Fic update
Jul. 4th, 2004 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
croikLa-dee-da, new chapter of Thunder Falling~~ (Guilty Gear fic) Enjoy!
Guilty Gear, its characters and settings are property of Sammy Studios, and are being used in this fanfiction without permission. This fic is rated R for violence and sexual content, and it contains yaoi material.
Sorry if it seems this fic is starting out slower than the last one… Just have some setup to get through before the fun starts ^.^
Thunder Falling
Chapter 1
Axl whistled appreciatively as he made his way through the city on long strides. His gaze was continuously being drawn left and right, captured by any number of startling attractions; shops blinking with colorful lighted displays, restaurants and bars filled to capacity, and everywhere he went citizens engaging in drunken celebration. He understood none of their slurred, foreign speech, but he didn’t care—their laughter was more than enough to convey their euphoria. He had to admit that Paris knew how to throw a party, when properly motivated. Despite a chill promise of snow in the air everyone was in high spirits and showed no signs of letting up as the hour progressed. He was even noticing sights he hadn’t seen his first time through.
At last he located the object of his idle search—a faded wooden sign with blue lettering, pasted over the door to another capacity-filled pub. “Ahh, here we are.” He pushed his way inside, greeting men and women as he passed with a cheery grin and offered hands. “Good to see you all again—careful of the Vodka, it’s not quite good, is it? You’ll regret it later, if you drink it. And Sasha, don’t forget the separate bills.”
Axl seated himself at a far table; his greetings had earned him quite a few curious stares and he waved in return. Soon enough everyone had returned to their original conversations. His waitress appeared, dressed in a rather skimpy blue and white uniform to match the spirit of the holidays. “What’d you say before, about bills?” she asked curiously as she took down his drink order.
“I’ve got friends showing up later,” he explained, resting his chin in his palm as he took a good look at her. “And no change. So make sure you mark our drinks separately, okay?”
Sasha nodded and flashed him a coy smirk. “Sure thing, handsome.” She turned toward the next table, adding a bit of a sway to her walk he hadn’t noticed before.
Axl shook his head with a laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Now, just to wait,” he said to himself as he checked the time on the bar clock.
*****
“Creatures of Evil! Tonight, the battle ends! Come to me, my loyal warriors!”
Ky Kiske sank a little lower in his chair. He didn’t want to give an appearance of ill attention, but his back and shoulders were already sore from the long events of the day, and the strict postures he’d held for hours at a time before now. The extra weight of his full uniform and mantle only compounded his fatigue, as did the knowledge that he would not be allowed to rest for some time yet.
“Oh, no! Here comes the beast itself! We are lost!”
Ky drew his gaze back, just in time for the entrance of the four foot tall mass of red and black paper maché, with a child’s booted feet poking out of the bottom. It hobbled to the center of the stage and there stopped, flocked on either side by half a dozen seven year old boys in ill-fitting white and blue costumes. Each bore a long weapon that appeared to have been constructed from cardboard. It was not a promising sight.
“Give up, puny humans!” came a man’s deep voice from backstage, though the hand-made Gear general waved it’s arms to indicate it was supposed to be the one speaking. “You are no match for the armies of Justice!”
Ky smiled grimly. Though the recreation wasn’t the worst he’d seen, he had no idea how it was that Justice had come to be remembered out of her true colors. It might have been easier on people, not having to relate her to the blue and white that now symbolized the former Holy Order. He was almost grateful. Watching the ridiculous scene being played out before him now, he could almost imagine that he hadn’t lived through it just seven years ago.
“Your tyranny is about to end!” declared one of the boys, the tallest of the group—with his blond hair he really did look like a younger version of his namesake. “In the name of the Holy Order, I challenge you!”
A vicious battle ensued, which consisted of “Ky Kiske” striking the mass of roughly constructed boxes and paint, while “Justice” flailed, managing a few glancing blows to its attacker. In the process one of Justice’s shoulder spikes snapped and was sent spinning into the audience. At long last the creature was felled, dropping with a dull thunk to the stage.
Ky smiled thinly. It hadn’t…quite happened that way.
The rest of the play continued, with the coming together of the Holy Order to seal Justice, the healing of Master Kliff, the announcement of the war’s end…. By now Ky’s imagination was beginning to wander. In his mind’s eye another of the ten year olds came wandering out onto the stage, clad in pale jeans and red and black vest, just in time to deliver the killing blow with another cardboard tube. He blamed it on his restless, weary mind.
Ky didn’t realize the production had come to an end until the audience was moved to their feet; he quickly followed suit, offering his applause to the bowing children. They were beaming with pride the way only young children could. In the aftermath, Ky was only vaguely aware of everything he did. He spoke to the young boys and girls and congratulated them on their brilliant recreation, assuring them of its accuracy—the young Captain Kiske, especially, glowed with his compliments. There were the usual interviews and photographs taken to commemorate the charitable event, talks with several parents and school administrators, not to mention any number of country folk who had come from miles around simply to see him. To shake his hand, to touch his uniform. He indulged them all, save the ambitious young teen who asked to try Thunderseal for himself.
His night should have ended then, but as soon as he left the school he was on his way to fulfill another obligation. It would perhaps be the most unpleasant of his duties to be completed this night. Seven years ago he had witnessed the defeat of Justice. And every year since then, after the celebrations and parades and offerings and drinks, he would find himself wearing down the late hours in the home of some aristocrat enduring small talk and politics. It was what his position demanded, and he had no right to complain. If he could smile politely through a few glasses of wine and political commentaries, he would then be safe to return to his home in peace.
