarf tied about her neck, the Director looked decidedly out of place with the finery and ornate furnishings throughout Government Center.

Rubano turned sharply, his eyes carefully watching the door. "Come in," he called out, his voice commanding and articulate. So, had Drulović come at last? Rubano certainly had some questions for the TIB Director. Although he knew much about her and had seen her on several occasions, he hadn't formerly met her. Most who had claimed her to be a remarkable woman. The Parliament member took a quiet sip of his wine, his eyes darting to his window one last time before flitting back to his office as he prepared to greet the Director.

Drulović pushed the door open with her right hand, stepping into the stylish office. She shut the door quietly behind her. "Good evening, Mr. Malijin," said Drulović steadily, walking slowly across the red carpet, her shoes leaving slight impressions as she approached Rubano, seated by the window with a glass of wine.

"Madame Director," Rubano smiled grandly, stepping forward as he placed his wine glass on the desk, offering his hand to Drulović. "It is an honor to meet you at last. Your reputation in the TNG precedes you." Rubano's voice was deep and honeyed, his words flowing together in perfect articulation. Had the African native not taken a job with Parliament, he could have made a killing narrating audiobooks.

Drulović took Rubano's hand in a firm, though surprisingly soft grip. "Oh, doesn't everyone have a reputation these days, Mr. Malijin," said Drulović with a small smile, inclining her head. "Thank you for inviting me." She looked up at the far taller minister in front of her, keeping her left hand still and at her side. "Sometime, you ought to come for tea."

"Delightful," Rubano laughed cheerily as he stepped back. "I'm afraid I have no tea on hand, though there's some good wine if you're interested." Rubano nodded to the bottle and glasses before gesturing to the black leather seat across from his desk. "Please, sit Madame Director." The politician himself turned to his own seat, perhaps a bit larger and more elaborately decorated.

Drulović raised her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Malijin, but I keep wine to the Holy Eucharist." She moved in front of the seat, settling carefully onto the leather. The large chair dwarfed the Director, creating an almost childlike effect as she crossed one leg over the other, sitting near the edge of the chair so that her feet could reach the floor. She folded her hands over her knees. It was noteworthy that she did not have any documents or a briefcase with her. Drulović pressed her lips together, looking up at the taller man as if in expectation.

Rubano nodded respectfully, returning the wine to a refrigerated cabinet in his desk. Rubano also retrieved a small binder of documents as he sat down, flipping through the papers curiously. "I think you know why I asked you to meet with me, yes Madame Director?" Rubano asked thoughtfully, his eyes still fixated on the papers. Despite his clear respect and reverence to the Director, he perfectly maintained an air of authority and command.

"You would like to understand what the Bureau is doing to protect our national interests, I think," Drulović said with a small nod. "I imagine most of your colleagues would as well, Mr. Malijin." She pronounced the Minister's name impeccably, her voice carrying very little trace of any emotion except, perhaps, mild restraint -- the sort affected by businessmen and dispassionate professors. She arched her eyebrows.

"Correct," Rubano nodded. She was astute and to the point, both good qualities. "There's quite a bit of mischief stirring up, as you and I both know. Between this 'war' with the Hadantites, the struggles made by the Confederation to revive themselves, surely you wouldn't blame me for wanting to ensure that our intelligence and security are in the right places?" The Minister smiled grandly, his hands folded together as they rested on the desk.

Drulović blinked slowly at Rubano, her expression revealing nothing in the way of emotion. "I keep my sources in good places. Their intelligence certainly keeps the Bureau's analysts quite busy," said Drulović, with a small chuckle. "I imagine you share that goal, to keep our world safe, hm, Mr. Malijin? I keep our agents where they need to be."

"Good to know, Madame Director," Rubano nodded, "but I'm certain you understand if I should require a bit more understanding of Terran security then just your assurance of it's functionality, valued as it is." The Minister set aside a handful of papers on his desk, meeting Drulović eye to eye. His coal black irises seemed bottomless, the abysmal depths of his gaze almost hypnotic. "What security measures have we taken against the Hadantites?" he asked slowly. There was a strangeness in his voice coaxing her to answer.

"I've ordered the monitoring of certain individuals, Mr. Malijin," responded Drulović, "and the development of human intelligence within the Ha'la'tha," she said, referring to the Tauron criminal organization that controlled Hadante. "I'm afraid I can't divulge anything more specific than that." She leaned back in her seat, blinking at Rubano, her dark eyes revealing little other than perhaps boredom. Her saint's medallion glinted for a moment in the ambient light of the office.

Rubano leaned back in his chair, masterfully masking any discontent he might have had with the answer. "And with the Aschens?" Rubano pressed further, "are we involving ourselves with the Confederation? How close are they to reviving their empire?"

"I don't make foreign policy, Mr. Malijin," responded Drulović, inclining her head. "Surely you know that? Mr. Ashkenazi develops our foreign policies. If he makes a mess, I'll clean it." She smiled inwardly at her own joke.

"Ah, but perhaps you misinterpret the purpose of this meeting, Madame Director..." Rubano grinned, leaning forward in his seat. "...I did not call Mr. Askenazi into my office." There was some darker element to Rubano's tone of voice now. Despite holding all the same charms and tricks, there was a quiet tone of violent impatience buried beneath the suave. "I asked for you, Madame Director, you who single-handedly saved this planet from the Taiyou invasion. You who braved the kidnappings of the Hadantites, looked our enemies in the eye, and walked away. You who created the TIB, an orgnazation existent solely for the gathering of intelligence and information." Perhaps for an instant, Rubano's eyes flickered to the Saint Medallion hanging across Drulović's neck; blood-thirsty disdain in his face. "Yes, Madame Director," Rubano smiled once again, "I asked for you. Because Prime Minister Cranford himself couldn't yield the answers that you can."

"Oh?" Drulović's eyebrows knitted together, arching upwards. "Is that so, Mr. Malijin? I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed with me, then." She reached for the small notepad and pen kept inside her inner breast pocket, and flipped to a new page, clicking the pen open. Drulović began to jot notes line by line on the page in exceedingly neat Cyrillic script oddly slanted to the left. She used her right wrist to steady the notepad while using the same hand to write; Drulović's left hand rested at her side, unmoving. Drulović's eyes flicked upward to Rubano, a small frown appearing on her face. "I'm afraid you have expectations that can't be met, Mr. Malijin. There is certain information that I cannot divulge; I'm sure you understand."

Rubano leaned quietly back in his chair, his fingers meshed below his chin as he peered from behind a mask of professional courtesy. For a long while, he said nothing, merely watching the woman as she wrote elegantly into her notepad, his gaze distracted by the occasional shimmer of her Medallion. "...of course, Madame Director," he spoke at last, nodding in consent. "I wouldn't want to jeopardize any endeavors made by your TIB by pursuing this topic with you." He grinned. "Or jeopardize the TIB itself, for that matter." There was just the slightest slur in his words as he added that last little thought; the venomous tone of an almost-threat.

Drulović had covered an entire page with the Cyrillic letters and turned to the next, scrawling across the top. To anyone unfamiliar with the Cyrillic alphabet, her handwriting might have seemed calligraphic or elegant, but to those who knew it, the letters as if they had been formed by a schoolgirl still learning to write -- too carefully, too mechanical, and entirely lacking in personality. "Is that all you needed, Mr. Malijin?" asked Drulović, looking up again from her notepad and meeting Rubano's eyes. Her pen paused over the notepad, and she reached with her left hand to brush some of her hair from her face. Oddly enough, she didn't appear to flex the individual fingers, moving her hand as if it were a single object. "Or is there something else that I can do for you?"

"Nothing more, Madame Director," Rubano nodded, rising from his chair as he smiled grandly. "I respect your time far too greatly to waste any more of it." The Minister nodded slightly, walking around his desk as he attempted to lead Drulović to the door, opening it for her so as to let her out. "It was an honor to receive you," he added thoughtfully, "it seems as if your reputation did you no injustice. You are a remarkable woman. Strong in will."

Drulović shut the notepad and slipped it along with the pen back into her inner pocket. She rose slowly, resting her hand against Rubano's desk to steady herself as she did so, before turning toward the door that the Minister was holding for her. "Oh, there's no need to flatter me, Mr. Malijin," said Drulović, the hint of a bemused smile appearing on her lips. "Although, I am glad to go home. I have one of Mr. Andrić's novels waiting for me. There's precious little time to read these days. It's a shame, really."

"Well, heaven forbid I detain you any longer..." Rubano grinned, "...though I have a feeling we'll be seeing eachother again soon, Madame Director. As I said, there's all kinds of mischief going on these days." A sly nod. "You just never know what will bring Parliament at the TIB together."

Drulović laughed, shaking her head. "War, Mr. Malijin," she said, "or the threat of war. Good night, Mr. Malijin. Drive safely home." She gave him a wave and then headed down the hallway, her shoes clicking on the marble as she walked slowly. Drulović moved at a snail's pace, her steps themselves small as well. She watched the floor as she walked, and from a very far distance, could have been easily mistaken for someone's grandmother.

Rubano watched her leave, his arms folded over his chest. With every click of her shoes on the floor, the smiling mask was lifted from the Minister's grimacing face, until all was peeled away. What was left was only a menacing contortion of pure disdain and spite. With a somewhat inhuman, beastly growl, Rubano turned away all-together back into his office. He had work to do.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Mon Oct 10, 2011 7:56 pm

(OOC: Post collaborated by barney_fife playing Cally McGregor and the Tech Con mercenaries and Ylanne playing Javor Nesic, Michael Kammel, and Natalija Drulović. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




In a suburban part of Dallas neighboring one of the business districts, Michael Kammel heard the screams, the crash, and the sounds of items smashing from the house next door for the seventh time in the last year. He glanced through his kitchen window, the clock on the wall behind him giving the time as close to one in the morning. He sighed. What the hell were the Nesics doing? He watched for a moment, seeing the silhouettes of the man and the woman in their own house moving furiously back and forth. He went to the phone and dialed 911, the corners of his lips twitching as he paced back and forth in his own tiled kitchen. "There's some kind of fighting and breaking things going on next door," he told the dispatcher, giving his address in a thick Southern drawl.

The voice on the other end replied to the 911 call. "Peacekeepers will be dispatched to your location shortly. Please stand by. Your security is important to us; that's why Tech Con has partnered with the Dallas Police Department to earn you heightened security. Progress and people working in total harmony. Tech Con," the AI voice replied on the other end. It wasn't long before the gleaming white finish of two Tech Con HiLux Technicals were seen barreling down the street, no lights, no sirens. Just silence. It wasn't much longer before the two of them pulled up to the house, with a third pulling up to the neighbor's house.

The Nesic residence got a loud pound on the front door. Then silence as Foreman Cally McGregor stood with four Tech Con security officers and two RDA mercenaries, waiting for an answer.

At first there was no response. From the outside, the Nesic residence was a blue, clapboard house with a gabled porch with multiple windows, and few lights. It took several minutes before the door was thrown violently open and Javor Nesic, with bloodshot eyes and a glistening forehead appeared in the doorway, staggering a little. "The hell you want?" he glowered, running his fingers through his hair. His tie was askew, and his shirt unbuttoned from the top. He glared at the security officers and mercenaries.

Inside, a lamp lay broken on the living room floor beside several shattered picture frames. Broken glass littered the newly cleaned carpet, and one of the expensive leather couches had been moved aside. No one else was immediately visible.

Cally took an immediate assessment of the situation and she promptly reached out and grabbed Javor, yanking him outside and slamming him against the wall. "You, calm down right now. You're being detained under suspicion of domestic violence," she ordered before two Tech Con security officers entered the home. Being private security, they didn't need warrants or probable cause. They quickly entered the house to search for anyone else while Cally placed Javor in a pair of binders and glared at him. "You, what the frak is going on?" she shouted.

One of the security officers looked for Natalija Drulović. Once they found her they proceeded to help her up. "You okay, ma'am?" he asked, slinging his plasma rifle back over his back. "Security Officer Nabaat, Tech Con security division. We received a call of a noise complaint."

"Probably Michael again," Natalija mumbled. She had been sprawled across the kitchen floor behind the granite-topped island with a nasty gash and a row of bruises across her face, her own clothes disheveled and askew. Her vision blurred for a moment before focusing on Nabaat. "I'm fine; I just -- I fell."

Javor grunted, returning Cally's glare with a menacing look of his own. His breath reeked of alcohol. "Let go of me, you fucking bitch," he snarled, attempting to wrest himself away from her. "You have no right to invade a man's own house! What the fuck happened to my rights? Huh? Do they disappear just because you have a badge? When I'm done with you, you'll fucking lose your job!"

Cally laughed. "Article five, fucker. Good luck battling through Tech Con's army of lawyers. You're going downtown, buddy. Keep resisting, and I will have no choice but to stun you, so you either stop resisting or I'm going to stun you," she ordered, before throwing him against the hood of one of the HiLuxes. She put him in the back inside the cage, with the bed of one of the trucks modified into a paddy wagon. Cally dusted off her hands and entered the house. "We're private security, not law enforcement," she added before she stepped over one of the lamps. "What happened here?" she asked, with one of the Tech Con officers collecting a statement from the neighbor's house. Cally had her hands on her hips and she was watching the other woman. "You fell, huh? Why do you keep defending him?" she said, noting the bruises and the destruction of the house. "You don't trash an entire house by falling."

At the house next door, Michael shook his head. "This is the seventh time this year. It always starts with screaming. It sounds like they're fixing to start a full blown war. I hear things breaking. Sometimes more screams. They never talk to me neither, and don't go to any neighborhood barbecues. I never see either of them, and frankly, I don't think I'll be fixing to make a visit anytime soon." Michael Kammel glared angrily over at the cars outside the Nesic house.

Inside, Natalija shook her head. "I'm clumsy," she said, lifting her fingers to touch the wound on her head. She winced and reached for one of the towels in the kitchen, dabbing it gently to absorb the blood. "I'll clean up later. I'm fine," she insisted, but the wide eyes and nervous, darting glances in the direction of where they had taken Javor suggested otherwise.

Cally shook her head. "Tech Con will be filing charges against your husband. You are going to be taken to a hospital for assessment," she said, looking to the door for a moment. "Come on, you need to get those wounds looked at," she said, reaching out to offer the woman a hand. "He can't hurt you anymore, I promise," she said, softening her gaze.

The officer at the neighbor's house nodded. "You will need to submit a testimony to the Board so formal charges can be filed and an investigation launched," he said, handing the man some paperwork. "I am surprised that the local police didn't handle the situation. Then again they were short; that's why we're here," he said, filling out some paperwork of his own. "She'll be taken to a hospital and he will be taken to a detention center for the night. Do you have access to the house to lock up?"

"They don't talk to anyone ever, but I reckon their spare key is under the flowerpot under the right-side window; I've seen them get the key from there," said Michael, shrugging as he opened a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulled out a lighter. "But I don't know the security code for their fancy system."

Inside the kitchen, Natalija backpedaled, accidentally bumping into the cabinet behind her and crashing to the floor again with a yelp of pain. "No, I'm fine; I swear, I fell; nothing happened; why are you doing this?" A look of sheer terror came across her face as she seemed to shrink under Cally's gaze.

Cally looked down to Natalija and frowned. "Look, I know you're afraid. I was in your shoes once with my husband. He would beat me and throw things at me. The best way is out. Are you afraid he's going to hurt you?" she asked, before she knelt on one knee, the gear clunking with her movements. "I promise. I am here to help. I know what happened in here. I see your bruises, the look of terror on your face. He can't hurt you now. He'll have to get through me and my men," she said, picking up some things on the floor and placing her hands on the woman's shoulders gently. "I can't help you if you don't tell me anything."

"Nothing's wrong," Natalija insisted, her eyes darting left and right. Her hands were shakinga little as she spoke. "I swear, nothing's wrong. Please," she pleaded, "leave me alone. It will be better for everyone that way." She couldn't quite meet Cally's eyes.

Having been trained in the Aschen Military and Tech Con's RDA, Cally knew when someone was lying. The evidence was staring the security officer in the face. "Denying it won't get you any help. Please, let me help you; I want to help you. I can't help you if you defend that monster," she said, urgency in the woman's voice.

Natalija shook her head helplessly. "No one can do anything," she said flatly. "Anything you do will only make the situation worse. Please, I'm begging you, pretend like it never happened."

Cally shook her head. "I can't do that. The testimony from your neighbor should be enough for Tech Con to file charges. We're going to lock him up for a very long time," she said, rising back to her feet. "I don't know what you have to fear. He can't hurt you. What has he got that prevents you from talking? What does he have on you?"

"I'm not saying anything else without a lawyer," said Natalija, shaking her head more vigorously. "There's nothing you or the legal system can do to change the situation. I'm. Not. Talking." Her voice was firm and commanding.

Cally pursed her lips before she stood up, shaking her head. "You're not afraid of death are you?" she said, pacing back and forth. She turned back outside to the parked HiLux. "Decisions, decisions." She then heaved a sigh. "So be it. I tried. Corporal, release the man," Cally said as she started out, the gravel crunching under her footsteps. "Turn the dashcam off," she said before she withdrew her plasma rifle.

The clunking of an armored door echoed as a mercenary pulled Javor out. Then the mercenary turned to Cally. "Foreman?"

Cally then cocked back, and swung the stock of her plasma rifle right towards the man's sternum. "You like to hit women?" she shouted, before she took another swing across the man's face. "Go on, hit me!" she barked.

Javor grunted in pain, doubling over, and staggered to the side at the second blow, the rifle tearing a gash along the side of his face. "The fuck is your problem, bitch? I'm going to fucking DROWN you in lawsuits!" He shouted. "You have NO FUCKING RIGHT to come to MY house and violate my RIGHTS!" His cheeks flushed, his bloodshot eyes staring straight at Cally, as his hand fumbled for his pocket, retrieving one of his business cards and throwing it in her direction. "You talk to my lawyer, bitch."

Cally paced around for a moment. "Lawsuits? You can't charge me. I have my rights too. You have no right hitting a woman. How does it feel?" she said, walking around. "Go ahead and sue me; I'll frakking bury you," she said, racking the plasma rifle and shoving it against the man's cheek. "Say your gods damned prayers." she said, racking the rifle, which gave a high pitched whine.

"Foreman? What are you doing? The company will charge him. We can't charge him if you kill him."

Cally growled, and then pulled the rifle away. "Mr. Nesic, we'll be in touch though, I promise." She cupped his chin in her hand. "If I come back, I will kill you," she said, shoving him down before one of the mercenaries undid the binders. "Let's go," she said, slinging the rifle over her back.

Javor stormed into the house, lurching perilously to the side as he staggered over the gravel and then the grass, stumbling up the stairs into the house. The door slammed. Across the street, Michael massaged his temples, watching the the Tech Con officers prepare to leave. "It's going to start again," he muttered, but he did not hear any screams. Not for a while.

The officer turned to Michael and then nodded. "Foreman McGregor is likely going to post an officer to watch the house for a while," he said, turning back to the house. "I don't know what she said to him, but it seemed to click," he said, making his way to one of the HiLux pickups. Most of them left, except for one. A single mercenary watched and listened into the house for screams and scuffling.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Tue Oct 11, 2011 1:16 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by AzricanRepublic playing Raymond Daylon, Ylanne playing Sisavang Khamtai and Arianne Drulović, and Nemo [R0NlN] playing Austin Marshall. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Sheriff Raymond Daylon strolled through the door of Government Center, the Scatterran FBP Corporal holding the door open in front of him as the man paced through the lobby. The entourage around him took in the sprawling embodiment of Terran democracy, eyes rising towards the ceiling high above them while Daylon approached the first in a series of security checkpoint and kiosks. It was obvious from his attire that he belonged to the Scatterran military. Where a normal soldier would be adorned in armor, ballistic plating and assault gear, the firmly pressed combat fatigues of the Sheriff displayed the clawing talon of the FBP's Investigation Department on his shoulder, while his nametag and FBP rank were shown on the left breast of his coat.

"I am Sheriff Daylon, of the Coalition Federal Bureau of Police -- Investigations. I would like to speak with any Terran Government representative that is capable of affording for my sudden arrival, please," Daylon replied, his voice considerate and a trained counter of his imposing posture and behavior; the four other Scatterrans remained closed behind him, though were already emptying their pockets in consideration for security checkpoints ahead.

"Certainly, Sheriff," replied the security officer at the first of the checkpoints, inclining his head. "Is there any particular department or ministry with whose representative you would like to speak, or simply whoever is in the building right now?" He looked over his shoulder at another of the security officers, who crossed the lobby, dress shoes clicking on the polished marble floor, toward the receptionist's desk to inquire about who was present inside Government Center on this particular day.

The gilded clock in the wall above the row of elevators proclaimed it to be close to ten in the morning, a full hour after the rush of staffers arriving for work for the day. There was still a fairly large number of people in the lobby, engaged in hushed conversations with one another. Several copies of the day's Independent were strewn about, and the object of national attention was clear.

The Sheriff placed the briefcase suspended at his side onto the counter, retrieving a small computer tablet from an opened slip of the case. Looking at a watch suspended tight around his wrist, Daylon clicked his tongue against his teeth a minute as he monitored the time. The Scatterran clock operated with six extra hours, requiring a bit of calculation. Tapping at one icon with a finger, though, the computerized watch solved the majority of the calculations to give the Sheriff a definite time.

"It's about ten now -- Could I speak with someone from the cabinet?" he inquired, hopefully his intention meaning the Prime Minister or any of his associates. Leaning against the counter slightly, the Scatterran produced a keycard from his pocket. "I have identity verification on behalf of the MID as well, for security," he said, offering the card by pushing it along the counter with one finger.

"Okay, let me process this so I can get you visitor badges. You'll need to wear your visitor badge in plain sight as long as you're in the building, and must turn it in when you leave." The officer took his ID card and headed toward the security desk across the lobby from the receptionist, while one of his fellows waved the Sheriff through the metal detector and slid the briefcase through the x-ray machine.

"If you have any weapons, you need to check them with me as well," said the other security officer, eyeing Daylon with intense curiosity.

The first officer returned with a visitor's badge for Dalon, handing it to him. "I'll need identification from each of your associates as well," he said, nodding toward the four Scatterrans accompanying the Sheriff. "I checked with the receptionist, and right now, Minister Khamtai is the only one inside the building. Looks like Parliament took a vacation day today. She's calling upstairs to let him know you're here now."

Sheriff Daylon and the four other Scatterrans followed the Terran security parameters with a practiced efficiency, Raymond being the first to pull the lapels of his jacket open and pry the Mk. 98 handgun from its holster in front of the security officer. Their weapons were handed over without incident, the FBP officers graciously conforming to the protocol, producing four ID cards and handing their weaponry to the security personnel.

"Mark 98, ten millimeter ... Standard of the FBP; battery switch is on the bottom," the Sheriff returned in a subtle voice, guiding one of the Terrans around the weapon before he located the small switch located alongside the pistol grip. Closing his jacket, the Sheriff pulled the holster of the combat knife from the attachment on his belt, planting that on the counter as well. Pinning the TNG security voucher onto the breast of his jacket, beside his nametag, he waited with a stern look on his face while the other officers followed, before turning to the receptionist as she arrived and nodding. "Thank you. We're ready to speak to him whenever he is ready for us."

The security officers checked the weapons into separate locked cabinets behind the security booth. "You'll be able to reclaim your weapons when you leave."

The receptionist replaced the phone in its cradle and nodded at the men. "You can head upstairs now if you like. Sixth floor, last door on the left." She directed them to the row of golden-doored elevators where a few people in somber business suits waited for the elevator doors to open at the lobby. One of them was a slender young man of Middle Eastern appearance clutching only a thin manila file folder.

Sheriff Daylon was quick to move past the security checkpoints once their group had been verified and authorized. Behind him, the four other officers formed a tight square formation on his tail, the expertise and training implemented at all times amongst the Bureau. As Daylon passed on, he nodded and made a final wave with one hand before hefting the briefcase with the other and letting it dangle at his side. Leading towards the row of elevators leading upwards, the Sheriff mumbled under his breath about the FBP practice to always use stairs over the elevator system. "'Stairs don't fall ten stories' ... "

"You aren't thinkin' of goin' Directorate 89, 'uh, Sheriff?" One of the Scatterrans returned as they stood in front of an elevator door at the far end of the row, hoping their choice would give them one of the unoccupied ones as he pushed the call button down, and began watching the flashing numbers tick down lower and lower.

"Not unless I'm fuckin' dead." His rejoinder caused a few chuckles from the others, a smile on the Sheriff's own lips as the door opened to reveal the bay of the elevator. "I think we should be more concerned about this, than a holdover from the 80s," he said, stepping into the elevator and turning on his heel before he was joined by the others. "What happened doesn't make sense -- last night, Kendra Shaw was in Terran custody; today, she isn't. We've all seen the news."

The people at the other end of the row of elevators disappeared behind golden doors. The digitized numbers slowly descended to one before the elevator doors dinged open, allowing the Scatterrans to enter. The elevators had a wine-red carpet with small gold-colored designs, and mirrored ceilings that gave occupants the opportunity to watch themselves. When the doors opened again on the sixth floor, a marble-floored hallway identical in pattern to the lobby greeted the Scatterrans. Windows allowed natural light into the corridor, which boasted doors in both directions, to the East and West wings.

The elevator doors beside them opened, and the Middle Easterner emerged, striding toward the left with an unhurried pace. There was no one else in the hall, and the closed doors prevented passerby from overhearing conversations behind them.

Sheriff Daylon strode out from the elevator with the officers in toe behind him; as he turned to address a small map on the wall of the elevator door though, the four men took the few seconds to observe the sprawl of Wing City from the 6th story window of the government center. Their conversation was motivated by what they saw, pointing and tracing imaginary lines through the air as they pinpointed sectors of the city from digital maps and imagery.

"Minister ... Minister ... Minister ... " Daylon sounded the names off under his breath before identifying his man. Looking toward the door leading into the east wing, the Sheriff made a soft clicking noise with one finger and pointed to the door leading east. At the door, the Sheriff made one quick check of his attire, the men around him and the case grasped tightly in his hand before knocking on the door.

"So, what do you think they're going to say 'we want to take the Aschen back'? Why did the Gemonese even make it through to Terra in the first place?" One of them inquired, his voice hushed and rapid, with which the Sheriff responded with a cold hush.

"At the least they will know more than we do, hopefully."

The door was opened from the inside by a college student who had to be an intern. The East Wing consisted of a labyrinth of offices that all seemed to belong to the Ministry of Justice, according to the placard by the door. The receptionist was a young man with thin, wire glasses who looked up as soon as the door opened to reveal the Scatterran visitors. "Sheriff Daylon, yes?" he asked, peering over the edge of his glasses with a frown. "The Minister should be right with you."

The door to the inner office opened, and the Middle Eastern looking man appeared again, now carrying a stack of manila folders. "I don't think that's necessary, Director," he said, and Arianne Drulović came into sight behind him, folding a sheet of paper in half as they emerged into the outer office and reception area.

The Sheriff gracefully entered the lavish government offices, his attache following closely behind him before seating themselves at a distance as a sign of respect. The four officers collected themselves by the door, and choose to remain there as the Sheriff prepared the case of information. As the Director entered, though, the Sheriff appeared to make a little consideration. Arianne Drulović had been recorded the previous night by a Vulture fast-reaction VTOL and had been on a notice of interest in last night's confusion.

"Minister Khamtai, Director Drulović, I'm grateful both of you are here for this," the Sheriff remarked, his eyes turning downward and focusing atop the case as he placed it upon a table and unlatched the two primary fasteners. "Last night, there was a Coalition Vulture at low-altitudes above the city in response to the Aschen incident surrounding Kendra Shaw -- who, before we continue I must confirm, is ... no longer in custody by the TNG?"

"I'm sorry?" Drulović blinked slowly at the Sheriff, a small frown appearing on her face. Behind her and the young man accompanying her, the short, sturdy figure of Minister Sisavang Khamtai appeared, nodding respectfully to Daylon. "I'm afraid I did not know about this meeting," she said, casting a curious look toward Khamtai, who approached Daylon and extended his hand.

"Minister Khamtai," Khamtai introduced himself with a business-like tone and smile, "it's a pleasure." He looked at the case while Daylon unlatched it, and then back at the man's face. "No, Shaw is no longer in Terran custody."

"Should I leave, Director?" asked the Middle Eastern looking man, and Drulović patted his arm.

"If you like, Mr. Fazari," said Drulović, with a small nod. She turned her gaze back to Daylon, watching the Scatterran with intense curiosity.

"The pleasure is all mine, Minister Khamtai, Director Drulović," Daylon said, still keeping his face stern and his eyes locked down at the case, which quickly swung open to reveal a stack of papers and a small computer housing occupying a square sector of the case. Firstly, he pulled a few of the antiquated papers, printed on Terran milled paper since in his stay the Sheriff had to familiarize himself with the outdated information system, and slid them onto the table. The first pages were a series of low-altitude images of the city, dated and timed with a small cluster of numbers indicating the ship that took them.

"Firstly are images taken from a Vulture flying over Wing City the previous night before Kendra Shaw... for all intents and purposes, disappeared," Daylon said, pulling the computer module from the briefcase and using one finger to pluck at a holographic projector. When it activated, a similar cluster of pictures were seen in a 3D comparison. "I think that this information is best provided to as many people present as possible -- Minister Khamtai, Director... I think what little evidence the Coalition has observed in these past hours points to a subordinate, possibly internal, explanation for the disappearance of Kendra Shaw."

