Things They Won't Talk About Later //Tundra and Verdana//

[Verdana]

//The Beginning of the Wren//


It was a bright, sunny day in London. A great deal of the clinging, filthy smog from the newly-started 'factories' was being burnt away. The sky looked somewhat clean. The Londoners were taking advantage of this unusual fine weather. Many bodies adorned the park, soaking up the sun. However, two people in the park were not there for recreation. They sat at the top of a hill, concealed by trees and thick shade. They peered into the crowds, looking tense and drawn. One man was finely dressed, in fashionable knickerbockers and a top hat. The other was more simply attired. A clerk, perhaps.

The finely-dressed man spoke. His tone was an impatient whisper.
"Where is he? It's five minutes to the hour. He is late!"
The clerk tried his best to console the man.
"I am certain he will be here soon, my lord. His instructions were very specific. We've done everything we were told."
"Then where is he?"
This the clerk could not answer. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours but which was only a few seconds. Then the clerk turned. His eyes widened.
"My lord! Look!"

A figure was approaching them down the hill, dressed in a black trench coat despite the heat. The figure's body was misshapen and odd-looking. The Lord scowls.
"Hurry up, man!" he barks. "I don't have all day." The figure does not quicken, and as it gets closer, Lord Haverforth, one of the newest investors in 'industry', noticed some oddities about the figure's shape. It took him a while to figure out what was wrong, but when he did, the difference was glaring.

The figure was a woman.

This was not something Haverforth could wrap his head around. He knew women, of course. They wore pretty dresses and giggled politely at luncheons. However, they were not functional parts of society. They arranged things and decorated. They did not kill people. He had wanted to hire a killer, and had instead received a giggling, shy, demure creature. Only... This woman did not look shy. She looked cold and purposeful. She stepped in front of the two men without a word of greeting, and pulled a case from her coat. Without the case, she looked far more feminine. With steady, calm precision, she began to unpack.

"My lord, look! He's here!"
Lord Haverforth turned his gaze down to the gravel path. His secretary was correct. Walking over the crunching stones was his rival, Lord Murdock. The fat, red-faced man talked seriously to an eager-looking young fellow, not much more than a boy. A pinch of hot hatred stirred Haverforth's insides. Murdock was merciless, cunning and a bad businessman. He stole clients (and, Haverforth suspected, a substantial amount of money) to make himself look respectable. It was for the good of the country that he was being disposed of.

If the assassin ever got round to doing it.

She twiddled with bits and pieces, blew into bolts and fitted an odd-looking contraption together. By the time it began to resemble a crossbolt, Murdock was almost in front of them and Haverforth was growing more and more frantic.
"He's here. That one. That one! There! Shoot him. What are you doing? Shoot him! Shoot him, you fool!" But Murdock passed, and without a care, the assassin just kept fitting her weapon together. Haverforth was almost frothing with horror. He made a keening whining noise as his rival walked past, completely alive. He turned to the assassin with half a mind to slap her, woman or not. She did not turn around. She simply raised a hand, and pointed.

Haverforth followed her gesture. He didn't understand. She was pointing at Murdock. Was this some sort of joke? he wondered. Was she mocking him by showing his enemy's triumph? She fitted a bolt into her weapon with a click. Haverforth groaned. It was no use. He was out of range. Nobody could shoot that far. He'd have to find a different assassin, risk getting caught and arrested again, re-track Murdock's movements, replan, repay... Oh, it was too much! How could he have failed? His secretary had promised a reputable killer. And what had he gotten? A clumsy, tardy young woman. Anguished, he watched his rival head out of site.

However, just before he did, Murdock stopped. Haverforth, watching in confusion, saw the young man accompanying his nemesis grow concerned. Then, like a fat tree in a forest, Murdock keeled over, stone dead.

The Lord looked over at the assassin, and then at her bow. The little bolt inside it was still sitting snugly in its restraints. The assassin peered into a small tube, appearing to look Murdock over. Apparently satisfied, she began to pack up her equipment again. The Lord and his secretary watched, dumbfounded. Had she planned that, or was it coincidence? If she had planned it, how on Earth had she timed it so perfectly? There Murdock lay, with people rushing to get aid or try to assist, and not a mark was on him to suggest a hint of foul play.

The woman snapped her case shut. She picked it up, and walked the few strides necessary to be close to the two silent, astonished men. She dipped her head, and uttered her first and only speech in their entire meeting.
Gentlemen, she said, holding out a card. The Lord Haverforth took it with numb hands. On the little piece of parchment sat a beautifully-inked bird, intricate and exotic. There was not a word written on the surface. The woman turned, buttoned up her coat, and disappeared.

The notoriety of The Wren grew overnight.