*****
This was, without a doubt, the very last place on the Earth that Venom should have been venturing into that night. Even the maze-alleys of Rome would have been safer haven than the streets of a celebrating Paris; men and women were flocked up and down the thoroughfares, and it wasn’t difficult to spot the many officers of the Global Police among them. Every once in a while he would even spot the full, decorative uniform of a Holy Order veteran. This was their night for thanksgiving, but still he knew none would hesitate to engage him should he be recognized. For the time being he seemed to be all right—the blue and white of his usual outfit helped him to fit in well with the rest of the crowds, saving him from detection.
Several weeks had passed, so that the pair of scars on the side of his throat had long since healed over. He could only see them now in strong light and with full attention. His search for the creature responsible had not gone nearly as well; he had tracked Slayer to the Village of Assassins in England, where he had be raised as a boy, only to find it abandoned and empty. The message he had sent to their smaller base in Spain had yet to be returned. Wherever he went his master’s empire was crumbling. Maybe it was only fitting, that his search for the beast responsible had led him to the heart of his oldest enemies….
There was no point searching for Slayer in this crowd; if the vampire wished to be discovered he would, no matter what effort Venom dedicated to the venture. Weary from his long travel he at last slipped into a bar in search of a warm drink to calm him. It was just as crowded as anywhere else in the city, and he soon discovered there were no empty tables for him. With a quiet sigh he started to leave.
“Hey! Hey, over here!”
Venom didn’t glance back, until a man at the bar tugged his sleeve and indicated a table near the back of the bar. A blond man was there, dressed in a thick red overcoat and cap, waving emphatically. “I think he means you,” the man muttered.
Venom frowned; he didn’t recognize either man, and was wary for traps. He quickly determined that even if the blonde were an officer of some kind, he wouldn’t be willing to risk a fight in so crowded a room—he would easily be able to escape should the need arise. Though still uncertain he made his way through the groups of customers, coming to stand just next to the table. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can,” the blonde said with a bright grin. “Come have a drink with me, pal. I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting?” Venom didn’t like the sound of that, and he remained on his feet. “I didn’t even know I was coming in here.”
He waved a hand carelessly. “Aw, don’t be like that. I know you don’t remember me yet, but there’s no need to be so suspicious. This is a party.”
“Remember you…?” Venom’s eyes narrowed, and though he should have simply turned to leave, he couldn’t help but be curious. He wasn’t known for forgetting a face. Slowly, he sank into a chair next to the stranger and set his travel case at his feet. “And where might we have met before?”
“Right here! But you’ll understand in a second.” The blonde extended his hand, and for the moment Venom wasn’t so paranoid that he wouldn’t shake it. “Name’s Axl—Axl Lowe. Good to see you again.”
Venom blinked in surprise. “The Axl Lowe from the Tournament?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, that’s right. But let’s not talk about that.” Axl waved his hand again. “You gonna tell me your name, friend?”
Though he wasn’t certain about the casual address, Venom at last decided there was no harm in giving him that much. Even if a fighter from the Tournament was something to be reckoned with…. “It’s Venom,” he said quietly, so that no one around would hear. He was interested to see Axl’s reaction—his own name should have been just as well known as Axl’s—but the man only smiled, as if he’d known all along.
“I know you’re confused,” Axl said with a smirk. “But it’ll make sense soon. You see….” He broke off suddenly, raising his gaze to the door. His face lit with a grin. “ Ah. There I am, now.”
Venom turned to look for himself, and started at the sight of another blonde man in the same red coat and cap just entering the bar. He looked just as startled to see the first Axl as Venom was to see him. With something of a shaky smile, he moved to join them at the table.
“Hey, Axl,” the original blonde greeted, giving the newcomer a hearty handshake. “Long time to see!”
“Seems so, Axl,” the other returned. “You’re looking good.”
Venom glanced between the two men, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t come in here to begin with. “Twins…?” he ventured.
“Not exactly,” the first Axl chuckled, tugging his look-alike into the chair next to him. “But I can explain.” His blue eyes glimmered warmly in the dim bar lighting. “Have you ever heard of time travel?”
*****
The site of Ky’s final activity for the night was a large, open apartment kept by a wealthy Englishman in Paris’ northern quarter. From what he understood there was a lovely view from the balcony, not that he expected being able to see it. He found himself cornered time and time again by businessmen and politicians offering greetings of the season and complimenting him on his work in the past year. Several inquiries were made to his ordeal in Italy only three months previous, to which he responded with easy assurance of his well being.
But Ky was fortunate that evening, and just half an hour into the gathering he managed to find a moment of peace for himself. He didn’t go so far as to venture outside, as that might have been construed by his host as anti-social, but he stood near the balcony doors to watch Paris’s shimmering lights. They would continue all through the night like this, as was the custom every year. It would mean a lot of work for the sanitation crews in the morning, but for now everyone deserved their merriment. It was for days like this that he had picked up a sword in the first place.
Ky sighed. Already exhausted as he was, his mind was prone to drifting. He sipped gradually from his wine glass as the party continued around him, just…allowing himself to remember. And though his reminiscence at this time of year usually centered on the war, on memories of struggle and blood, at the moment he found himself thinking only of the most recent upheaval of his career. He had reflected on it often in the past several months. Despite all that had happened, the startling array of new experiences and the vividness of his memories, it all seemed far away now. Sardinia’s golden coast could not have been further away from the chilled, winter cityscape behind glass he viewed now. And though he could only be pleased knowing The Bureau did not yet seem to be amassing punishment for the disruption of their plans, he was almost angry with himself for having slipped so easily back into his former way of life.