Without a word, Ahmad slipped from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. "We're still trying to sort that out ourselves, Sheriff," replied Khamtai, leaning forward to inspect the holograph. Drulović ignored the holograph, reaching instead for the papers and resting her finger against the images, her eyes gliding over them without any visible reaction on her features. "And we appreciate any help you might give us in determining who might have been responsible. Director Drulović was just telling me that there were multiple Gemonese on Terra last night." Khamtai narrowed his eyes. "What exactly do these images mean?" he asked, his voice betraying his unfamiliarity with the situation.

The Sheriff nodded to the Minister, his hand pulling two other pictures from the briefcase and leaving them on the counter. Looking over the digital imagery, the Coalition officer rose a finger to the interface of the computer tablet. With a brief chime, the image of the business sector of Wing City zoomed inward, particles of light growing in intensity as a sub-level program screened an interference through the image. "This is an image taken after gravity anomalies suggested a small aircraft entered Wing City airspace. It was cloaked, obviously, or we would be able to see it. Perhaps this is what brought in the Gemonese the Director was speaking of..."

"Yes, Mr. Daylon," responded Drulović with a nod, smoothing some of the wrinkles from her dark green scarf before folding her hands over one another, still holding the single sheet of paper. "Ms. Inviere requested permission from Mr. Ranida to come planetside to demand Ms. Shaw's person. I imagine she thought it would be best to ask face to face, the old-fashioned way."

"The General let Inviere come to Terra?" Khamtai gave Drulović an incredulous look. "Why in the name of all that is holy would he have done that?" His accented English and awkward syntax suggested that Khamtai was not from the Wing City area. Khamtai looked at the hologram again, his frown deepening as he rubbed his thumb along his jaw.

Daylon gave his full attention to the Director's explanation, his face appearing for a minute as if he already expected it, perhaps not in the same words of course, but as he parsed through more of the data in the briefcase, the holographic imagery began shifting from the broad altitude shots to pictures of street corners, populated with small figures frozen in time. "These images were in Coalition datacenters for nearly sixteen hours these past days while they were being investigated. The cloaked anomalies were the first to be recognized by our image technicians -- that was, of course, until we discovered this at 4:18AM this morning," Daylon said, his chin tucked downward before the image of a pair of black sedans following another vehicle rolled on through a section of holographic video.

"Onboard that Vulture, the pilot and co-pilot identified that group to be NPA vehicles that traversed the city -- first to Main Street, where it stops once before an SUV arrived; following that, the co-pilot notices those same anomalies, of the possibly cloaked Gemonese infiltrators, moving away from Terra.ā€ The Sheriff's voice turned dull at the end of his sentence, and for a moment it actually looked like the man was pained with what he was attempting to say. "After collaboration with Terran information specialists, my technicians indicated that these NPA vehicles belonged to the specialized security detachment for Terran high-ranking officials. Minister Khamtai, Director, were any of your security escorts active the previous night? Not with you?"

Drulović's lips pressed together in a thin line as she peered at the holographic video, blinking slowly. "I believe Mr. Mulavi's orders to that particular division are to accompany their charges wherever they go, Mr. Daylon," she answered, inclining her head.

"As far as I'm aware, all of us who have security details were with our agents the entire time," Khamtai confirmed. "Mine are on lunch break right now, but if I leave the building, they'll be there downstairs and waiting for me." He scratched at his chin, eyeing the holographic image with perplexion. "I suppose it could also be that it could have been off-duty agents, or agents on their way home from a shift."

The Sheriff indicated to an image of electro-thermal devices across Wing City, having to manipulate the image to make it anything readable though, he indicated to a still image of the NPA sedan. Truth be told, his own inquiries had lead him nowhere; he had been up all night along with the Image Techs. "We were unable to gather the physical plate numbers -- but several of the Terran specialists collaborating with us suggested that they were active NPA agents in the vehicles. Who was out and about the previous night with their security detail?" he inquired, before the readdressing the still of a low-altitude shot above the Main Street, showing the parked NPA vehicles and a slight halo of light surrounding the anomaly. "We were unable to investigate any further without requesting proper clearance. Before going to the proper authorities, I felt this information should have been provided directly to the TNG first."

"I wouldn't know," replied Khamtai, rubbing his jaw again and shaking his head. "Director Mulavi would have that information, though, as that division reports directly to him. I can give you clearance to collaborate with Mulavi's people; they are already running an internal investigation to see if there has been a security breach. From what I know, though, most of us were at home then. Ten at night, you don't usually see people around. You were home, right Director?" he asked. "You have an appointment Thursday nights, and then you go home? Is that right?"

"Choir practice at St. Sava's, Mr. Khamtai," replied Drulović, inclining her head with a small smile. "Practice ends at half past eight. I've missed several rehearsals, actually, but was glad to be able to go this week. I imagine you would enjoy visiting some Sunday, no? The acoustics inside the church are lovely." Drulović looked back toward the images. "Mr. Mulavi has records of his agents' whereabouts. I think most good agency Directors do."

The Sheriff nodded slowly to the Minister, a hologram of the FBPā€™s Investigations Department flickering through the air as Raymond offered the case and its contents over to the Minister. Looking out the window for a brief second, the Scatterran took a quick look at a picture of the white SUV. Turning back to the Minister, Raymond firmly placed a hand on the computer tablet on the table. "Minister Khamtai, my men are more than willing to help in any way we can, Sir," the Sheriff replied, looking over to Drulović as well. "Off record, the Coalition government can not stand by as Kendra Shaw 'disappears' on the eve of her justice -- the time when an Aschen was above the law for just being Aschen is over, Sir, Ma'am. As long as there are Coalition officers in vicinity of this planet, we will not afford to pick and choose who can and can not be tried for their crimes."

"I agree completely," replied Khamtai, taking the case with both hands. "I will personally take every measure possible to see that Shaw, Cain, and anyone else involved will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. We do not tolerate crimes against humanity, and glassing seventy percent of our planet and murdering billions of our citizens is most certainly a crime against humanity, by anyone's definitions."

"I appreciate your support very much, Mr. Daylon," said Drulović, nodding. Her shoulder slumped a little, and she looked for a few precarious moments as if she might tip over. "I am quite certain that Mr. Khamtai and Mr. Moulavi will locate Ms. Shaw."

Khamtai looked at the printed pictures in his hands again, his frown deepening into the jowls of his face. "Is that one a government vehicle?" he asked, looking at the white SUV that seemed to have joined the two NPA sedans in the sequence of images. "You didn't say whether you had tracked down the owner of this SUV." A most curious look came over the man's face.

The Sheriff appeared mutually confused in the few seconds after the Minister had mentioned the government vehicle; eyeing a digital version of the image, Daylon's eyes narrowed at the white speck and rectangle. Looking through an animated section, Raymond continued to watch the vehicle as it appeared into and then drove out of frame. "Government vehicle... The SUV?" he inquired, looking over to the Minister once and indicating to the NPA vehicles with one finger. "There was no interaction between this white SUV and the sedans, but at one point throughout the night they were in the same location... I never noticed; they both pass through and stop in the same area over the course of the night."

"I've seen a lot of those white SUVs around Fort Veritas and here at Government Center, and sometimes a few by the new NPA headquarters down the street," Khamtai continued, watching the animated image as he spoke. "That's why I wonder if it's also a government vehicle... You don't have a way of enhancing these images further, do you? I'll bet the NPA can get a hold of any security camera footage from the area from the time, if it's available. I can have Director Moulavi do that. Then again," he said, scratching his forehead, "it could just be a random coincidence."

Sheriff Daylon followed the Minister quietly, sifting through his mind for the information. Fort Veritas had been mentioned in several briefings on the route to Terra, and had became a heavy defended center for the TNG. Depending on how many of the vehicles were equipped with electronic identifiers, the possibilities could be narrowed to the information contained in onboard computers. The practice was a standard in the Coalition, and the TNG was able to support the electronic infrastructure required for such investments.

"Unfortunately sir, I don't have any equipment that I am familiar with -- but, I do know that the TNG has specialized units and equipment for these investigations. The TNG has more resources than the Coalition does in this sector," the Sheriff returned, placing the computer tablet onto the table and sliding his palms forward. "I have a few more specialists that have already examined the information, and I'll try to help in any way possible."

"Yes, but you'll need to be in touch with Director Mulavi to arrange that liaising," replied Khamtai with a sharp nod. "I'll let him know that you were here today, and with any luck, you can catch him today or tomorrow over at the NPA Headquarters. It's a few blocks down the street from Government Center. I'm certain he will do everything possible to identify the possible colluders in Shaw's escape from Terra."

"Are you sure I can't get you any tea, Mr. Daylon?" asked Drulović, looking up at the Sheriff, and speaking for the first time in a few minutes as if to once again assert her presence in the conversation. The phone in the office rang, but Khamtai chose to ignore it. "I had some freshly brewed while I was here this morning."

The Sheriff bowed his chin lightly, leaving the computer tablet on the table before reaching a hand up to the case. Slowly closing the case, he took a moment of thought, attempting to recall the layout of the city. It was different, by quite a leap, from the regions of Coalition space he had served in. The last assignment had been in the administrative department in the Colonial Sphere, the same time itself the Coalition was aggressively expanding in the wake of the Soviet Republics. "Affirmative, sir. All of my men can be reached by mobile call. I'll leave the information here with you; I've gathered as much as I could find," he remarked kindly, one hand tucking against his jacket before he nodded to Director Drulović. "Oh, yes! I'd like some tea."

"Excellent, I trust you won't be disappointed, Sheriff," said Khamtai, and nodded in dismissal as Drulović looked up at Daylon with a small smile characteristic of her expressions. He collected the documents and materials that the Sheriff had given to him, and headed toward the inner office behind the other door to make a call to Mulavi.

Drulović folded the piece of paper in her hands in half a second time, splitting it into quarters. "In the West Wing across the hallway, Mr. Daylon, I had been reading some poetry, and made tea while there." Drulović turned toward the door of the office. "I don't imagine you've had much opportunity to taste Arabic tea, no?"

Daylon slid a hand through his closely trimmed hair, a line forming his mouth. Arabic tea was, without any doubt, something he had never tasted before. He turned to the door behind Drulović before making a slight whistle to the four other men reclining in chairs at the front of the office; the men all seemed fixated on the windows, taken from the sight of a foreign city. As Daylon made for the door, the Scatterrans seemed to be discussing amongst themselves before making an effort to return to the lobby.

"No ma'am, I do not ever believe I've had the opportunity. The tea they serve to the Bureau is quite ... stagnant. Hey -- over here," he replied, ending his address with a quick wave of his hand before a smile creased his face. As sugary and polluted the Bureau tea was, he wouldn't pass up a chance to try the authentic brew. "I was unaware of how easily the TNG would respond to our information -- the Major General was on the verge of reclaiming the information, but military law doesn't dictate the FBP."

"I imagine Mr. Khamtai is eager to learn any information that may aid him in his pursuits," said Drulović, inclining her head, as she led the way into the marble-floored hallway. The sudden influx of natural light over the whole corridor revealed the heavy, dark circles under Drulović's eyes and her somewhat hollowed cheeks not visible inside the more dimly lit office. "Information is a very valuable currency, Mr. Daylon, but I'm sure you know that."

She pressed her palm against the green-pianted doors leading to the West Wing, and a row of offices appears along both sides of the hallway. Drulović headed toward a door with a placard labeling it as a conference room. "It's very important to be hospitable to your guests, Mr. Daylon," continued Drulović in much the same tone of voice. "Tea is an excellent way of providing hospitality."

Daylon followed Drulović through the door and licked his lips in a brief lapse of anticipation. Staying at a Coalition FOB under the administration of a military commander, qualities were kept to a very specific standard, below the Sheriff's own. The coffee had been burned and tasteless, any meats that weren't organic had been frozen to near liquid, and even water carried a pungent taste down the pipe. "You don't know how much I agree with you, Director. My father said the greatest friends are the ones who will feed you," he replied with a firm smile, taking a long look to the walls and decor of the Terran building. It was a far cry from often spartan buildings, a common architecture throughout the Coalition. ā€œ'A glass with compatriots is as valuable as their word,' in the sense of an old author I read of in school."

Drulović smiled again, brushing some of her hair behind her ears. She strode into the conference room, which itself was furnished with a simple wooden table and padded chairs. A counter ran along one wall, with a kettle of tea and several ceramic mugs sitting beside it. Sunlight streamed into this room, too, and Drulović made her way to the windows, adjusting the blinds so that more light filled the room. "It gets dark so easily," she observed, and then turned back to the counter. Trembling hands lifted the kettle, pouring tea into first one and then another mug. "If you return to town, Mr. Daylon, enjoy dinner at my house," said Drulović, her eyebrows knitting closely together. "I do enjoy feeding those who come to visit, and there are far too few these days."

The Sheriff calmly followed the woman into the conference room, and hardly seemed fazed by the simple furniture of the room. He was still graciously admiring the Terran construction, seeming to treat his trip as an extensive observation of the TNG government building, which rivaled numerous Coalition centers in quality and complexity. "I've yet to have dinner in the city. All of my subordinates have tried the restaurants and say the food is delicious. I've had quite a tight schedule inside the base," he replied, genuinely concerned with the fact he hadn't taken the chance to eat in the famous Wing City. "I think having dinner would be great. I'm sure it will beat the military rations. Normally I'm very well fed, but here, the Major General has made a few modifications to the diet."

"Oh? Has he then?" Drulović arched her eyebrows and offered a small frown. She turned back toward the Sheriff and offered him one of the mugs of steaming tea. The fragrance of mint laced the liquid. "That's quite unfortunate. A good, home-cooked meal can never be understated, Mr. Daylon. And I don't imagine you've had much in the way of Serbian food, no?" Drulović took a small sip of her own tea, watching Daylon closely over the brim of her cup as she spoke. Her eyes offered little hint of anything other than genuine disappointment at the man's limited eating experiences. The folded sheet of paper lay on the counter, some Cyrillic-looking characters visible through the thin page in a ballpoint pen. "You really ought to spend more time in the city, and less time on base. I can assure you that you will not regret it."

Daylon graciously accepted the tea with two hands, his chin dipping lightly as he enjoyed the aroma. At his greatest hauls, the tea from a synthetic growth plant in a different portion of the city didn't smell this good. Lowering the cup, he moved one hand on to the trim of his jacket, his eyes looking toward the window that provided the bright influence from outside. "I've heard so much about the city, and about all of Terra. A lot of the marines I see here have cameras. People were taking pictures of the planet on the ship from orbit," he said, taking a quick drink from the mug, the taste causing a warm smile to follow it. "I have never tried Serbian food either."

"Orbit," Drulović muttered with distinct distaste. "I detest space travel, Mr. Daylon, although I have tried it a few times. It's quite unnatural if you ask me." At the sound of a knock, Drulović glanced toward the door, calling, "It's open; come in." She looked back at the Sheriff. "It's very hard to find an empty room these days without someone needing something."

The Sheriff nodded along to Drulović's words before he heard the door knock several times, and Daylon lowered the mug from his mouth. Looking out the window, the Coalition officer straightened his jacket with a slow hand and tilting his head over toward the door. "Oh. The building is busy enough to support a government."

Austin Marshall entered hastily, his vigilant eyes quickly noting each figure in the room as he smiled apologetically. In his right hand he gripped a blank file stuffed with papers. "Sorry for interrupting," Austin nodded briefly to the Scatterrans before looking back towards Drulović. "You asked me to notify you if I had an update on the Ming project? I went through some files. It's kind of important."

Drulović took another sip of tea and then pressed her lips together. "You don't have enough time for a cup of tea first, Mr. Marshall?" She looked at the Sheriff in clear disappointment. "I'm afraid we must all return to other matters, Mr. Daylon. Do take that tea with you, as long as you return the mug on your next visit to Government Center. It wouldn't do to have Mr. Cranford upset over a missing cup." Something in her eyes twinkled in bemusement. "I'm sure you will have your meeting with Mr. Moulavi soon. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more assistance to you."

Daylon followed the movement of the Terrans with his mind. He kept his hands close to himself and steady to keep the tea coming. He thoroughly enjoyed the richness, a content look on his face as Drulović spoke. He turned and extended a hand toward the new arrival, his grip open for a stern hand. "Raymond Daylon. And that is more than acceptable, Director. I'm sure all of us can be very busy at something right now. I'll be in close coordination with Director Mulavi as much as possible. Nice meeting, Mr. Marshall."

"You as well, Mr. Daylon," Austin nodded as he received the hand firmly, careful to call the Scatteran by his last name. Austin looked back towards Drulović, wearily smiling at the Director's offering of tea. "Not now, Director," Austin declined.

"A shame," said Drulović of habit, with little substance behind her words, her gaze moving between Austin and the Sheriff with careful observation. "Please keep in contact, Mr. Daylon, if you need anything. I'm afraid Mr. Marshall needs to speak with me now, though. I do apologize that this has been cut short."

The Sheriff bowed his chest slightly before making his way toward the door, leaving the Director and Mr. Marshall to themselves as he withdrew a digital cellular device and departed through the door. Closing the door tightly behind him, he made an effort to close it tightly and firmly, his own ears cutting out information that they may have began discussing.

"Anyway Director, I've dug up some old files on the Ming Project," Austin continued once the Scatterans were out of the room. "You remember the Taiyou conflict? The TIB ordered the apprehension of Taiyou intelligence officers within the TNG?" It had been one of Austin's first real assignments. With the help of the Coalition, Austin had managed to capture a prestigious Taiyou agent, as well as a Naginata cruiser.

"Certainly, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, settling into one of the chairs around the table in the conference room. She looked up at the young agent. "What is it that you've found? I imagine it must be of great importance for you to track me down like this, no?" She gave Austin an expectant look, her eyebrows knitted together and arched.

"Well TIB specialists put together a list when it was all going down," Austin continued, reminding Drulović of things she knew long before. "The Kokuzoku Files, they named it. It was a list of suspected TNG-Taiyou defectors. Some were mere hunches. Others," Austin laid the thick stack of papers on the table before Drulović, "were prime targets." There was no humor in the agent's voice. The gravity of the situation banished all of Austin's usual optimism and youthful eagerness.

"After you calmed things down with the Taiyou," the agent went on, "TIB officials took the liberty of hiding the Kokuzoku Files. We didn't want to give the Taiyou any reason to continue launch another campaign. In fact, the TIB locked these documents in such dark, hidden databases, that I don't doubt we might have forgotten about them." Austin pointed to many of the names in the files. "Director, many of the most suspected defectors on this list still hold positions in the government. Some in the Bureau."

"Then we shall begin a campaign of counterintelligence, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, setting her cup of tea on the table, where a small moist ring surrounded its base. "Better that they think themselves safe and secure in their positions, I imagine, than compromised. Let the Taiyou have their misinformation and take it for truth, hm? Put those files in my office with Mr. Fazari and let them be hidden from the rest of the Bureau and never spoken of again. They must think that you and I know nothing of their presence on our world, Mr. Marshall. That is the only way such a program would work."

"Of course, Director," Austin nodded his approval, collecting the files delicately, "I'll get right on it." The agent stuffed the papers under his arm, straightening his tie before turning back to Drulović. "Also, Director," Austin continued, "if you don't mind me asking, who were those Scatterran men in here?"

"Mr. Daylon? He is a Sheriff of the police investigative agency of the Coalition. Raymond Daylon is his name." A small frown appeared on Drulović's face as she rose, taking the mug to the sink and setting it inside. "A favor I need of you, Mr. Marshall," she said while still facing the sink.

Austin quickly stood ready, stuffing the files into the jacket of his suit. "Anything," he said plainly, awaiting her request, his hands fiddling below his waist.

"Locate all potential surveillance camera feeds that might have had a view along Main Street near the side alley beside Gambit's bar between nine and eleven on the evening on Wednesday the fifteenth of this month, Mr. Marshall," said Drulović, still facing the wall instead of Austin, "and destroy them in such a way that it looks like a computer glitch or a power outage. I don't imagine that would be too difficult with all this 'technology' we have... Also, there is a vehicle in our garage inside Fort Veritas," Drulović continued, reaching for the notepad in her inner pocket and the pen. She jotted a few letters and numbers with painstaking care, the letters slanted in the wrong direction but otherwise easily legible. "This vehicle needs to be found as far from Wing City as possible, and made useless," Drulović said, "perhaps by burning or explosion that could have been the work of gang members or terrorists. This is the license plate number. Do not be seen with it. Do not let it be seen."

Austin stood silently for a few moments, quietly mulling over her words in pure confusion. The Director had never asked him to do anything like this before. Why would she possibly want... "Of course, Director," Austin said, dispelling any questions or doubts. If Drulović wanted this done, it'd be done. He'd just have to trust that she had some reasonable explanation behind all this. "I'll see to it personally. No one else will be involved."

"Thank you, Mr. Marshall," replied Drulović, her voice sounding uncharacteristically distant, sliding the paper across the table toward Austin, still looking at the wall. "Tell no one about this assignment, hm? No one. Not Mr. Cranford himself if he should ask."

Austin took the paper numbly, still struggling to understand the situation. This wasn't the Drulović he knew. The Director certainly valued TIB privacy, but she had never deliberately asked him to keep things from people. Especially not the Prime Minister of the TNG. "Director?" Austin spoke up, confused distress in his voice. "Is there something I should know before carrying this out? Some other piece of information?" Austin didn't want to step over a line, but curiosity and citofacin was getting the best of him. Austin had never questioned the Director like this before. Then again, he had never had a reason to question her.

Drulović looked at Austin then, a small, sad smile appearing at the corners of her lips. "I pray, Mr. Marshall, that you will never need to know," she responded, blinking at the taller man. Drulović leaned against the wall, watching Austin closely. "I would ask you to avoid looking too closely at any of the surveillance tapes that you might find. I suppose you ought to know, then, that there may be others who will want that information, or information they might be able to obtain from that vehicle. Do not let any of it fall into the hands of anyone else, Mr. Marshall, particularly from our own government. It could lead to an... unfortunate situation." Drulović's smile faded, and she looked past Austin again. "But no, Mr. Marshall," she said heavily, "I do not think there is anything else you need to know."

Austin nodded once, quieting his mind as he accepted the situation. "I'll take care of it, then," Austin said grimly, shoving his doubts into the back of his consciousness as he forced himself to obey. Drulović knew what she was doing. She always did. So why was she making this seem so urgent? So secretive? The agent took a few slow steps toward the door, turning briefly as he looked at Drulović directly. "I trust you, Director."

Drulović slipped the notepad and pen back into her pocket, giving Austin a small nod as she slumped against the wall. "Thank you, Mr. Marshall," she said, folding her hands carefully in front of her. "Please brief me when you've finished." Austin made no further response, merely nodding his head as he exited quietly, leaving Drulović behind in the conference room.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Tue Oct 11, 2011 11:57 pm

(OOC: Post collaborated by Nemo [R0NlN] playing Rubano Malijin and Ylanne playing Vlatko Klaic. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)





Vlatko Klaic's office sat on the fourth floor, like most member offices, and boasted a red and white coat of arms mounted on the wall beside a crucifix. A creamy white carpet covered the floor, and the windows overlooked the government sector of Wing City. He sat on a black leather couch, clutching a cup of coffee and sipping liberally, while occasionally glancing at the sterling silver clock mounted atop a bookshelf with a number of leather-bound volumes. A man of average height with carefully combed brown hair and an impeccably tailored suit, Vlatko looked every bit the part of politician. Statesman, he preferred.

Rubano Malijin approached Vlatko's office quietly, politely knocking on the door to his fellow Minister's office. As usual, Rubano was dressed in dark colors, a black suit with a deep sanguine tie. The Minister was eager to meet with Vlatko. Rubano had yet to establish a solid relationship with his fellow Center-Rightist. Having won the Xenia Compromise in the latest debate, now was the perfect time.

Vlatko rose at the sound of the knock, setting the dark green mug atop the heavy, wooden desk. The hulking piece of furniture boasted intricate ornamentation, and had been carved from forest-wood imported from his homeland, to Vlatkoā€™s specifications. He strode across the rug and opened the door with a smile, inclining his head to his party chairman. ā€œChairman Malijin,ā€ said Vlatko in a pleasing tenor, extending his arm to welcome the other man inside. ā€œCan I have my secretary get anything for you?ā€

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, where heavy drapes had been pulled aside to allow the natural light to fill the room. The skyline was bustling and vibrant even in daytime, Vlatko thought. He motioned to the two leather couches facing each other at an angle. "I'm so glad you could join me today."

Rubano shook Vlatko's hand firmly, smiling widely as he stepped into Vlatko's office. "Minister Klaic," he addressed him properly, bowing his head only slightly. "Some coffee would be wonderful. It's an honor to be here." Rubano looked about the office appreciatively, moving towards the couches Vlatko had pointed out. "It's a good day, no?" Rubano grinned widely, "It was a close call on the Compromise, but I'm glad it went through like it did."

ā€œSome coffee please, Ivo,ā€ said Vlatko to the secretary in the outer office. The young man disappeared into the corridors of Government Center. Vlatko closed the door most of the way, leaving it propped open by about an inch so that Ivo could deliver the coffee for his guest. ā€œI was holding my breath the entire time, Iā€™ll tell you. Cranford was quite incensed; he looked like he was hurrying out of the chamber. Hurrying.ā€ Vlatko eased himself onto the couch facing Rubano, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well he brought it on himself," Rubano half-teased, "turning the Aschen away on a whim. We're a Parliament after all. He probably went off to consult with Drulović." Rubano chuckled deeply, clearly amused, though the tone of his voice deepened ever so slightly at the mention of Drulović.

ā€œHe does tend to do that,ā€ Vlatko acknowledged, as Ivo returned, bringing a mug of coffee and handing it to Rubano with a respectful inclination of his head. Once Ivo had gone and shut the door firmly behind him, Vlatko reached behind himself for his own mug of coffee. ā€œImported from Colombia,ā€ he said, nodding toward the steaming mug, a white mug with the same coat of arms imprinted on its ceramic surface.

Rubano took the coffee with a brief thanks, sipping at the drink thoughtfully. "Delightful," he concluded with a smile, taking a few more sips before setting the mug on the table before them. He noted the coat of arms with vague curiosity. Wasn't that more of a European sort of thing? He'd have to ask about it later. "Still, with the compromise active, we can be expecting an Aschen garrison," Rubano admitted. "I'm not thrilled about it, but at least it'll put us on the right terms with them. Once they have this... Blacjack, is it? Yes, once they have Blackjack, things should be all right."

"We can hope that that's the case, Mr. Chairman," responded Vlatko, running his hand over his jaw. He reached for his mug of coffee and sipped liberally from it, a pensive expression coming over his face. "Unfortunately, I do share some of the concerns that Cranford has. What if the Aschen want to stay? What if they want to start exercising undue influence over our government? As much as it concerns me, I'd rather have the TIB running affairs than the Aschen." He blanched, ever so slightly. "Forgive me," said Vlatko. "I didn't mean to speak so candidly."

"No apologies, my friends," Rubano nodded peacefully, his voice calm and understanding. "I share your sentiments entirely. It is my greatest concern--Parliament's greatest concern--that Terra remain sovereign." Rubano reclined, taking the coffee into his hands once again. "But I believe this new Aschen Confederation is not like the old," Rubano assured. "It is weak still. The Aschen military is everything to them, and they've just come out of a civil war. They won't try anything drastic, I don't think." A brief, satisfied sip from his coffee. "As for the TIB, I find that a bit humorous. From what rumors I've heard, I'd say you're not far from the truth. The TIB has--considerable influence in the Terran National Government."

"I'm not so confident about that," said Vlatko, his eyebrows knotting together as he took another, almost nervous sip of his coffee. "They seem to be an arrogant breed, the kind of people who think they're above Terrans. Why is it that the Gemonese were so eager to attack us because we wanted to bring the war criminal Shaw to justice? That... Well, that's what concerns me about extending such a large welcome mat to the Aschen. They might get comfortable, and decide to stay. And between you and I, I don't think that's in the best interests of Terra."

Vlatko eyed Rubano for several moments, as if in deep consideration. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his seat, leaning to the other side with his coffee in the other hand. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Mr. Chairman. It's about the TIB. Or, I suppose more specifically, its Director." Vlatko paused, swallowing. "It's a very close relationship she has with Cranford. And Ashkenazi too. It worries me. Ashkenazi, I'm not comfortable around him. I visited his office once, a few weeks ago, I think, and the entire time I felt as though he was hiding things from me. Much like Drulović, except I think she does that to everyone around here."

Rubano perked up only slightly, looking just past Vlatko as he spoke as if in deep thought. "Oh?" Rubano quirked an eyebrow, a quiet grin spreading across his face as he lifted the coffee mug to his lips. "Do tell. Director Drulović is a fascinating character indeed--one who certainly seems to be 'holding more cards' then the rest of us, no?"

"I've heard some talk," said Vlatko, "from some friends at the former CIA, about the both of them." He glanced left and right, as if to ensure that no one could hear. "I'm not sure either of them -- Ashkenazi, and Drulović, that is -- are the kind of people I'm comfortable trusting in the positions they hold. But of course, those are just rumors. And I can't very well go around trusting rumors, can I?" Vlatko suppressed a bout of nervous laughter, the trembling in his hand barely detectable as he took a particularly large drink of his coffee. The mug was nearly empty now.

"Well who's a rumor going to hurt?" Rubano laughed disarmingly. "Come, whatever you have to say, I'd love to hear it." The Chairman leaned forward in his seat, smiling grandly as his piercing black eyes danced strangely, his voice suddenly welcoming and enticing, trustworthy and friendly. "We're friends after all, Vlatko," Rubano assured him.

"Look, I'm not entirely sure I should say," said Vlatko, glancing left and right quite visibly this time. "They both have connections that I don't have, and I don't want to put myself in a bad position. Besides," he added, shifting his weight in his seat and setting his mug of coffee on the table between the couches, "I think the people who've been talking probably know better than I, and I certainly wouldn't want to be repeating false rumors." Vlatko grimaced. "Especially not about those two."