//Several Years Before This//

Shaygrin stopped playing, and turned around on the stool of her piano, cupping her chin in her hand. Her other arm, her injured one, lay sedately across her lap. It wasn't up to the task of bearing much weight at that point. Kuar had been enjoying her playing, and that pleased her. Everyone likes to be appreciated, and although good work had been done to shrink Shay's ego, but it would have been a miracle to have deleted it entirely.
She watched the creature with calculating eyes, but even as his face softened, so did hers. He was not her ideal companion in a crisis (too conspicuous too much temper amongst other things) but she found herself growing to like the hulking winged being, despite his glaring flaws.

Yes, she'd known it. That had been the look of a musician. He wanted to play the violin. He did. Why was he hesitating? She would have leapt at the chance. Shay was astonished by his openness, but not surprised enough to miss his attempt to avoid playing the violin. She was sure that his reason was valid (she eyed his claws apprehensively, still not quite whole after her first introduction to them) but that wasn't all. She was sure of it. Why was he hedging? It really wasn't that big a deal. Shay raised herself from the piano stool, and stepped over to the shelf upon which sat the violin.

She chuckled.
I'm not too worried about a couple of scratches, and if you're so concerned about it, wrap your claws in cloth. You can use my shirt, if you must. Strips of it, I mean. I don't know you quite that well yet, she joked. She clicked open the case, and lifted out her violin.

It was old, but it was in beautiful condition. It had evidently been waxed regularly and with great care. The wood was varnished and held a reddish tint. The shape of the thing was... Different. It wasn't a human instrument. It was very similar, but subtly off. If was built for a creature with longer fingers and speedier movements, as well as a stronger grip. Humans would battle to play it. There were a couple of fine scratches tracing over the varnish, and it was worn where Shay rested her cheek. She loved that thing. It was one of the few objects she had left from her childhood.

And, without any reservations at all, she was willing to let Kuar play it.

She proffered it to him.

Take it, she urged.

The sounds good, and I think you'll like the action.

[Tundra]

Kuar's tail flicked uneasily as he watched Shay reach up for the Violin. He watched still as she removed the instrument from its case. It was different, he could see that, but more then that it was well taken care of. To say the truth Kuar hadn't seen a Violin of this ones age is such good condition. He could tell by how Shay handled it that she cared about it greatly. He smiled slightly, but was still unsure if he wanted to play. It had been a long time, and he was afraid of mistakes. Mistakes lead to problems, like what had been happening as of late. But that didn't matter. He traced over the form of the violin assessing mentally how it should sound. Finally he gave, reaching tentatively out and taking the violin from Shay's grasp. Unknowingly his hand lightly touched hers, almost affectionately in feeling. He used his claws almost like a pick as he plucked the strings lightly to hear how the violin sounded. He frowned slightly hearing how out of tune it was and quickly started to remedy that problem. It all seemed so easy for him, his fingers tightening and loosening strings as needed. In less then ten minutes, Kuar had the violin sounding as perfect as a tuning fork.

He looked up at Shay somewhat caught off guard that she was there. To say the truth he didn't want to play due to someone judging, He really did hate to be judged on things. But in the end he took the Violins bow and spread rossen over its horsehair strings. It was completely natural when he lifted the violin and began to play. The bow moved across the strings with ease, the vibrations emanating the air. It was beautiful, the song familiar to anyone who could hear it. It was Lacrymosa, written by Mozart it his ending days. In fact the song itself was finished by a different composer and was Mozart's last piece he ever made. As the song came to its end Kuar opened his eyes and showed a sense of surprise for a bit. He had forgotten about Shay to be honest, he had been lost in the music. He looked away somewhat ashamed at himself for making such a simple mistake. He finally after a bit looked back at Shay saying "Its..been awhile...Its a good instrument...Its..rare..to find one that good, and at that age. They seemed to make them a lot better in the past." He smiled slightly trying to forget that he had forgotten shay was there.

[Verdana]

//A Very Long Time Ago, In a Very Different World//

Stop it! Slow down! We're not supposed to be here!

The Gardens, the vast expanses of pristine lawns and exotic plants lining the driveway leading to the palace, were technically public property. However, they were noteworthily devoid of people on that bright, sunny day, which was why the caller was less than convinced that what they were doing was allowed.

The owner of the reservations was a young girl, not more than about ten years old, and even running ashamedly across a possibly-prohibited piece of land, she was lovely. She had dark, dark blue eyes (her mother's) and golden blonde hair of the sort that fairy tales are made of (her father's), which had escaped all ties and was rippling down her back. Her clothing was simple, but beautifully made, and she took great care not to damage it. She was only a child, and yet there were already the beginnings of regality in her, in the set of her head and the position of her shoulders. She held her dress as she ran, calling out to her little sister.