Ky closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as he sometimes did when drawing his memories back to him. When he was calm—and aided by the tingle of wine he had been consuming all night—he could pull back to him the sensation of warm, familiar magic flowing through him, made even more poignant by a fleeting brush of fingers, a pair of lips….
“Officer Kiske?”
Ky jumped, and just barely kept his wine from spilling as he turned to meet the unexpected company. He didn’t recognize the man, presumably a businessman or politician of some sort, but when his gaze fell to the boy at his side he blinked in surprise. He looked to be in his mid teens, dressed handsomely in a dark, three piece suit. His blond hair was slicked back to expose the full features of his round face, and most noticeably a pair of bright blue eyes. He was watching Ky with a mature curiosity.
“My apologies,” the man was saying, drawing Ky’s attention back. He extended his hand, which the officer quickly shook. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right,” Ky assured, embarrassed over his lapse. “Sir…?”
“Lonsdale,” he introduced, and Ky stood a little taller with recognition—he was speaking to one of the wealthiest men in northern Europe. “Richard Lonsdale. I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you, Sir Kiske, it really is an honor.”
“Likewise. My officers in England continue to be grateful for your charitable support. As do I.” He glanced at the boy, and was struck again by how familiar his appearance was. “And this is…?”
Richard Lonsdale set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, his face full of pride. “My son Brandon. He’s young, but he’ll be taking over for me before long.” He grinned. “They grow up very quickly these days.”
Instead of offering his hand, Brandon lowered his head in a respectful bow. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Kiske.” He paused. “Is something the matter?”
Ky shook himself slightly—he’d been staring. “My apologies,” he said quickly. “You resemble an acquaintance of mine.” He smiled in embarrassment. “Very much so, in fact.”
Brandon’s eyes widened a little, blatantly pleased. “Is that so? Then you’ve probably met my sister.”
“Your sister?” Ky frowned slightly in confusion—Sir Lonsdale was shifting uncomfortably, looking as if he might interject. “It’s possible, but….”
“Bridget Lonsdale,” the boy elaborated, and Ky was certain he couldn’t have looked more surprised. “She’s in something of an interesting profession, so I’m sure you remember her.”
Stunned and baffled as he was, Ky could only stare as Sir Lonsdale took his son’s arm, giving him a firm look. “Officer Kiske is a very busy man,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement to their company. “There’s no need to trouble him with boasts of our family.”
Ky was about to inquire further—the Bridget they were speaking of couldn’t possibly be the one he was acquainted with—but just then one of the host’s hired staff members came up behind them, and whispered something discreetly in Sir Lonsdale’s ear. The man paled a little and quickly disengaged himself from the conversation. “I’m afraid there’s something I need to see to,” he said with a short bow. “Forgive me, Sir Kiske. But it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Ky returned in kind, entirely too puzzled by everything taking place. “I hope your matters aren’t too serious.”
“Thank you, for your concern.” Lonsdale bowed once more and turned to go, sending his son a sharp gaze in the process. But the boy only smiled back and made no indication of moving; frowning, the man had no choice but to continue on without him.
Once his father had departed, Brandon turned once more to the confused officer. “Can I speak with you a moment, Officer Kiske? I believe I can explain.”
“Yes…yes, please.”
Ky followed him out onto the balcony; it was cool outside, but draped in his thick attire only his face was affected. He was glad for the breath of fresh air, the exchange of boorish, idle chatter for the excited celebration of the city folk below. Ky turned anxiously to face the boy. “About Bridget….”
Brandon smiled knowingly. “You’re not mistaken,” he assured, leaning his elbows against the balcony rail. “I am talking about the Bridget you met in Italy—my brother, Bridget.”
Ky sighed deeply, relieved that he hadn’t quite lost his mind. But the implication of Brandon’s words couldn’t be ignored. “Then he told you about me?” he asked, all his attention leaping on the boy. “You’ve heard from him?”
“Yes—I received a letter from him just last month.” Brandon continued to watch him, as if trying to fit Ky’s appearance into what he’d read—Ky suddenly wished he had some idea as to the content of that letter. “He spoke very highly of you.”
Ky smiled; at least it sounded like Bridget was doing all right. He wanted to ask if Bridget had perhaps mentioned another, but he held back. “Then…why were you calling him your ‘sister’ just now?”
“It’s something of a long story,” Brandon admitted. His gaze slipped away for a moment. “I won’t bother you with details. But there is a superstition passed through the village where we—and our parents—were born. Bridget and I are twins, you see, and it’s considered terribly bad luck that the both of us are male.” He smiled grimly. “Something to do with a pair of brothers in older times, though I’m sure it has more to do with how to split family fortunes between two legitimate heirs. That sort of thing.”
Ky frowned; he had heard of such superstitions in his travels, but he hadn’t managed to catch on yet as to what Brandon was intimating. “And, so…?”
“And so our parents raised Bridget as a girl,” Brandon explained, his tone not without regret. “At least, for the sake of the community. As far as anyone knows, the Lonsdale family has one son and one daughter. To avoid back luck, or so our mother says.”
“I see….” Now that he thought about it, Ky did remember that much about the Lonsdale family. It had never occurred to him during his time with Bridget to ask about his family, his home…. A lot of things suddenly made more sense, and he was a little ashamed that he had never thought to inquire sooner. “That must have been very difficult for him.”
