Aislynn DeSange's Story

It takes an almost visible effort to loosen one of her hands from the death-grip it was holding on her knees as she regarded the man before her. There was an ache, deep within, one even the shrieking of the whispers could not erase or bury. Something within her chest twisted, squeezed, at the simple offering of his hand, his trust. It made her breath come harder, forcing it through a throat closed with emotion. One hand does free itself, the fingertips of her right hand resting, for a moment, on the fingers of his offered hand. It is not full agreement, or full trust. It cannot be. He doesnt know it hisses behind her, and she can do little more than agree.

She remains as she is for a moment before working to collect her thoughts, but finds nothing. She can hear other whispers, cries from outside the cafe, and at the corner of her eyes she sees a shimmer collected in the doorway. They should not go outside. Not yet. So instead, she asks what should have been clear in the beginning. "Do you have a name? Easier to know someone by name."

The assent however small it was, mattered. Something was getting through to her at least. Through whatever storm raged around her. Through the light brush of her fingertips against his, he got a sense of her frailty and the massive battle of wills she must be waging against whatever tormented her. If a human agency was responsible for this, they had a lot to answer for. That thought made Edward smile. It'd been a while since he'd fired a shot in anger.

Drawing his hand back, he reset his spectacles upon his nose and cracked his knuckles. A bluff smile flickered across his face as she asked his name. "Sir Edward Mitchell of St Michael and St George at your service madam." He affected a half-bow from the chair, his coat falling open to reveal the dirty grey suit and the fraying holster belt supporting his handgun.

"Might I have the pleasure of your name, m'lady?" The loquaciousness of his tone was common of everyone in his line of work, an excessive degree of politeness which reassured the unwary and often immobilized the aggressive.

She mouthed his name moments after he had let it slip onto the air, tasting it as though it was some new, unknown food arrived at the tip of her tongue. Ignoring his question for a moment she frowns, and mouths it again, before her eyes narrow slightly in suspicion which, despite herself, carries the vaguest traces of amusement. "Can't be of two Saints. Only one, a person of one place." Even as she says it, however, the whisper that carries less malice is edging closer to her ear, reminding her that she of all people should understand. She of the many places. Of no places at all.

"Aislynn." She says, then, letting a name spill into the air between them that she has not heard spoken in... she is uncertain how long. Time, memory, slide from her sometimes. Leave her grasping at whispers of cognitive smoke and trying her hardest to remember what the fire looked like, where it was, and if she was running to... or from it. Sensing her thoughts unwinding the hand around her knee curls, driving fingers into the delicate skin at the side of her kneecap, finding flesh easily through the ripped and worn jeans that do their best to protect the package within.

The blossoming of pain, however mild, brings her thoughts back into line and she is able to think, again, breathe again. "Food first." She says, a rare moment of decision entering her voice. If he is to be as trusted as he says, he can devote the energy to watching her back, the door, the windows, the others, the couple on the other side, the woman with her book... he can watch them, and perhaps she can, just this once, eat without fear.

Aislynn. He repeated it to himself. Uncommon, unusual. Like everything about the girl before him, he thought to himself. "A pretty name." He declared to her, letting another smile roll across his face. The picture of reassurance.

Nodding to her, he got to his feet and crossed lightly to the waitress hovering near the cafe's tacky plastic counter top with as she looked with disgust at the frail urchin. "'scuse me ma'am." The picture of politeness, Edward slipped a hand into one of the many pockets of his coat, raising a rattle from loose change and ammunition as he pulled out a battered black wallet. Inside were a few tattered photographs and a roll of large denomination bills.

"Give the girl whatever she wants. This should cover it." He pulled out a couple of the bills and slipped them into the waitress's apron pocket. As he turned, he glanced back at the woman. "And--" He made this seem like an after thought, a trivial matter compared to the food he had just secured. "--Point that security camera somewhere else. We were never here." The last words were delivered in a hushed whisper as his momentum carried him back to the table.

"Everything alright, Aislynn?" He inquired with a genial smile as he dropped back into his seat.