Shaygrin, stop!

While Mi'Cher was a vision of loveliness, Shaygrin was rather less so. While the elder sister ran with the bearing of her lady, even though that was not her fortune in life, Shaygrin just ran.

At six years old, Shaygrin ('Shay,' she'd correct with a wrinkled nose, 'just Shay,') was the antithesis of what a female child was expected to be in that day and age. While Mi'Cher's hair showed evidence of having being lovingly brushed out and held back, Shay's black locks were tangled and awry. There was mud running all the way up her ripped, too-small dress (still her favourite, even though she had to suck in her stomach to put it on). It spattered her stockings, her arms, and even the side of her face. There were twigs and leaves in her clothes, her hair, and she had lost her slippers. This may have been overlooked, if she had been as attractive a child as her sister. However, she was not. She was fast becoming scrawny and long, a look which would be characteristic of her long into her adulthood, making every dress she wore (with great sufferances) seem too short or ill-fitting. She was sun-browned and dusty. Her face was not classically beautiful. Her cheeks were not rosy, her eyes were too big, her lashes too black, her brows too pronounced. She had a sharp, straight nose above a full-lipped, spirited mouth. Her chin was too pointed, her face too angular. However, despite her inappropriate confidence, she was charming and likeable, which was the only reason that she could get away with running around like such a harridan.

She ignored her elder sister, and simply ran faster. Shay adored Mi'Cher, but her sister had never been an adventurer. Shaygrin always had. She wanted to see more, learn more. She wanted to explore, away from the confines of her home. Her eyes, still bright silver-blue and wide with excitement, were set on the small buildings across palace grounds. This was her goal. This was her first step to discovery. The closer she got, the more she could see. Small figures grew clearer. Ignoring Mi'Chy's increasingly-frantic cries, Shay would have run pell-mell into the area, had she not tripped on her untied sash, and gone sprawling in the dirt with a yowl of surprise.

She sat up, rubbing her grazed hands, but not crying. Shay didn't cry. She looked around for Mi'Cher, who was usually the first person to her side when she was hurt (which was often). However, Mi'Cher hung back anxiously. Shaygrin couldn't figure out why, until she turned around and saw the Other Children coming her way.

It was only children in the compound, which Shay was profoundly grateful for. The grown-ups were working in the palace at this time of day, and would probably have given her a scolding if they had found her. Shay got scolded frequently. However, many of them were far bigger than she was, and looking protective. They were dressed well (the Empress made sure that they were cared for) and examined her and Mi'Cher's very different clothing with distrust. The sisters had never exactly been told not to interact with the children of the servants, but it had been implied. They were very different. Evidently, the children had been told a similar thing of them. Shay waited for someone to help her up. Nobody did, so she pulled herself to her feet and examined the children before her with interest.

Come! Mi'Cher hissed, but Shay was temporarily deaf. Shay was good at going deaf when she needed to. The children had stopped, and both parties examined one another, neither advancing nor retreating.

Shay, of course, was the first to speak.

What's that? she asked in her piping voice. The children blinked at her accent, and all looked to one of the older boys, who was holding a short, simple dagger. The boy drew himself up proudly.
I'm a real man, he boasted, So I have to protect the rest while Papa is away at work. He made this for me himself. I can use it, too. He brandished it impressively. Shay's eyes widened.
Really? she gasped. She took a hungry step forward.
Could you teach me?

The boy looked astonished, and then condescending.

Naw, you're... He started to say something, and then hesitated.
... You're a girl, he finished, as if he had corrected himself. Shay folded her arms. Her brows narrowed dangerously.
So? she demanded. Anyone familiar with that look would have known to tactfully disengage or, even better, just give Shay what she wanted. The boy did not know this look, and foolishly continued.

Well, girls don't fight, do they? 'Specially not your sort of girl, he added, looking at her too-short dress with scorn.

Shaygrin's scowl deepened. She rolled up her sleeves. Mi'Cher's eyes widened. She took a step back, ready to run for help.

Really? Shay growled She stepped forwards. Then, without warning, she sprang, her fist making contact with the boy's jaw. He yelped, and began to fight back. The children gathered, calling and jeering.

That was how Shaygrin lost her first three teeth, had her first nosebleed and simultaneously made her first friend.

//Shay Grown Up//

Kuar hesitated as he took the violin. However, he took it, and Shay thought that this was a promising sign. It meant that he would play. Shay felt that a lot could be gleaned from a person by the way he or she played an instrument. It wasn't just the playing, but the handling that was important. Kuar was gentle but assertive, and moved to tune the violin. Shay winced at this, for, to her, the instrument was in perfect tune. Where she had learnt to play the violin, the instrument had been tuned very differently. In fact,s he only called it a 'violin' because the word was the closest in the human diction to the one for the instrument in her world. They were actually very different, to her, but similar enough to play in the same manner.