“Yes…more than he lets on.” Brandon straightened. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to press our family’s matters on you, but from what Bridget’s told me in his letters, you two were friends. You have the right to know.”
Ky wasn’t so sure about that—it seemed that something like this he should have heard from Bridget himself—but he nodded anyway. When he saw Bridget next…. He shifted slightly. “He…is doing well, then?” he asked carefully. “I have not heard from him since we parted in Benevento.”
Brandon smiled. “Yes, he’s doing very well. Apparently he’s traveling with someone, but he won’t tell me much about that. That’s just how he is.”
Ky straightened a little at that, his mind beginning to spin. If Testament and Bridget were still together, there was no need to worry. That, however, did not stop his curiosity from blossoming. If not for the horrible breach of propriety it would be he would have asked to see Bridget’s letter, just to assure himself, to hear of what he was doing. Maybe he would even be able to draw some clues as to his travel companion that Brandon would have missed….
A figure dashed abruptly through the balcony doors, and Ky nearly reached for his sword as Brandon was pounced and forced against the railing. The sound of laughter calmed him a moment later. Brandon was wrapped up in the firm embrace of a young woman, who was giggling and bouncing happily as he ruffled her hair. It appeared to be a heartfelt reunion, and Ky was just about to turn discreetly away when his gaze fell on the youth’s face. His jaw dropped faintly. “Bridget…?”
The pair hushed, and when the newcomer turned there was no mistaking the wide, vibrant eyes that were fixed on him. Bridget’s already excited expression brightened, and he looked ready to pounce again when he suddenly stopped himself. He ducked his head. “Hey, Ky.”
Though for a moment Ky was puzzled by his unusually quiet demeanor, the reason for it became clear enough when he took a good look at him. Bridget was clothed in a dress traditional for the season, with a long skirt of light fabric and a long, pale blue and white veil trailing down his bare shoulders and back. There was even a small bow set into the lace at the skirt’s hem. If Ky hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was looking at a girl. He’d always known Bridget to be of a slight stature, but seeing that slender figure clad in silk and lace made the image almost flawless.
Bridget bit his lip, and Ky shook himself—his inattention was getting him into trouble today. Not wanting Bridget to think that the outfit was bothering him he spread his arms slightly, parting his thick mantle. “Is that how you greet an old friend?” he asked with a soft smile.
Bridget’s head snapped up, his shoulders hunching a little as he watched Ky’s sincere expression. He managed a shaky smile of his own and leapt suddenly at the officer. “I missed you!” he declared, wrapping his arms around Ky’s waist tight enough to make him grunt softly. “I’m sorry—I had to wear it, or I knew Father wouldn’t let me in, and—”
“It’s all right,” Ky assured, his smile deepening as he returned the embrace. His chest warmed with elation, and he chuckled. “You’ve grown,” he observed, setting a hand on Bridget’s head. “It’s only been three months, hasn’t it? And you’re—”
“Three centimeters taller,” Bridget confirmed proudly, standing up on his toes to make it appear even more impressive. His blush was visible even in the dark. “Testament says my voice is probably going to change soon—won’t that be funny!”
Ky felt something in him tighten at the mention of Testament’s name—it was the first time he’d heard it spoken in months. He managed to keep his smile from faltering. “That is exciting.” He touched Bridget’s arm. “Looks like you’ve been working out, too.” The muscle beneath his fingers definitely seemed to be better toned than he remembered.
Bridget bounced happily, as if about to burst. “You can tell? Really, you can tell?”
“Yes, of course.” Ky held him at arm’s length to get a good look at him, for Bridget’s sake. “Has Testament been helping you? It looks like you’ve been working hard.”
“I really have! Testament’s tough, but I’ve really been….” He trailed off, glancing behind him as if noticing his brother for the first time. “Oh, yeah. Ky, this is my brother—Brandon.”
Ky chuckled. “We’ve met,” he assured, letting his hands fall from Bridget’s arms. “I hear you’ve been spreading rumors about me…?”
Bridget made an embarrassed face, blushing darker. “It’s all true,” he protested, hopping lightly to Brandon’s side. He hooked his arm in his. “Wasn’t it, Brandon? Isn’t he just like I told you?”
“He certainly is,” Brandon agreed exaggeratedly. “And then some.”
Ky wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about, and though that concerned him a bit he didn’t question them. But he felt as if his fingers were itching, and he had to ask. “Bridget, you came for the festival, didn’t you? Did you…come alone?”
Bridget’s gaze thinned slightly as he smiled. “Well…” he teased, shifted back and forth on his feet. “Not really….”
Ky sighed, though his mouth was dry and his insides tight. Bridget was teasing him, which meant…. “Not really?” he echoed, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.
“I gotta go back in,” Bridget declared. “You, too, Brandon. Father wants you to leave the important man alone.” He gave his brother’s arm a squeeze and then hopped over to Ky, rising up on his toes to offer a kiss on the cheek. While they were still close he whispered, “He’s here. He’s just lying low.”
Ky’s heart jumped a little, and then Bridget was pulling away, allowing his brother to escort him off the balcony. The officer followed a step after them. “Wait, what about—”
“I’ll come see you in the morning,” Bridget said over his shoulder with a wink. “You’re off duty on the third, right? We’ll have breakfast.”
“It was good to meet you,” Brandon added.
“But—”
“Seeya!” Before Ky could ask any more questions Bridget laughed and dragged his brother back towards the rest of the party, into the folds of people once more.
Ky released a heavy breath and turned back to the balcony rail. As he watched the city continue its merriment, he couldn’t help a tiny, boyish smile. “So…he is here.” He downed the rest of his wine in one breath.