Had she been the person she once was, the person she had once believed herself destined to be, perhaps she would have embraced him then. The simple acceptance, the questionless movement to acquire the very thing she needed, needed and without a whisper of judgement in his body, in his face or his words. But she did not. Instead she sat motionless, watchful, and as she watched him hand over money it took an unimaginable strength of will to stop her hands from snatching the nearest menu. She didn't need it- she knew what her stomach craved, and had craved for so long, but her hands wanted to feel the slick, laminated pages under her hands when she was doing more than just wishing.

It was such a swell of gratitude that it caught her by surprise, and when she managed to speak around the lump in her throat, her voice sounded hoarse, even to her. "Yes." A simple, single syllable, but it was all she could utter for a long moment. And when the waitress, with her narrowed eyes and pursed lips moved towards them Aislynn didn't hesitate before ordering a meal of toast, and bacon, and sausages, and eggs, and tomatos and beans. She'd feel full. She'd feel sick, and she knew that, and she didn't care for a single moment.

It was only after the waitress turned away that she moved her attention back to Edward, and regarded him more closely. "Why? Said to help would be for Queen and Country. But doesn't mean you can't help in..." slim shoulders rose and fell. "Great hotels. The ships. Anywhere."

The gratitude was written in her pale face, and the way the words caught in her throat. That was all Edward needed. Others would be caught up in petty rituals of politeness, unwilling to help those in need because of arcane strictures and an intolerable amount of self-absorption. A true gentleman, he needed none of that.

He kept his eye on the waitress as she went through the motions of taking the order and scuttling away to prepare the food. The money had been enough to buy her compliance, but not her silence. If anyone came looking for them, she'd be more than happy to give them up. No matter. He was sure between the two of them, him and Aislynn could disappear into the maelstrom of the city.

"People in ships and great hotels don't need my help. Most of them don't deserve it either." The ghost of a scowl coloured his face, a distaste for the monied and powerful despite his own status. "If they needed help, they have whole armies they could turn to. Where would you turn if you needed help?"

Edward's answer shocked her into silence, for long moments she sat stunned and immobile as she tried to piece this stranger, this unknown, into a world view and years of experience that told her that life did not, could not work the way he was suggesting. The force within her chest grew, a crushing weight of too long being invisible and unheard. And unnoticed. Or worse, noticed, seen and pursued by those who wanted nothing of her safety. His question hung in the air between them, unanswerable, because if she wrapped words around the great loneliness in her chest, if she admitted it to the word at large, the tears would flood, and it felt like they would never stop. She would drown in a sea of her buried grief and never be able to explain why.

Instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like it had once been a paperback book, the covers long stripped by time and rough use, the pages circled where delicate paper had met with rain, and coffee and worse. She offered the battered piece of literature to him, a simple explanation, and the best answer she could give to his question. The only answer, when words grew legs and lodged themselves deep within her lungs. The first page open was rubbed to the point of insensibility, but what words were decipherable spoke clearly from the page;

...others is intelligence;
knowing yourself is true wisd...
Mastering others is strengt...
mastering yourself is true power.
...ou realize that you have enough,
...u are truly rich.

She was grateful for the rattle of cup against saucer as the waitress brought another coffee, this time seeing fit to trust her with a real cup, and she absorbed her attention in it, or at least appeared to, keeping one weather eye on her companion's expression.

He took the book gently, almost reverentially as one accepting a holy relic. This was deeply personal to her, something that might have guided her through the darkest times a human could experience, something holy. He smiled at the quote. A Chinese proverb so often emblazoned on posters and trotted out by trite, middle class housewives searching for belief and meaning in their tightly ordered world. And here was someone to which it really mattered.

Edward didn't quite know how to react. In all his years of existence, he'd learned that sometimes words aren't enough to convey emotion. Inner strength and self reliance were core tenets of intelligence and special operations, where you could spends months on hostile soil, without the reassuring hand of command resting on your shoulder. With a grin, he reached out and lightly squeezed her shoulder. A gesture of strength and reassurance.

"You're a fighter, aren't you?" He flashed her a wink and clicked his fingers, ordering a second cup of watery tea.