Once she had let the demon untune her instrument, forgetting all the while that she was there (that made her smile, as did the way he looked up, startled, when he remembered), he began to play it. She closed her eyes, listening intently. She knew that the piece was not one that he had created. It wasn't him. It was, however, oddly familiar. She had never heard the piece before, but she knew the style. She relaxed, enjoying it. It was sad, grand and seemed to emit despair. She liked it.

Shay opened her eyes when Kuar stopped. He was watching her, looking awkward. Shy, almost. Cute, Shay thought, with amusement. She had never been shy. Not as a child, and not after that, either. Stuttering, he began to talk to her, although Shaygrin noted that he made no attempt to give the violin back. Her smile broadened.

Yes, she's a good instrument, well-made and well-maintained. I have taken very good care of her, and for the years she was out of my care, other people made sure to keep her in pristine condition. You play her well, although you tuned her oddly. She suits your movement.

Then she hesitated, and thought about what he had said, right at the end. Her eyes widened, and she laughed in astonishment.

'The past'? Oh, but she was not made on Earth! Shay snorted derisively.

She's from Incendius!

[Tundra]

Kuar thought about what Shay had said for a few, collecting in his mind how he was to explain his tuning of the violin. He set the Violin gently in its case before saying "The way you taught yourself is much different from what I learned. My mentor had me playing on the typical violin of earth, its strings ranging from G3 to C8, C8 being the highest note on the modern piano." He walked over to Shays piano easily able to pick out the notes playing them in succession next to each other before going though the whole scale. His fingers moved easily across the keys, it almost like he knew how to play. But he had learned only what He needed to be able to tune and play the violin. He looked up at shay as she started chuckling curious. He himself started chuckling when he said "None the less, its better made then those here. And, my point still stands, its in the past you got this, thus in the past." He flicked his tail as he moved back and picked her violin back up, pulling the bow along the strings with ease as he just decided to play.

The tune he played was one of his own actually, the words to the song only would emphasize the point. It was filled with sorry, joy, feelings of loss, and gain. It seemed to almost cover the entire scale of emotions, before coming to a smooth end. Kuar himself moved with the song, his tail swaying easily as he stepped around the room almost moving perfectly with the music. He smiled at the songs end, his tail moving lightly behind him as he said "I guess you could say, it puts me a ease to be able to play again without the burden of an assassination needing to be finished." He chuckled probably having said to much about how he learned. None the less he was oddly happy, it made him feel...relaxed. Which was something he hadn't done in years. He probably would find a flute here soon and play it as well. But for now he settled on this violin like instrument.

[Verdana]

u]Metamorphosis: Catapillar to Butterfly[/u] By Reginald Brachatello

The Shaygrin that this lost, angry waif will become is almost nothing like the one in this scenario. Let's cut to a different scene, when she's older, and a mother of three young children while at the same time being the commander of a thriving group of assassins:


World: Earth phenotype, sector 2;786'03
Country: Italy
Setting: Wine cellar

Torrin is six years old. a'Briva and Velia are almost three. The adventurous young boy decides to go a'roamin'. However, he knows it will be no fun alone, and Nick (a childhood friend who will later go on to develop paranoid schizophrenia) is in bed with something that looks suspiciously like poisoning. He decides, against his better judgement, to bring his baby sisters along. He knows that Bree will go along with it, because she and Vee have been cooped up in their room due to a nasty cold for the last few days, and she's nearly mad with energy. Technically, Ty knows that Bree and Vee should still be taking it real easy. He eases his conscience by deciding to keep the two out in the sun. He reasons, in his strange little way, that if plants like sunlight, and his mother said that his little sisters were 'shooting up like sapling trees', therefore sunlight will be good for them, too.

Which is how they come to be wandering the forests outside the house, Bree dashing to and fro in front, laughing delightedly, Ty walking at a more sedate pace with Velia clinging to his then-normally-sized hand. All is very peaceful until Ty sees a bit of disturbed ground. His boundless curiosity is aroused, and he goes over to investigate. He follows a slight path of scuff-marks and broken branches, fancying himself quite the explorer until Velia quietly tells him that she can tell where the path is, and politely hints in her lisping little voice that he is veering from it. He lets her lead after that.

They come, to their surprise, to a cellar door set deeply in the ground. Bree leaps towards it, twisting from Tava to herself a few times in elation. Ty shushes his sister (who, typically, ignores him completely) and puts his ear to the worn wood. He can hear muffled voices. He's intrigued. He leans down to the edges of the wood, and begins to wriggle his fingers into the gap, hoping to quietly open the door and get a peek at whatever's going on under the ground. Fear never even enters his mind.