Guilty Gear, its characters and settings are property of Sammy Studios, and are being used in this fanfiction without permission. This fic is rated R for violence and sexual content, and it contains yaoi material.
Sorry if it seems this fic is starting out slower than the last one… Just have some setup to get through before the fun starts ^.^
Thunder Falling
Chapter 1
Axl whistled appreciatively as he made his way through the city on long strides. His gaze was continuously being drawn left and right, captured by any number of startling attractions; shops blinking with colorful lighted displays, restaurants and bars filled to capacity, and everywhere he went citizens engaging in drunken celebration. He understood none of their slurred, foreign speech, but he didn’t care—their laughter was more than enough to convey their euphoria. He had to admit that Paris knew how to throw a party, when properly motivated. Despite a chill promise of snow in the air everyone was in high spirits and showed no signs of letting up as the hour progressed. He was even noticing sights he hadn’t seen his first time through.
At last he located the object of his idle search—a faded wooden sign with blue lettering, pasted over the door to another capacity-filled pub. “Ahh, here we are.” He pushed his way inside, greeting men and women as he passed with a cheery grin and offered hands. “Good to see you all again—careful of the Vodka, it’s not quite good, is it? You’ll regret it later, if you drink it. And Sasha, don’t forget the separate bills.”
Axl seated himself at a far table; his greetings had earned him quite a few curious stares and he waved in return. Soon enough everyone had returned to their original conversations. His waitress appeared, dressed in a rather skimpy blue and white uniform to match the spirit of the holidays. “What’d you say before, about bills?” she asked curiously as she took down his drink order.
“I’ve got friends showing up later,” he explained, resting his chin in his palm as he took a good look at her. “And no change. So make sure you mark our drinks separately, okay?”
Sasha nodded and flashed him a coy smirk. “Sure thing, handsome.” She turned toward the next table, adding a bit of a sway to her walk he hadn’t noticed before.
Axl shook his head with a laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Now, just to wait,” he said to himself as he checked the time on the bar clock.
*****
“Creatures of Evil! Tonight, the battle ends! Come to me, my loyal warriors!”
Ky Kiske sank a little lower in his chair. He didn’t want to give an appearance of ill attention, but his back and shoulders were already sore from the long events of the day, and the strict postures he’d held for hours at a time before now. The extra weight of his full uniform and mantle only compounded his fatigue, as did the knowledge that he would not be allowed to rest for some time yet.
“Oh, no! Here comes the beast itself! We are lost!”
Ky drew his gaze back, just in time for the entrance of the four foot tall mass of red and black paper maché, with a child’s booted feet poking out of the bottom. It hobbled to the center of the stage and there stopped, flocked on either side by half a dozen seven year old boys in ill-fitting white and blue costumes. Each bore a long weapon that appeared to have been constructed from cardboard. It was not a promising sight.
“Give up, puny humans!” came a man’s deep voice from backstage, though the hand-made Gear general waved it’s arms to indicate it was supposed to be the one speaking. “You are no match for the armies of Justice!”
Ky smiled grimly. Though the recreation wasn’t the worst he’d seen, he had no idea how it was that Justice had come to be remembered out of her true colors. It might have been easier on people, not having to relate her to the blue and white that now symbolized the former Holy Order. He was almost grateful. Watching the ridiculous scene being played out before him now, he could almost imagine that he hadn’t lived through it just seven years ago.
“Your tyranny is about to end!” declared one of the boys, the tallest of the group—with his blond hair he really did look like a younger version of his namesake. “In the name of the Holy Order, I challenge you!”
A vicious battle ensued, which consisted of “Ky Kiske” striking the mass of roughly constructed boxes and paint, while “Justice” flailed, managing a few glancing blows to its attacker. In the process one of Justice’s shoulder spikes snapped and was sent spinning into the audience. At long last the creature was felled, dropping with a dull thunk to the stage.
Ky smiled thinly. It hadn’t…quite happened that way.
The rest of the play continued, with the coming together of the Holy Order to seal Justice, the healing of Master Kliff, the announcement of the war’s end…. By now Ky’s imagination was beginning to wander. In his mind’s eye another of the ten year olds came wandering out onto the stage, clad in pale jeans and red and black vest, just in time to deliver the killing blow with another cardboard tube. He blamed it on his restless, weary mind.
Ky didn’t realize the production had come to an end until the audience was moved to their feet; he quickly followed suit, offering his applause to the bowing children. They were beaming with pride the way only young children could. In the aftermath, Ky was only vaguely aware of everything he did. He spoke to the young boys and girls and congratulated them on their brilliant recreation, assuring them of its accuracy—the young Captain Kiske, especially, glowed with his compliments. There were the usual interviews and photographs taken to commemorate the charitable event, talks with several parents and school administrators, not to mention any number of country folk who had come from miles around simply to see him. To shake his hand, to touch his uniform. He indulged them all, save the ambitious young teen who asked to try Thunderseal for himself.
His night should have ended then, but as soon as he left the school he was on his way to fulfill another obligation. It would perhaps be the most unpleasant of his duties to be completed this night. Seven years ago he had witnessed the defeat of Justice. And every year since then, after the celebrations and parades and offerings and drinks, he would find himself wearing down the late hours in the home of some aristocrat enduring small talk and politics. It was what his position demanded, and he had no right to complain. If he could smile politely through a few glasses of wine and political commentaries, he would then be safe to return to his home in peace.