"I assure you, Vlatko, whatever's on your mind can be spoken freely here," he nodded. "'Rumors are only rumors--ā€˜except when they're the truth,' they say. It's not as if I'm planning on releasing to the press tomorrow." Rubano chuckled heartily.

Vlatko reached for his coffee, swallowing the last of it and setting the empty ceramic mug on the table with a hollow, barely satisfying sound. He rubbed his hands together vigorously, frowning. Vlatko glanced at the door, and then his gaze moved back to Rubano. "I've heard rumors that the both of them have been involved with genocides. Ashkenazi against the Palestinians, when he was still in Israel, and Drulović against the Bosniaks, after the disintegration of the second Yugoslavia. Of course," he said, swallowing again, "I'm not entirely sure that either rumor is true. I should hope not. There's more, too, but..." Vlatko shook his head. "I'm really not sure what to do about this, Mr. Chairman."

"Oh come now, Vlatko," Rubano smiled disarmingly. "Do you really believe that this is the truth? I don't trust Drulović or Ashkenazi anymore than you do, but genocide? That seems like a rather depraving leap for TNG leaders of such prestigious position." The Minister took his nearly empty mug, finishing off the last of his drink contently. "How much of it could really be truth?"

"I don't know. I hope that it isn't. I pray it isn't." Vlatko shook his head. "But the information came from a former CIA station chief from Eastern Europe, the one who served immediately before Drulović in fact. He may have known her while she was in the service, and in all likelihood probably did. It was casual conversation. Rumors, like I said. I do hope they're not true, but ... it's concerning nevertheless." He grimaced again. "I don't know... but maybe it should be looked into. On the off chance that it's true? What am I supposed to do?"

"Please, my friend," Rubano spoke reassuringly, "I'm certain nothing of the sort is true. Drulović and Ashkenazi are shady figures, but I'm certain they would never have done something so... immoral." Rubano nodded, his voice laced with suave and calm. "I'll tell you what, Vlatko, why don't I have a talk with some of these contacts of yours? Set the record straight, and put these god-awful rumors to bed. I'll see to it personally, in fact."

Vlatko pressed his lips together, staring at his coffee mug. "Yes. I think that would be an excellent idea. I... I can give you a phone number for the former station chief. He lives near Washington D.C. His name is Rick Pollman." Vlatko bit his thumb for a moment, and then wiped his hand on his suit jacket, leaning to the side on the couch. "Pollman also worked closely with the former Yugoslavian station chief, whom he replaced. That man, I've only met a few times, but he probably won't want to talk to you, either. His name is Nenad." Vlatko grimaced at that.

"I see," Rubano nodded, exhaling slightly as he went over the list of names in his head. "As I said, Vlatko, I imagine this whole thing is a wild-goose chase. I'll get to the bottom of this and we'll both see there was nothing there to begin with." The minister smiled warmly, setting his coffee mug back on the table. "The coffee was delicious, by the way. Thank you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. My personal Colombian stock." Vlatko allowed a small smile to appear on his face. "I hope you will get to the bottom of the matter, and relieve any anxiety that I might have. I -- I am sure that these are simply malicious rumors without real substance. Still, their presence itself is disturbing..." He trailed off, and then rose, offering his hand to Rubano. "Mr. Chairman, thank you for coming to speak with me. I appreciate your counsel very much."

"The honor is entirely mine," Rubano smiled as he shook Vlatko's hand firmly. "We should meet again after I've looked over the matter. Just give the contact information to my secretary when you have the time." The Chairman looked back toward his empty coffee mug, a coy smile smugly hidden beneath his professional demeanor. "Colombian stock, you say? I'll have to get some myself..."
Last edited by Ylanne on Wed Oct 12, 2011 2:22 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Wed Oct 12, 2011 2:21 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by DemiKara [Karato] playing Hope Anona, Henry, Rachel, Zuri, Kalil, Conner, and Racie; and Ylanne playing Daniel Romero and Arianne Drulović. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Hope was sitting watching the children play, her hands bound tightly in soft wrapping and her feet bound tightly like her hands and her back. She wore a lightweight polyester shirt, not liking even that weight against the healing marks on her back, and capris as she sat in the colorful wheelchair. It was beautiful, watching her children play, even if she couldn't play with them.

Three of Gadget stood nearby, one clad in pink, the other two dressed in nondescript street clothes. They were, for lack of a better word, her bodyguards and caretakers until she was better. Kalil was watching the children as Conner kept one eye on Hope. Racie was digging through the satchel, looking for the painkillers to make certain she had brought more.

The Gardens werenā€™t particular far from Liber Streetā€™s northeast corner, a bit north by several miles. Arianne Drulović, dressed in a navy blue blazer and a matching, embroidered scarf, was accompanied by a blond man in a corduroy blazer and khakis as she approached the outer limits of the southern part of Wing City Gardens, occasionally looking up towards the mid-afternoon sun. It was a good two or more hours until it would be sunset, and today it was nice outside, if a bit chilly. She pulled her scarf closer over her shoulders, pointedly ignoring the car trailing behind them a block or so back. ā€œIf I remember, Mr. Romero,ā€ she said, shivering a little, ā€œthere is a little coffee shop near here, hm?ā€

Hope shivered in the cool air, and Racie was by her side in seconds. "Miss Hope, I've told you before that you need to wear the jacket. I know--I know it hurts, but you need to stay warm; otherwise, we have to take you back," she said and Hope made a face at this. She finally acquiesced to the soft downy jacket, hissing as it touched her back, and having to have Racie help her with the sleeves. She couldn't even dress herself at the moment, and had too many serums in her body to safely see a proper Healer. The mandate not to heal her passed on to her usual doctors hadn't helped. Some mage looking to make a quick buck would heal her--when she managed to get to them. Eventually. Until then, she was limited to the care of Gadget.

ā€œA local hole in the wall place,ā€ responded Daniel Romero, inclining his head. He scratched at the back of his hair, squinting against the mid-afternoon sunlight. Above them, trees swayed in a light breeze, their leaves trembling every now and then. ā€œIā€™ve never been, but Agent Damas tells me they have excellent imported coffee.ā€ He laughed. ā€œIā€™ll have to try that sometime. A bit outside my pay grade though.ā€

Drulović and Romero came to the gates of the garden, and she pushed them open with her shaking hand, allowing them to pass into the floral paradise. The soft, demure fragrances of peonies mixed with lilies and wild roses enveloped all who stepped inside. ā€œI always appreciate a good coffee, Mr. Romero,ā€ said Drulović, turning to shut the gates behind them. Most of the Gardens were fairly open space, to allow the most possible sunlight to grace the plants and visitors alike.

She caught sight of a few children playing somewhere towards the center of the garden, and a small smile touched upon Drulovićā€™s lips.

Hope pulled away from Racie in frustration. "I just. This sucks," she grumbled. Racie gave her a smile and shook her head. She dropped two pills in Hope's hand and watched her swallow them, followed up by a dose of water carefully fed to her. Hope sighed and turned to watch her kids. "At least the kids aren't so sad anymore," she murmured.

Racie nodded and went to join Kalil and Conner. Hope had expressed a desire to be alone for most of the time they were there, so, while they couldn't be too far, they certainly would let her be as at peace as possible.

ā€œI remember when my brother and I were kids, we used to play cops and robbers,ā€ said Romero with a shy grin revealing the tips of his teeth. The agent suddenly looked quite young, the shadow of a beard on his jaw reduced to shadows cast by the sun. ā€œOnce, I chased him into a thorn bush. Mom gave me a good thrashing.ā€

Drulović had continued forward along the neatly paved path with its little garden stones, seemingly oblivious to Romero. ā€œI imagine she couldnā€™t have been too pleased when she saw your bother, no?ā€ Her voice sounded distant, as if she were distracted by something else, and Romero couldnā€™t blame her.

ā€œNo, Director,ā€ he said with a laugh, ā€œshe was ready to move heaven and earth to find out what I did to him.ā€ Romero lapsed into silence as Drulović led the way, rounding a bend. A bench came into sight, not too far off, where a young woman was seated with a jacket wrapped around her shoulders, surrounded by several bushes of blossoming flowers.

"Oh Henry," she murmured as she watched him chase his sisters, hand outstretched. Either tag or he was scaring them with bugs again. As he tapped the back of one of the girls and took off, she laughed then winced. That hurt. "Oh," she moaned and shifted, wanted desperately to move and leave, and--and it was impossible. Oh well. She had needed to sun herself out here, and sun herself in the chill air she would. She needed it to heal; she was convinced. Besides, soaking in the sun soothed her, at least a little bit.

As Drulović and Romero moved further along the path, she blinked up at the taller man beside her. ā€œIf youā€™ll pardon me, Mr. Romero, I had hoped to part ways here, hm?ā€ The request was not a surprise to the agent, who had been thoroughly briefed by his counterpart.

ā€œI canā€™t just leave you, Director,ā€ he explained. ā€œI have orders to stay by you at all times, just in case... well. Just in case,ā€ he finished lamely, shoving his hands into his pockets. ā€œI even dressed less conspicuously for you.ā€

ā€œHmph. Keep your eyes on me, then, if you must, Mr. Romero. But Iā€™d like to wander about myself, no?ā€ Drulovićā€™s eyes scanned the tops of the trees, rippling every so often. ā€œSo rarely these days do I have any quiet time.ā€

Romero nodded respectfully, standing back as Drulović continued along the path, looking for a place to sit alone. The bench to her left was overgrown with thorny weeds and wild roses, leaving only the bench with the other occupant. She heard one of the little girls screaming, and watched the children for a moment, looking every bit the part of the watchful mother.

Hope laughed as Rachel screamed out, and reached after her daughter with on bundled hand. "Ah, sweetie, what'd you expect. He's a boy," she said and smiled, leaning forward, then sitting back upright with a hiss of pain. Perhaps she shouldn't stretch her back while it was healing. That had hurt too much. At least it was scabbed over. It mean she didn't have to deal with the disturbing feeling of blood running down her back once more.

Drulović approached the bench a few minutes later, her fingers rubbing absently against the gold saintā€™s icon hanging about her neck. She inclined her head to the woman already seated there, blinking slowly. ā€œPardon me,ā€ said Drulović as she eased onto the other side of the bench, smoothing her scarf as she moved. ā€œMs. Anona, no?ā€ She reached into her inner jacket pocket for a small notepad, flipping past a page with awkwardly-written Cyrillic script to a blank page, and removed a pen from the same pocket, uncapping it.

Hope winced at that and nodded. "I am she." She looked closely. "Director Drulović, right?" she said, eyeing the pen and the blank page with some trepidation. Please let there be no questions. She was fairly certain she wasn't supposed to be answering this sort of questioning. Hm. Perhaps she had been attacked. Or in a fire. A car accident? A car accident it was. Cars could cause all sorts of damage, after all. Hope looked up and shook her head at Kalil, who had been approaching. It was fine, this was a Terran, and Terrans were much softer than Erutins, in general. Everything would be fine.

ā€œArianne,ā€ responded Drulović with a small sigh. ā€œPlease call me Arianne.ā€ She stared at a wild rosebush growing across the stone path and began to sketch its blossoms with painstaking strokes, her fingers trembling as she held the pen. A careful observer might have noticed that Drulović had trouble controlling her own pen strokes. ā€œI havenā€™t been by the gardens in quite a long time,ā€ she remarked.

"My children and I come frequently." She said and smiled. "And please, call me Hope." she invited in return. She turned to watch her babes play and smiled. Bo wouldn't see her until she was healed, according the the kitten's father. It was sad, but understandable. Bo didn't need to be as shaken as the others, not right before her first real job.

ā€œHope, then,ā€ said Drulović, nodding as she attempted to approximate the roses. She had never been a great artist, but the picture was at least recognizable... if one squinted and stared for a while. ā€œItā€™s a beautiful name, I think. Itā€™s been a long time since my daughters were so young.ā€ Drulović gave a small frown, narrowing her eyes at the rosebush.

Hope smiled. "Four, six, and seven. The boy is the six year old," she admitted and smiled at them. "None by blood of course. But all have a place in my heart. I have a fourth child also, but she can't be here right now. Her father..." She started over. "We thought it might be too upsetting. The three I have custody of are devastated enough." Mostly had custody of, legally. It was hard, when she couldn't even read Terran. Still, the paperwork for Zuri was in the works.

Knowing eyes passed over Hope for several lingering moments. ā€œYou seem hurt,ā€ Drulović observed mildly, before returning her eyes to the notepad and her crude drawing. Her hand rested atop the paper, the sunlight glinting on her saintā€™s medal as Drulović grew very, very still.

Hope looked away. "I was in a car accident. I'm just lucky the kids weren't with me," she lied smoothly and shook her head. "I'll be fine in a few weeks," she said and watched her kids play. The game had apparently changed. Three in tag wasn't exciting enough for the kids apparently. Hope watched them play leapfrog and grinned.

ā€œOh? Iā€™m terribly sorry to hear that,ā€ replied Drulović, her pen moving slowly over the drawing. It was a few moments before she spoke again. ā€œIt must be hard to keep the truth from your children. They say the apple doesnā€™t fall too far from the tree, hm? It seems the saying is quite right.ā€ She made a mis-stroke, and pressing her lips tightly together, tore the page from the notebook and crumpled it into a tiny ball, tossing it toward the receptacle beside the bench.

Hope said nothing for a moment and then sighed. "They know the truth of the matter. How do you?" she asked and sighed. "I don't lie to them. They... Ha. Henry and my fiance had threatened punishment.ā€ She shook slightly. "I'd rather not think of it." Your monarch pretending mercy and then having you tortured by the leader of another nation was... hard.

ā€œPardon?ā€ blinked Drulović, her pen leaning on the blank page as she stared at Hope. ā€œI hadnā€™t been -- Iā€™m sorry. I was thinking about my daughter, my younger daughter. She said the same thing to me, you know, when she was in the hospital for several days this year with a broken arm and a slew of cuts. I had wanted to believe her, hm? But.ā€

"Ah. Forget I said that, please. So. How do you know that my name is Anona?" she said curiously. Technically, she was of House Anona, but for simplicity's sake, they translated her House name to her last name. Not everyone had one after all. It was entertaining watching Ambassador Bamboo admit this.

ā€œToo many dossiers, I think,ā€ said Drulović with a small smile. ā€œI had a number of them prepared a while ago, and I imagine Iā€™ve read too many of them too. Itā€™s been a while since Iā€™ve had a good book. Iā€™ve thought about Mr. Andrićā€™s works lately. I think Iā€™ll return to the master. More pleasant reading, believe me, and far more interesting, than those dossiers.ā€

Hope blinked. She had personally erased most information about her on Dev Eru and in the Erutin Empire. How odd to think that she had simply forgotten a place. She would have to get to work on that. No one was allowed to have dossiers on Hope, let alone multiple ones. She'd have to steal them, and replace them with much smaller ones. Hope sighed. "I hope they don't say anything too bad."

ā€œI think that depends on how you define bad, my dear,ā€ replied the older woman. ā€œBut it behooves me, then, to ask you how it is you know my name, hm?ā€ She blinked curiously at Hope, the pen all but forgotten between her fingers.

"You've been in the news, haven't you?" she said, fairly certain she had been. "In fact, yes you were, during the unfortunate event awhile back." She shook her head. "I hope you are okay from it," she said and turned her gaze to her children. They were so happy. Henry waved to her mother and she raised a hand in return, the jacket slipping from her shoulder. With a huff, she glared down at her hands. Dammit.

ā€œUnfortunately,ā€ said Drulović dryly, her expression souring. She had no love for the press. Drulović caught sight of Hopeā€™s hands, wrapped carefully in what appeared to be bandages. It was obvious, she saw, the extent of the womanā€™s injuries. ā€œWhat did happen to you, Hope? You donā€™t seem all right, not in the least.ā€

Hope sighed and lay her hand in her lap. "Could you pull the jacket back up for me? I can't do so myself. Much like I can't walk, and that moving hurts," she whispered. "I was tortured for five days and healed at the end of each one, or at least partially healed. The final day I wasn't. I've been in the IC for five days and one as much bed rest as they can force on me. I should still be in the IC. But I won't worry my children more than I have to." And they had been crying and frightened, and Hope hated it so much. She looked down at her wrapped feet and sighed.

ā€œI know the feeling,ā€ said Drulović, with a dark undertone to her voice. She edged closer to Hope along the bench, draping the jacket gently about the younger womanā€™s back, with particular sensitivity to areas that might have been still painful. ā€œEspecially with children. Mine were as young.ā€

"I have to be strong for them," she said quietly. "And for everyone else who depends on me. Right now, I have a nursemaid and two bodyguards because I can't do anything on my own right now. I can't even dress myself, and absolutely everything itches and hurts and is too heavy," she said and shook her head. "But I'm alive. I'm alive, and that should be more than enough."

ā€œIt can be quite a blessing, that,ā€ said Drulović, nodding. She smoothed the wrinkles from her scarf again. ā€œAnd a curse, too. For me, it was. But you are stronger than I was, I think. Your children know. You have friends to whom you can turn. No?ā€ Drulović shrugged lightly, watching the sun for a few moments. The sound of childrenā€™s laughter was a beautiful one, no matter what else happened. ā€œYou will heal. It will take time. Longer than you want, I imagine. Much longer. But stay strong.ā€

"I just need the stupid serum they shot me up with to fade. Then I can see a human doctor and be treated. Maybe a mage healer. Terra supposedly has them," she said and looked down at her hands. "I just. I need peace, and that won't happen. Ever," she admitted and sighed, wanting to run a hand through her hair and not being able to.

ā€œSerum?ā€ Drulovićā€™s eyebrows knotted together as she stared at Hope. She shook her head. ā€œPeace is hard to find. To this date, Iā€™ve found it only between the covers of good books. And even then, it can be hard. The greatest writers write about the most depressing things. Waste of talent, I think. All around us, we can see those things. Books ought to be happy.ā€

"Ah. It's to keep me from shifting or from seeing a healer. For the next several days," she admitted, hands in her lap. "The medics wrapped my injuries, and splinted what they could but you know how it is. They couldn't do much more." She was just glad to be awake. She watched her children and sighed. "Have you ever been given up by someone you trusted to have your back, Arianne?" she asked quietly, raw pain in her voice. "And then been told they expected your relationship to not change?"

Drulović was silent for a long time, reaching to take Hope's hand in her own and squeezing. She listened to the distant voices of the children in the gardens, her gaze traveling away from Hope's face to take in the sight of the flowering trees. One was a cherry, like the one planted in her garden. She shuddered as if it were cold, although it was only a little cool outside, and Drulović was dressed in a jacket with long sleeves. "It did happen," said Drulović, acknowledging the question and her affirmation with the smallest of nods.

Hope nodded. "Terra has--it has laws right? About the treatment of prisoners?" She heard rumors of that. "Fair trials and limited jailings. Rules about what you can be jailed for?" She wasn't one hundred percent certain, but she was almost sure. "Dev Eru, the Erutin Empire. It's not like that there, not for lights. Darks have rules, and lights just have to behave."

"There are laws now, yes," responded Drulović, her eyes narrowing a little. She thought she had seen a pair of cardinals flitting through the branches of the trees across the little garden path. Drulović heard their song, faintly now. "That wasn't always true. And in some places, even if there were such laws, believe me when I say that it was very easy to ignore them."

"That's good. I--I'm living here, and I want the kids to grow up here. They're human. They shouldn't have to--they should never have to worry." Not at all. "I mean, technically, they have an Erutin citizenship. But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't seek asylum." She had a twin she barely knew on Dev Eru. But what else? What else did she have?

"I did that, but I was twelve at the time," said Drulović, still holding Hope's hand in her own. It seemed less for the other woman's comfort than it was for her own. "It is different I think, to do such a thing as a child than as an adult, no? I imagine that the process is very different now, too, than it was in America when I was a child. Then, immigrants were not always welcome, even asylees. I do not think Mr. Ashkenazi shares that sentiment." She tilted her head to the side, her gaze sliding to meet Hope's eyes again. "I'm afraid I can't speak for your situation, my dear."

"Yes, well. Nor can I. Until then, I suppose Gadget will still have us, even if a gang is a bad place to raise children." When it was all that was left, it was what you took. Hope knew that. Being a Light Erutin meant you took what you could get and you treasured it. Two hundred sixty years old and she knew that much. She had fought for every half-inch given.

Drulović patted Hope's hand before releasing it, folding her own hands over her knees. The breeze lapped at the pages of the little notebook in her lap, a flurry of blank pages offering very little insight into anything at all. "You are welcome to take the children to my house, Hope," said Drulović, the offer of hospitality as natural to her as yellow to sunflowers. "It's on the corner of Luna and Liber. I can write the exact address for you, if you give me a moment."

Hope hissed at the touch on her hand and winced. The pain meds weren't half as effective as they could be. "Perhaps, but I certainly couldn't stay there. The legalities of my being here are somewhat hazy." Somewhat. But then again, as a Traveler, she broke any number of laws doing her job. Or had before retirement at least. Laws were a little silly at times.

"I don't imagine anyone would bother you if you were with me," said Drulović, looking again toward the spot between the trees where she had seen the cardinals. A flash of red. There. A small smile appeared at the corners of her lips. "Sometimes the laws lack compassion, I think."

"I've never known it to have any. I was told it was compassion that I did not receive the ful fifty lashes. The whip was a cat-of-nine-tails with shards of metal braided in. I was struck twenty-seven times. I was told it was mercy, being given to a crazed woman whose blood lust filled the room, and that she could not kill me." Hope sighed. "I am in authority because I do not trust authority."

Drulović's fingers rubbed against the medal with the saint's picture, her frown deepening. Her shoulders slumped, and sitting beside Hope on the bench in the garden, Drulović gave the impression of defeat. "There is very little mercy that I have ever seen," she said, her gaze following the cardinals as they danced through the trees, barely visible through the cherry blossoms and green leaves. "I'm sorry that this happened to you, Hope. Believe me when I say that I understand too well."

Hope sighed and looked away. "I'll heal. I'll heal and be wiser for it I'm sure. She--" Hope shook her head. "I like the Terran society. It's so open! Your spy--ah, Directors of Intelligence are listed, open to the public. Everyone can know. In Erutin society, not even the empress knows. No one can know."

Drulović laughed at that, small crinkles appearing around her eyes. "I'm afraid it's just me, my dear," she said, clutching her little notebook. She looked down at the blank page and sighed, tapping it with one finger. "Unfortunate, I think, that I can't quite draw right." Drulović gave Hope a sidelong look, pressing her lips together before speaking. "The names and faces of the Bureau's agents are closely guarded secrets, and with good reason. Even Mr. Cranford does not know who my agents are. You recognizing me from the papers," said Drulović, mentioning that word with distaste, "is the price I have to pay for that."

Hope grins. "Not even the agents know who the Erutin intelligence director is. In fact, as far any one knows, we don't have such a department." All lies of course. Hope stretched and smiled, then winced. "Damn. I feel so useless."

Another flash of red, and the cardinals vanished. Drulović rubbed her hands against each other, shivering again. Her chin lifted as her gaze followed the flight of the fugitive cardinals until she could not see the telltale glimpse of red anymore. "It's cold," she said, pulling her scarf around her and smoothing it over her jacket. The thermometer hanging from a low-hanging branch of one of the trees gave the temperature at close to eighteen Centigrade.

Hope smiled at nodded. "I agree." Gingerly, carefully, she managed to get one arm through the jacket and the other as well. Racie hurried over to help Hope out and Hope sighed at this. "Racie..."

"I don't care, Hope. I'm supposed to be helping you out. We're still not--we're still not really Gadget, so the least I could do is care for you."

Drulović looked up at Racie, blinking slowly at the newcomer. "Good afternoon to you, too," she said with a nod.

Racie eyed Drulović and said nothing. Hope sighed. "Arianne, this is Racie. Racie, Arianne. Now Racie probably won't say a word, but will still make me do things I don't want to, and insist on helping me out too much." Racie snorted and took a few steps away, turning her eyes to the kids.

Rachel waved to her mom and raced over, leaving Zuri and Henry. "Mama Hope! I picked you a flower!" She said and held up a mangled yellow dandelion. Hope smiled and bent down, ignoring the pain to let her daughter tuck it behind her ear.

"Thank you. Go play now," she said and Rachel raced off. Hope let a hiss escape her as Racie helped her sit up and checked her back quickly, to make certain nothing had reopened.

Drulović watched Rachel with a keen sense of longing. "I remember when I was that young," she said, rubbing her fingers against her jaw. "Your children are so fortunate, Hope." Her eyes followed the girl as she rejoined her siblings, disappearing from view around one of the bends in the path, returning a moment later. The cardinals were still gone. "Their childhood is a happy one."

Hope stretched as well as she could to see, in almost a panic, only to relax with an exhalation when the children returned. Good. Good. They were here. Hope sat back and breathed. "They can't remember the scariest part. Someone robbed them of that, stole my wife, and robbed her of her memories. I was forbidden to go after her, and once she turned up again, to tell her. It wasn't right to drag her back into this," she said, clearly bitter over it. "Not right."

"I think she is fortunate not to know. There are some things that would be better forgotten. And most of us, my dear, don't have that luxury."

Hope sighed. "Perhaps. But when they made that decision, was it right to tell me that I could no longer contact the woman I loved. I could no longer see her, could never attempt to woo her once more. I--I suppose I've moved on. But that doesn't make it any more right," she said and closed her eyes. "I need rest. Rest."

"And where are you sleeping, Hope? In a warm bed, I hope, no?" Drulović frowned, watching the other woman with palpable concern in the lines etched onto her face. "Believe me Hope when I tell you that I wish I could have done it again. The man I loved, who became my husband, worked with me for a very long time. Oh, we had quite the adventures together. But I think it might have been nice if we could have kept the ugly things outside the home."

"They won't let me out of the medical wing, so someone is always close by," Hope admitted, somewhat amused. "So yes, a nice warm bed, normally with three little hanger ons sleeping nearby," she said fondly. "I only wish I could protect them from the ugly things." Better they know the truth of the world than that though, despite her sorrow over it. Much better.

"You and I both, my dear," replied Drulović, watching the branches of the tree again. "I hid the worst things from them when they were young. I had thought -- foolishly, I think now -- that when they were older, I might have told them all of it. But it seems that no matter how I try to keep dead things buried, someone finds reason to dig them up, complete with their foul stench." She released a little sigh.

"Then tell them now and tell them why. They will be angry, but children are often angry at their parents. Mine tend to dislike the no weapons outside of a range rule," she said dryly. "They have horrible influences in the form of their uncle. He's a--a military man," she said and smiled fondly. "And not really their uncle at all, of course."

"It seems I'm a bit late already." Drulović tapped her fingers on the blank page of the little notebook, watching as her shadow rose and fell with the movement.

Hope sighed and looked at her hands. "Then I have no advice for you, I'm sorry. But give them time, please, and repair what you can. Trust, once broken, takes a long time to heal." She looked away and then took a deep breath. "But on to happier thoughts!" she declared.

"How little time we have for happy things these days," Drulović observed, a small, wry smile appearing at the edges of her lips. "Sometimes I leave the office early. Some days, I never go at all. Today, I thought I might have a nice walk and some fresh air. The gardens are beautiful this time of year, no? The trees are already beginning to change." The verdant canopies had slowly begun to shift to shades of yellow and orange in the last few days.

Hope smiled at that. "I do love watching the seasons change. The leaves where I am from tend to be much bigger, yet they color like your small leaves here. It's beautiful to watch." She smiled wider, though the smiled was still very empty. "We are lucky to have such a beautiful place, don't you think?"

ā€œI first saw colored leaves from behind Jasenovacā€™s walls,ā€ said Drulović, leaning her chin against her hand. ā€œBetween the stones and the machine guns, while I wondered if they would murder the trees too. I do not think I knew what murder meant. Not then. But the leaves were pretty. When no one was looking, I stepped on the few that landed inside the walls. I liked how they crunched.ā€

Hope tentatively leaned again Drulović, the closest she could give to a hug at the moment. She hoped the other woman understood. "The important thing is that you are no longer there. You are here now, and as safe as you can ever hope to be. You have to--you have to keep going, even if it is hard."

"Safety is a frame of mind," responded Drulović. "I don't think it's possible to be completely safe. Lord knows I tried to keep my daughters safe. He also knows how well that went. I think that no matter what I do now, I won't be able to stop what is coming." Her eyes slid towards the trees again. "But they are beautiful. I only wish I had seen them first elsewhere, no? I think the end of October is when they are the most colorful."

"I confess I don't know much about Terran history, but I think that you are right. Right now, I just count myself fortunate to be able to see anything." Not permanently maimed. That was the order. However, a mage could easily heal the damage if caught soon enough, so Hope's eyes hadn't been left out of the torture sessions. Not a single one.

Drulović took the pen in her hand again, and resumed her halting strokes across the page in a second attempt to render the tree across from the bench. ā€œTell me about your homeworld, Hope. What are the trees like there?ā€

"Big," Hope admitted. "Some have been hollowed out inside, to make into homes, they are so big," she said and smiled at Drulović. She winced as she leaned forward to watch her kids play at the park. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Hope smiled at the holders of her heart and shook her head.

ā€œAt home, do you live in one of those tree-homes?ā€ asked Drulović, squinting up at the tree as her hand moved slowly, awkwardly across the page. She had been writing and drawing this way for a few decades now, and still was not quite used to it. Another slip of the hand, and she frowned, but this time, did not tear the page from the notepad.