It should.

The Cellar is where the Wren stores its victims, if circumstances dictate that they can't leave them at the scene. It's cold, remote and the smell doesn't travel. It's ideal. Well, not entirely. Shaygrin, who is dragging the body down the stairs, smoothed by similar activities down to rounded nubs, knows this better than anyone. The truth is, the Cellar is just far too close to the house she has chosen to raise her family. After the first of the triplets died, she decided firmly that she wanted to keep her children ignorant. They would have safe, normal lives and be happy, healthy (if that is possible with Bee and Vee) and, most importantly, not dead.

This is very difficult to achieve when she has to leave the house to kill people about twice a day.

Brian's at the feet, she's at the head, but they still drag the dead man. He's fat. He's heavy. He smells like alcohol and fear. Their hearts are pounding. This was not an easy job, and they're tired and edgy. In need of a stiff drink, Shay decides. Her shoulders are getting sore, her hair's sweaty and falls about her face. At times like these, her chosen career is less tthan glamorous. She hears the cellar door open. Without thinking, she turns, unholstering her gun, raising it as she...

Doesn't shoot. She sees her son's little face peering in horrified fascination through a gap between the doors. She and Brian go silent. She hears a little voice, still slightly blocked but piping and determined:
What is it, Ty? What's it? What do you see? My turn now, Ty! I wanna see too! To his great credit, the young boy quickly withdraws, slamming the door tight shut. Shaygrin listens to her children's voices trail off as they get further and further away.

She is shocked, dismayed to say the very least. Her children have seen her profession. Her employee, a highly dangerous young man, has seen the kids. Most importantly, though, she's just done something unheard of. She raised her gun with intent to shoot, and didn't. She hasn't done that since she started up the Wren. She stopped. In one way, she's glad that she did, but in another, she's very aware of the danger in that action. Her children can be used against her. If anyone found out... And what if she hadn't stopped? What will happen now?

In that moment, Shaygrin makes the two biggest decisions she ever will. She decides to introduce her children to the Wren's way of life.

And she makes the choice to create the Commander.

//Shay Now//

Shay raises an eyebrow as if to say 'well, of course, you dolt'. Patiently, she says,
Well, I'm not surprised that we learnt to play differently. We come from different worlds. However, she watches the way he handles the piano, and listens to his explanation of what he knows. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could learn it his way some time.
Maybe at a time when they weren't in danger of being killed.

The demon picked up the violin again. For all of his reluctance to pick it up, he seemed to be having trouble letting go of it. This made her smile. When he began to play, she felt the difference acutely. The piece that he was playing belonged to him. It was of his own devising. Her brows furrowed as she absorbed the feel of the music. It was... Emotional. More unhappy than cheerful. Kuar had suffered a lot of hardship in his time, but it had not been without joy. He also moved very well, Shay observed, with a pang of envy. She was an awkward dancer, lacking rhythm, with two left feet. Kuar took to music well. Shay grinned, glad that the creature was enjoying himself.

She opened her mouth to reply to his comment, and then she absorbed it.
Assassination? Oh, by the blade... She leapt to her feet with a horrified oath.
I missed it! I missed my deadline! No no no! I'll never regain face!

[Tundra]

Kuar looked at Shay as she came to the realization she was late for an assassination. Normally, under normal circumstances he wouldn't have cared. But as of late he had found he was getting a bit protective of Shay. Not that he liked it much, but it was in his nature. Those who are his friends, are glad to have him as one. He would give his life to make sure they lived, not that they would do the same. Setting the Violin back in its case, he watched as Shay shuffled around the room trying to gather up her gear to run off to her assignment. Kuar finally stopped her when she was about to reach for her daggers and said

"Shay hold up here for a second. Remember one, that If you even spill any blood on my turf, your going to find claws in your flesh." His eyes seemed to glow for a few, but quickly fading back to normal as he continued. "You also need to think on if this assassination is arranged. Things are going to be ten times harder with our enemy helping our..well..enemies. You as well as I know Magic is not to be toyed with, whoever it is, he knows magic well."

He flicked his tail as he stood in front of her blocking her path out. He was serious, things were getting harder. ESPECIALLY jobs that they had taken before. Kuar let out a small whistle and a nightingale fluttered down landing lightly on his hand before he said something and the bird flew off. Kuar had his way with birds of all sorts, minus those that were already close to others. It came from his race, birds being their messengers, as well as symbols of power depending on the bird. Kuar himself obviously was the nightingale, but not many even knew the other bird ranks. None the less, one could say his rank among his tribe would be high..if he lived near his kind. Returning to the situation at hand. Kuar had just delivered a message to some of his jobs, he had to make sure they weren't in cahoots with this..enemy. Kuar would rather not speak the name, even think about it.