*****
This was, without a doubt, the very last place on the Earth that Venom should have been venturing into that night. Even the maze-alleys of Rome would have been safer haven than the streets of a celebrating Paris; men and women were flocked up and down the thoroughfares, and it wasn’t difficult to spot the many officers of the Global Police among them. Every once in a while he would even spot the full, decorative uniform of a Holy Order veteran. This was their night for thanksgiving, but still he knew none would hesitate to engage him should he be recognized. For the time being he seemed to be all right—the blue and white of his usual outfit helped him to fit in well with the rest of the crowds, saving him from detection.
Several weeks had passed, so that the pair of scars on the side of his throat had long since healed over. He could only see them now in strong light and with full attention. His search for the creature responsible had not gone nearly as well; he had tracked Slayer to the Village of Assassins in England, where he had be raised as a boy, only to find it abandoned and empty. The message he had sent to their smaller base in Spain had yet to be returned. Wherever he went his master’s empire was crumbling. Maybe it was only fitting, that his search for the beast responsible had led him to the heart of his oldest enemies….
There was no point searching for Slayer in this crowd; if the vampire wished to be discovered he would, no matter what effort Venom dedicated to the venture. Weary from his long travel he at last slipped into a bar in search of a warm drink to calm him. It was just as crowded as anywhere else in the city, and he soon discovered there were no empty tables for him. With a quiet sigh he started to leave.
“Hey! Hey, over here!”
Venom didn’t glance back, until a man at the bar tugged his sleeve and indicated a table near the back of the bar. A blond man was there, dressed in a thick red overcoat and cap, waving emphatically. “I think he means you,” the man muttered.
Venom frowned; he didn’t recognize either man, and was wary for traps. He quickly determined that even if the blonde were an officer of some kind, he wouldn’t be willing to risk a fight in so crowded a room—he would easily be able to escape should the need arise. Though still uncertain he made his way through the groups of customers, coming to stand just next to the table. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can,” the blonde said with a bright grin. “Come have a drink with me, pal. I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting?” Venom didn’t like the sound of that, and he remained on his feet. “I didn’t even know I was coming in here.”
He waved a hand carelessly. “Aw, don’t be like that. I know you don’t remember me yet, but there’s no need to be so suspicious. This is a party.”
“Remember you…?” Venom’s eyes narrowed, and though he should have simply turned to leave, he couldn’t help but be curious. He wasn’t known for forgetting a face. Slowly, he sank into a chair next to the stranger and set his travel case at his feet. “And where might we have met before?”
“Right here! But you’ll understand in a second.” The blonde extended his hand, and for the moment Venom wasn’t so paranoid that he wouldn’t shake it. “Name’s Axl—Axl Lowe. Good to see you again.”
Venom blinked in surprise. “The Axl Lowe from the Tournament?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, that’s right. But let’s not talk about that.” Axl waved his hand again. “You gonna tell me your name, friend?”
Though he wasn’t certain about the casual address, Venom at last decided there was no harm in giving him that much. Even if a fighter from the Tournament was something to be reckoned with…. “It’s Venom,” he said quietly, so that no one around would hear. He was interested to see Axl’s reaction—his own name should have been just as well known as Axl’s—but the man only smiled, as if he’d known all along.
“I know you’re confused,” Axl said with a smirk. “But it’ll make sense soon. You see….” He broke off suddenly, raising his gaze to the door. His face lit with a grin. “ Ah. There I am, now.”
Venom turned to look for himself, and started at the sight of another blonde man in the same red coat and cap just entering the bar. He looked just as startled to see the first Axl as Venom was to see him. With something of a shaky smile, he moved to join them at the table.
“Hey, Axl,” the original blonde greeted, giving the newcomer a hearty handshake. “Long time to see!”
“Seems so, Axl,” the other returned. “You’re looking good.”
Venom glanced between the two men, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t come in here to begin with. “Twins…?” he ventured.
“Not exactly,” the first Axl chuckled, tugging his look-alike into the chair next to him. “But I can explain.” His blue eyes glimmered warmly in the dim bar lighting. “Have you ever heard of time travel?”
*****
The site of Ky’s final activity for the night was a large, open apartment kept by a wealthy Englishman in Paris’ northern quarter. From what he understood there was a lovely view from the balcony, not that he expected being able to see it. He found himself cornered time and time again by businessmen and politicians offering greetings of the season and complimenting him on his work in the past year. Several inquiries were made to his ordeal in Italy only three months previous, to which he responded with easy assurance of his well being.
But Ky was fortunate that evening, and just half an hour into the gathering he managed to find a moment of peace for himself. He didn’t go so far as to venture outside, as that might have been construed by his host as anti-social, but he stood near the balcony doors to watch Paris’s shimmering lights. They would continue all through the night like this, as was the custom every year. It would mean a lot of work for the sanitation crews in the morning, but for now everyone deserved their merriment. It was for days like this that he had picked up a sword in the first place.
Ky sighed. Already exhausted as he was, his mind was prone to drifting. He sipped gradually from his wine glass as the party continued around him, just…allowing himself to remember. And though his reminiscence at this time of year usually centered on the war, on memories of struggle and blood, at the moment he found himself thinking only of the most recent upheaval of his career. He had reflected on it often in the past several months. Despite all that had happened, the startling array of new experiences and the vividness of his memories, it all seemed far away now. Sardinia’s golden coast could not have been further away from the chilled, winter cityscape behind glass he viewed now. And though he could only be pleased knowing The Bureau did not yet seem to be amassing punishment for the disruption of their plans, he was almost angry with himself for having slipped so easily back into his former way of life.