"No, I live in the city, in a marble home," she said, growing uncomfortable. She looked away and sighed. "We spend most of our time here. The kids can barely tell the difference, as I don't take them out often on Dev Eru." She shook her head. "Enough questions." She hurt too much for questions.

ā€œIā€™m sorry,ā€ responded Drulović smoothly, with an inclination of the head. ā€œIt seems that Iā€™ve forgotten how to make proper conversation. Either that, or I never learned.ā€ She grimaced, resting her pen for a moment. ā€œIā€™ve spent far too much time, I think, in briefings or interrogations. Too little time elsewhere. With friends, even. I imagine youā€™ve experienced much of the same.ā€

Hope frowns. "I make time for friends and family, over the needs of work." She focused on Racie for a minute and waved her over. "Racie, I'm tired," she grumbled. "Arianne, I am sorry, but I'm still much too tired for extended conversation. I think I should probably go," she said and looked to Racie. Racie nodded and signaled for Conner to grab the kids as Kalil kept watch. "Another time, I'm sure."

ā€œCertainly,ā€ responded Drulović. She set the notepad and pen on the bench and rose to her feet, offering her right hand to Hope to help her from her seat.

Hope smiled and shook her head, motioning with one hand to her feet. "I can't," she admitted and Racie lifted her up, putting her back down into the wheelchair. The woman took the handles and Hope gave a grin. "I'm part mummy you know." Her feet were bundled up similarly to her hands, though warm socks almost hid them. Hope waved to Arianne, ignoring the pain, and her children were corralled to the hoverbikes and set up so they could all go.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Wed Oct 12, 2011 3:15 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by Nemo [R0NlN] playing Rubano Malijin and Ylanne playing Rick Pollman. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Rubano Malijin strode up the house of Rick Pollman, brushing his tie into his suit jacket as his right hand kept a neatly-pressed file portfolio to his waist. The Minister knocked rang the doorbell, waiting outside the house with his usually calm demeanor. If what Vlatko had said was true, then this was the first step in what would hopefully prove to be a fruitful investigation.

The long, dark green clapboard and gray stone house sat on a cozy few acres of land in rural Virginia. Pollman rose from the wooden table in the sunlit breakfast nook and walked slowly toward the front door. With his thinning, white hair, dark brown turtleneck and jeans, Pollman looked very much like someoneā€™s grandfather and did not give the impression of a man who formerly held a powerful position in the CIA. Pollman pulled open the front door, peering out at Rubano. ā€œMinister Malijin?ā€

"Mr. Pollman," Rubano smiled grandly, "it is an honor to meet you sir." The Minister stepped forward, offering his hand to the former CIA operative, "I apologize for requesting this meeting on such short notice."

ā€œItā€™s no trouble, Minister,ā€ responded Pollman. Though he was clearly advanced in age, he was not stooped, and his voice remained strong and clear. ā€œPlease come inside. Iā€™ll get you a cup of coffee?"

"Oh don't trouble yourself Mr. Pollman," Rubano declined graciously, walking into the house. "I won't bother you for too long. There's only a few things I wish to cover with you and I'll be on my way." The Chairman looked about the grand house, clearly admiring it. "You have a lovely home, Mr. Pollman. I trust you've been living comfortably after so many honorable years of service to the CIA."

A number of paintings dating from the nineteenth century hung on the walls, many of them with Eastern European motifs and Cyrillic text. The floor plan was open and spacious, with minimal furniture and maximum sunlight. Windows stretched along walls, allowing light to settle on bookshelves with well-worn texts in Slavic languages in the living room, and the polished hardwood floors. ā€œYes, I had a sizable retirement fund.ā€ Pollman shut the door behind the Minister. ā€œAnything, Minister. I am always happy to lend my services to the government.ā€ He motioned for Rubano to take a seat in the living room on the leather couch.

Rubano took a moment, his eyes drifting to each of the paintings in appreciative gazes. With a brief nod of thanks, Rubano quickly assumed his seat on the intended couch, waiting for Pollman to rest opposite him before beginning. "Mr. Pollman, it is no secret that many of our TNG friends frequently contact you for advice or information," Rubano began. "Your wise council and superior understanding is a valuable gift. I also come today looking for information--information that our esteemed Minister Klaic believes you might be willing to give me."

Pollman settled into the couch, narrowing his eyes and combing his fingers through his thin white hair around the crown of his head. ā€œThat depends on what type of information it is,ā€ he responded, acknowledging Vlatkoā€™s name with a nod. ā€œMinister Klaic and I have discussed many things, Minister Malijin.ā€ His clear blue eyes rested on Rubanoā€™s face, offering little in the way of a hint to any kind of reaction.

Rubano nodded, his powerful hands clasped passively together. "I imagine so, Mr. Pollman," Rubano continued, his resounding voice deep and articulate, "and I am glad that you and Minister Klaic have been so straightforward with one another." Oddly enough, Rubano's voice was somewhat losing its suave demeanor, giving way to a colder and more factual tone of argument. Pollman's clear blues would meet Rubano's abysmal blacks, finding as much passion and emotion in them as was evident in the color itself. "I should hope that you would come to remember such familiarity here, Mr. Pollman," Rubano cocked his head ever so slightly. "We are friends. We are friends, Mr. Pollman."

ā€œI donā€™t have many friends,ā€ said Pollman, grimacing a little, ā€œbut I hold our Parliament in very high esteem. I have great respect for anyone who serves the government. Iā€™m sure you know how difficult it can be.ā€ He rubbed his jaw for a moment with wrinkled fingers. ā€œSo please, ask me any questions that you have. I would be honored to help you in any way I can, and Iā€™m certain I can provide the information that you need.ā€

Rubano reclined contently into the couch, his clasped fingers pressing at the jut of his jawline. "Excellent," he grinned. "My questions concern our esteemed Madame Director Drulović," Rubano began calmly. "Perhaps you are already aware of the strange rumors and alleged suspicions placed against both her and our honorable Minster of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Jonathan Ashkenazi?"

ā€œIā€™ve heard many rumors about both of them,ā€ Pollman acknowledged, ā€œbut only some of those rumors are actually true. Minister Klaic seemed particularly interested in those rumors last we met as well. He mentioned that he had been in Yugoslavia during some of the same time that Director Drulović was serving in the CIA.ā€

"Minister Klaic nonetheless remains very concerned about this rumors," Rubano continued, "particularly about some of the more gruesome allegations. Minister Klaic fears that Director Drulović and Minister Ashkenazi were involved in some sort of genocide many years ago."

Pollman paused. ā€œSeparate incidents,ā€ he said with a measured tone. ā€œMinister Ashkenaziā€™s actions were supported by the Israeli government at the time. Director Drulović... I really oughtnā€™t to be talking about this, Minister Malijin,ā€ said Pollman. ā€œI could be putting my life in jeopardy if the wrong people knew about some of this.ā€

"Please, Mr. Pollman," Rubano assured, "there's nothing jeapordizing about all this. Their mere rumors, no? All of them. I have no intention of believing that Ashkenazi or Drulović engaged in such crimes from mere word of mouth. Not even yours, Mr. Pollman." Rubano quirked an eyebrow. "...unless of course, you have some concrete evidence?"

ā€œTheyā€™re hardly rumors, Minister Malijin,ā€ responded Pollman, his voice hardening. ā€œAnd I have the case files in my lockbox. Theyā€™re in the lockbox for a reason, Minister. The information in that lockbox could bring serious harm to me. My signature is on those papers.ā€

"Mr. Pollman, please," Rubano implored. "If what you're saying is true, then surely you understood the gravity of such information? Especially considering how such characters hold such prestigious offices within the Terran National Government?"

ā€œThe CIA,ā€ responded Pollman calmly, ā€œlike all intelligence organizations, often engaged in activities that to the outside world, might be seen as immoral or shocking. I would not be surprised if the TIB now does much of the same, and I know for a fact that the Israeli Mossad often oversaw many operations that most moralists would find utterly objectionable. I do not think that that means that those who served their country, and had to get their hands dirty in the process, are therefore unfit for leadership. The outside word simply cannot understand the workings of the intelligence community. In that world, we cannot afford to wait for court approval, or to ask for political sanction. If we waited, we would have been shooting ourselves in the foot.ā€

"I understand, Mr. Pollman," Rubano nodded patiently, "and I certainly would believe that releasing such information to unqualified sources couldn't possibly be beneficial for the government." Rubano shrugged. "Still, you must admit that there are those within the TNG who should know."

Pollman folded his hands over his knees, giving Rubano an impassive, measured stare. ā€œLet me ask you this, Minister Malijin.ā€ He paused, blinking a moment. ā€œWhy is it that you are interested in information about these two in particular?ā€

"My interest in the well-being of Terra and her sovereignty," Rubano stated plainly. "I wish to see our country made strong. If there is weakness or serious conflict in the leaders of our government, then we must know. It is our duty to understand them--to help them and raise them up as best we can."

Pollman was silent for several moments, his eyes probing Rubano with the practiced calm of the interrogator. When he finally spoke, his tone was decidedly darker. Pollman nodded to a framed gold medal on the mantle of the fireplace. ā€œDo you know what that is, Minister Malijin?ā€ he asked. ā€œThatā€™s the CIAā€™s Intelligence Star, awarded for valor to exceptional operatives for heroism under extraordinary circumstances. I know when someoneā€™s bullshitting me. Whatā€™s the real reason, Minister?ā€ Pollman held up a hand. ā€œAnd before you answer -- consider this. I will know if you are lying.ā€

Rubano reclined, mulling over his options in his mind. So here it was at last. All cards on the table. Rubano decided in that instant that he very much liked Rick Pollman. "Because, Mr. Pollman," Rubano began, leaning forward, his tone also assuming a more serious and grave depth. "Because it's too much. Because this country isn't run by Parliament. It's not run by the people. It's run by the Terran Intelligence Bureau. By the pale faced thumb-twiddlers in grey suits who watch the world from the eyes of surveillance cameras and operation dossiers." Rubano nearly growled. "The title 'TIB Director' throws more weight then 'Prime Minister,ā€™" Rubano continued, "I don't care what the 'reality' is--this is the Terran National Government. We are free. We are sovereign. And if not, we should at least be making a damn-worthy effort trying to appear so."

ā€œSo what is it youā€™re suggesting, Minister?ā€ Pollman leaned back in his chair, laying his hands over his knees, speaking in the same calm tone. ā€œBecause Iā€™ll tell you right now that until you say it, I wonā€™t be providing any information anytime soon.ā€ He paused. ā€œAnd Iā€™m guessing that by virtue of the fact that youā€™re sitting in my living room, you already know that Arianne Drulović has connections to the far reaches of this planet.ā€

"Believe me when I tell that I do respect Director Drulović," Rubano said firmly. "She's saved the planet on more then one occasion. We need her, that much is certain. But the extent of her power is too great. If the accusations against her are true and affirmed, then I intend to use it." There was no hesitation as he said the words. "I intend to use it well. As for the method of my actions, I have not yet decided," Rubano continued, "but the consequences would be all the same--the influence of the TIB would fall. Drulović's authority would diminish enough to where Parliament can finally assume its rightful place as head of the Terran National Government."

Pollman eyed Rubano for a few moments. ā€œI have some of the case files from Drulovićā€™s operations, before Drulović redacted the CIAā€™s central files. But I donā€™t have her personnel file, which has the rest of the documentation. I believe she illegally removed her own personnel file from the CIAā€™s central registry shortly before the United States voted to join the Aschen. The case files are in a safe in Zurich. The only information redacted from the files are the names of other CIA personnel.ā€ Pollman leaned to one side of the couch, considering. ā€œThe accusations against Drulović are rooted in CIA operations conducted in the former Yugoslavia between 1972 and 1999.ā€

Rubano quickly hid his excitement. It was pulling through after all. Pollman was cooperating. "Other CIA personnel," Rubano continued. "And you have these names?"

ā€œI do, but Iā€™m not willing to release those names. Those people are mostly retired, leading quiet and productive lives away from the instruments of the government.ā€ Pollman tapped his fingers on his knees for a moment before folding his hands and straightening his posture again. ā€œThe only one that may interest you besides Arianne Drulovićā€™s name is the name of the man who worked regularly with her on operations beginning as early as 1964, when she first joined the Agency. He also happens to be the most likely possessor of her personnel file.ā€

"Nenad," Rubano spoke quickly, immediately recalling his previous conversation with Vlatko, "her former husband." Undoubtedly the former operative could provide a goldmine of information for Rubano. It could very well be his end-all be-all conclusion to this investigation. And yet... "Do you really think he'll talk?" Rubano asked skeptically.

Pollman shrugged. ā€œItā€™s not likely, but he is the only other person who might have the rest of the information and documents. Nenad Drulović was an excellent operative, very by the book when he had to be, yet also quite innovative when necessary all throughout his career. They made quite an interesting pair.ā€ Pollmanā€™s lips turned upward in amusement. ā€œI must say I was rather surprised when I found out that they got married in Yugoslavia. Did you know that Arianne Drulović was using the name Drulović as an alias before they were married?ā€

"I didn't." Rubano quirked his brow. "There are many things I don't know about Arianne Drulović." The Minister clasped his hands, new options and directions becoming clear to him. He was making excellent progress...but there was still so much to be done. So much still stood in the way of dethroning the TIB Director and her accomplices. "Is there anything else you'd feel compelled to tell me, Mr. Pollman?" Rubano continued. "Anything at all? I do appreciate what you've given me as it is."

ā€œIā€™m going to tell you a story,ā€ said Pollman, crossing his legs and folding his hands over them. ā€œThe highest honor the Intelligence Community can bestow upon an individual is the National Intelligence Distinguished Service Medal. The highest honor the CIA can bestow upon an individual is the Distinguished Intelligence Cross, which until that bodyā€™s dissolution, could only be awarded posthumously. Arianne Drulović received both.ā€

Pollman nodded to a globe resting atop the wooden mantle with pins stuck in cities throughout Eastern Europe. ā€œIn the 1970s, I assigned Drulović to infiltrate the Lavovi Srbija, a group of Serbian nationalists who were turning to terrorism in an attempt to overthrow the Yugoslavian government in favor of the establishment of a centralized Serbian state with borders extending into Croatia, Albania, Bosnia, and Kosovo. It was our Directorā€™s hope at the time to destabilize the Tito regime to prevent the spread of any form of Communism.ā€

The old man rose from the couch, walking over to the globe, and tapping one of the pins. ā€œDrulović was assigned to work deep cover, non-official cover. That meant she didnā€™t have diplomatic immunity, or even a cover story as an American official. She was sent there as a Serb among Serbs. At least four times, the secret police targeted Drulović and her partner, Nenad, as they had successfully risen to leadership positions within the Lavovi Srbija, and their names -- or aliases -- were mentioned in the interrogations of Lavovi Srbija prisoners.ā€

Rubano listened intently, taking in as much information as he could. Somehow it didn't surprise Rubano that Drulović had achieved such prestige in the CIA. "I imagine then, that they were never caught though?" Rubano asked. "They completed their mission, no?"

ā€œMy specific orders to Drulović were to rise through the ranks of Lavovi Srbija and gain the trust of the inner circle, at any cost. I explicitly gave authorization for her direct participation in the planning and execution of terrorist attacks against both government and civilian targets.ā€ Pollman folded his arms, standing beside the fireplace while he looked at Rubano. ā€œFrom the copies of the state-run newspapers that the CIA collected during the time period, Drulović and Nenad were successful with their assignment. The Yugoslavian secret police sought them openly, and both aliases were mentioned with increasing regularity in internal memos and communiques.ā€

Pollman leaned against the fireplace, speaking with all the confidence of one accustomed to giving briefings to others. ā€œBetween 1972 and 1982, Drulović rose to a senior position within Lavovi Srbija, but a government mole in the lower echelons of the terrorist group gave the secret police information on a meeting. In early 1982, Drulović was one of thirty or so Lavovi Srbija arrested in a secret raid of a meeting. Nenad did not report contact with Drulović until 1986, after Lavovi Srbija staged an attack on the prison in Kosovo.ā€

"So she was captured," Rubano continued, "kept in confinement for that long? I imagine the poor Director was quite shaken afterwards." Another part of Pollman's history lesson caught his ear. 'I explicitly gave authorization for her direct participation in the planning and execution of terrorist attacks against both government and civilian targets.' Could that perhaps pertain to the genocide charges?

ā€œI have no idea what happened while Drulović was in custody. I was never debriefed, and I retired the same year she returned to the States.ā€ Pollman shrugged. ā€œThe only memos that I have are her formal requests for reassignment Stateside again, beginning in early 1987. I denied those requests, because she was a very high value asset at that point. I ordered Drulović to remain with Lavovi Srbija, even after Yugoslavia disintegrated. During the 1990s, Drulović followed orders to the letter through 1998. In order to maintain cover with Lavovi Srbija, she participated in the Srebenica massacre and regional ethnic cleansings. We had vested interests in asserting American interests in the Balkans at the time, and I was relaying the orders I had received myself.ā€

And there it was. The truth at last. Drulović had engaged in the massacres, everything was true. Assured of the Directorā€™s guilt, Rubano now just needed the concrete evidence. "I don't suppose you have any physical proof of her involvement?" Rubano asked a bit eagerly. "Something I could work with besides your word of mouth?"

ā€œI wasnā€™t there, Minister. I only have the CIAā€™s internal memos, including debriefings, some photographs, and the memo I sent with my authorization,ā€ replied Pollman. ā€œI think Nenad would have access to the kinds of proof youā€™re looking for, although I wouldnā€™t expect much cooperation from him.ā€ He paused a moment. ā€œRegarding Ashkenazi, now, I have a few memos exchanged between the CIA and Mossad in the 1980s, but I donā€™t have access to Mossad files. Youā€™d have to track down a retired senior Mossad official to learn where you can access that kind of information.ā€

Rubano nodded. "I'm sure I could manage that," Rubano affirmed. Being a Minister of Parliament did give him access to certain connections. Although Rubano was eager to nab Ashkenazi, Drulović was still his primary target... and by far the more dangerous of the two. "Is there any other information you could give me regarding Drulović, though?" Rubano inquired, "so far all I know is that I have Nenad as a contact... and his cooperation isn't certain."

ā€œShe survived the genocide against the Serbs by the Croatian UstaÅ”e government, which was a front for the German Nazi party,ā€ said Pollman, still leaning against the fireplace. ā€œShe entered the States when she was twelve, despite her official TIB biography claiming that she was born in America. I donā€™t know why it says that. Her CIA personnel file had the correct information, I am certain. Other than Nenad Drulović, I donā€™t know who else would know of Drulovićā€™s activities working for SAD. Because of the special nature of their assignments, they were not in regular contact or collaboration with other CIA operatives. I do know that Drulović ultimately sent a formal request for transfer back to the States every year between 1987 and 1999. I know she disappeared from the radar between 1987 and 1989. And I know that in 1998, a year before she did return to the States, she disobeyed orders coming directly from me."

"Oh?" Rubano perked up. "Disobeyed, you say? How very... characteristically foreign of the Director to do so." Or perhaps completely within her character. "What exactly had you told her to do?" The Minister listened with obvious interest. Whatever Drulović had defied orders for could perhaps serve to be useful in his search.

ā€œI ordered Drulović to assassinate a key figure in the Kosovo Liberation Army,ā€ responded Pollman. ā€œShe refused to carry out the order, stating in her official memo -- well. Iā€™ll let you read it. Itā€™s in the safe in Zurich. I can get the access codes for you if you give me a few minutes. In any case, Drulović sent a memo directly from Kosovo to Langley refusing the order. In all my time, I had never seen such subordination.ā€

"My," Rubano said quietly, his mind deep in thought. "Isn't that just the strangest thing." For a long while, the Minister said nothing, his consciousness lost in contemplative thought. How could Drulović have carried out genocide orders one moment, and then refuse a simple assassination in another? What strange character-change had happened between those years to incite such different actions? "Those codes for Zurich would be wonderful, Mr. Pollman," Rubano smiled, remembering his last sentence. 'In all my time, I had never seen such subordination.' Perhaps Mr. Pollman had a bone to pick with Drulović as well. Perhaps this was the reason for his cooperation.

Pollman reached for the globe, removing part of the top to reveal that the wooden decoration was hollow inside. He retrieved a thumbdrive and a folded sheet of paper. ā€œThe access codes and the account number,ā€ he said, offering both to Rubano before replacing the top on the globe. It disappeared seamlessly into the rest of the object, so that even a close visual inspection would be unable to note that the top was removable. ā€œYou can copy all of the documents in the safe, but leave the originals in the safe when youā€™re done.ā€

"Of course, Mr. Pollman," Rubano said, tucking the materials into his jacket. He rose suddenly from the couch. "I believe our business here is concluded. I very much appreciate your cooperation with all of this." Pollman had of course been a gold mine. Rubano had everything to launch off of after this.

ā€œMost certainly,ā€ responded Pollman with an inclination of the head. He turned to escort Rubano from the house. ā€œCall on me any time, Minister.ā€ His eyes watched Rubano carefully, with all the dogged wariness of the watcher.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Thu Oct 13, 2011 3:08 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by Nemo [R0NlN] playing Austin Marshal;, barney_fife playing Marlene Angel and Helene Chaska; AzricanRepublic playing Had-Medeen, Raymond Daylon, and Sergeant Chambers; and Ylanne playing Abdalhaq Mulavi, Daniel Romero, Tom Lasky, Ahmad Fazari, and Arianne Drulović. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Wing City Highway
South of Wing City, Terra


Austin Marshall stood on the far outskirts of Wing City, the tall towering buildings of the metropolis not even visible anymore. Beside him, a TIB trademark white van innocently rested in the dry desert many miles from the dusty highway leading out of the Wing. The night was cold and crisp, Austin's long exhales leaving breath in the wind. His eyes glanced up at the full moon for only a moment, wondering whether to swoon over the dazzling lunar light or curse it for the exposure it gave.

Austin opened the doors to the van, retrieving the street-bike he had packed into the back, and MV Agusta F4. He needed to get back into the city somehow, of course. Setting the motorcycle a safe distance from the van, Austin returned to the vehicle and popped the hood. Time to get to business.

In the distance the piercing blue-white HIDs of a creme colored Aschen built Cadillac Escalade appeared. Marlene Angel had had several visions about a burning government SUV, and decided to investigate the strange visions she had been having the last week or so. Quietly Marlene crept along the dirt road as she squinted, seeing the white TIB SUV in the distance. Of course at this distance, Marlene's SUV could have been mistaken for a TIB SUV. But it wasn't.

Soon Austin and his SUV came into the headlights as Marlene's SUV came to a stop, its engines idling for a moment. Of course by the time she showed up, it was likely that Austin was already getting to work. Marlene's voice then carried in the cold desert air. "Destroying government property are we?" Marlene asked, climbing out of her SUV.

Austin had his gun out long before he was in headlight range, aimed appropriately towards where the driver ought to be in the Escalade. Who in the name of hell could possible be out here? Was it the TIB? No way, the form of the car wasn't right. Another agent in a different vehicle? No, Drulović would have sent notice.

Austin relaxed slightly as Marlene identified herself, then tensed back up as he realized what was going on. Marlene was NPA now. A servant of the Agency often in conflict with the TIB itself.

Fuck.

"You'll get yourself killed pulling shit like that," Austin remarked numbly, his voice relaxed and calm. "Flash your lights next time; let me know you're not a hostile." He raised an eyebrow, quirking his brow ever-so-slightly. "Unless you are a hostile?" Besides this, the TIB Agent had completely avoided her question. He remained passive throughout the ordeal, seemingly oblivious to how suspicious this looked.

Marlene withdrew her disruptor and then pointed the pistol towards the man. "Special Agent Austin Marshall, step away from the vehicle, drop your weapon, and place your hands on your head. You're under arrest for suspicion of treason, destroying evidence, and destruction of government property." She was going out on a limb, but her murky visions were clear. She was hoping she could buy her charge. If not, the files provided by the FBP and the camera footage of the SUV at the scene during Shaw's disappearance would prove her charge. "I am giving you five seconds to comply before I deploy nonlethal force," she said, putting the pieces together.

Austin stopped instantly, his mind working over a plethora of possibilities with lightning speed. He couldn't be stopped now--not when he hadn't even finished the job yet. Reaching into his jacket from where he stood, his back facing the agent, Austin retrieved a small, specialized grenade. Rather then explode, it was designed to ignite in a swamp of burning, charged plasma. Precisely the sort of spark he needed to get rid of the van.

With the small grenade concealed in his enveloping hands, Austin turned slowly, letting his gauss pistol fall on top of his foot as he put his hands behind his head slowly. He stood there for a brief moment, his rigid face betraying no emotion as he stared down the barrel of a disruptor pistol.

And then he made his move.

Readying the grenade, concealed behind his head, Austin flicked the device quickly, sending the tool out from his hands with unexpected speed. The grenade landed with a clang in the innards of the car, beeping quietly as it began to detonate. The specialized plasma wouldn't ignite the gasoline in a fiery explosion, but in a building fire. In a minute or so, the car would be almost completely enveloped in flames.

Austin shrugged humorously, fighting the urge to laugh. "Oops," he grinned youthfully. With impossible reflexes, Austin flicked his foot up, bringing the gauss-pistol resting there soaring back up into his hands. Marlene had the drop on him, but even she was stupid enough to shoot a TIB agent for something so menial. He trained his weapon on the girl just as quickly as his fingers found the trigger, creating a perfect Mexican standoff. Assuming Marlene didn't shoot him, of course.

"And now, Special Agent Marlene Angel of the Terran National Police Agency," Austin began in a half-mock tone of her own, handsomely grinning like a scoundrel in all his rotten glory, "I'm giving you five seconds to drop your firearm before I deploy non-lethal force. As the TIB and NPA are on completely different authority spectrums, I'd advise you not to interfere with official Bureau business. Unless you've got a clearance level four. If not, I'd be happy to escort you to the nearest gas-station where you can fill up your Escalade for the trip back and pick up a Snickers bar for the ride." Austin winked rogueishly, still grinning. "Unless you prefer hard candy. You strike me as a hard candy kind of girl."

Marlene glared and then watched the SUV go up in flames. "You idiot! You destroyed my only lead in the disappearance of Kendra Shaw!" she shouted, and then it was time for Marlene to act, once he had enveloped the two into the throes of a Mexican standoff. "Drop the gun before I drop you!" she barked before she decided to take things to the next level. She reached out into the intangible. Being a precog, she saw the future before it happened; she would not prevail in a shootout against him, but perhaps she would try a different route. "Perhaps you smuggled her off the planet. Put the gun down now; I am hereby relieving you of your position pending an investigation. You will surrender right now!" she shouted. By now she had called for backup, neurally activating a communicator bead.

"HQ this is Angel. I have a situation; I have a rogue TIB agent destroying evidence in the case regarding Shaw. Request assistance, over," she said, pointing her gun before she reached out to the gauss pistol in his hand. She exerted her mental force to literally crush the barrel of the weapon in his hand, and then she attempted to use her mental faculties to force his weapon hand behind his back. "I should have known the TIB was conspiring with the Gemonese. Get on the ground now!" she barked, reaching out with her mental faculties once more to literally sweep him off his feet.

ā€œShaw? Are you--ā€ The radio controller closed the open channel. ā€œWhat the hell is she talking about?ā€ He opened a channel to Abdalhaq Mulaviā€™s secretary. ā€œWe have Angel reporting a TIB agent tampering with evidence related to Shaw, requesting backup. What should I do?ā€

Mulaviā€™s voice came over the line. ā€œPatch me through to her.ā€ Once the controller had done so, Mulavi cleared his throat. ā€œThis is the Acting Director. Iā€™m dispatching a unit to your location with GPS tracking. Standby.ā€

ā€œShould I notify the TIB?ā€ asked the controller.

ā€œNegative,ā€ said Mulavi. Shutting the channel, he sighed. ā€œTheyā€™ll find out anyway, and pretty quickly,ā€ he added to himself.

A team of eight agents detailed to the tactical unit barreled down Wing City Highway in an armored vehicle from the NPA Headquarters on Main Street. ā€œOn our way, ETA fifteen minutes,ā€ came the voice of the team leader. ā€œThis is Romero with tactical.ā€

Austin recoiled sharply as the Gauss pistol in his hands was suddenly crushed, the weapon sparking as it was promptly destroyed under Marlene's powerful telekinetic abilities. Even more alarming, Austin suddenly felt his trigger-hand being literally jerked behind his back by some unseen force.

ā€œAh shit,ā€ Austin groaned to himself. ā€œA telepath.ā€ And here he didn't even have an inhibitor-shield. Still, if Marlene was a telepath, it didn't seem like she was terribly trained. A true telepath would have been able to rip both his arms off and make a painting in the sand with his blood by the time Marlene had even crushed his weapon. There was one option then--brute force.

Straining his built muscles, Austin resisted the force of Marlene's push with raw strength. Depending on how adept her skills, Marlene might have found herself unable to continue with the attack. Or she might have thrown his muscles aside like a rag-doll. It was a risk, that was for sure--though it wasn't like Austin hadn't taken risks before. "So that's a 'no' on the candy?" Austin forced a smile somewhere in his painful grimace as he struggled.

Marlene felt the searing pain in her head as he fought against her telekinetic hold. She struggled and exerted more force on him. Sweat began to coat her forehead and even her arms; her hands were tense and veins could be made out in her neck. "You're only making--your--situation--worse." The pain in her head was getting worse. She had to make it stop; she had to do something. Marlene made a quick decision. Letting the pistol fall to the ground, she focused what little training she had to hoist Austin several feet up, turning him upside down and holding him over the burning SUV. "Keep! Struggling and you might--break my hold! It's over, Austin; you're under arrest and resisting only piles up the charges even higher. Why did you betray Terra?" she shouted, feeling her hold slip and her head hurt even more. She was begging that her backup would arrive and fast.