Flicking his tail he said "And that is why...it may be best if I tail you, if I hadn't last time things probably would have ended up different." He folded his wings uncomfortably, his wing still braced to prevent any further damage. He then looked down at Shays arm saying "It also May be better if you dropped this job, after all neither of us in the best of conditions." he smiled slightly trying not to dwell on the fact that it was indeed him who had damaged Shay so bad.

[[That..is almost sparatic XD. Anyway..]]

[Verdana]

[to keep you entertained. Don't read it all at once. Only one a day, okay?]

// A long, long time in the future//

A young man sits by a freshly-dug-up piece of ground. It would be an innocuous scene, were it not for the headstone poking up out of the ground. Simply-wrought, it is plain and, in its morbid way, rather pretty. A butterfly sits on the arched tip. The man feels the threads of its presence, hears the beat of its wings, and thinks that this is quite right. He begins to hum, closing his eyes as he roots his fingers into the slightly-damp earth. He knows he won't feel anything, but he needs to be just that little bit closer to the one buried beneath him.

A heavy tread ruptures the calm. The young man doesn't turn. Not even when the owner of the ground-shaking footstep plonks down heavily beside him. The young man knows who it is. He doesn't even have to look. His singing trails off. There is a silence. In the distance, a bird takes flight. Danny knows that he will have to be the first one to speak. Sightlessly, he stares ahead.

I was waiting for you.

I know, Ty says, and his voice is heavy. Danny remembers a time when Ty always sounded on the verge of laughing. Now, he always sounds dark. A lot has happened to him. Danny offers a small smile that he doesn't feel, and senses it returned. They both turn to look in front of them. To the top of the hill. There's another long pause. Danny does not have to ask if Ty brought the stone, or knows the rites. Ty never forgets things any more.

It's like... Danny stills, listening as his brother grapples for words. He knows better than to interrupt, to voice what he can hear whizzing through Ty's consciousness. Ty needs to voice this himself, if he's ever going to recover. And soon the young man's patience is rewarded.

It's like they were never here.

Danny shakes his head gently.

No, Ty. If there's one thing that's for certain, it's that they were here. And they're here now. Mummy would like this. She's finally back next to him. If only we could have done this... When she had actually died, he means to say, but his voice peters out. Years may have passed, but the wounds still sting as sharply as ever.
...Earlier, he finishes, dissatisfied but unable to do better. Not without cutting himself open.

Ty shifts, and Danny hears him rise. He cannot see the tombstone clasped between his brother's great hands, but he feels its presence. Ty had carved it himself. Danny knows that it is glorious. He deserved no less. Ty walks a few strides, and then hesitates.
He's on the left, Danny offers. Ty's steps continue. There is pause, and then a ringing thud. Danny winces. When Ty plants something, it stays planted firmly in the ground. Danny stands, and Ty comes to stand beside them. They both stare at the two tombstones, both looking but not seeing, but for two very different reasons.

Vlad and Shay lie beside one another, reunited.

Danny voices what both of them are thinking.

I wish Bree and Cleo were here.

Me too, Ty whispers, his vision clouding.

They stand there until it becomes too dark to see, and then leave without a word. Two pieces of a broken family drift a little bit further apart, until they might not have been together at all.

//About a month after Shay got drunk and did some naughty things with Vlad//

They are just coming off of a job. The team: Tarallynn, Bentley, Yix, Maura and, of course, Shay herself. It's been a very long night, and the team is blood-spattered and exhausted. However, as they drive along the empty road, the first glint of dawn breaking the shadow over the horizon, they are satisfied. They did good work that night; and the word will spread: The Wren is not to be trifled with. Shaygrin is driving that morning, as much because she likes driving as to show everyone that she is not the old-fashioned little maiden that rumour suggests more and more frequently. Her hand is light on the wheel and she whistles to herself. Then, out of the blue, she stops, swerves, and changes direction. Her team brace themselves, and whip out their guns, faces steeled for a high-speed car chase and an epic shoot-out.

They do not expect to pull into the parking lot of an all-night sandwich shop.

Shaygrin gets out of the car, grabbing her purse from her coat, which is slung lazily over her seat. It is mid-winter, and very cold out. She checks her cash, and then looks brightly at the intense looking assassins.
So, she says cheerfully, What does everyone want? It's on me.
The assassins put down their guns, looking more than a little bewildered, and start to mumble their breakfast requests. Only Tarallynn remains silent. She stares at her co-commander intently. This activity is completely out-of-the-ordinary for Shaygrin. She is usually focused, driven, intense, and generous doesn't feature in the equation whatsoever. Her eyes narrow. What is going on?