Ky closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as he sometimes did when drawing his memories back to him. When he was calm—and aided by the tingle of wine he had been consuming all night—he could pull back to him the sensation of warm, familiar magic flowing through him, made even more poignant by a fleeting brush of fingers, a pair of lips….
“Officer Kiske?”
Ky jumped, and just barely kept his wine from spilling as he turned to meet the unexpected company. He didn’t recognize the man, presumably a businessman or politician of some sort, but when his gaze fell to the boy at his side he blinked in surprise. He looked to be in his mid teens, dressed handsomely in a dark, three piece suit. His blond hair was slicked back to expose the full features of his round face, and most noticeably a pair of bright blue eyes. He was watching Ky with a mature curiosity.
“My apologies,” the man was saying, drawing Ky’s attention back. He extended his hand, which the officer quickly shook. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right,” Ky assured, embarrassed over his lapse. “Sir…?”
“Lonsdale,” he introduced, and Ky stood a little taller with recognition—he was speaking to one of the wealthiest men in northern Europe. “Richard Lonsdale. I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you, Sir Kiske, it really is an honor.”
“Likewise. My officers in England continue to be grateful for your charitable support. As do I.” He glanced at the boy, and was struck again by how familiar his appearance was. “And this is…?”
Richard Lonsdale set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, his face full of pride. “My son Brandon. He’s young, but he’ll be taking over for me before long.” He grinned. “They grow up very quickly these days.”
Instead of offering his hand, Brandon lowered his head in a respectful bow. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Kiske.” He paused. “Is something the matter?”
Ky shook himself slightly—he’d been staring. “My apologies,” he said quickly. “You resemble an acquaintance of mine.” He smiled in embarrassment. “Very much so, in fact.”
Brandon’s eyes widened a little, blatantly pleased. “Is that so? Then you’ve probably met my sister.”
“Your sister?” Ky frowned slightly in confusion—Sir Lonsdale was shifting uncomfortably, looking as if he might interject. “It’s possible, but….”
“Bridget Lonsdale,” the boy elaborated, and Ky was certain he couldn’t have looked more surprised. “She’s in something of an interesting profession, so I’m sure you remember her.”
Stunned and baffled as he was, Ky could only stare as Sir Lonsdale took his son’s arm, giving him a firm look. “Officer Kiske is a very busy man,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement to their company. “There’s no need to trouble him with boasts of our family.”
Ky was about to inquire further—the Bridget they were speaking of couldn’t possibly be the one he was acquainted with—but just then one of the host’s hired staff members came up behind them, and whispered something discreetly in Sir Lonsdale’s ear. The man paled a little and quickly disengaged himself from the conversation. “I’m afraid there’s something I need to see to,” he said with a short bow. “Forgive me, Sir Kiske. But it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Ky returned in kind, entirely too puzzled by everything taking place. “I hope your matters aren’t too serious.”
“Thank you, for your concern.” Lonsdale bowed once more and turned to go, sending his son a sharp gaze in the process. But the boy only smiled back and made no indication of moving; frowning, the man had no choice but to continue on without him.
Once his father had departed, Brandon turned once more to the confused officer. “Can I speak with you a moment, Officer Kiske? I believe I can explain.”
“Yes…yes, please.”
Ky followed him out onto the balcony; it was cool outside, but draped in his thick attire only his face was affected. He was glad for the breath of fresh air, the exchange of boorish, idle chatter for the excited celebration of the city folk below. Ky turned anxiously to face the boy. “About Bridget….”
Brandon smiled knowingly. “You’re not mistaken,” he assured, leaning his elbows against the balcony rail. “I am talking about the Bridget you met in Italy—my brother, Bridget.”
Ky sighed deeply, relieved that he hadn’t quite lost his mind. But the implication of Brandon’s words couldn’t be ignored. “Then he told you about me?” he asked, all his attention leaping on the boy. “You’ve heard from him?”
“Yes—I received a letter from him just last month.” Brandon continued to watch him, as if trying to fit Ky’s appearance into what he’d read—Ky suddenly wished he had some idea as to the content of that letter. “He spoke very highly of you.”
Ky smiled; at least it sounded like Bridget was doing all right. He wanted to ask if Bridget had perhaps mentioned another, but he held back. “Then…why were you calling him your ‘sister’ just now?”
“It’s something of a long story,” Brandon admitted. His gaze slipped away for a moment. “I won’t bother you with details. But there is a superstition passed through the village where we—and our parents—were born. Bridget and I are twins, you see, and it’s considered terribly bad luck that the both of us are male.” He smiled grimly. “Something to do with a pair of brothers in older times, though I’m sure it has more to do with how to split family fortunes between two legitimate heirs. That sort of thing.”
Ky frowned; he had heard of such superstitions in his travels, but he hadn’t managed to catch on yet as to what Brandon was intimating. “And, so…?”
“And so our parents raised Bridget as a girl,” Brandon explained, his tone not without regret. “At least, for the sake of the community. As far as anyone knows, the Lonsdale family has one son and one daughter. To avoid back luck, or so our mother says.”
“I see….” Now that he thought about it, Ky did remember that much about the Lonsdale family. It had never occurred to him during his time with Bridget to ask about his family, his home…. A lot of things suddenly made more sense, and he was a little ashamed that he had never thought to inquire sooner. “That must have been very difficult for him.”
“Yes…more than he lets on.” Brandon straightened. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to press our family’s matters on you, but from what Bridget’s told me in his letters, you two were friends. You have the right to know.”