The voices on the NPAā€™s channels were captured by the satellites transversing Terraā€™s surface, the conversations beamed to the analysts inside the Durrani Building within seconds of their having been spoken through the communications devices used by the NPA personnel. Mention of the name Shaw meant that the communications were bumped as high as they could go, interrupting Ahmad Fazari while he had been eating in a conference room. ā€œGet these to the Director,ā€ came the senior analystā€™s voice. ā€œWhere is she?ā€

Ahmad nodded, taking copies of the communications and heading up the back stairwell toward the office upstairs. ā€œDirector?ā€ He hurried to get the information to Drulović, who had been eating a bowl of meatball soup atop the desk, which lacked a computer conspicuously. ā€œYou need to hear this.ā€

After listening in silence for a few minutes, Drulović frowned at Ahmad. ā€œDispatch the tactical unit to the same location and extract Mr. Marshall.ā€

Less than four minutes after the NPA tacticals had departed their headquarters, an armored helicopter bearing a four man unit from the TIB roared to life above Fort Veritas, heading toward the spot on the highway where Austin and Marlene were fighting.

Austin made his best ā€œwhatthefuckā€ face in mid-struggle, clearly not understanding Marlene's accusations. Betray Terra? What the hell was she talking about? "Were you-- smoking-- something--or'what-- " Austin grunted between breaths, his muscles flexing against her mental strength. As she attempted to lift him, Austin quickly bore down, shifting his weight as much as possible while he was being lifted in an attempt to ground himself once again. If that had failed, he would have stopped resisting altogether once above the burning vehicle. He looked back between the flames below him and Marlene in annoyance.

"Oh, real nice, Marlene." Austin crossed his arms over his chest as he floated. "I offer you a kind escort and some delicious hard candy and you send me dangling above a blazing fire? Y'know attitudes like yours is how World War One started." Austin allowed his usual satiric manner to mask his building concern. While the agent was sure that Marlene wouldn't kill a TIB agent, she might have lost control of her ill-trained mental powers. Or, perhaps she would kill him. Hadn't she called him a traitor earlier? Through some strange confusion Marlene perhaps legitimately believed he was a bad guy. Bad guys got shot.

Marlene shouted. "That SUV you just burned was used to smuggle Kendra Shaw off of Terra. Thanks to you, Kendra's safe and sound on Niihama selling secrets to the Empire and threatening not only Terra, but the Aschen Confederation. You destroyed the link and the evidence, which kinda implicates you in the attack. Now will you come quietly so we can sort this out at HQ, or do I have to drop you in a several thousand degree blaze?" she shouted. Barely getting a grip, she decided to pull him back towards her.

"You have--the right to remain silent. Anything you say--can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the--right to an attorney present," she said, lowering him towards her. "If you cannot afford an attorney--one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand these rights?" she said, reaching for a pair of binders. "Come quietly and we'll sort this out, but Terra's sovereignty is threatened. There's a leak in the integrity of the government, and everything's pointing at you right now. You're in deep shit."

The TIB arrived about thirty seconds before the NPA did. The Bureau tacticals rappelled from the helicopter to the ground a good fifty meters back from the blaze, weapons aimed at Marlene. ā€œStand back,ā€ ordered the lead agent, all while the three team members advanced rapidly toward Marlene and Austin, intending to quite literally grab him.

Moments later, the NPA tacticals arrived, confused at first by the presence of the Bureau tacticals. ā€œThe hell...ā€ Romero strode forward with his weapon, looking at the Bureau tacticals, before shaking his head. ā€œNPA,ā€ he said, displaying his badge. ā€œStand down, now, or I will use nonlethal force!ā€ The team of NPA tacticals moved to surround the area, creating a perimeter.

Sheriff Raymond Daylon stepped out onto the tarmac of the FOB Darkhammer, his eyes quickly meeting the cold gaze of Major General Had-Medeen as he administrated the preparations of the FBP Cricket heavy VTOL. The hot engines of the Coalition airjet caused a blustering wind to flow out from the vehicle platform as the FBP officers filed onto the vehicle. The Major General's voice was hardly intelligible until Daylon reached within a minute broadcast area of the marine commander's intracom system; he pointed a team of Federal Police onto the Cricket as a pair of Aviation Cavalry specialist performed a final systems check and inspected the physical structure of the aircraft to clear it for flight.

"You wanted me, Major General?" Daylon remarked, approaching the marine in full assault-gear, the modified body armor a staple of the FBP forces operating in populated, urban areas. Had-Medeen inspected the Coalition officer before handing him a datapad complete with an active stylus.

"Chatter is all up about an Aschen in the TIB, fire on the highway. The Terrans are pointing guns at themselves, Sheriff--didn't I tell you to make sure to keep these fuckers from slaughtering themselves?" Had-Medeen said with a notable fury in his voice, indicating to the Cricket with a wave and bark as the last of Daylon's team assembled. "Get your asses on the Cricket, get to that AO and handle this situation. Don't fuck this up, Sheriff," he commanded, before briskly walking away from the Hykan.

" ... You heard him, load up. We're dusting off in five."

Austin simply stood there, his eyebrows quirked humorously as his gaze flipped from Marlene to the TIB tacticals to the NPA agents. Guns were pointed at everyone. Austin grinned, imagining that, had everyone pulled their triggers at the exact moment, they'd all be dead in that very instant. "This is fuckin' great," Austin shook his head, laughing all the while.

Marlene glared at the TIB tactical. "Release my suspect! Now!" she barked, looking back to Romero. "There's a mole in the TIB. This whole situation is frak--fucked. He's my suspect and the TIB's covering for him. Something does not add up; I'm about to take the whole TIB to court!" she barked, before she used her mental powers to throw the TIB agents off of Austin, and then she kicked her Disruptor up and then she pointed it to Austin. "You're coming with me, traitor, either alive or in a body bag!" she barked before she felt a searing pain in her head. She didn't seem to flinch, but her vision was murky for a moment. "You're covering for a traitor! Release him or I will take you all to court!" she said, before she turned to Romero. "Get someone on the line who can get me a gods damned warrant!"

Romero spoke directly into his cell phone to the controller at the NPA Headquarters. "We got a situation," he said, eyes darting between the TIB and NPA agents at the scene. "Looks like there are armed hostiles, also Terran; we need a warrant and fast."

"What for?" asked the controller, on the other end of the line and speakng on an open channel so that Mulavi could hear. (What he did not know was that the TIB was listening very closely to all of the communications being relayed from the situation.)

"For, uh, a TIB agent, Austin Marshall, for tampering with evidence, and treason, and aiding and abetting," responded Romero, having gotten a grap quickly on the situation.

"Let me put it up to the AD," came the response, and Romero looked back at the standoff.

The TIB tacticals who had been unceremoniously hurled into the air returned quickly to their feet, one of them debating whether or not he was authorized to open fire. "This is Lasky to base, authorization to use deadly force requested," came the voice of the TIB's tactical lead agent.

A few moments later, Arianne Drulović's voice came into the channel, audible as well to the NPA agents and the Scatterrans. "Negative, Mr. Lasky," said the Director. "You do not have authorization to shoot and kill Terrans. Stand down; if the situation does not abate, I will address it personally."

Sheriff Daylon pulled the riothelm up from in front of his face as the Coalition airjet burned through the airspace above Wing City, hearing the dull chatter of the Aviation pilots speaking directly with a Terran ground crew giving them real-time telemetry and piloting data as the Cricket observed a strict pattern of flight through Terran space. Flying in ā€œguts open,ā€ that is, all three bay doors of the heavy VTOL open to the night air, the Coalition officers readied their equipment. In the open night air, the wind was buffeting as Daylon looked down to the sprawl of Wing City below and furrowed his brow.

"What'dya thinks going on, Sheriff? General didn't dispatch a FACT with us, at least--can't be that bad, right?" An officer inquired, locking the mechanism of the AC-9 rifle before letting the weapon dangle on the four-point sling across his chest. Patting a hand on the white emblem on the chest-plate of his armor, Daylon pressed a finger to his ear and keyed into the communications network as he heard a familiar voice breaking through the air waves.

"Holy shit--is that Director Drulović?!" Another officer asked, leaning out of the rear bay with one hand on a grip rail as several of his subordinates looked to him curiously. "The fuck's going on, Sheriff?"

Austin sighed quietly, perhaps becoming a bit bored of the chaotic mess sprawling about him. Granted, it was still pretty damn funny. NPA and TIB running around like beheaded chickens, Marlene screaming like a bitch in child labor--and was that a Scatteran aircraft up ahead? God, this was like the South Vietnam of covert missions. "Look, if you could just patch me into a ranking NPA officer," Austin implored passively, "I'm sure I could get this figured out. A few minutes is all I need and we can all go home without Gauss pikes in our bodies. Sound good?"

Marlene looked to Romero, even after hearing Drulović's voice. The second she heard Drulović's voice, her head began to pound, and she seemed to black out right then and there for just a moment. As she stammered and stumbled, a murky vision thrust across her field of view, a white SUV, a Gemonese raptor, blurry faces, and Gambit's bar. Then more vision thrust itself across her, murky visions before she shook herself from it, stumbling to the ground.

ā€œAustin, surrender and come with me, and we can all go home. If you're cleared, you'll be promptly released. I need to get to the bottom of this; we need to find the mole in the works.ā€ She stepped forward. ā€œTerra is in danger, Austin. With a traitor in the works--maybe it wasn't you. No, you couldn't have been; you have no motive,ā€ she said, stumbling forward. ā€œI have evidence pointing to internal leaks within the TNG. Someone on the inside helped Kendra escape. Are you willing to help me get to the bottom of that? Or you going to sit back while this mole funnels information to the Taiyou?ā€

ā€œLasky to base, we have a Scatterran aircraft incoming,ā€ said the TIB tactical into his earpiece, looking about. The TIB agents had their weapons aimed at the NPA personnel, preventing them from leaving -- or from engaging.

Romero looked up at the Scatterransā€™ lights, frowning and shielding his eyes. His cell phone vibrated. ā€œRomero,ā€ said the agent. ā€œWhat? Repeat that.ā€ After a moment, he nodded and looked at Marlene. ā€œThe AD is looking for a judge right now. No warrant yet.ā€

ā€œLasky to base, can we get reinforcements?ā€ said Lasky again, keeping his weapon aimed at Marlene. There was no immediate response.

The Sheriff looked out the side door of the Cricket as the crew chief of the VTOL patted the Hykan on the shoulder and hitched his finger to a visual display mounted into the hull of the vehicle. Slowing its speed and beginning to descend, the aircraft quickly grew in size as it neared. The Cricket was a massive vehicle, capable of carrying forty personnel or several tonnes of equipment. Nearing the ground, a gale of dirt would have been kicked up by the incoming airjet before Daylon cocked the bolt of the Lashkav back and extended the adjustable stock into his shoulder.

"Shit, you got the Director on one end--who the fuck else is down there?" A Field Corporal replied, chuckling into the microphone as he pulled his riothelm down and hid his face from the bursting sand and reached a hand out to the high-density rope that descended from a well in the wing structure of the Cricket.

"This is Daylon, we're on site. Pilot, keep the lights on. General, you getting our video?" Daylon asked as the Cricket pulsed at an altitude of 40 meters above the area. A pair of spotlights began probing along the area, making efforts to trail all the personnel once, allowing the digital optic-turret mounted in the nose of the craft to scan the premises.

"Positive on the video, Sheriff. You'd better have a good explanation for what the hell's going on."

The Sheriff cursed under his breath, before reaching out to a audiopiece linked into the loud-speakers in the nose of the airjet. "This is Sheriff Daylon of the Federal Bureau of Police. Disengage all weaponry. Do you comply?"

Austin looked blandly over at the NPA agent. "Marlene, I'm gonna be frank with you and tell you that everything you've been saying for the last fifteen minutes has made about as much sense to me as talking horse shit. I really have no idea how you're linking this vehicle to anything regarding the Taiyou incidents. None at all. This whole thing has been blown way out of proportions." Austin lied fluently and passively, completely at ease. In reality, Marlene's words bore heavily down on his consciousness. It couldn't be. Surely the Director had another reason...

"Oh look, our Coalie friends arrived," Austin grinned, putting a hand over his eyes so as to shield him from the lights of the aircraft. He turned to a TIB Tactical Communicator, snatching the troopers amplifier from his utility belt. "Now that we're all here I can finally drop this fucker," Austin murmured to himself with a smile. With his weapon already destroyed, Austin had nothing to disengage.

"Attention," Austin's voice blared through the amplifier, "this is Special Agent Austin Marshall with the Terran Intelligence Bureau. Under my clearance, I'm classifying this incident under threat of national security. Under the Dissimulo Doctrine, the TIB possesses the legal right to withhold information from anyone without proper clearance for the sake of Terran security. By arresting me or any of the TIB agents here today, you threaten national security." Austin shrugged humorously. "Now who here wants to go to jail? You Scatterans are probably protected under foreign diplomacy--though I'm really not sure what you're doing here in the first place."

The agent perked up as Romero spoke to Marlene. ā€œThe AD is looking for a judge right now. No warrant yet.ā€

"Da fuck?" Austin accidentally said into the amplifier. "They're gettin' a warrant? Well fuck, I want a warrant! You! Lasky! Get me a fuckin' warrant on Marlene Angel!"

Marlene shook her head. ā€œI see it clearly now. When the Empire launches its campaigns and knows exactly where to hit, I'll know who to blame,ā€ she said, holding her head. ā€œI hope you can sleep at night knowing that that mole could be funneling precise defense codes to the Empire.ā€ In reality it was a guilt trip. Marlene had lost her lead and was at square one, but perhaps she had one more ace in the hole.

ā€œLords of Kobol, I pray that this works.ā€ She then raised up her cell phone and flipped the phone open, playing the call on the comms of everyone present. The crackling phone call echoed on the radios of everyone present. It was Marlene's coup d'grace, the finishing blow.

ā€œLangaran Defense Agency, Caprica City Office. How may I direct your call?ā€ The female voice on the line asked, and then Marlene smiled.

ā€œGet me extension two-seven-nine, please,ā€ she said, and the voice replied, ā€œVery well.ā€ There was a musical tone and then a voice.

ā€œMinister Chaska.ā€

Marlene then spoke. ā€œHelene, it's Marlene.ā€

ā€œAngel! What can I do for you?ā€

ā€œI need the video feed from the helmet cam of a Corporal Alex Scheppman, the one with the information packet that you sent me yesterday. I need you to do a broadcomm relay transmission to the UCON cricket just shy of my coordinates,ā€ she said calmly.

Chaska then replied. ā€œOkay, I'll send an intercom and begin transmission through the Clarity of Faith's datalink; UCON should be receiving shortly. I'll also forward the information to your phone,ā€ Chaska said before the UCON cricket received a video packet from the Clarity of Faith, the Aschen Reverence in orbit.

The video began with a Raptor door opening and settled upon a familiar white SUV The video then showed Drulović emerging with Kendra Shaw before panning to Gina Inviere. After a brief verbal exchange and a cover story, Shaw was transferred to the Raptor. The image was grainy, but clear as to whom it was.

ā€œGo ahead and file a warrant. NPA Command, you getting this video?ā€ Marlene asked on the radio before she turned to Austin. ā€œDrulović is the mole. You have two choices: cooperate or be lumped in with her,ā€ she said before she got on her comm. ā€œI need a judge to draw up a warrant for Drulović's immediate arrest for treason.ā€

There was a pause. ā€œUh. What?ā€ The controller hesitated. ā€œDid you just say you need a warrant for Arianne Drulovićā€™s arrest?ā€ There were a few moments of chatter on a closed line with the Acting Director, Abdalhaq Mulavi, before the approval went through. ā€œA judge is signing that warrant right now. Standby.ā€

Still, there was no NPA presence at Fort Veritas, where Drulović had been sitting inside her office in the TIB Headquarters at the Durrani Building, and it would have taken a contingent of agents a while to arrive. Drulović herself watched the video in silence, with a small, pained smile. Ahmad Fazari stood behind her, quite unable to form speech. Finally, he asked, ā€œDirector, is there anything I can do for you?ā€

ā€œTake charge of the Bureauā€™s affairs, Mr. Fazari,ā€ replied the Director. ā€œIā€™m afraid I wonā€™t have much time to tend to them. You know where the proper information lies.ā€ She leaned back in her chair in the spartan, narrow office claimed as the Directorā€™s office, and reached for a cup of hot tea sitting on the plain wooden desk.

Sheriff Daylon watched the situation from above, confusion flowing over the FBP personnel. The Sheriff quirked his chin toward another officer, their eyes meeting in the heat of the conversation. Daylon shrugged his shoulders to the man while he ordered a Police Sergeant forward to the bay of the aircraft. Lumbering forward, the Coalition officer levelled an ECR-10 DMR in his shoulder.
"I don't know about you, Sheriff, but these poor sacks look like they're about to blast each other. You have any idea what that guy down there's saying?" he said, saddling himself into a firing position cradling the weapon into his shoulder while he was kept in the Cricket by a tether hitched to a rig on his shoulder pack.

"I don't know," Raymond said under his breath before a Corporal pushed his way through the ramp bay of the ship and waved to gain the Sheriff's attention.

"Who the hell do we listen to, Sheriff?! I can't tell if they just told us to go fuck ourselves or invited us in for tea! The hell's wrong here?" Daylon shrugged away the Corporal as he watched a video feed stream across the digital readout by the bayside door. The feed was being refabricated and imaged against the Coalition equipment at FOB Darkhammer. With a crackle, the General was soon heard in his headset.

"The hell is scrolling across my screen, Sheriff?"

Daylon practically chewed through his lip at the sight, his mind flashing back to the hours pouring over the empty information in front of him. "God--dammit--it was an inside job, General."

The General's fury could be heard even without his physical presence. "I want you feet ground on this clusterfuck, Sheriff. Handle this before these people rip each other apart. Lieutenant Hascher, prepare an ITDM detachment to aid in the legal apprehension of the Terran, Arianne Drulović. Do not allow a hair on her head to be harmed."

"Affirmative. Hans, Richter, you're on me, feet down." The Sheriff adjusted the strap of his assault weapon, saddling it to the side, and reached out to grab the rope. Hopping out of the vehicle, he let his grip lax as he descended toward the ground, suspended on the jolting piece of rope. Picking his feet up as he neared the ground, he quickly dropped a distance of mere feet while readying his weapon. Two other heavily armed Coalition police followed him, levelling their weaponry into their shoulders. "Everyone put the weapons down; it's over. Everything."

Austin complied with the Sheriff, ordering the other Tacticals to stand down. He made a face at Marlene. "You're going to arrest Director Drulović? Have fun with that."

ā€œI'm going to arrest a traitor,ā€ Marlene said as she flipped the phone shut. All the evidence she needed was right there. ā€œNPA Command, I'm making the arrest. Cover me,ā€ she said, jumping into her Cadillac and throwing on the lights and siren, red and blue LEDs flashing in the grille with a wailing euro-style siren screaming from the SUV. All four wheels spun in the dirt, and she began to barrel down the dirt road. ā€œDon't let her escape; let's make this nice and clean. Keep her covered and I'll make the arrest. Angel, over and out.ā€

In the meantime, several dozen NPA agents mobilized to converge upon the TIB headquarters, moving from their positions towards the Durrani building inside Fort Veritas while Marlene was racing towards the highway. ā€œI'm sorry, Director, but traitors cannot be tolerated,ā€ she said, racing towards the Durrani building. ā€œLords of Kobol, guide my just hand...ā€




Arianne Drulovićā€™s House
Corner of Luna and Liber Streets
Wing City, Terra


Arianne Drulović carried the empty bowl and mug to the sink in the bathroom beside the office, washing both dishes slowly before setting them beside the sink, atop a towel to collect the leftover water. Ahmad watched in silence. ā€œIf you donā€™t mind taking me home, Mr. Fazari,ā€ said Drulović, slipping her coat over her shoulders.

The drive home took close to forty minutes in the rush hour traffic. Ahmad did not dare attempt to start conversation, instead keeping a close watch on the incoming messages over his smartphone at red lights, and occasionally glancing over at Drulović, who sat slumped against the window of the passenger seat, watching the trees pass through the window. At the corner of Luna and Liber, Drulović climbed out of the car and strode up the steps to the front door, turning the key in the lock and stepping inside. Ahmad watched for a while, deciding that it might be best if he stayed across the street. He knew that he ought not to go inside if he had not been invited.

It was close to six in the evening. Drulović shut the front door, slipping her shoes off and onto the mat, and hung her coat on the hall tree. Dressed in a conservative black suit with a multi-colored pashmina scarf hung about her neck, she looked decidedly ordinary today. Drulović began to boil the water in the kettle atop the stove in the kitchen, and when it whistled, poured some into a cup with a tea bag and mint leaves. She took the tea and a pear from the basket of fruit on the table, and retired to the living room.

Drulović sank into the worn armchair and set the cup of tea on the table, reaching for the copy of A Tale of Two Cities on the coffee stand. She opened the book in her lap, sitting in the comfortable silence of the dimly-lit living room, the sun setting visible through the windows facing west. She sipped at her tea occasionally, between bites of the fresh pear.

Across the street, Ahmad spoke quietly into his phone.

Marlene Angel had the warrant tucked neatly in her center console. This time Marlene had come in her luxury SUV, knowing that Drulović wouldn't put up a fight and could be subdued by the NPA agent if it came to that. Down Liber the bright blue-white piercing HID headlights came through the evening darkness, and Marlene maneuvered the white SUV through the streets.

"Pray this goes smoothly," she said, pulling out the warrant from the center console and pulling up in front of the house. "Hmm," she said, turning the car off and slowly standing up from the driver seat. Quietly she stepped up the stoop of the house and then ultimately the door. "Here goes nothing," she said, withdrawing a set of steel handcuffs and knocking on the front door. "NPA, please open the door," she said with a raised voice. She wasn't going to give the Director any special treatment; she had an order to carry out.

Sergeant Chambers took a step out of the Claymore, watching a Vulture VTOL scream overhead as the rest of the ITDM soldiers disembarked from the Coalition fighting vehicle. Looking away from the flashing lights of the Scatterran vehicle, he shrugged his shoulders to a Corporal as he disengaged himself from the tactical optic.

"Nothin' we're needed for, Sergeant," he remarked, a noticeable spite in his voice as the Sergeant observed the proceedings from a distance. The Coalition personnel were here to simply observe, intervening only if the situation became uncontrolled enough to warrant. Loading a magazine into the AR91, he patted the breaching lock of the carbine and pointed over to a group of ITDM.

"You two, make sure nothing goes south." He said, peeling open the rear door of the Claymore.

"Arresting Arianne Drulović. It's like Morkime all over again. You sure you want to be the NCO watching this?" A Cavalry technician remarked, looking away from the tactical HUD in the bay of the IFV while holding a pair of headphones to his ear. "Your whole career--stamped with this. What'd she do, Sergeant?"

From across the street, Ahmad saw the NPA vehicle arrive, straightened where he was sitting and peered intently after Marlene as she ascended the steps. ā€œTheyā€™re here,ā€ he said, and then disconnected.

Drulović started at the sound of the knock, her eyes flicking from the page she had been reading toward the hallway. ā€œCome in,ā€ she called. ā€œItā€™s open.ā€ They were the same words she had spoken to dozens of people whenever they came to visit, but for some reason, there was a different quality about Drulovićā€™s voice. Her eyes returned to the book, and she took another bite of her pear. Not much of it was left.

The Christ icon hung over the fireplace, illuminated by the soft glow of the little light set beneath it. As Drulović turned the page in her book, the same light fell over the saintā€™s icon hanging from the delicate gold chain about her neck. It might have been any other evening.

Marlene sighed. "The whole world is watching," she said as she opened the door, and slowly she walked into the house holding the warrant and the handcuffs in her hand. Once she reached the living room, she addressed the Director. "Arianne Drulović, can you please stand up?" she asked, heaving a sigh. Hopefully the woman wouldn't make this harder than it needed to be. She clasped the warrant in one hand and the handcuffs in the other. "You know why I'm here, right?"

Sergeant Chambers flicked his hand up to stop the conversation of a pair of soldiers. Flaring his nostrils, he breathed in the air of the closing day as he watched the Aschen on the front step of the woman's house. He cradled the AR91 into his shoulder and peered through the scope, activating the multi-power zooming mechanism of the weapon and trailing it across the front of the house. "You think court will seriously take the word of an Aschen -- arresting a Terran for that matters? Article Five, enough said."

"Stow it." Chambers said with a hateful tone, his finger sliding across the trigger guard of the rifle before he dropped the weapon from his shoulder.

"You think this is 'legal'? You think this is valid?" One of the Corporals spit in from behind him, causing the Sergeant's own thoughts to burst to the front of his mind.

ā€œGood evening to you, too, Ms. Angel,ā€ said Drulović, sounding more miffed than anything else, as if she were upset about not receiving a proper greeting. Her dark eyes rested on Marlene for a moment as she took another sip of her tea. ā€œSit down. Have a cup of tea. Itā€™s still early in the evening, no? I imagine your business can wait another ten minutes. Always in a rush, everyone these days, hurrying to get things done.ā€ She set her cup of tea on the table beside the armchair, taking another bite of her pear.

Marlene heaved a sigh. "Get up and place your hands behind your back, please," she said, taking a few more steps. "No tea, no food; I have a warrant that I need to execute," she said, reaching out to grab the woman on the arm to help her up. "You have the right to remain silent." She placed one of the cuffs on Drulovićā€™s wrist. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," she said, using a firm but kind touch to turn the woman to place the other cuff on the other wrist. "You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them, Director?" Marlene asked, sighing. "Let's go," she said calmly.

Chambers watched the proceedings, a noticeable grimace across his face at the sight of the arrest. Looking away for a moment, he watched the faces of his subordinate soldiers. As a silence descended over the Scatterrans, all that could be heard was the telltale static of the Claymore's hardened communications hub tapped in directly to TNG overseers and mission handlers. He heard a faint noise from a Private, standing atop the Claymore with a pair of binoculars.

"What do we do?" The Private solemnly remarked, while the Sergeant simply kept his eyes focused onto the ground at the conversations flooding over the communications hub.

"This is Major General Had-Medeen -- observe and report."

The mostly-eaten pear tumbled from Drulovićā€™s fingers and the book slid from her lap to the rug. ā€œIf you wouldnā€™t mind setting Mr. Dickensā€™s book back onto the chair,ā€ she murmured, her eyes sliding toward the grandfather clock atop the piano. ā€œIā€™m afraid you havenā€™t told me what the charges are, Ms. Angel.ā€ The house was still, without the usual scents of homecooked meals floating through the hallways, or scratchy music playing from the record player in the corner of the living room. At the moment, Drulović was living alone. She had grown so accustomed to company that she had found it increasingly difficult to retreat into her novels.

Marlene adjusted the handcuffs before speaking up. "Dereliction of duty, insubordination in an official capacity, accessory, harboring a fugitive from justice, and kidnapping," she said, before she quietly began to lead the Director out of the house. "I will ask again--do you understand the rights as I have read them?" she said, not even bothering to set the book back on the chair. Silently she led Drulović out to her creme-colored SUV. "I'm sorry, but the law is the law, Director; it's nothing personal," she said, opening the back door of the SUV. "Watch your head, Director."

Chambers looked over to a Cavalry pilot, who started the engines of the vehicle with a dull rumble before the ITDM soldiers assembled themselves to exit. As Chambers watched the Aschen lead the woman out toward the SUV, he looked to his side and saw the Coalition soldiers located beside one another, saluting to the sight of Arianne Drulović being led into custody.

"...Following Terran law, she is to be indicted and contained by TNG authorities in close observance with proper..."

The radio droned on as Sergeant Chambers brought his hand to his forehead in accordance with the other soldiers. A dull static could be heard from the open bay of the Claymore as the soldiers displayed stoic professionalism in befitting to the persona that surrounded Arianne Drulović. " --To the best of our abilities do we serve."

ā€œYes, yes, Ms. Angel,ā€ replied Drulović, her characteristic patience slipping for a moment. She looked about as they walked outside, the sun nearly gone behind the horizon. Drulović nodded toward the car across the street where Ahmad sat, unaware of the presence of the Scatterrans not too far from where she was standing. ā€œI went to law school, you know.ā€ She ducked her head as Marlene helped her into the back of the vehicle, a small frown appearing on her face. ā€œMost of the classes were rather boring, I think...ā€

Marlene climbed into the driver seat and then she started the engines of the SUV. "You probably know the procedure then," she said, pulling out of the drive and starting down the road. "Why did you help her escape?" Marlene asked, accelerating and moving with the flow of traffic.

ā€œItā€™s possible,ā€ said Drulović, watching as they drove past houses in the residential sector. ā€œIā€™m afraid I donā€™t remember much of the criminal law classes. The professor was a tired old man who rather liked to drone during his lectures. He liked to assign a few hundred pages of reading; I must confess, I did not do most of the homework in Mr. Kestelmanā€™s course.ā€

Marlene shook her head as she turned a corner and approached the NPA Headquarters where the jails were housed. Once she brought the SUV to a stop, she walked back around and opened the door to help Drulović out. Once they were out, she walked Drulović to the building, inclining her head to the security officer. "Prepare a cell for the Director," she said quietly, before she handed Drulović off to the jailer to process her.

ā€œIā€™d like to make a telephone call, please,ā€ said Drulović, looking after Marlene. She spoke in much the same tone of voice as if she were requesting fries with her order at a fast food place. The clock on the wall behind the security desk gave the time as close to seven in the evening. ā€œBefore the half hour, if possible.ā€

Marlene nodded. "You'll have to take that up with your jailer," she said, signing the papers and handing Drulović over to the jailer. "Enjoy your stay; I am sure you'll be tended to," she said as she walked off, to gather her evidence.