The flinch that occured when he laid his hand upon her shoulder was made of more habit than true concern, to the point where the expression of discomfort did not even register on her features. She would accept the tattered book back, stuffing it into the pocket from whence it came with seeming disregard, but her hand lingers overlong, reassuring herself of its weight and presence before returning it to her coffee. His statement brings a small smile, that is equal parts pleasant and bitter. "Try not to be." The whispers mutter indistinctly in the background, adding to the general mull of the quiet cafe.

It would take some time for the food to arrive, though in truth she'd be glad of silence. It had been so long since she'd interacted with another person this much that her throat was raw. The tricks and misdirections of light conversation had long since been thrown from her mind, instead focusing on the map of the city that lingered at the back of her thoughts, or the constant need for vigilance. When it does arrive, however, it is attacked with such gusto that no amount of falsehood or bravado could hide the simple fact that, if Aislynn wasn't actively starving, it had only been a matter of time until she was so. After the initial burst of gluttony, however, she slows. She knows better- to eat it all, too fast, would lead to precious waste as her stomach rebelled against her. It was a waste she refused to allow, but with food in her system she felt stronger, strong enough to ask a question that had been lingering in her thoughts since he'd pledged his help.

"Assuming a lot. That there is a reason. A threat." She gestured to herself with her fork. "Could be luck. Homelessness. Why?"

He held his silence as she devoured the stacked plate before her. It would be impolite to disturb her enjoyment of the feast. People like Aislynn always renewed his appreciation of the little things in life. While people in his gentleman's club would have scoffed at the soggy scrambled egg and charred bacon, the waif across the table was devouring it like it was part of a three course at the Savoy. He smiled whenever she looked up from the plate, idly sipping at his tea while his pale eyes roved across the room, settling on anything particularly out of the ordinary.

Aislynn's frail voice brought him back to the table as he set down the cup on the saucer, leaning forward and smoothing down his coat tails. "I have sharp eyes." He tapped the wire rim of his spectacles with a fingernail. "You haven't stopped looking over your shoulder since I sat down." The smile tailed off as he looked into her eyes. "What're you running from?"

Aislynn grunted and nodded, her eyes flicking around the cafe again almost as though his comment had revived her need to take back a task that, at least for these moments, she had delegated to him. Satisfied that nothing had changed, she took another mouthful before answering him. "One hundred and twenty eight people want..." she paused, a moment, her head cocked. "One hundred and twenty seven people want me. I dont want them." She shuddered lightly at the thought, and turned her attention to her food to allow Edward time to digest the fact. It was one thing to offer protection imagining she was running from family, or perhaps another person... perhaps he had grand ideas of ending her problems for her. But they were big. Too big for that. Or perhaps she was too small... Could have ended it. the voice in her mind chides her. Could have, at the dam, but didnt. Weakness. She offers Edward a lop-sided, bitter smile. "Complicated."

He marveled at that. What could someone so small and frail do to inspire the untoward attentions of a hundred and twenty seven people? Others, some even within the confines of his office, would have balked at the task but Edward had heard stories from the Cold War, and numerous other shadow wars where two or three men had fought their way out of the encroaching grip of seemingly all-powerful nation-states, and ridden off into the sunset to live out their days in happy contentment.

Some would call him arrogant, but Edward was supremely confident in his abilities to keep people safe, whether from behind a desk or behind the sights of an automatic weapon. In this instance, it would probably be the latter. He smiled, pulling open his coat to display his weapon. "Well, they'll have to go through me if they want to get at you." He grinned happily. He'd missed the thrill of being in the field. "I wouldn't worry about them any more."

Her gaze flicked from his weapon, back to his features, and the thrill she could see reflected in his eyes, and despite herself, she had to shake it. She could not trust him, if he did not know. To be abandoned in a moment of need would be devastating, and stood a fair chance of being deadly... "And if they were police?" She asked, looking over her coffee. "Or for Queen and Country?" She shook her head slightly as she regarded him- this man older than her years, who would throw in his lot with a girl who could have done anything. And look at what you have done. the voice hissed, forcing her lips to thin as she locked her jaw over her retaliation. Instead she took another, deeper breath, and pressed her back against the seat behind her.