Ky wasn’t so sure about that—it seemed that something like this he should have heard from Bridget himself—but he nodded anyway. When he saw Bridget next…. He shifted slightly. “He…is doing well, then?” he asked carefully. “I have not heard from him since we parted in Benevento.”
Brandon smiled. “Yes, he’s doing very well. Apparently he’s traveling with someone, but he won’t tell me much about that. That’s just how he is.”
Ky straightened a little at that, his mind beginning to spin. If Testament and Bridget were still together, there was no need to worry. That, however, did not stop his curiosity from blossoming. If not for the horrible breach of propriety it would be he would have asked to see Bridget’s letter, just to assure himself, to hear of what he was doing. Maybe he would even be able to draw some clues as to his travel companion that Brandon would have missed….
A figure dashed abruptly through the balcony doors, and Ky nearly reached for his sword as Brandon was pounced and forced against the railing. The sound of laughter calmed him a moment later. Brandon was wrapped up in the firm embrace of a young woman, who was giggling and bouncing happily as he ruffled her hair. It appeared to be a heartfelt reunion, and Ky was just about to turn discreetly away when his gaze fell on the youth’s face. His jaw dropped faintly. “Bridget…?”
The pair hushed, and when the newcomer turned there was no mistaking the wide, vibrant eyes that were fixed on him. Bridget’s already excited expression brightened, and he looked ready to pounce again when he suddenly stopped himself. He ducked his head. “Hey, Ky.”
Though for a moment Ky was puzzled by his unusually quiet demeanor, the reason for it became clear enough when he took a good look at him. Bridget was clothed in a dress traditional for the season, with a long skirt of light fabric and a long, pale blue and white veil trailing down his bare shoulders and back. There was even a small bow set into the lace at the skirt’s hem. If Ky hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was looking at a girl. He’d always known Bridget to be of a slight stature, but seeing that slender figure clad in silk and lace made the image almost flawless.
Bridget bit his lip, and Ky shook himself—his inattention was getting him into trouble today. Not wanting Bridget to think that the outfit was bothering him he spread his arms slightly, parting his thick mantle. “Is that how you greet an old friend?” he asked with a soft smile.
Bridget’s head snapped up, his shoulders hunching a little as he watched Ky’s sincere expression. He managed a shaky smile of his own and leapt suddenly at the officer. “I missed you!” he declared, wrapping his arms around Ky’s waist tight enough to make him grunt softly. “I’m sorry—I had to wear it, or I knew Father wouldn’t let me in, and—”
“It’s all right,” Ky assured, his smile deepening as he returned the embrace. His chest warmed with elation, and he chuckled. “You’ve grown,” he observed, setting a hand on Bridget’s head. “It’s only been three months, hasn’t it? And you’re—”
“Three centimeters taller,” Bridget confirmed proudly, standing up on his toes to make it appear even more impressive. His blush was visible even in the dark. “Testament says my voice is probably going to change soon—won’t that be funny!”
Ky felt something in him tighten at the mention of Testament’s name—it was the first time he’d heard it spoken in months. He managed to keep his smile from faltering. “That is exciting.” He touched Bridget’s arm. “Looks like you’ve been working out, too.” The muscle beneath his fingers definitely seemed to be better toned than he remembered.
Bridget bounced happily, as if about to burst. “You can tell? Really, you can tell?”
“Yes, of course.” Ky held him at arm’s length to get a good look at him, for Bridget’s sake. “Has Testament been helping you? It looks like you’ve been working hard.”
“I really have! Testament’s tough, but I’ve really been….” He trailed off, glancing behind him as if noticing his brother for the first time. “Oh, yeah. Ky, this is my brother—Brandon.”
Ky chuckled. “We’ve met,” he assured, letting his hands fall from Bridget’s arms. “I hear you’ve been spreading rumors about me…?”
Bridget made an embarrassed face, blushing darker. “It’s all true,” he protested, hopping lightly to Brandon’s side. He hooked his arm in his. “Wasn’t it, Brandon? Isn’t he just like I told you?”
“He certainly is,” Brandon agreed exaggeratedly. “And then some.”
Ky wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about, and though that concerned him a bit he didn’t question them. But he felt as if his fingers were itching, and he had to ask. “Bridget, you came for the festival, didn’t you? Did you…come alone?”
Bridget’s gaze thinned slightly as he smiled. “Well…” he teased, shifted back and forth on his feet. “Not really….”
Ky sighed, though his mouth was dry and his insides tight. Bridget was teasing him, which meant…. “Not really?” he echoed, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.
“I gotta go back in,” Bridget declared. “You, too, Brandon. Father wants you to leave the important man alone.” He gave his brother’s arm a squeeze and then hopped over to Ky, rising up on his toes to offer a kiss on the cheek. While they were still close he whispered, “He’s here. He’s just lying low.”
Ky’s heart jumped a little, and then Bridget was pulling away, allowing his brother to escort him off the balcony. The officer followed a step after them. “Wait, what about—”
“I’ll come see you in the morning,” Bridget said over his shoulder with a wink. “You’re off duty on the third, right? We’ll have breakfast.”
“It was good to meet you,” Brandon added.
“But—”
“Seeya!” Before Ky could ask any more questions Bridget laughed and dragged his brother back towards the rest of the party, into the folds of people once more.
Ky released a heavy breath and turned back to the balcony rail. As he watched the city continue its merriment, he couldn’t help a tiny, boyish smile. “So…he is here.” He downed the rest of his wine in one breath.