After the jail authorities had collected Drulovićā€™s few belongings, she was given a phone and instructed to dial nine and one before the number. ā€œMs. Walsh?ā€ said Drulović, holding the phone with careful fingers. ā€œThis is Arianne. Iā€™m afraid Iā€™ll be missing chorus rehearsal tonight, and possibly the divine liturgy on Sunday, too. Please send my regrets to Father Mihailo.ā€

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sun Oct 16, 2011 7:08 pm

(OOC: Post collaborated by Ylanne playing Ed Cranford and AzricanRepublic playing Had-Medeen. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.




ā€œNo.ā€ Cranfordā€™s finger did not hesitate, pushing to disconnect the phone call with Khamtaiā€™s office. He shook his head, looking through the windows for a few moments. Close to ten in the morning, and already his personal voicemail had been inundated with far too many messages. Beep... Beep... You have fourteen new messages and eighty-nine saved messages... Next message... Cranfordā€™s finger hovered over the delete button.

ā€œThis is Angelica; is the Party going to be putting out a public statement? I was wondering if we ought to -- ā€ Message deleted. Next messa -- Cranford disconnected from his voicemail, rising from behind his sprawling wooden desk.

He combed his fingers through his hair, a frown coming over his lips. He hadnā€™t received notice of the situation until half an hour after Mulavi convinced a judge to sign a warrant, and the dark circles beneath his eyes evidenced his attitude after that news. Cranford headed from his office, slipping his overcoat over his arms. ā€œIā€™m headed to the FOB by the spaceport,ā€ he told his chief of staff, and made his way from his office suite toward the Government Center elevators, accompanied by his security detail.

By the time they arrived in the basement entrance to the secure garage, his driver was already waiting. Cranford opened the door and climbed into the backseat, followed by his detail. The driver emerged from the secure garage to the street, heading toward the renovated spaceport. Cranford slipped his phone from his pocket, his frown deepening as he looked for the number to the line to the FOB, to let them know he was on his way.

Major General Had-Medeen stood in the Hardened Command Hub of FOB Darkhammer and watched a digital clock tick away. This early in the morning, a skeleton crew of the intricate equipment was working. The week had proved to be stressful for the three thousand personnel who made Darkhammer, and Terra, their home for the next deployment cycle. As he surveyed a brief systems check of the facilityā€™s perimeter, he laid a hand on a ITDM technician sitting at a holographic interface and gave him a flick of his chin.

"Go get some rest, Corporal; tell Murahd and his crew to fill in," he replied, looking away as the Corporal stood from his seat, Had-Medeen ignored the soft noise of a morning radio station garbling away in the stuffy room while he observed the sleepy FOB through a variety of cameras. He reached a hand up to his chin and stroked at the freshly shaved skin. This situation with Arianne Drulović was threatening to spill over into the personal lives of the men under his command; already there had been a disagreement amongst a team of ITDM and Federal Police, which had actually resulted in physical conflict.

"General, you have a call incoming from Prime Minister Cranford; he is requesting entrance, sir," Staff Sergeant Murahd replied as he took his seat at the helm of the command hub, quickly sending a communique to the guards at the main gate of the Coalition base to prepare for the Prime Minister's arrival.

"Affirmative -- give him the all clear, Staff Sergeant. Prepare an arrival team to meet him outside the Personnel Center. I'll be there to meet him; wake the Sheriff if you can, also," the General commanded before he turned to exit the hub, taking the first step up the flight of stairs to the surface.

ā€œWe have the all clear,ā€ said Cranford to the driver. He sat on the edge of his seat as the government vehicle proceeded slowly through morning traffic. He wasnā€™t one for the pretense of having the streets cleared in anticipation of his travel. This wasnā€™t a military parade after all. Cranford would rather no one know exactly where he was going. He flipped through emails on his smartphone, noting a sudden increase over the already usually large number of messages.

One from Ahmad caught his eye. Cranford leaned over the driver, flipping the radio on in time to catch the morning news midway through. ā€--ulović has been accused of playing a role in Shawā€™s escape from Terra two months ago. Cranford has not released a statement. What do you think, Edgar?ā€ He scrolled through the email, the frown deepening on his face as he read Ahmadā€™s message.

ā€œI really wish I had had a good, strong cup of coffee this morning,ā€ muttered the Prime Minister, typing a slow, short response to Ahmad. ā€--Well, itā€™s hard to say at the moment. No one knows what evidence there is, so I canā€™t comment on the strengths or weaknesses of the case. And of course, it could all be political drama. Or a conspiracy within the TIB its --ā€

It was close to another twenty minutes before they approached the Scatterran base.

Had-Medeen stood in front of the FOBā€™s Personnel Center, a large grey reinforced three-story structure that housed a mess hall, exercise facility, and hospital, which sustained much of the baseā€™s inhabitants. He saluted to a pair of Scatterran officers in their training attire, the two soldiers quickly saluting him back before breaking into a quick jog across the lightly paved roadway that snaked through the base. Standing near him, a pair of ITDM guards stood in military gear as the sun began washing over the area, slowly beginning to bring life into the activity of the base as Had-Medeen waited silently for the arrival of the Terran Prime Minister. The two ITDM soldiers, a Captain and a Lieutenant, were positioned on either side of the General with their hands clamped behind their back in the standard ā€œrestā€ position.

At the main gate, the guards of the main gate were already waiting for the expected arrival. Having moved forward of the base, had secured the intersection that fed into the single lane road that struck up an incline to the checkpoint. As the Prime Minister's vehicle rolled through the intersection, the fireteam of eight Paklam marines radioed back to the main gate to make ready for Cranfordā€™s arrival. Pulling the gate open, the squad of marines guarding the main checkpoint all provided a brief salute when the PM arrived, before the vehicle was stopped six meters into the base and a Scatterran Lieutenant approached the window of the car.

"Good morning, Prime Minister, Sir. The General is waiting for you at the Mess Center. Down that street, sir." The Lieutenant's accent was influenced with a noticeable tick, but understandable as the Lieutenant pointed through an intersection and then to the left.

ā€œThank you, Lieutenant,ā€ responded Cranford nodding. He left the window rolled down. ā€œ--ould she say if she did give a statement? I mean, have you ever seen her talking to the pre--ā€ Cranfordā€™s hand reached around the driver again, shutting the radio off. He didnā€™t particularly want to listen anymore. They headed down the street toward the mess hall, the gray building rising before them in the light of the mid-morning sun.

Cranford spied the General standing in front of the building. The car pulled to a stop, and Cranford emerged, smoothing the wrinkles from his overcoat. Four members of his detail emerged behind him, dressed in dark suits with identical translucent earpieces. ā€œGeneral,ā€ said the Prime Minister, striding powerfully to take the manā€™s hand. ā€œThank you for seeing me on such short notice. Just a quick question -- where should Mr. Wrentham park?ā€

Had-Medeen looked up from his feet, watching a small bug crawl over the hard steel of his boot as he heard the car round the turn and roll to a stop over the poorly paved road. Behind him, the pair of ITDM soldiers brought their hands out in front of them, and practically glued their right hands flat against their foreheads, while the other was placed horizontally across their chests. The General followed suit as well, saluting briskly and straightening his face as the Prime Minister and his guard detail disembarked the vehicle. The Prime Minister powerfully strode from the car, and Had-Medeen took his hand firmly.

"It is my honor to welcome you to Darkhammer, Prime Minister. Your driver is welcome to park at the Center until you are ready to leave," he said, returning his hand to his sides as the two ITDM commanders also lowered from their salute. "Whenever the TNG requests, I am prepared to listen," he said, lowering his eyes back down to his boot to see the insect gone, before he indicated over his shoulder to the Personnel Center behind him. "I would give you a tour of the facilities, sir, but I wouldn't want to waste your time signing autographs and taking pictures. I'm sure your detail doesn't want to prance around with that as well."

Peering over his shoulder briefly, he followed the structure of a watch tower that was assembled above the Personnel Center before he saw a group of Scatterrans exit the doors of the mess hall. Returning to the Prime Minister, the General adjusted his overcoat with one gloved hand before looking amongst the Terran protection detail. "I am -- pained to hear of the situation with Director Drulović, Prime Minister Cranford, and I am prepared to offer any help I can muster here in Darkhammer. For Drulović, or anywhere we are required. What is it you are wishing to discuss, sir?"

ā€œIt is a complex situation,ā€ acknowledged Cranford with a nod. ā€œI spoke briefly with the Director earlier this morning.ā€ By law, she was still required to provide Cranford with daily intelligence briefings, although the morningā€™s had been decidedly erratic. ā€œIs there somewhere we can speak in private, General?ā€ His pale eyes slid around the landscape of the Scatterran military base, squinting a little in the sunlight. It was a cool October day, but not as chilly as it might have been. Close to sixty-five.

The members of Cranfordā€™s security detail came to stand behind the Prime Minister, hands folded in front of them. ā€œIā€™d hate to keep you standing outside, and Iā€™d rather we continue this conversation in a less public location.ā€ Cranfordā€™s voice was pleasant in tone, but businesslike, although there was the suggestion of a kind of urgency underpinning his words.

Had-Medeen pursed his lips and bowed his head politely at his request for a more secure location. Beside the Personnel Center, a large spire reached up into the sky; the base's powerful scrambled-array transmitting station was one of the most electronically hardened facilities in the entire base, connected to the Command Hub by an underground tunnel complex that stretched for twenty meters underneath the base itself.

"Certainly sir. Captain, Lieutenant, prepare us a room in the Uplink Base," he ordered, watching the ITDM soldiers rush off at a brisk jog and disappearing into a tent-covered entrance that lead deeper into the bunker complex. "I had Coalition personnel administrating an internal investigation -- personally, I believe this situation could have been averted if my men had been acting accordingly. However, I have not received all the information; we've been turning over all the data we have gathered as we've discovered it, and not once did we ever find anything that specifically indicated Arianne Drulović -- of all people -- could be behind the disappearance of Kendra Shaw from Terran custody," he said, preparing to lead the group of Terrans into the Uplink Base. Two guards were standing at attention by the tarpaulin as the General and Cranford arrived. They pulled apart the door flaps as the General arrived.

"In all honesty, Prime Minister, it is my personal opinion that there's has been a serious conspiracy in how TNG operatives came about reaching this opinion," he said, taking the lead and descending a steep flight of stairs, delving nearly fifteen meters underground before reaching a large atrium of battlecrete structuring and hardened electronics. "We have little information other than what is given. On the night Kendra Shaw disappeared, there were various TNG vehicles operating across Wing City. These could or could not have been related to the Aschen disappearance."

Cranford and the agents with him followed the General into the entrance to the stairs. Cranford took the steps rapidly, watching his feet as he went to prevent an unfortunate fall, and bracing his hand against the wall. ā€œIā€™ve barely had more than a few minutes to review the copy of the report delivered to my offfice this morning, General,ā€ responded the Prime Minister. ā€œIā€™m deeply concerned about the methods the NPA employed in the course of their investigation, and Director Mulavi hasnā€™t had a chance to sit down with me yet today.ā€

He stepped into the atrium, followed by the members of his detail, who listened in silence. ā€œIā€™d like very much to believe that Director Drulović had nothing to do with Shawā€™s disappearance, but I donā€™t really know what to think right now.ā€ Cranford came to stand behind the General, following him. ā€œI would appreciate it if you could assign a liaison to the NPA agents responsible for continuing the investigation. I intend to exhort Director Mulavi to open an internal review of Marlene Angelā€™s methods, too, to uncover any potential misgivings with the methods used.ā€

Cranfordā€™s eyes narrowed, and he straightened his tri-colored red, black, and silver striped tie, all while looking about the atrium. ā€œThe most information anyone has given me as of this morning is a copy of a video apparently taken from a Reverence.ā€ He looped his thumbs through the belt loops on his overcoat.

Had-Medeen brought a hand up to his coat collar and adjusted the large article before he stood in front of a brightly lit platform. A pane of glass separated them from another platform a few meters below, where the beating heart of the FOBā€™s digital and electronic systems were housed. A mixed team of FBP and ITDM technicians were seen directing the systems through a complex network of holographic interfaces. Raising a hand to the glass, the General initiated a holographic projection by tapping once on a film. The glass swirled and darkened as the General accessed a quick memory interface.

"Certainly, Prime Minister. Sheriff Raymond Daylon was the presiding officer over my investigation before Drulović was arrested. He's a well-respected officer within my command, even if he is incompetent." The General hushed his voice at the end of his statement, accessing the Sheriff's investigation on a holographic interface while allowing the Prime Minister and his group to observe him. "I have questions about the validity of Aschen statements in this investigation. Personally I do not trust them as far as I can throw them, and I've developed a terrible throwing arm in my days of officer service," he remarked, indicating to a block of information detailing the full-extent of the FBP personnel that were making Darkhammer their home.

"The Federal Bureau of Police is certainly ready to make itself useful to the TNG. The Sheriff is a good man, very level-headed, cooperative..." He was simply feeding compliments now, but tapping at an icon to show the video from the Coalition Vulture flying overhead the city the night of Shaw's disappearance. "This data and everything in our network base can be prepared and given to you directly. Following that, I'll dispatch the FBP liaison in the following day to aid in the investigation. You have the full compliance of Darkhammer, Prime Minister."

ā€œAnd itā€™s much appreciated, General. I can expect all of this today?ā€ Cranford paused a moment, considering the holographic image on the transparent glass before him. ā€œI want an outside observer to keep close tabs on the NPA. I donā€™t want any monkey sh -- shenanigans, or accusations of them, from anyone.ā€ Cranford nodded as he spoke, slipping his hands into his overcoat pockets. ā€œItā€™s far too easy for the media, foreign governments -- hell, anyone -- to take something and misconstrue it far out of proportion. And if Minister Khamtai takes this to trial, it better be a damn watertight case.ā€

The frown on the manā€™s face deepened, cutting deeply into his jowls as he stared. ā€œWhat exactly is this video?ā€ asked Cranford, looking around the Generalā€™s shoulder to inspect the holographic video. He narrowed his eyes, trying to determine exactly what was happening in the clip.

Had-Medeen smoothed out the coat over his chest, keeping it tight and close to the bulky plate carrier that added the often intimidating bulk to the Scatterrans form. He drew one finger up to the holographic film, pulling out a folder with a small loading bar underneath it that was slowly beginning to fill. "Yessir, should be done in the next few minutes -- I have my best technicians working over this information night and day," he replied, before taking his hand away from the glass as the Prime Minister inquired about the video playing in front of him.

"Truth be told sir, I had to have it explained to me as well. In this sector," he said, pointing to a small magnifying glass and watching the display intensify to a particular area, "the co-pilot observed a white SUV, possibly a government vehicle, park outside of Gambit's Bar. Over the course of the night, several other vehicles were observed in the area. This, this, and -- this one," he said, stopping the video at every instance to highlight the grainy images with a small box. Pulling up a separate radioscopic cross-feed, he highlighted a disturbance in the electromagnetic planes present over Wing City at that time. "And this -- is what we believe to be the vehicle that Kendra Shaw was extracted on. Through optical camouflage, it would appear invisible to the naked eye, but this variation in magnetic density isn't common of atmosphere, empty space, above Wing City."

ā€œWhite SUVs are typically used by appliance repairmen,ā€ said Cranford, his brows furrowing together, ā€œor the TIB. It could have been anyone, although at that time of night...ā€ The Prime Minister followed the Generalā€™s fingers as he described the different parts of the video, making mental notes to himself. He leaned toward the holographic image, as if being closer would make it clearer. ā€œThereā€™s no way to obtain images of the license plate numbers? I wonder if we could obtain lists of government vehicles in use from the agencies that might have access to those vehicles. I understand that Director Mulavi equips the NPAā€™s vehicles with GPS tracking units that send data to a central server -- at least thatā€™s how he explained it in a briefing last month.ā€

Had-Medeen nodded at his mention of the white SUVs. He had just as much doubt of the possibility of those being TNG vehicles as some of his subordinates, who had spent far more time reviewing this information than he had. The General shrugged his shoulder slightly at the mention of tracking units embedded in the Terran cars. He indicated to a multi-image shot of the white SUVs; it would be nearly impossible to discern a plate number, but they could at least decide on the total amount of TNG vehicles that were operating that night.

"I have no information on who was driving those vehicles, what their operations were in that area or where they are now," he said, turning his eyes over to the upload screen to his left as a faint noise indicated that the Scatterran data had downloaded to a small computer tablet mounted in a hub on a table in the center of the room. "We will continue to disseminate information as it comes in to us, Prime Minister, but for the time being you can take this mobile computer and observe the data for yourself," he said, stepping away from the pane of glass and grabbing a small grip on the top of the tablet. "By the time you have completely absorbed this information, I will have my FBP team ready to embark to your command."

Cranford stretched his hand to receive the tablet, nodding affirmatively to the General. ā€œIā€™m assuming you also received a copy of the video that came from the Aschen,ā€ he said. ā€œIā€™m hoping that your technicians can work with the NPAā€™s technicians, or possibly,ā€ said the Prime Minister, grimacing, ā€œperform additional analysis afterward, to determine the veracity or lack thereof of that video. I think itā€™s high time this ā€˜evidenceā€™ receives proper scrutiny, and Iā€™ll be keeping a very close eye on the entire affair. Besides,ā€ said Cranford, ā€œI very much need Director Drulović in Terraā€™s service again as soon as possible, and Iā€™d like this affair cleared up before the media makes an even worse circus of it.ā€

Had-Medeen bowed his chin in confirmation. The General had been running his team rather harshly in the past week to disseminate this information. At the moment, a team of Paklam warrant officer technicians was scrutinizing the Aschen ā€œvideoā€ information. "Yessir, we received the same day the this 'Agent Angel' arrested Arianne Drulović. I do not trust the legitimacy of the LDA -- I've seen criminals of better moral fiber than some of those people. From what I can observe, the video is legitimate. However there is not much evidence pointing to fabrication. I could be wrong, however; it takes our technicians a considerable time to sweep and clean every single pixel," he said, looking out through the glass and down to the platform below.

"I have a select team ready to help distribute information at a moment's notice. Today, they can have all their equipment packed; tomorrow, they can be operating with Terran groups closely," he said, crossing his arms over his chest slightly as the holograms died away into obscurity. "Sheriff Daylon can have his group ready to jump by the end of the week."

The cornerā€™s of Cranfordā€™s lips twitched at that, and he rubbed his hand over his face for a moment. ā€œThank you again,ā€ said the Prime Minister to the General. He tucked the tablet under his other arm, watching the General with his pale eyes, as if scrutinizing the other manā€™s individual words as well as his face. ā€œIā€™ll be notifying Director Mulavi and Minister Khamtai today that Iā€™ve ordered them to work with your liaisons and to cooperate fully with you, provide full information and briefings to your people, and to allow you to independently observe as well as directly work.ā€

Cranfordā€™s gaze hardened. ā€œAs soon as you make a final analysis of the Aschen video, I want a copy of the report before it goes to anyone else. If it turns out to be legitimate, a strict chain of custody has to be maintained in the event it is ever to be used or evidenced.ā€ He turned to one of the agents assigned to his detail. ā€œAgent Spalding, can you make sure Director Mulavi will be available when we get back to the government district?ā€

ā€œYes, sir,ā€ responded Spalding, turning away from the others to make the call.

ā€œThank you again for your generosity, General. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and collaborate with our aims here.ā€ Cranford offered a small, rather pained smile to the General, unable to maintain the expression for that much longer.

Had-Medeen stood back as the Prime Minister tucked the computer tablet under his arm. As the holograms and displays faded away, the dull lighting of the conference room shone towards the doorway which lead to the surface. Cranford was a strong, determined man, and had gained the General's respect in the mere minutes of their acquaintance. He nodded once back to the Prime Minister before drawing a hand to his forehead in a salute.

ā€œAffirmative, sir. I will have my men operating at peak efficiency for the Terran investigation. I will personally oversee the investigation of the Aschen video; it will be top priority for the base this afternoon,ā€ he replied, indicating out to the platform below, before turning back to the Prime Minister and inclining his head to the Terran official. "It is my honor to help protect this planet, Prime Minister. From the Aschen, from the Taiyou, or anyone who would cause your people harm."

ā€œExcellent,ā€ responded Cranford, inclining his head. ā€œI look forward to speaking with you soon, hopefully within the next few days. If your people need access to anything to which the NPA will not give them access, please contact me directly.ā€ He reached inside his suit jacket pocket, removing a white business card and a pen. Cranford scribbled a number on it and handed it to the General. ā€œThatā€™s my direct line, to my cell phone, not the office. Just in case you didnā€™t already have that somewhere, youā€™ll have that now.ā€

Cranford paused. ā€œIf you or the Sheriffā€™s men need to speak to Director Drulović while she is in custody, I can arrange that, too.ā€ He returned the capped pen to his pocket and pressed his lips together in a tight line with distinct distaste. ā€œI fully expect the Court to release the Director on Monday, though.ā€

Had-Medeen nodded his head to the Prime Minister as he offered his direct line. The General quickly provided his own contact information, particularly a hardened and coded digital phone line. He also provided the access information to a sub-space relay, a sort of two-way channel that formed one of several communication avenues between FOB Darkhammer, and the Coalition commanders operating out of the Empire. "Thank you, sir. If you need to contact me, you can either do so from a telephone at this number, or using the mobile tablet. I will let my subordinates know to contact you directly if they are met with any difficulties."

He took one look to the stairs and the exit back to the surface before continuing. "The Sheriff will be ready for work immediately; I'll debrief him of his duties today when he arrives for his shift. He will coordinate with you when he is ready to speak with the Director and observe her side of these events. I certainly wished that we could have met under more positive circumstances, but the next time you visit I will organize a meal with some of my commanders and a former introduction to the FOB. We certainly need something to break the monotony of Darkhammer from time to time."

The hint of a smile broke through Cranfordā€™s lips as he pocketed the information that the General had given him. ā€œDinner sounds positively lovely, and Iā€™d certainly appreciate the opportunity to look around the place. Iā€™ll confess I havenā€™t been treated to a proper dinner since last week, at the Directorā€™s house actually...ā€ The smile faded about as quickly as it had appeared. ā€œParliament is one of the most time-consuming things Iā€™ve ever experienced. A word of warning -- never run for public office if you value your sanity. Thank you again, General,ā€ said Cranford. ā€œIf you wouldnā€™t mind showing me out?ā€

Had-Medeen let a bright smile crease his face at the words of the Prime Minister, a chuckle coming from his throat before he walked to the door and pulled open the bulkhead that fed into the steep stairwell climbing through the reinforced tunnel that would deliver them to the surface. "My father spent twenty years of his life as County Mayor while I joined the Marine Infantry -- he appeared forty years older than my grandfather by the time he retired," he remarked with a noticeable laugh in his voice, leading the group through the small tent structure over the bunker entrance before stepping out onto the loose gravel the made the flooring of the FOB.

"I certainly understand your advice, Prime Minister. If you would like to exit the opposite fence, if your security detail will suggest, you may follow that road to the auxiliary gate. Lieutenant Remeed is currently standing guard there, and he will provide escort for you until you reach the highway. It was an honor and my pleasure to meet you, Prime Minister," he said, before stepping back from the curb of the paved road and raising his arm once again in a salute.

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Ylanne
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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Thu Oct 20, 2011 1:45 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by Ylanne playing Arianne Drulović and Nemo [R0NlN] playing Austin Marshall. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Roosevelt and Saif Building
Terran National Police Agency Headquarters
Wing City, Terra


Three, well-spaced knocks resounded in the interrogation room Arianne Drulović was being held in. Perhaps the Director would find this out-of-place in her current condition. People usually didn't knock in these sorts of instances -- especially when Drulović was the ā€œsuspectā€ in question here. Or perhaps the Director would have known exactly who it was the moment the first knock went off, how genuinely out of character it might have been if the agent hadn't done so before entering. Austin had never not knocked on any door Drulović was behind before meeting with her.

Without waiting for an immediate answer though, the agent entered. His appearance was a bit more dishoveled then usual, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his tie hanging loosely about his neck, the collar to his dress-shirt uneven. The agent didn't appear in his usual spirits either. No optimistic grin to greet the Director today. No greeting or hello or ā€œhow are you these evening, Director?ā€ The agent strode silently across the long hallway, his eyes downcast, never meeting Drulović's for a second. He walked slowly to the table, assuming the seat opposite the Director, folding his hands out in front of him and exhaling.

"I never expected we'd ever meet," Austin glanced about the dimly-lit room, "here."

Drulović had been sitting rather still, almost like patience on a monument, and when Austin stepped inside the room, she looked up, tilting her chin back as she regarded the younger man with the same impassive expression she typically kept. A small frown appeared on her face, and she straightened her posture, her gaze sliding over Austin with mild curiosity.

"Oh I imagine very few people expect to meet anyone else in a place like this," responded Drulović, inclining her head. "Hm? No good evening?" She clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "The manners of young people these days -- utterly appalling, I think. But I've gone and made the same mistake, I think. How are you this evening, Mr. Marshall?"

The woman had been the image of immaculacy, with her scarf neatly folded about her neck, and her black suit smoothed of wrinkles, her hair tucked carefully behind her ears. It seemed that the sudden intrusion of Austin's entrance into the room had interrupted this image. Drulović's eyes bored into the agent, as if she were questioning why he had adopted such a combative position -- directly across the table.

Austin smirked darkly, his gaze briefly flickering up to Drulović before returning back to some oblivion point on the table. How very typical of the Director -- once again, perhaps the only person to maintain formalities in a situation like this.

"I'm a little tired, to be honest," Austin shrugged. "There's all these investigations I'm looking into. Coffee machine broke again down at HQ. Oh yeah, and my boss is an alleged traitor to the Terran National Government." The agent shrugged. "It's been a helluva week. I'm sure you'd be inclined to agree. Director." The agent gritted his jaw, forcing himself to match his eyes with Drulović. There was emotion in them, perhaps perceptible to Drulović. Confusion mostly, mixed somewhat with anger. Austin seriously doubted that Drulović was a traitor to Terra, of course. What he didn't doubt was that Drulović had helped Kendra Shaw, the mass murderer responsible for the destruction of seventy percent of the planet, escape.

ā€œWell, it certainly has been an interesting week,ā€ replied Drulović, blinking slowly. ā€œA bit more eventful than most, I think.ā€ She leaned back in her seat, her fingers rubbing absently against the face of the saint on her icon, watching Austin intently. ā€œBut I imagine you didnā€™t come here to hear me prattle on, no?ā€ She maintained eye contact, almost painfully, although her own eyes revealed very little. In the harsh light of the interrogation room, Drulović appeared wan, her cheeks sunken, her eyelids heavy and shadowed. Perhaps she hadnā€™t been sleeping lately. Perhaps not for a long time.

ā€œYou seem rather upset, Mr. Marshall,ā€ Drulović observed quietly. ā€œIā€™m afraid much of it is, in all likelihood, my fault.ā€ She paused a moment, as if in consideration. ā€œIā€™m sorry if Iā€™ve caused you any disturbance, Mr. Marshall. I do try to avoid doing that, but times come when things happen.ā€

"Not things like this," Austin shook his head, "not things so -- so--" The agent struggled, looking in vain for the right words. How was he even supposed to do this? Truth be told, the young agent wasn't even sure what he hoped to accomplish here. Answers, he supposed. He wanted to know the truth. "Director," Austin began, "before I begin, I want you to know that I've had the security tapes and recorders disabled for this meeting." They could be frank and honest with each other. Hopefully.

"Now you send me on this mission," Austin began. "You ask me to do some particularly shady things straight out of a crime novel. You don't really give me a good reason why. I don't ask." Austin shrugged. "I've never had to ask. You typically know best, Director, and I've never doubted you. Not until now, at least. Because when you get TIB, NPA, and Scatterans swarming your ass in the middle of the desert, with Marlene Angel ranting on about some fuckin' conspiracy that actually makes SENSE with everything that's been going on -- well, even a guy like me would start asking questions about a woman like you." Austin shook his head, breathing sharply. "Can you just tell me the truth?" Austin said at last. "Did you release Kendra Shaw?"

Drulović fell into an uneasy silence, her shoulders slumping, her lips drawing themselves into a thin line. She considered Austin, noting the way the light fell over his face, leaving parts of it in shadow. It became so still that the quiet, steady hum of the air ventilator could be heard, along with Drulovićā€™s soft, weary breathing. Her fingers shifted only slightly, still resting against the saintā€™s face.

When she finally spoke, Drulović was looking directly into Austinā€™s eyes. ā€œWhen I spoke to Ms. Shaw for the first time, she was hardly coherent, you know, Mr. Marshall,ā€ she said in a subdued tone, as if discussing some barely noteworthy event on the world news. ā€œHer arms were blistered and festering with sores from needle marks, and she was plagued with terrible, awful nightmares. She claimed to hear voices. She begged for more doses of some strange drug.ā€

Drulović paused, her gaze wandering for a moment to the corner of the ceiling before returning to the agentā€™s face. ā€œMr. Khamtai wanted very much -- wants, I should say -- to see Ms. Shaw at the gallows, or standing before a firing squad. I imagine a great deal of Terraā€™s people would have felt quite satisfied at such a sight. Certainly, she committed egregious crimes against humanity. Her argument, doubtless, would have been that of following orders from her superior. In militaries, soldiers are trained to obey without questioning. I hope, my dear Mr. Marshall, that you feel strongly enough that you would refuse an order of mine if you thought it wrong.ā€

Drulovićā€™s frown deepened. ā€œUnfortunately, I do not think I have always been so courageous. Certainly, I wasnā€™t, not for a very long time. I think it was far too late when I came to that realization. Ms. Shaw left Terra not because I think her reformed -- perhaps not even repentant. She left Terra, Mr. Marshall, because I needed to have that -- that nagging reminder of mine -- silenced.ā€

Austin sat still for a long while, quietly going over Drulović's words in his mind. Austin of course wasn't a fan of the Aschen in the slightest, and Kendra's actions were undoubtedly among the most heinous in Terran history -- yet Drulović had a point. Kendra was a soldier, a tool being used by her superiors, and now the face of the scapegoat being deemed responsible for what had been done. Although Austin wouldn't have been so liberal as to forgive her entirely, he did at least somewhat understand Drulović's reasoning.