"Don't know me. Could have done anything. Could do anything. Assume they are not right." She took a deeper breath, settling her feet so they both rested flat on the floor, her eyes counting those within the cafe yet again, just in case... That was here life here, the life of possibility. What if one of those eating here was one of Them? The jangling of a nearby phone startled her and she froze in place like a startled rabbit, heart pounding wildly in her chest before she eased again, her expression lost for a moment as she tried to remember what it was they were discussing. "Don't know me."

That nudged him back to reality. Away from the romanticism he'd conjoured up to disguise his doubts. His fear at being so far from home. He thought of the photos in his wallet. Of the medal in his desk. He wasn't supposed to be afraid. A man of action and intensity, the first from the helicopter into the jungle. The last man from the field of battle. A stereotype he'd wholeheartedly embraced. A worried look crossed his face, his answer precluded by a pregnant pause, the air between them quickly growing stilted. Could he justify it to himself?

When he finally spoke, his words were devoid of jocularity. He was hesitant, almost nervous. "If they're out to cause you harm, I'll stop them. But I won't shoot first. I'm agreeing to protect you, not kill for you." That reassured him somewhat. He'd outlined the rules of engagement. It was like the bloody republic all over again.

As she stiffened, he spun in his seat towards the noise reaching for his pistol on reflex. He felt the whole cafe hold it's breath as the black carbon frame edged from the holster. He saw the other diners unconsciously recoil from him as he began to draw.

It would feel like she grabbed his wrist, shoving his hand back into his jacket. Like fingers of surprising strength wrapped around his wrist and aimed to force compliance whether he willed it or not, but, the moment Edward would turn his attention back to Aislynn, the feeling would vanish, and the girl would be in exactly the same position she was in before the sound, before his movement, before the sudden tension flooded the cafe. Her lips would start to frame the words 'Don't...' but fall short, as her own attention was dragged back, as the girl with her notebook on the other side of the cafe stood, her blue eyes locked upon Aislynn and almost entirely ignoring her companion.

With the movement came action. One of Aislynn's hands snatched out, grabbing a napkin from the side of her table and with one movement grabbing a thick handful of food within it and shoving it deep into one of the overcoat's pockets. The other followed, grabbing the edge of the plate and hurling it at the other figure even as the rest of her body lurched into movement, abandoning her post and heading towards the kitchen. Door. Left. Push. The small, cluttered kitchen was unfamiliar, but she hauled herself to the left almost immediately on entering and within four steps was slamming through the wooden door into the alleyway at the back of the cafe, and only then did she spare a glance for whether Edward had remained, or followed.

"What the fu--" The timeless expletive was cut short by his inability to fully draw his weapon, surprise etched upon his face. It had all gone to shit rather quickly. The girl was gone, quick as a flash like a rodent down it's burrow. All that remained were the shocked expressions of the cafe's patrons, and the girl with the eerie blue eyes who hadn't even flinched at the crockery shattering inches from her head.

With the use of his forearm returned, Edward took refuge in his training. Hostile action; safeguard package and deter pursuit. Thankfully, the girl was between the rest of the cafe and the main door, while his exit was at the opposite end of the building through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Leaping to his feet, Edward drew the pistol with a single fluid motion and fired two rounds into the false plaster ceiling, raising his voice to a parade-ground boom. "Everybody out!" Screams and shouts of panic filled the air, bystanders tripping over each other to exit through the red framed door. A wall of bodies between him and the girl.

Turning on his heel, gun braced in a two-handed stance Edward dashed for the kitchen door. He dropped his shoulder and careened through the swinging portal, continuing on through the kitchen oblivious of the frightened staff cowering under metal work surfaces. Crashing through the cafe's back door, he arrested his momentum. Dropping the barrel of his weapon, he hurriedly scanned the dingy exterior of the alley.

Catching sight of Aislynn, he slipped the pistol back under his arm. "We need to go. Now."

