Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.
==Hide and Seek…==
((Posted by Moses Mureaux on July 4, 2010))
"There now… Was that so hard?"
The Old One releases the shattered arm, and the bruised and battered man fell to the ground.
"Ah, this will do…" he whispers, picking up a rod that was once part of a chair and setting it on one of the few tables still in one piece. "This is going to hurt you far more than it hurts me. No need to lie about it."
The Old One grasps the shattered arm again and pulls quickly, setting the bone in place. Before the man can even scream, the rod is set against the arm, and cloth is quickly torn from his shirt. With a quick and well practiced motion, the the fracture is set and splinted. The man grunts in agony.
"Three dead. Nine unconscious. And you. I suppose next time you lads will just answer a simple question rather than let your fists flail so ineffectively," the Old One taunts. "Captain, we have what we need."
"Very good," the Captain replies. He turns to the Tavern’s Owner, who is cowering behind the bar. "I must apologise. We did not mean to cause so much damage to your establishment."
The Captain reaches into his pocket and withdraws two stacks of currency.
"This is for the repairs. And this is for your silence. If anyone asks, they fell. Say that, and only that. It’ll be easier to believe than the truth. If that won’t cover your expenses, I’ll bring more," he said, turning to make his exit.
"H-how will you know…? Should I call…?" the Tavern Owner asks, afraid of the answer.
"No need," the Captain says, looking back over his shoulder. "We’ll be watching…"
"I hate waiting…"
The Old One does indeed lack patience. Luckly, he more than makes up for it in discipline. He controls his actions strictly, even if he does not control his words.
"Mr. Jameson will be along soon. Steady now."
The Captain is a stern man, except where the Old One is conserned. The Old One knows this, and he never hesitates to point out the flaw.
"Steady now? How about offering to remove my tongue if I can’t keep it still?"
"No need for all that. Besides, your voice is like a waterfall. After the first year or so, I learned to simply stop hearing it when I wish."
"You perplex me. So… Tolerant. Forgiving. Quite unlike your predecessor. You are Oculus Valde, and though I would never question the Master’s judgement, not in any way of consequence, I wonder sometimes why he selected you."
"As do I… Still, do not take my tolerance of you as weakness. Surely do not. I merely have a bit of… reverence. You are, after all, the last of the first still alive. I value your wisdom and honor your skill, even as much as I loathe your wretched tongue, Old Man."
"Wretched tongue… Better! A small step forward, but better."
The Captain closes his eyes, seeming to listen to… Nothing at all.
"He’s coming around. He’ll appear at that corner in… Three… Two… One… There!"
Alfred Jameson appears right on schedule. The man that watched Ms. Bilavio so many nights had gone into hiding. Moving from place to place. He was surprisingly difficult to keep track of, always disappearing nearly as soon as he was found. But that was then, before the order to take him was uttered. Now, nothing could hide him.
He moves with haste, but still tries to appear calm and collected. Nondescript even. The Old One and the Captain rise from there seats, crossing the street, and fall into pace with Mr. Jameson a mere thirty steps back. Soon the click clack of their heels striking the cobbles draws his eye. He sees the Old One, and bolts with abandon!
"Steady now…" The Captain doesn’t even raise an eye brow. "Let him run."
Jameson hopes to escape down a near by alley, only to find a young couple standing there. The young lady cocks her head to the side in a curious, unnatural manner, and Jameson knows. She, and he, are one of them…
He races further up the street, only to spot two gentlemen sitting on a bench. Staring curiously. Them…
He rounds a corner, only to see several laborers gathered around a wagon. Staring curiously. Them…
He runs along the street, trying doors as he goes. Finally one opens into a darkened shop. He crashes through, unconcerned with the wares he tumbles over in his wake. With haste, he finds the rear door, and bursts into the back alleyway.
The Captain points to the Old One, and then to the shop across the street. The Old One hisses as he races like lightning, leaping into the air, and grasping the shop wall. He scurries up the wall, much like a lizard, swings his body onto the roof, leaps once again, and disappears from sight.
The Captain, the young couple, the two gentlemen, and the laborers all gather outside the shop’s open door.
"No! Stay away! Stay away!"
A sharp sound fills the air, and a crash is heard.
"AHH! NO! PLEASE!"
The breaking of wood, and the cracking of brick and mortar.
"God help me! SAVE ME! OH GOD, NO!"
Jameson appears, his coat ripped, and his arm bleeding, in the shop’s rear door. He stumbles as he races backwards, in a state of utter terror. Over and over he stumbles, until he finally makes the shop’s front door. He turns, hoping to break free of his pursuers, only to crash into the Captain and falls to the ground.
A dark form and shining blue eyes appear in the rear door.
"Shall I save you from him?" the Captain inquires.
"Yes! YES! PLEASE!" Jameson urges, cowering in a tight ball on the ground.
The Captain holds up his hand, and the dark form’s shining eyes go dim. It steps forward, and the Old One emerges from the shop, straightening his tie, and dusting off his jacket.
The Captain reaches down and takes hold of Jameson’s shoulder, pulling him effortlessly to his feet.
"You are a difficult man to keep track of Mr. Jameson. But, now that we have you, your presence is requested and required…"
Jameson cowers, knowing full well by whom…
"…by Lord Moses Mureaux."