Although incapable of knowing exactly the conflict brewing inside the Director's mind that induced her to such career-risking actions, he accepted them and bought them for every word. Drulović had been truthful with him. At least, he hoped so.

"Okay," was all he said before saying it two more times, each quieter then the last. A long pause ensued. "I'm sorry," he concluded, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. Two of his fingers on his other hand thumbed at the edge of the desk.

Drulović shrugged lightly. ā€œYou have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Marshall,ā€ she said, but there was an almost hollow quality to her words. ā€œItā€™s me, I think, what ought to be doing the apologizing. I oughtnā€™t to have involved you in all of this -- itā€™s a rather terrible mess, hm? Iā€™m sorry that I did. I hope that you can forgive me for that. For the other -- I couldnā€™t begin to ask for your forgiveness. Iā€™m afraid thatā€™s quite beyond my means.ā€ Her eyes settled on Austin, as if probing him further.

"Well I'm glad you're all right," Austin nodded, some of his familiar concerns returning to him. "I guess you'll be out of here real soon. NPA's got nothing." Austin grinned. "But whad'ya expect from a TIB knockoff?" The agent looked about himself, leaning forward as if he had a secret to tell the Director. "I've left you something back at HQ when you get out of here," Austin said. "Looks like this." The agent reached into his belt, unclipping a strange, obsidian-looking box with a glowing center. "It's an Omni-Shield," Austin said plainly, "fresh of the lines, built with all kinds of good protection. Energy shield for solid projectiles, deflector for charged, inhibitor for psionics. Should do you some good. If truth ever gets out about this, you might need it."

Austin scowled slightly. "Now I know you hate all these fanciful technologies, Director -- and God, I wonder if you've ever even touched the locks on your doors -- but this is important. The TIB -- Terra, needs you alive. It's pretty simple. Just clip it on to your belt, stick in your purse, under your scarf, whatever. Lock on your life-signature and you're set." The agent leaned forward, slight desperation in his voice. "Promise me you'll wear it."

ā€œI like to leave the doors unlocked,ā€ Drulović replied stiffly, shifting her weight in her seat. She leaned forward on the table, clasping her hands atop its metal surface. ā€œI donā€™t like having to stand and go to the door every time a visitor comes; I think itā€™s rather annoying.ā€ She inclined her head, keeping her eyes on Austin. ā€œI appreciate your concerns very much, Mr. Marshall, and Iā€™m afraid I have been rather lackluster about my own security. Iā€™m not particularly concerned about it, in any case, but if it makes you feel better -- Iā€™ll keep it in my purse. That is,ā€ she said, glowering a little, ā€œwhen I have a chance to head home and find it.ā€

"Good," Austin managed in a breath. "You'd be doing myself and many other agents a favor. You'd be doing yourself a favor too, of course." The agent reclined into his chair, smoothing his hair back as one of his hands stuffed itself into his pocket. "It's been a crazy week, Director, and I'll be happy when you're out of here. Hopefully we can stay off the radar for a while after this. The last thing we need as another scandal. In the meantime, is there anything I can get you?" Austin suggested. "Anything you'd like to eat that I could pick up?" Austin raised an eyebrow. "Some tea, perhaps?"

ā€œTea would be perfectly lovely, Mr. Marshall,ā€ responded Drulović. ā€œAnd perhaps a pear or two, if you can find one? And --ā€ Drulović continued, tilting her head to the side, ā€œif you would go to my house, Mr. Marshall, youā€™ll find the spare key tucked between the slats of the window-shutters on the right hand side, about one third of the way up from the ground. If you wouldnā€™t mind picking up my book from the floor in the living room where Ms. Angel so rudely let it fall, and cleaning the cup of tea on the table there as well, I would appreciate that.ā€

"Consider it done, Director," Austin nodded, rising slowly from his seat. "And also, promise me you'll stop keeping spare keys in such obvious places. Seriously, Director, sometimes I have no idea why you're still alive." The agent chuckled humorously, letting his old persona fall back into place as quickly as Drulović's did.

ā€œObvious? Oh, youā€™ll find I can be a hell-kite, Mr. Marshall, if you push me far enough,ā€ responded Drulović, her eyes following Austin as he stood. ā€œWhere else am I supposed to put the spare keys? I donā€™t imagine Iā€™d be able to find it if I left it in the gutter, or buried beneath one of those azalea bushes. Iā€™m afraid I have few other options, Mr. Marshall.ā€ A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Well that'll be the first thing we do when you get back, Director," Austin grinned unbearably. "We'll find a less obvious place to hide the keys to your front door." Laughing, the agent left the room, setting out to get his beloved Director a hot cup of tea and a good book.

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Re: Family Pictures

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Thu Oct 20, 2011 2:58 am

(OOC: Post collaborated by AzricanRepublic playing Raymond Daylon and Ferdi Gustava, barney_fife playing Marlene Angel, Ellipse [EreAi] playing Ari (Erin Loire), and Ylanne playing Arianne Drulović. There have only been minor edits to grammar or spelling where errors were obvious, as well as consistency in tense, or mutually agreed upon edits to mistakes in references. Dialogue is entirely intact.)




Roosevelt and Saif Building
Terran National Police Agency Headquarters
Wing City, Terra


Sheriff Raymond Daylon spun the wheel of the Hekker Rodeo, a Scatterran utility vehicle that was a staple of the Federal Bureau motor pool as he rolled on through a guarded checkpoint. Tucking his ID pass away into his jacket pocket, the Sheriff watched the parking garage open up front of him as he drove on through and parked his car in an appropriate space. The Scatterran manufacturer was known for large, unwieldy vehicles, but it was also a rugged and efficient model. Turning off the car, he yanked the single key out of the starting-block and popped the door open. He planted his feet on the tough asphalt of the parking garage and quickly flipped a phone out of his pocket, highlighting a number of the front desk of the NPA Building he had made an appointment at a few hours ago.

"Six six, six seven, six -- there," he said, scrolling through his contacts before tapping at a call icon and holding the device to his ear. "Hello, this is Sheriff Daylon, Federal Bureau of Police. I called earlier about the Drulović investigation for an appointment. I was just calling to confirm that I have an appointment at -- what is it -- six o'clock?" he said, tucking his shoulder up to keep the phone close by while retrieving his ID pass for a guard waiting at the elevators.

ā€œGood to hear from you, Sheriff,ā€ responded the receptionist. ā€œSix is right; I have your name here. When you get inside, youā€™ll need to present photo identification and your official identification to security in order to sign into the building.ā€

The steel and glass structure of the Roosevelt and Saif Building, newly-constructed within the last few months, rose over Main Street, surrounded by government buildings in both directions. The seal of the National Police Agency had been frosted into the glass of each door, as well as engraved in stone over the buildingā€™s facade itself. Inside the lobby, all visitors were directed to the x-ray machines and metal detectors beside the security booth.

At six in the evening, most of the regular day staff had left for home, and only a few agents working leads on cases were still inside the building, along with skeleton staff for security. It usually took closer to nine in the evening for the building to grow almost completely empty. As it was, it was nearly dark outside. With Autumn came shorter days and sooner sunsets. The lights from inside the windows of the NPA Headquarters shone brightly along its dozens of stories, joining a constellation of nightly-lit buildings in Wing City.

Sheriff Daylon took his ID back from the guard and stepped into the elevator, hanging up his phone with a prompt thank you, and waited until the doors opened with a ding. He stepped out onto the main atrium that connected Main Street to the building, toting a laptop with him as he entered through the doors and then approached the reception desk. He nodded his head once as the receptionist waved him over to a desk, politely set the laptop on the counter for it to be checked, and produced his government issue military card. The emblem of the FBP, a vertical sword atop a golden shield, was imposed against his name.

"There you go -- and General Had-Medeen is my commanding officer," he replied, looking around the foyer of the magnificently built structure. There were only a few particulars separating this government building from the likes of Federal compounds that were spread throughout the Coalition. "And uhh, I have several other things I'll need to provide to security," he said, opening up the main screen of the laptop. He produced a recording device that was contained in a computerized phone, and also a holster containing his service pistol.

The security officer inspected the military identification, passing the card under a scanning device that copied its contents to the computerized database. ā€œWelcome to NPA Headquarters, Sheriff,ā€ he said. The well-polished light marble floor was closer to a white or gray in color, in contrast to the cream-colored marble inside Government Center. The few furnishings were sleek, metallic, and relegated to the walls. The NPA Headquarters gave a feel of ultra-modern interior decorating. ā€œYouā€™re cleared to be present, so you donā€™t need to wear a visitorā€™s badge.ā€

ā€œIā€™ll check your weapon here in a safe at the booth,ā€ said the security officer, inclining his head respectfully to the sheriff. ā€œYouā€™ll be able to retrieve it when you leave the building by presenting your identification again.ā€ He took the recording device and looked up at the sheriff. ā€œDo you want to take this in with you? If so, Iā€™ll need to pass it through the advanced imaging machine.ā€

Sheriff Daylon returned his military badge to his breast pocket and adjusted the tongue of the jacket. He was left speechless almost at the foundation of the structure. Architectural beauty was a greatly desired throughout the Coalition society. The drab buildings that were common throughout areas like the Colonial Sphere and Outer Empire were often viewed as a blemish by the ā€œhigherā€ classes of the Coalition.

"Yessir, please," he responded, giving his hand a slight wave for the security officer to pass the recorder through the inspection machine. "And thank you," he said, watching his service pistol filed away and sticking his hands beside the empty rigs of his belt where the holster would be placed. He licked his lips thirstily, before putting his palms out onto the counter and inclining his head down the hallway. "Also, you wouldn't happen to have a few vending machines somewhere, would you? I could use a bottle of water."

ā€œDown the hall to your right,ā€ said the officer, pointing to one of the two hallways to which the lobby opened, one on either side. ā€œTheyā€™re overpriced in my opinion though, Sheriff. I suggest ducking into the break room beside the vending machines, where you can just use the water bubbler for free.ā€ Photographs of Cranford, Khamtai, and Mulavi hung beside one another on both sides of the lobbyā€™s walls, relatively high on the two-story walls, along with a large, mounted copy of the NPA seal, the scales of justice superimposed on a scroll with Latin, Sanskrit, Greek, and Arabic text. ā€œIs there anywhere in particular you need to go, Sheriff? It can be pretty easy to get lost in here.ā€

Sheriff Daylon pursed his lips at the advice. He was no stranger to being on the bad end of the quick snacks game. Looks like the motivation for a quick buck was universal to all peoples. He nodded his head gratefully and returned the electronic recorder to his pocket. He admired the photographs of TNG officials placed throughout the hallway, taking his time to perceive every one located on the walls.

"Yes, actually -- uhh, I'm here for a questioning on the Drulović investigation. I don't particularly know who I'm supposed to speak to beforehand, where would I be for that?" he said, glancing down the hallway and making a note of the room where he could find himself a glass of water.

ā€œIf you werenā€™t given specific instructions, you can probably talk to Jake Shapiro. Heā€™s currently handling the further interviews in the case,ā€ said the officer. ā€œIā€™m not sure where he is in the building, but if you were scheduled to be here, heā€™s probably in the conference room upstairs. Thereā€™s actually pretty good food up there too. And Drulović -- hrm. I think sheā€™s downstairs in the holding cells.ā€

Sheriff Daylon nodded and tipped his head in thanks, adjusting the arm of his coat and quickly setting himself off to the water bubbler. He made a quick stop and grabbed a bottle of water, standing outside the door and taking a few deep gulps. "Oh man. All right." He finished, drawing a hand up to his mouth and wiping away any droplets that might have formed from his rather uncouth thirst.

"Conference, conference," he said, holding the water bottle with one hand before he began scaling the steps up to the second story. Reaching the landing, he quickly consulted a map of the building; finding his target, he walked a path through the second story before finding a placard with the name of conference room above the door. "Here we go," he said, tucking the computer under one arm before knocking on the door.

The door opened a few moments later to reveal a tired-looking, middle-aged man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. ā€œYou must be Sheriff Daylon,ā€ he said, opening the door wider and extending a hand. ā€œJake Shapiro. I was told to expect you this evening. Per Acting Director Mulaviā€™s orders, I will assist you in any way I can.ā€

The conference room was furnished with a cream-colored rug and a wooden table with a number of chairs around it. A counter with two cabinets ran along one wall. Someone had covered the smart-board with a printed photograph of Arianne Drulović and scribbled some illegible note in the margin, possibly in a script other than Latin. Shapiro motioned for Daylon to come inside. ā€œAs I understand it, youā€™re here to interview Arianne Drulović? Is that right?ā€

Sheriff Daylon shook his head at the mention of his name. He took the Terran's hand in his own and gave the man a firm shake, releasing after a few seconds before following the man into the room and admiring the quaint furnishings of the room. He was quick to place the computer tablet on the table, angling the holographic projector towards the smart-board before he eyed the picture of Drulović.

"Yes, I've been dispatched by the General to coordinate this investigation," he said, flipping up the screen of the computer tablet and tapping in a few keys to start the device's interface. "And I set up an appointment to interview Director Drulović earlier last night. The General ordered the whole of my operating unit to prepare for this case. Before I speak to the Director though, I have some inquiries of my own, Mister Shapiro. The evidence I've discovered in my own investigation doesn't particularly point to one person or the other. Who was it that exactly arrested Drulović, again? Mary -- Marlene -- Agent Angel?"

ā€œMarlene Angel, yes,ā€ Shapiro nodded, speaking the name with something a bit like distaste. He moved towards the smart-board and reached for the tape at the top of the picture of Drulović, carefully sliding his finger under the adhesive. Shapiro set the picture face down on the floor, leaned against the wall. ā€œA bad practical joke,ā€ he muttered, as if in apology. Shapiro stepped back. ā€œThere; now we can watch on the board, if you wanted to direct the output there.ā€

He sat in one of the cushioned chairs in the conference room beside where Daylon was standing, facing the smart-board. ā€œI have a copy of her report here,ā€ said Shapiro, reaching for one of a few file folders on the table. He slid it across the tableā€™s wooden surface and flicked it open, reaching for a stapled document. ā€œIn case you havenā€™t reviewed it, this is Angelā€™s arrest report. And --ā€ Shapiro removed another set of stapled documents. ā€œThis is a copy of the warrant she obtained, and the statement supporting the warrant. Iā€™ve been looking through these materials earlier today.ā€

Sheriff Daylon watched Jake remove the large picture before he activated the projection attachment, mounted on the side of the computer. He tapped away at several more keys, before the desktop was imposed on the smartboard. He adjusted the picture with a slight movement before placing the main folder that contained all the refined information on the screen.

"I see, thank you Mister Shapiro -- my analysis was thoroughly administrated by the General and his own team of specialists as well, and I don't mean to speak for every Coalition soldier on this planet, but the evidence we've been provided didn't lead us anywhere in particular." He indicated to an image of the white SUV's that were seen on the night of Shaw's disappearance, another photograph of the several black sedans fading by. "I've only read excerpts of Marlene's report. There was a serious breakdown in protocol from what I have observed, Mister Shapiro," he remarked dryly. "I am partly curious as to how she was able to gain a warrant with her -- motives."

ā€œFrom what I understand,ā€ said Shapiro, folding his hands atop the conference room table, ā€œand I was only brought in last night, the Acting Director saw a copy of a video that came from an Aschen Reverence. I have a copy of that on disk,ā€ he added, removing a gleaming CD from the same file folder and holding it up before placing it on the table. ā€œHe sent that video to the Prosecutor Generalā€™s office, and they took it to a judge. What I donā€™t understand is exactly where this video came from, and what its chain of custody looks like. That hasnā€™t been completely explained to me either, but youā€™ll see in this report that the video is what got the warrant.ā€

He fell into silence, inspecting the image that were projected onto the smartboard. Shapiro leaned his elbow on the table and set his chin on his fist, his eyes narrowing in concentration. ā€œWhat else can I do for you, Sheriff?ā€

Sheriff Daylon slid the CD towards him and inspected the piece of electronic, turning his vision back to the smartboard and bringing the image to sit on the empty desktop once again. He remembered a brief overview of the video, having been woken in the dead of night to observe the incoming feed as a team of specialists quickly began breaking down the video piece by piece. They first streamed it through an anomaly detector, which would have scrutinized every pixel of the images for the exact color attributes and density.

"The video is still being analyzed by the General and his men, but so far no one has discovered anything that points to it being fake -- from what I understand, that video is from LDA archives?" he inquired, a few photographs of LDA personnel appearing on the screen as Daylon stepped away and patted his hands against one another. "LDA -- not the biggest fans of those guys, personally don't like the way they look, but -- " he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a tilt of his chin. "If anything, I think I'd like to speak with Director Drulović now. At the front desk someone said she would be in the holding cells down below. All my investigation data is on that mobile right there; I'll leave it here until I leave."

ā€œAh -- yes,ā€ responded Shapiro, almost absently, transfixed on the images on the projector. He broke from his reverie, laying his arm on the table again and looking at Daylon. ā€œIn the basement, thatā€™s where the Director is right now. You can hold the interview wherever you like. Typically, we question people in one of the two interrogation rooms, also in the basement, but sometimes agents prefer to use one of these conference rooms. Youā€™re free to go downstairs yourself, though; you donā€™t need an escort in the building per the Acting Directorā€™s orders.ā€

Shapiro stood and pushed his chair back into the table. ā€œThank you for coming, Sheriff,ā€ he said, reaching for the mobile. ā€œIā€™ll look through the material you have, and I appreciate your sharing it. Iā€™ll be in here or down the hall if you need me.ā€

Sheriff Daylon folded his hands in front of him as he listened intently to Shapiro's instructions. He wasn't expecting to produce much from this; the time he had first spoken to Drulović, she was certainly able to steer a conversation any which way she would choose. Then again, the Sheriff himself thought this entire fiasco was a mockery.

"Thank you, Mister Shapiro -- all the information on the mobile can be accessed with the passcode Six Six One," he replied, before removing his coat and draping it over the back of a chair and then striding for the door of the conference room. "I'll make use of the interrogation room, and I appreciate the lack of babying, sir," he said, pulling open the door and offering the man one last nod at the mention of his cooperation. "I'll also provide any information I come across directly to the TNG," Daylon affirmed before closing the door behind him, descending the two flights of stairs to the basement levels and approaching a guard positioned at a door beneath the hard light of an overhead lamp. "I'm here to question Arianne Drulović; mind directing me to an interrogation room?"

The guard straightened, looking twice at Daylon. ā€œOf course, sir,ā€ he said with a short nod. ā€œThere are two interrogation rooms on this floor, both at the end of this hallway.ā€ He pointed toward the hallway on the other side of the door. There was a marked change in the environment in the basement. Lacking carpets, the bare concrete floors gave the impression of a very cold, impersonal place. The only placards on the walls gave the room numbers and floor. ā€œShould I get the Director for you, sir?ā€

Sheriff Daylon bowed his head as he was directed to the far interrogations at the end of the hallway. He brought his arms close in to himself as the security made the inquiry to fetch the Director. He nodded again before starting the walk to the interrogation rooms and opening the doorway up to the one on the left side of the hall. He left the door open behind him and flipped on a light, setting up the recorder on the table before sliding into his seat across the table from the open hallway. "Whenever she's ready, officer," he called out from the end of the hallway, stretching himself out slightly before laying his hands into his lap.

It was several minutes before the officer reappeared in the door of the interrogation room, escorting Drulović, still dressed in her black suit and scarf. Her eyebrows had knitted very closely together, and her heavy-lidded eyes immediately settled on the Scatterran. ā€œMr. Daylon,ā€ said Drulović as the officer nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Drulović remained standing in the doorway, her lips stretching into a thin line.

Sheriff Daylon leaned himself into the back of the chair as Drulović was brought to the doorway. Daylon reached a hand out to the small piece of equipment on the table in front of him, and picked at a pair of buttons on its side. "Director, please take a seat. I'm sure you're aware of why I'm here. Thank you, officer; I'll let you know if we need anything else," he thanked, looking down at a watch on his wrist before laying his hands in front of him on the table.

"I'm here to interview you about the events that have transpired in these past few weeks," he remarked, looking to the small recorder and noting the faint red light beeping away before he continued. "Just to clarify. You were arrested by Agent Marlene Angel, an Aschen expatriate who is now enrolled within the NPA, on grounds of treason for the disappearance of Kendra Shaw. Is this correct?"

Drulović stepped inside the room, leaving the door open. She pulled the other chair out from the table and settled slowly into it, adjusting the scarf about her neck. ā€œYouā€™ve quite a way of greeting people, Mr. Daylon,ā€ said Drulović dryly, folding her hands atop the table. ā€œWhatever happened to saying ā€˜good eveningā€™ anymore?ā€ She grimaced, a small frown appearing on her face. ā€œIn any case, Mr. Daylon, that is only partially correct. The actual charges, I think, are a bit different. But yes, Ms. Angel was the one who executed the arrest.ā€ She blinked curiously at the Sheriff, her eyes betraying little of her thoughts save perhaps a hint of annoyance. ā€œItā€™s rather cold in here, hm?ā€

Sheriff Daylon pressed his teeth against one another as the woman took her seat across the table; he was hardly proud to be the one doing this, but was more concerned with simply returning to the General that this investigation was just what he assumed it was, useless. "I apologize, Director; I've had quite a busy day. Still stuck in work mode," he replied to the woman, lifting his hands up onto his chest. "So, Agent Angel provided evidence from an Aschen Reverence and this had led to your custody," he said, catching her statement of the cold before he nodded to the woman and looked around the room for a thermostat. "You are right, Director; it is quite cold."

ā€œIā€™ve found that most governments buildings are kept at these horridly cold temperatures,ā€ responded Drulović, her fingers struggling for a moment to button her jacket closed. ā€œIn the Bureauā€™s offices at the Durrani Building, Iā€™ve asked the maintenance workers to raise the temperatures. I imagine these people like to save money on the cost of heat -- if not that, then someone takes some kind of pleasure out of watching their colleagues freeze.ā€ The slightest hint of bemusement passed through her eyes as she spoke.

Sheriff Daylon pursed his lips as she produced a tangent on the subject of the temperature. The Sheriff could produce several explanations for keeping a certain building at a certain temperature. In the Coalition, namely the FBP and PDF, buildings with prisoners or convicts were kept at temperatures undesirable or uncomfortable for the sake of keeping them in line. "Saves cost, keeps certain individuals in close accordance. Some people think cold can make people cooperative. Get them to better explain themselves in the hopes that, mayhaps, they will be removed from the area."

His words became sharpened before he reached out to the recording device and checked a small digital screen on the side of the object. He still had plenty of space to record, having not even filled up a quarter of the memory. "In situations like these, however, it's important to investigate all avenues of approach. I do not believe that the processes Agent Angel followed are legitimate, Director Drulović, which has brought me to interview you today. People have accused you of treason against Terra by repatriating Kendra Shaw, who is now within the Taiyou Empire. What are your possible explanations of that?"

ā€œOh Iā€™ve heard all manner of accusations,ā€ said Drulović, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. ā€œIā€™m certain that there is little substance to most of them. Itā€™s quite easy to make political enemies. Easier still, I think, to fabricate stories.ā€ She trailed off for a moment, looking a bit distracted. Under the harsh light of the interrogation room, her face looked almost sunken, and the dark circles under her eyes were plainly evident. ā€œI donā€™t particularly care for the Taiyou, Mr. Daylon. Besides, most of them seem to think that Terrans are -- less than human.ā€ Mild distaste tinged her words.

Sheriff Daylon nodded with the woman at her explanation. His eyes were fixed to a point directly in front of him as she spoke. He would occasionally look up to her, before resigning himself back to silence and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sure that much of the accusations falling around you have little weight. This Marlene Angel, an Aschen national -- her file is wrought with violation of protocol, unprofessional and incompetent, if you ask me," he said, shrugging his shoulders at the mention of the arresting officer.

"And I don't care for the Taiyou or Aschen either. 'Less than human?ā€™ Funny, I remember watching reports of Aschen massacre and Taiyou death camps during the Occupation. I believe the Tripartite was founded on the statement 'the victor writes history,ā€™" he replied calmly, adjusting himself and leaning his head to the side. "So, you do not accept responsibility for the disappearance of Kendra Shaw, then?"

ā€œI doubt youā€™ll find any evidence that will point to something that did not happen, Mr. Daylon,ā€ responded Drulović, tilting her head slightly to the side as she watched Daylon unblinkingly. She rubbed her fingers absently over the icon of the saint hanging about her neck. ā€œItā€™s quite easy to fake evidence like videos, you know. All this technology these days, all these new innovations -- and only easier to say anything, whatever you like, and you can create some video to support it. I donā€™t care much for the courts, anymore, Mr. Daylon.ā€

Sheriff Daylon pulled his lips in slightly at the mention of the courts. It was a constant battle to keep faith in a system where mistakes could appear to be the right choice. He had been coming to terms with his own shortcomings and confidence in the system he so desperately subscribed to. His pain only showed for a second, however, and he was eager to snatch the recorder from the table before giving a quick flick and shutting the device off. "I don't doubt that at all, Director. You've served your country to the best of your abilities, and now the same people you took an oath to protect believe you're involved in the conspiracy of this decade. Some people in the Coalition applaud the fact the Terrans have shown forgiveness for what happened in Operation Inferno."

He tucked the recorder into his pocket, clasping his hands to one another tightly while he made a grimace at the mention of the Aschen genocide. "I would rather those responsible succumb to a violent disease rather than be forgiven, but it goes to show something that people are willing to subscribe to humanity in the face of these adversities," he replied, before laying one hand out on the table. "I wouldn't want to take any more of your time, as I'm sure that these next few days will be very busy for you. Unless there is anything else you would like to say, I think I'm done with my inquiries."

Marlene Angel approached the door from down the hall, knocking to be let in, and then spying the Sheriff through the window. Catching him just as he said he was done and inclining her head before speaking, her tone was firm, yet somewhat hostile. "I think you are done, Mr. Daylon," she said, stepping aside. "I'm quite surprised that the FBP managed to get a crack at the suspect before her arresting officer did. But it goes to show how things work around here," she said as she shifted her weight before eyeing the Scatterran. "Sheriff, please excuse us."

Drulovićā€™s eyes fell to the recorder for a moment before returning to Daylonā€™s face. She had opened her mouth to speak when Marlene appeared. ā€œGood evening to you too, Ms. Angel,ā€ said Drulović mildly. ā€œIt seems that near everyone today has forgotten how to properly greet people. Sometimes I truly wonder what has happened to our society. I donā€™t understand how people can live in a society where it becomes acceptable to ignore pleasantries.ā€ Drulović blinked at Marlene, pressing her lips together as if in disapproval.

Sheriff Daylon lowered his hand into his pocket as he stood up from his seat, his features hardening only after he bowed his head lightly to Director Drulović before he studied the Aschen's hostility. A faint smirk crossed his face before a single hand slid the TNG authority badge onto the table. "I am unaware of how you do business in the NPA, Agent, but under my authority I expect the utmost respect from subordinates such as you," he remarked, before drawing the badge back into his pocket and stepping around the table before heading for the door.

"'Sheriff Daylon' is the correct you will respond to me unless you ever catch me without this badge," he said, pointing up to the FBP insignia hanging from his breast pocket before adjusting his shirt and tie. "And I doubt we will ever meet out of uniform. Agent Angel, you have my authority to interrogate your suspect. I'll leave the two of you to your discussion," he said, flipping a finger against his nose before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him with a rude slam.

Marlene huffed. "I listen to my superiors in the NPA, not the FBP; know your place as a foreigner, Sheriff," she said, venom seeping into her voice. "I know you would not show your LDA superior the same consideration, should you be investigating in Aschen territory. I don't need your authorization to conduct my interrogation; I only need the authorization of the Terran Government," she said as the door slammed behind the Sheriff. Then she turned to Drulović. ā€œThe day I listen to a Scatterran is the day Langara burns until its surface is but glass," she said, turning down the thermostat in the room. Then she slid the chair back and set her files on the table, and when the door was secure, she faced the Director.

"This is going to be pretty simple, off the record, then we'll begin the actual interrogation," she said, setting her recorder on the table. "We're adults here, so I ask that you don't bullshit me. I've been in this business long enough to spot bullshit a mile away, and just because I can't torture a confession out of you, torture isn't the only thing I learned back in the Agency."

ā€œOh?ā€ Drulovićā€™s brows furrowed together. ā€œIs that so? I donā€™t imagine you learned very much about etiquette.ā€ She folded her hands over her knees and leaned back in her seat, staring up at the taller woman, any hint of emotion utterly gone from her eyes. ā€œNor, I think, about effective interrogation methods,ā€ she added dryly.