She was strangely relieved to see him careening through the door behind her, a small weight within her chest lifted, and at his assertion that they needed to move- and quickly- she only nodded and turned right on instinct, following a shimmer of disturbance up the dingy alleyway as though she'd memorised the very ground itself. As she ran, the murmurs turned into angry statements. Stupid! Exposed! They will come! Find us! All for a gun! Stupid! Aislynn didn't respond, instead pouring yet more energy into her footsteps and pounding on through the alleyways.

It would be perhaps five minutes before she came to a junction of a minor street and a continuation of the backroads, where, suddenly, her brain was filled with panic and noise. They shouted, they pulled, first one way and then the other, trying to direct her at once down the larger street to her right, and to continue on as she had. The noise left her gasping, one hand coming to her head in dismay as she steps first one way and then the other, a shriek growing in her throat that was at once fear, and frustration, and overload. Through gritted teeth she groaned; "We have to go." But those directing her seemed to take no heed, and the conflict only gained momentum until the eyes that turn to Edward, to the way they had come, are brimmed with tears of pain.

He could already here the sirens. Ululating whoops like pursuing hounds evidently called in by some frightened bystander. He'd be painted as the villain of the piece, a robber and a kidnapper. An abductor of children at that. Nothing more hated by the American police and security agencies than a man who took children. Maybe the true pursuit would be hampered by that too.

Edward followed a few paces behind her, his eyes up and searching. Already he was distancing himself from the figure in the cafe. While moving, he shrugged off the tattered greatcoat, bundling it under his arm along with the holster belt. He tucked the pistol into his waistband, his wallet and several extended magazines of fat brass slugs went into the pockets of his shabby grey suit. He tucked his glasses inside the white shirt and smoothed down his tangle of black hair. From a distance at least, he looked significantly different.

As her frustrated scream rebounded off the crumbling brick walls of the alleyway he bent down, almost taking a knee in front of her, his arms stretching out to wrap around her shoulders. A gesture of safety and security intended to calm and console. Even as he lowered his gaze towards hers, he was searching for a place to hide. The warehouses and derelict buildings could at least provide some temporary sanctuary.

Her hands moved, grabbing his upper arms, stopping the gesture short while still drawing strength from it. Her breath announced itself in panicked rattling pants, and her eyes scanned around them, directionless for a moment, seeing within her minds eye her discovery, his slaughter, her abduction and all of the things that would come afterwards until a voice in her ear screamed with a clarity that made her fingers close tightly on his arms in surprise. UP! To their left there was a loud rattle and crash, as an old metal fire escape protested at years of misuse and threw itself downwards, it's end landing on the garbage beneath.

Aislynn moved instantly, without a hint of question, slim fingers hauling at his arm before freeing him, mismatched trainers slamming on the rusted stairs as she throws herself around, and up, over and over, hands rubbed raw by the rough rust but mindless of them. She half throws herself over the edge of the roof, landing gracelessly and rolling in the stones that littered the rooftop itself. Green eyes opened wide, waiting for Edwards arrival. Too unused to communicating, to planning together, more than once on this run she had feared she had lost him entirely, and she did so now, sprawled lower than the wall that fenced them in, looking back over her shoulder to see if the next face to show itself was his... or another.

He watched her go, allowing her to reach a place of safety before even thinking to move himself. The rattle of her feet on the rusted ladder assured him of her movement as he pressed himself against the decrepit brick wall of the alleyway, eyes searching for any pursuit. One hand was close to the gun at his back, the adrenaline coursing through him causing his hands to tremble. He clenched his fists, taking a few deep breaths as he attempted to still his pounding heart.

Satisfied that there wasn't any immediate danger, he hauled himself up the fire escape. It creaked under his bulk, squealing bolts protesting against the sudden tension. With a grunt, he pulled himself up over the lip of the wall rolling onto his side over the buttress and into the concealed space beneath the line of the roof.

Panting, he lay in the disturbed gravel, heedless of the blood running from a minor graze on his wrist, and the pollutant-riddled water soaking into his suit jacket.

He turned his head towards her, chest rising and falling from the sudden exertion. "What now?"