Shaygrin disappears into the sandwich shop, still whistling. Murmurs break out in the car. Theories are voiced. Abduction and replacement? No, no replacement would never be so careless. Brain surgery? No scars, and why would anyone want to make their commander nice? Poison? Madness brought on by too much stress? Sudden appreciation for her coworkers? A dastardly scheme to poison everyone in the car and... And... And... Then Shaygrin returns and the car goes silent. Smiling, she hands out sandwiches, then pops into the front seat and unwraps her own. She makes a sound of pleasure as she bites into one of the strangest concoctions that anyone in the car has ever seen. They watch in fascinated disgust as she proceeds to devour the entire sandwich and then, to their gobsmacked astonishment, ask for everyone else's left-overs.

They head for home, the car shocked into silence. Except for Shaygrin, who is humming cheerfully and occasionally runs little monologues with her unresponsive audience. But all is not well in the fierce young woman. Slowly, as the sun lifts itself above the horizon, Shay's humming trails off. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She tries to fight off growing nausea, but to no avail. It won't stop. She waits until she can't take it any longer, and then she swiftly pulls over to the side of the road, earning indignant honks from the cars behind her. In a choked little voice, she says,
Sorry everyone, I just have to... Then she throws open her door and staggers out of the car, retching.

Tarallynn watches this spectacle while the rest of the assassins are frozen in place. Her suspicion is mounting. Slowly, her hand goes to her belly. Not two months ago, she had finally, after carefully choosing her stock; planning the genes immaculately and watching her target for any signs of body-damaging behaviour, done the deed. Now, inside her grows a being with the potential to be the next great leader of the Wren. Tarallynn hopes, and plans, for a successor who can finally trump Shaygrin's iron-like founder's grip on the Wren, so that ownership can go to her line. Fame will be theirs. They will no longer be second-best. Of course, this does mean that she has had to put up with some of the discomforts of pregnancy. Moodswings. Cravings. Morning sickness. As Shay straightens, gasping and wiping her mouth. Tarallynn knows for sure. She opens her door, and gets out of the car.

The remaining occupants watch as their commanders confer. Tarallynn hands Shay her water bottle, which the smaller woman thankfully takes. Then they hear:
Shaygrin, I think we need to have a little talk. The women walk a little way away, just out of earshot of normal speech. Tarallynn starts to speak in a hushed undertone. Shay listens, smiling more and more. She waves her hand, evidently rather amused and condescending. Tara does not give up. Straight-faced, she carries on speaking. Slowly, the haughty superiority drops off of Shaygrin's face. She pales. Her eyes widen. She looks up, mouthing to herself as if in mental calculation.

Everyone in the car hears her next words.

Oh s**t!

A long way into the future

"I always wonder why he stays."

Edvard Svart is not in a medical emergency. In fact, if it were up to him he would not be in the medical wing at all. However, he obtained a small scratch on his upper arm, and his commanding officer is of the over-cautious and zealous sort, and so sent him to be checked for poisons. Just in case. However, since he is in no immediate danger, he has to wait. For the last three hours, he's been sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, stained with something brown and more than a little suspicious. He's been chafing at the delay, bored out of his mind.

Until now.

He looks around with vague curiosity, getting a good look at the man who's plonked down beside him. Edvard recognises him vaguely, places him as one of the Temps. There are a few of them in the Wren, skilled assassins who have left for one reason or another, or simply grown too old or worn to work full-time. This man, Ed decides, falls under the latter category. He is tall, but stoops in his seat. His dark, dark skin is wrinkled and his tightly-curled hair is almost entirely grey. The old man's gaze, however, does not sit on Ed at all. In fact, he focuses on an equally aged-looking doctor who is bandaging the leg of a grimacing rookie. He begins to talk again, and Edvard picks up a Southern American twang as he says:

"Been nigh on twenny years, and he still workin' here. Never say a word in protest, even when dem macho rookies talk 'bout all de lives dey taken. He just work away."

Despite himself, Edvard is drawn into the conversation.

"So?" he says, leaning sideways, moving his mouth as little as possible so the bent doctor won't notice. "What's your point?"

The old man smiles slightly, the canyons in his face deepening, spreading in the earthquake of rippling muscles.

"My point, boy, is this: Surely it agains' his hipp'cradic oath, te keep ministerin' te dese 'sassins, when all they gone do is go right back out and keep killin' more people?"

This, Edvard realises, is actually quite an interesting question. He shifts in his seat to look directly at the weathered man. He purses his lips. He could carry on debating and opndering all day, but he's an assassin, and cuts to the quick of it, asking the question which will lead to what his companion has been working up to.

"So what's your theory? Why does he stay?"