Marlene chuckled. "Director, I haven't started the interrogation," she said, bringing the thermostat down to a breezy forty degrees, as low as it could possibly go. She began to pace around the woman, checking her files for a moment and then looking down to the Director. "Etiquette, Director? I'm not here to baby you, to be polite to you; I am here to prove you committed a crime; you're a criminal," she said as she continued to pace. "Those videos are pretty solid, but they're hardly evidence; I agree. What strikes me as odd, as not only did the Reverence AI log a Raptor departing and arriving at the same time this footage was taken, but I have pilotā€™s logs and witness testimony placing you at the scene. So tell me, Director. Why did you free her?"

ā€œSo a large number of people seem to think they saw me at a particular place at a particular time,ā€ said Drulović, shrugging. Bemusement appeared behind her eyes as she watched Marlene with patent interest, blinking tiredness away. ā€œI imagine stranger things have happened. There are psychological journals, you know, that have documented mass delusions, all experienced by the same people and thought to be true. And of course, people do lie. In fact, it happens quite a bit.ā€

Marlene continued to pace around the woman, somewhat frustrated that her work wasn't getting her far. "So the AI of an entire ship, the most advanced AI system in the galaxy is delusional? Someone went in and faked pilotā€™s logs? You're good, Director; I'll give you that. But a trained Admiral and several trained soldiers are far from likely to have mass delusions. The AI has logs of Kendra's arrival on the Reverence. In addition to a manifest, I have orbital pictures of you being present. Why would random soldiers have any reason to lie? Director, I'm quite convinced you did this; I want to know why."

ā€œIā€™m sure you are convinced, Ms. Angel,ā€ replied Drulović, ignoring Marleneā€™s pacing. ā€œI donā€™t imagine you would be here right now, standing in the freezing cold -- and it is quite cold, you know -- if you were not so convinced.ā€ She paused a moment, noting that both of their reflections were visible in the highly-polished glass of the one way mirror. ā€œBesides, I think you of all people ought to know how easy it is to create pictures, especially with all of this -- technology,ā€ she said, looking disgusted at that word, ā€œtoday.ā€

Marlene nodded. "Pictures are easily forged; I agree, but witness testimony from people who have no motive to pin you with anything and confirmed parse-authenticity reports from the AI are hard to forge. If you knew about the Aschen, and I assume you do considering you probably have infiltrators in every echelon of Aschen society, you of all people should know that Aschen technology is infallible." She then smiled for a moment. "Director, would you like some tea?"

ā€œFrankly, Ms. Angel,ā€ replied Drulović with a small frown, ā€œIā€™d rather not. Tea and sympathy are best kept to those with whom one wishes to spend oneā€™s time. And I very much think youā€™ve crossed that bridge awhile back, Ms. Angel.ā€ She stared at Marlene with a look of mild curiosity. ā€œDonā€™t you think?ā€

Marlene turned around. "If you think this is personal, it isn't. I appreciate what you did for my sister, but I have an obligation to uphold the law," she said, pacing around. "I have pretty concrete evidence connecting you with Shaw's disappearance. Did you know that she's selling information to the Taiyou? It would be a tragedy if the Taiyou managed to gain control of an Aschen reverence, and gods forbid launch an attack."

ā€œNot personal, Ms. Angel?ā€ asked Drulović, raising an eyebrow. ā€œOh, I highly doubt that. Everything -- everything, Ms. Angel -- is personal. Nothing can happen on Godā€™s green earth or anywhere else that is not personal. I think you are highly mistaken about that.ā€ She pursed her lips, regarding Marlene almost as if in pity.

Marlene shook her head. "And what is my motive for coming down on you so hard? Director, you smuggled a wanted individual off this world; you violated the law so wantonly," she said, pacing still as the room grew frigidly cold. "You aren't going to answer for what you did? No amount of evidence in your mind would convict you. Athena herself could put you at the scene and you just dismiss it as something else. I don't like bullshit and skirting, and you're doing both right now."

Drulović fell into a silence for several long minutes, maintaining a perfectly impassive expression. Her fingers reached automatically for the icon of St. Sava, resting over the saintā€™s face, her actions mirrored in the glass along the wall. ā€œItā€™s funny, Ms. Angel -- the law is a social construct, made to prevent anarchy, no? But sometimes, laws lack a very important quality. The law has so little room for compassion -- or necessity.ā€ She watched Marlene. ā€œMy duty is to protect Terran security -- a job best kept far from the courts and the law. But you know that, I think.ā€

Marlene nodded; it all made sense. "So your job was to prevent the Gemonese from glassing Terra, and showing compassion for an addict who would rather die than live another minute; is that how you're justifying it?" she said, turning back around. "You show compassion for the very woman who killed billions. You understand she personally pushed the button to nearly end your world."

ā€œI think youā€™re quite missing the point, Ms. Angel,ā€ Drulović said dryly, rolling her eyes. She unfolded her scarf with almost unsteady hands, draping it over herself, and tucked one end of it over her shoulder. She nodded toward the thermostat with keen eyes. ā€œItā€™s rather cold,ā€ she said.

Marlene shook her head. "I'm not raising the temperature back to a comfortable level until you admit to your wrongdoing," she said, pacing back and fourth. "You've made skirting the issue an art, and that disturbs me," she said, continuing the circle the woman. "It's true that you were in the CIA prior to the dissolution of the US; you were also selected for relocation. Why didn't you relocate?"

ā€œI detest space travel,ā€ answered Drulović. ā€œBesides, I think you know very well that my choice to stay here has no bearing on your rather shoddy reason for conducting this interrogation.ā€ In what could only be described as indignation, she rose from her seat and moved toward the thermostat. ā€œIf you wonā€™t adjust the temperature, Ms. Angel, then I will make it a point.ā€ There was something behind her eyes, then.

Marlene stepped between the Director and the thermostat. "Sit down, Director," she ordered, crossing her hands over her chest and glaring at the Director, daring her. "Sit down and answer the questions." Of course, Marlene had made it so the only way for the Director to adjust the thermostat would be to shove Marlene aside, and then she could pin Drulović for assaulting a police officer.

Drulović stared at Marlene, unblinking. ā€œYour questions are foolish, and rather banal, actually, I think,ā€ she said, in a tone often reserved for politicians who expressed rather obviously idiotic ideas about the direction of intelligence operations. ā€œIf you want to know about me, you can read the dossier, like anyone else with a clearance. But believe me, Ms. Angel, itā€™s a rather boring document quite lacking in substance.ā€ She nodded toward the thermostat behind Marlene. ā€œMove aside, please, Ms. Angel.ā€ She herself remained standing in the same place, looking for all her reputation of patience decidedly impatient. ā€œIā€™d certainly hate to have to start playing some childish game to get to the other side of the room.ā€

Marlene shook her head. "Take responsibility for your actions and I'll move; otherwise, I'm going to stand right here," she said, keeping her stance and staring at Drulović. "Admit to your crimes and I'll move; it's quite simple," she said, she was watching and waiting. "Why did you help Kendra Shaw escape?"

ā€œThatā€™s precisely the thing, Ms. Angel,ā€ said Drulović. ā€œI did not.ā€ She tried to sidestep Marlene to make it around the taller woman.

Marlene met Drulović's sidestep, still blocking her, and backing against the thermostat. "You didn't, hm? Pray tell why don't I believe you?" she said, meeting Drulović's every move. "We can do this all day and into the night," she said, still blocking the thermostat, the room reaching a frigid temperature now. "Take responsibility for your actions, Director, and I'll move; it'll all be over."

It was already past seven in the evening. Drulović gave Marlene a tired look, raising her hands in mock surrender. ā€œFine, then, Ms. Angel. If you want to stand there all night, please, go ahead.ā€ She retreated to the wall, leaning against it with her hands in her pockets. ā€œIt doesnā€™t make much of a difference to me.ā€ Drulović turned her face away from Marlene, a deep frown coming over her features.

Marlene made a face, claiming a small victory as Drulović went to the other side of the room. Marlene simply stood there as the frigid temperatures remained. "All night until I get a confession out of you," she said, warm and comfortable in her jacket and pants. Marlene knew to dress warm for this interview. And had Drulović known anything about the LDA, she would have been able tell Marlene was using standard LDA interrogation techniques.

ā€œIā€™m afraid youā€™ll be sorely disappointed with me, Ms. Angel,ā€ replied Drulović. ā€œIn any case, you donā€™t particularly seem inclined towards polite conversation. I suspect it will be a long night for you. A tragedy, to be sure, no?ā€

Marlene chuckled. "I knew you'd be a hard one to break, so I cleared my schedule. Don't worry, you're not the first person, and you won't be the last. Why don't you fess up to what you did so we can all go home? How long are you going to sit here? The evidence is pretty obvious, it's hard to fake logs and witness testimony. Cold mustn't faze you though, after-all.. Hadante gets mighty cold when you're in rags."

ā€œIf you insist, Ms. Angel, Iā€™ll stand here until court on Monday morning,ā€ replied Drulović with a small shrug. ā€œAlthough I imagine you donā€™t particularly want to do that.ā€ She watched Marlene for a while. ā€œEither way, Mr. Cranford will be calling in the morning.ā€

Marlene shook her head. "I'm sure you will, Director," Marlene said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you're going to claim your innocence until a court proves you guilty," she said, before she turned the recorder off, leaning forward so that no one could hear. "Director, how well have you read my file?" she asked; it was now just between Drulović and Marlene.

Drulović shrugged. ā€œIt was a while back, Ms. Angel,ā€ she said, still leaning against the wall in the interrogation room. ā€œIā€™m afraid Iā€™ve read a great many dossiers in the last several months alone. So many of them, no? And most are quite uninteresting.ā€ Her eyes slid to Marlene, blinking slowly.

Marlene leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. "If you have, you'd know what an Alteran is; I presume you do, don't you?" she said, narrowing her eyes. Drulović could sense something from the NPA agent, a presence, an overbearingly powerful presence of some kind.

Drulović watched Marlene with the same, mostly impassive look she had been giving the woman the entire time. ā€œIā€™ve heard the word before,ā€ she said, her lips flattening into a line again. ā€œIā€™m afraid I donā€™t recall the context.ā€

Marlene grinned as the overwhelming presence maintained itself. Then Marlene reached out to the intangible, focusing her efforts, feeling a slight pain at the back of her head to broadcast her voice into the Director's head. ā€œAn ancient and powerful race of evolved humans. My family was descended from the Alterans. I don't buy your crap; I know what you did; I have seen it.ā€

ā€œYouā€™re a fool, Ms. Angel,ā€ said Drulović, shaking her head. ā€œA damned fool.ā€

Marlene leaned back, releasing her abilities and allowing them to subside. "I'm a fool? I might not be able to prove you did what you did, but I've seen it; I know you did it. Tell me, Director. Would you be willing to take a Zatarc test to prove your innocence?" she said, leaning back. "I'll drop the charges if you take a Zatarc test."

ā€œAbsolutely not,ā€ responded Drulović. ā€œI utterly detest technology, and if I had my way, would not be caught within many kilometers of any form of it. And no, I will not take a polygraph either. The CIA liked to subject me to those. Quite unpleasant machines, I think, and altogether unreliable.ā€

Marlene shook her head. "I think you won't take it because you have something to hide, Director," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. "You've been beating around the bush all night. I can't understand how a government panders to people like this," she said, facing the door for a moment. "We'll see who has the last laugh, Director," she said, before she looked to the thermostat. Suddenly it ceased to function, locking the room in that temperature.

Marlene knocked on the door to be let out. When she was let out, she sighed. "Terra's laws seriously inhibit my arsenal. Back to square one, I guess."

After a few minutes, Drulović moved away from the wall. Her partially numb fingers pulled the chair away from the table, metal scraping against the concrete. She seated herself again in the chair at the table, adjusting her scarf again. Drulovićā€™s brows knotted together, and her fingers rubbed the face of Saint Sava on the icon. The temperature remained a frosty forty, and Drulović made the conversion to Celsius automatically -- four point five. It was four point five. She sat in silence, her head bowed, hands folded atop the table. If not for the modern layout of the room and her pantsuit, it might have been the portrait of a saint.

Meanwhile, a pale woman dressed in black cargo pants, tank top, and combat boots approached the check in desk. She was apparently unarmed. Even her hair was loose around her shoulders. Although Ari lacked an appointment, she had been told that she may possibly get through to visit Drulović. Although her apparent premise had not quite been worked out, she did not expect that it would matter much. "I'm here to see Drulović," she told the individual behind the desk.

Lieutenant Ferdi Gustava stepped out of a small call box positioned at the elevators, where a team of ITDM soldiers aided the Terran security detail at the basement sectors of the NPA building. He held one hand out in front of the woman and made a quick check of a computer tablet at his disposal. "Very well. She is currently in the room at the end of the hall. Her most recent visitor should be departing shortly. Now."

Marlene headed towards the elevator, rubbing her head as she approached the elevator. She checked her files for a moment, flipping them over and going over them. Handwritten flight logs, video tapes, witness statements and a note written in Anquietas. "I can't do much with Chaska playing hardball with me," she said, thumbing the note that was written in Anquietas. "I've got Scatterans breathing down one side, and Aschen the other. At least the Taiyou took that missing persons case off my hands."

Ari looked to the man that approached her calmly, holding still as he addressed his all-important tablet. "Thank you," she murmured. She nodded shallowly at his response and moved to step passed him toward the elevators.

Ferdi stood at the call box at the far end of the hallway, a hand gripping at the strap around his chest as the guarding team made way for the two people. Gustava returned to a video game on the tablet while the rest of the other soldiers continued talking amongst themselves. "Provide ID for interrogation checkout and sign off, please," the Lieutenant called out from the callbox one final time, after having allowed the smaller woman to pass through.

Marlene rolled her eyes at the men before showing her NPA ID Card and signing out. "Damnat Deus animalibus," she muttered as she checked out. "Am I free to go? I have places to be, people to see," she said, being quite the busy woman lately. "I need my Disruptor back too," she said to the Scatterrans behind the call box.

Ari strode into the elevator right beside the one by which Marlene was descending. What with her own powers being vaguely limited to manipulating matter, she was not aware of the former LDA agent's presence as she came within fifty yards. As the doors closed, likely Marlene would be stepping out from her own elevator car.

As the elevator ascended, Ari composed and performed her own elevator music--humming as her toe tapped, her fingers drummed against the back of her hand, and her eyes wandered to the ceiling patiently. She was trying to figure out what to say to Drulović when she saw her. Really, this had been an impulse--but perhaps she could be of use to the Director this time.

Ferdi continued tapping at the video game screen a minute after the woman offered her identification; pausing the device with a quick finger tap, he stepped out of the small enclosure and pulled up the signature device. He offered the piece of equipment to her with one hand, while the other reached to take her card. "I will scan this, and you will sign that. Proper signature, Agent -- rank, service, and full name, please. Your service weapon is waiting at the main security hub on the ground floor."

Marlene muttered as she let her pen hit the paper. Special Agent Marlene Erin Angelique, National Police Agency, Special Investigations. "I never thought that Terra'd be outsourcing its security, strange really," she said, clicking her pen and sliding it into her pocket. "Must be a boring job; it is for me," she added, trying to make some small talk.

Ferdi coughed into his palm and shook away his gloved hand as the woman signed the digital pad. As soon as he scanned the ID card, the TNG had an electronic confirmation that could be accessed from an easily interactive database. "Very boring at nights, especially when in a basement," he replied as he scanned the card, waiting another thirty seconds for a soft beeping sound before offering her the card in return for the signature pad. "Sixteen hours for the next week, will probably bring a tele-set sooner or later."

Ari stopped humming and tapping as the ding sounded and the doors opened. She stared blankly outside of the car at what was before her. Squinting, she realized she was not where she wished to be. Laughing softly and shaking her head, she reached to punch the appropriate number to take her down into the basement. With another ding, she started to descend to the basement. Once more, she started humming and tapping until she arrived. Once the doors opened, she strode out confidently, headed for the interrogation room.

It had been close to ten minutes since Marlene had left Drulović locked inside the interrogation room at the end of the hallway. She remained at the table. In almost childlike wonder, she leaned over the table and breathed slowly onto it, her breath clouding the tableā€™s metal surface for a moment before the condensation disappeared. Something in her eyes sparked. Drulović rubbed her finger against that spot on the table. It was nice, she thought, to be alone and without obligations. At least for the moment, she did not have pressing matters that required her attention.

Then Ari opened the door and ruined that moment. In stepped the Ri'ehn woman, intruding all too rudely upon the incarcerated woman's private amusement. Her head tilted as she looked at Drulović, and there was so much wonder on her features. A slow smile appeared. "Director," she murmured as she moved toward the table. "Do you remember me?"

ā€œMs. Loire,ā€ responded Drulović, looking up at Ari. Her face resumed its impassive expression, her eyes sliding toward the younger woman as she inclined her head. ā€œYou came to speak with me in the library, no?ā€ She leaned back in her seat, seeming to shiver for a moment.

"You've a fantastic memory," Ari said, clearly impressed judging by her tone and smile. She moved to take a seat across from Drulović, lacing her fingers together to rest her hands upon the table as she regarded the prisoner across from her. "I did. Now I come to you--in a far different setting. I can't say as I'm all too thrilled with it--as I imagine you aren't, either." She glanced around the room briefly before turning her gaze back to Drulović. "I've read a lot about what's happening with you--but I wanted you to tell me what got you here--and if there's anything I can do to put you back into a position where you can help Terra."

ā€œFor one, Ms. Loire,ā€ said Drulović, with the hint of a smirk playing on her lips, ā€œyou might find a way to adjust the thermostat.ā€ She nodded to the thermostat on the wall beside the door. ā€œBut thank you for coming here. I was rather afraid that people would be reading about this in the papers -- or on that blasted computer, on the -- internet.ā€ She seemed to scowl at that particular word. ā€œThere are some who think that I was responsible for allowing Ms. Shaw to escape from Terra two months past, and who, no doubt, would like to see me removed from office.ā€ Drulović regarded Ari for several moments. ā€œI donā€™t imagine thereā€™s much you could do about the criminal charges, though; that rests with Mr. Khamtaiā€™s ministry.ā€

Ari tilted her head faintly at the mention of the thermostat. Her mind reached out to probe along in search of the control of the central cooling system. As that wandered, she leveled her grey eyes on Drulović. "I noticed that Miss Shaw left the planet, and -- to be perfectly honest -- I was in a mild state of shock to realize that you seemed to be responsible for her escape. I have never been a fan of Miss Shaw--" Here, Ari shrugged dismissively. "--but I could give a flying fuck about what part you had in that, really. You've otherwise displayed a solid interest in Terra's well-being and independence. That should be something to be considered by those that would have you--" She smirked, lifting and separating her hands to gesture broadly. "--detained. As far the charges brought against you--there's little I can do for that. I once dealt with a rather fine lawyer--but he's Aschen. I'm not sure that would do much for your case."

Drulović shook her head. ā€œOh, donā€™t worry about the law, Ms. Loire,ā€ she said, almost dismissively. ā€œI went to law school, you know. I passed the bar, too. It was one of the most agonizingly monotonous moments in my lifetime, believe me. I have great admiration for people who can actually enjoy reading the type of sleep-inducing material found in law books.ā€ A small smile appeared on her face. ā€œI donā€™t expect to be here for all that long, Ms. Loire. After all, Mr. Cranford does require me.ā€

Ari tilted her head back in a genuine laugh, her hands returning to a rest on the table. An amused glitter held in her eye as she returned her gaze to Drulović. A small smile quirked one side of her mouth. "How soon do you expect to leave, Director?" There was a hopefulness in Ari's tone.

ā€œPerhaps sometime next week,ā€ replied Drulović, ā€œdepending on the judge who hears the preliminary hearing. Mind you -- the charges, I am sure will remain. I simply do not imagine that the courts will see the purpose of keeping me here. Besides, itā€™s a rather drab place, I think. No artwork, no pictures on the walls. And itā€™s still rather cold.ā€

There was a soft click, and a subtle change in the reverberations that indicated the central heating and cooling activities. Ari had found the thermostat--although it had taken her longer than her Alteran associate. Warmth flooded the room from the small vent.

"Have you been well-informed as to goings-on during your stay, Director? I expect you will want to get right back to work." The Ri'ehn woman reached down into one of the pockets on her thighs and shortly procured a few pieces of oil pastel. The colors were blue, green, grey, and black. She placed them on the table before Drulović, but retained the black piece. She took it in her fingertips, dragging the small bit on the metal of the table between them--drawing a stylized cat.

Drulović raised an eyebrow, watching Ariā€™s drawing with bemusement coloring her face. ā€œIā€™ve been briefed on matters of importance by Mr. Fazari, although it was a rather short briefing. Mr. Cranford spoke to me this morning, but it, too, was a brief conversation. Mr. Cranford doesnā€™t particularly like long conversations, Iā€™ve noticed. He doesnā€™t usually care for conversation over a cup of tea. But -- as nice as a brief break might be, my work has already been paused for too long. I am needed elsewhere, Iā€™m afraid, not here.ā€ Drulović paused, tapping the table near the drawing. ā€œItā€™s a nice picture, Ms. Loire. I like to draw on occasion, although I must confess a great lack of talent. Had I any talent whatsoever, I might have went to art school, hm?ā€

"I appreciate that people have had the decency to come visit you," Ari said with a crooked smile as she detailed the drawing. "I agree that you're needed elsewhere. From what I know, you are here only due to folly. So--" She lifted her free hand to gesture to the pastels. "--commit a little folly with me. I don't give a damn about your skill. I never went to school, either." She did pause at that moment to flick her eyes up to Drulović. "I would prefer you out of this place as soon as possible, Director. I was wondering if there was a bail."

Drulović reached for the green pastel with her right hand. With halting movements, she began to etch the image of a flower. There was no particular skill or realism to the image, but it was vaguely recognizable, if one tilted the head and squinted long enough. She pressed her tongue to her teeth in concentration, making little marks to add to the image. ā€œI believe thatā€™s what the hearing on Monday is for, Ms. Loire,ā€ she said, almost absentmindedly, nearly all of her attention focused on the crude drawing. She held the pastel at an odd angle, and the movements did not seem altogether natural.

Ari turned her eyes back to her own drawing, making a point of not watching Drulović's near infantile attempts to draw. "I hadn't heard about that yet," Ari said placidly. "Whatever the case, I am most willing to pay for your release. I will remain sharply attentive to the goings on as far as your incarceration in the event that I can be of some assistance to you." Ari paused to smudge at the cat to add some shading, glancing up at Drulović and her drawing. "I can bring tea next time, if you like."

ā€œI appreciate that,ā€ responded Drulović with a nod. ā€œIā€™m afraid I have very little money left. And I imagine Mr. Drulović has his own troubles to be concerned about; Iā€™d rather not trouble him with my problems.ā€ Her actual salary as Director of Intelligence was rather minimal, as were the salaries for members of Parliament. Her hand slipped, and made a mark across part of the flower picture. Drulović frowned, rubbing at the stray mark. ā€œI havenā€™t had a good cup of tea in a couple of days. Quite sad, actually.ā€

Ari felt her mouth twitch faintly at the idea that Drulović was relatively poor--especially given that she was doing so much for Terra. She lifted her fingers from her drawing to rub her fingertips together and smear the oils over them. "If I have the opportunity, I will bring tea next time." She looked up at Arianne then. "How have you been faring in here otherwise, Director?"

ā€œWell, itā€™s decidedly monotonous,ā€ responded Drulović with a small laugh. ā€œI havenā€™t had the opportunity to continue reading Mr. Dickensā€™s novel, as I had been doing the night Ms. Angel so rudely interrupted a quiet evening. And,ā€ she added, in a more sober tone -- though it was difficult to determine whether Drulović was mocking or not, ā€œIā€™m afraid Iā€™ve missed my churchā€™s choir practice. Still, Ms. Walsh may be grateful that I havenā€™t ā€˜led the entire alto section astray,ā€™ as she likes to say.ā€ Drulović tilted her head to the side, inspecting her own drawing. She scrawled a note beside the drawing in Cyrillic script, her hand forming awkward, textbook-style letters like those of a child first learning how to write.

Ari was initially interested in watching Drulović's face--but her eyes lowered to the movement of her hands as she spoke. "A damn shame," Ari murmured distractedly, "tearing someone away from reading and choir.ā€ Her head tilted a bit as she started to write. "Miss Angel--that's--familiar.ā€ She frowned deeply. "What was this Miss Angel here for? How did she interrupt your evening?" For this, she returned her attention to Drulović's face.

Drulovićā€™s eyebrows narrowed, a small frown appearing on her lips, as she added the last letter in the word with painstaking caution. Her eyes flickered to Ari, blinking. ā€œMs. Angel -- Marlene is her given name -- is the agent who came to my door with an arrest warrant while I was reading on Thursday evening,ā€ she answered.

At once Ari was afflicted with amusement and anger. Her teeth grit, and then she laughed, throwing her head back for a few seconds before she groaned and leaned forward to rest her brow into her fingers. She shook her head slowly. "Oh, goddamnit. Marlene. She took you in? I -- didn't know that, oddly." She dropped her hand back to the table, tilting her head at Arianne. "What the fuck kind of grounds did she take you in on?" Already it was clear that Ari smelled 'bullshit'--even from such a considerable distance.

ā€œThere was a video from a Reverence, the LDA, something like that,ā€ said Drulović, rubbing her jaw for a moment, careful to avoid smudging any pastel on her face. ā€œIā€™m afraid that at the time I was shown the video, I was eating dinner and not terribly attentive. There had been a situation south of Wing City at the time.ā€ She set the green pastel on the table and reached for the blue one, beginning a new etching with the same halting motions.

Ari froze in a quiet horror. "Was this footage a solid implication of you essentially granting Shaw liberty?" she asked quietly, her eyes now watching the twitchy little movements of Drulović's hand. "And what was going on at that time that--dinner aside--you were so distracted?"

ā€œMs. Angel was attempting to arrest one of the Bureauā€™s agents,ā€ responded Drulović, the little marks slowly forming what looked halfway like a tree--partially. ā€œThe NPA, the Bureau, the Scatterrans -- good Lord, it was quite a mess. But politics is usually like that, no?ā€ Drulovićā€™s frown deepened as she continued to etch the image of the tree onto the tableā€™s surface. ā€œA bloody, disgusting mess.ā€

"As with most things involving Marlene," Ari muttered absently, her left hand reaching up to rub at the side of her face. She did, of course, note that Drulović totally avoided answering the first question, and that made the Ri'ehn woman all the more concerned. Drulović was a good person to keep around--and if there was irrefutable evidence suggesting that she had betrayed Terra by granting Shaw an escape route. That still didn't matter to Ari--or, at least, it didn't matter for what it was as that. It only mattered because it fucked with how Ari wanted Drulović to function. "Anyone important to you get arrested or perish in that incident?"

ā€œNo, thank God,ā€ replied Drulović. She leaned over the table, paying closer attention to what she was doing with the pastel. She was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a partially steady hand, and rested her wrist against the table while still moving her fingers. ā€œThe Bureauā€™s agent was not taken into custody, and no one died. I specifically instructed the Bureau personnel present not to fire. Things do tend to get ugly once triggers are pulled.ā€ Drulović paused, inspecting her drawing with a careful frown. As the temperature in the room had risen, so her irritation seemed to have faded.

Ari watched quietly for a minute or two as Drulović handled the pastel and created her lines. She had run out of pertinent questions. Now all that was left was curiosity. Ari reached out to indicate the Cyrillic script with the tip of the black pastel she still had. "What does that read, sr'vehn?"

ā€œIt says Å”ljiva,ā€ answered Drulović with a small smile. ā€œA Å”ljiva is a plum. The Å”ljiva is the flower of Serbia, you know.ā€ She stopped drawing to look at the script. ā€œIā€™m afraid my handwriting is not particularly good. You can travel to parts of Eastern Europe, and there are calligraphists who write beautifully. When I was younger, I much enjoyed imitating their art -- I was good enough to earn a few commissions while at university. Unfortunately, I havenā€™t been able to write so beautifully in many years now.ā€

Nerve damage? Ari speculated to herself. Grey eyes wandered the painstakingly etched lines of the word for a few seconds before she grunted softly. "I believe that there's a beauty in things done with devotion, no matter their apparent crudeness," she said quietly. "On that note--you may keep these, if they let you." She dropped the black pastel along with the green and grey ones. "I'm afraid that I have to go for now--but I will try to see you again before your release." Ari attempted to sound confident--that it was a matter of fact and a matter of time before Drulović was released. "I will keep an eye on what the press says about you, im itris."

ā€œOh, the press,ā€ said Drulović, rolling her eyes at mention of those particularly banal creatures. ā€œThe press will sat just about anything, Ms. Loire, and less than one-half of it is true. I harbor a deep dislike for the press. Perhaps thatā€™s leftover from the clandestine business, but I really donā€™t care for journalists or their ilk. I wish my name would cease to appear in print. Unfortunately,ā€ she nearly glowered, ā€œI highly doubt that that would ever happen.ā€ She looked at Ari carefully.

Ari stood up slowly, her palms pressed to the cool metal. She stared down at the table they had drawn all over carefully for a minute. "I hope that your name will appear less in a negative context, im itris--and a more triumphant one shortly. To have your name disappear--well, unfortunately--it would be the result of an obituary." Ari reached out to touch just the fingertips of her right hand to Drulović's left hand. "I will see you soon, regardless," she said. "Take care 'til then, vehn?"

Drulović nodded, meeting Ariā€™s eyes. ā€œYou have a good rest of the night, Ms. Loire,ā€ she said. ā€œIt was good of you to come. Iā€™m sad to say that it was not under better circumstances. Perhaps soon you can come to my house for dinner. Iā€™d like that very much. And itā€™s certainly more pleasant than meeting -- well.ā€ Drulović shook her head, tiredness creeping upon her as the night wore on.

Ari inclined her head deeply. "Of course. Ahren, im itris." She straightened shortly after, turning to make her exit.

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