"Cuz of her."

Edvard follows the old man's crooked finger, to the hospital doors. They swing open to admit the petite, beautiful, completely ruthless female commander: Shaygrin Syncrame. The young man scowls, confused. That wasn't what he had been expecting at all. He is still relatively new to the Wren, and has not had a private audience with the aloof, purportedly vicious little woman.

"I don't think I understand," he states blandly.

"Course ya don'," the Southerner chuckles. His eyes soften slightly. He pauses. The two of them watch as the young woman struts over to the old doctor, putting one smooth, dainty hand on his shoulder as she consults him.

"He love her."

It's so quiet that Edvard barely catches it, and when he does, he wishes he hadn't. The gap between the wizened doctor and the lovely, intense woman is just too much for his young mind to comprehend. The old man catches his contorted, horrified look, and smiles kindly.

"She older than she looks, that lady there. Why, I arrived here when I were barely fourteen, and she don't look a day older now than she did that day. I wager she five, ten times older than me. More, even. She not what she seems, that one. No, not at all."

The boy regains his composure. He shakes his head in youthful cynicism.

"I don't think so. Love isn't that great a motivator."

"Oh, but it is. That one, she seduced countless men. Maybe even some gals too. Wouldn' surprise me one bit. There hundreds a stories bout her, if ya look hard enough. Yeah, she been wit kings and princes, criminals, respeckable married gennleman too, if you read 'tween da lines. Even the great Vladdamir Tepés got caught by here. Don' seem so surprisin', if ya stop te think about it," he says, catching the boy's gobsmacked look. His old eyes take on a thoughtful cast as he examines the old man and apparently young woman.

"After all, if she so damn lovely now, what were she like back in her prime?"




Frantic and frenzied, Shaygrin barely heard Kuar speaking to her. She cursed their opponent... will finish soon.

[Tundra]

[Bump]

[Verdana]

Frantic and frenzied, Shaygrin barely heard Kuar speaking to her. She cursed their opponent. She cursed her position. She cursed in several different languages, and then made up some bad words. Shay was not naturally an organised individual. She'd relied on various influences in her life to keep her on track. She had spent a long time gaining the skills to keep herself on track as a mercenary, and in a heartbeat, in one ridiculous encounter, it had all been thrown asunder. She despised Kuar, despised herself.

Her body was a knot of agony and fear. She wanted Vlad. She wanted to go home.

Before she could reach for her weapons, Kuar stopped her. Shay's eyes narrowed, and she was about to spit out a furious retort, when she sagged sheepishly. Right. She'd been on his turf. She slumped.
Maybe, before we do anything else, she said wanly, we should establish where exactly your turf is, and where exactly I'm allowed to hunt. So that I don't make that mistake again.

She sat down abruptly on the floor, and put her head in her hands. She mouthed to herself, frowning. She scowled. Cursed.

I need to re-establish my client base, she muttered miserably.
I have no idea who has been arranged. I need to start picking clients again, start from scratch. And, while I do it, we need to figure out who is attacking us.
'We'. 'Us'. She threw the words into place with a casual assumption. All her life, Shaygrin Syncrame had gathered allies. She drew them to her like moths to a flame. Foolish, hypnotised, joyfully doomed moths. When she needed help, Shay assumed that she would get it, because it had never failed to arrive before.

For all the cruelty the world had tossed her way, it had never failed her. Never destroyed her.

I think that it would be a good idea if you tailed me. I think... I think that I could use all the help that I could get.

In direct contradiction to her usual fiery nature, she was humble, meek, polite. She looked up at Kuar with a guilty, seeking smile and bright, wide, innocent child's eyes.

Maybe I should drop this job, she agreed in a small voice.

My everything hurts.

[Tundra]

Kuar couldn't help but smile slightly back at Shay's childish smile. This was quickly corrected by him looking away, or just to the side. His tail flicked lightly as he thought on what had just happened. Every since he had attacked Shay, his senses had been haywire. He was constantly on alert, not to mention, he felt odd all the time. The, feelings, emotions, care. They were things he hadn't felt for quite some time. In fact, Kuar himself hadn't really smiled this much since Conis was still alive and fighting. It bothered him to no end, yet, he could not stop it. Flicking his tail he listened to Shay's words. She really was considering dropping the job. That was good in a way, if her target had no help this would be a waste of her time to drop it. If it was a setup job, then they would get out with no harm done..minus a slight reputation hit.

"There is only one downfall to not taking the job Shay, and that's the reputation hit. People will look down on it..sadly. If only everyone could understand the situation." He sighed lightly before turning his back to shay and walking over to one of the walls so he could lean on it. He was sore, as was Shay. To be honest, walking would do them good. Flying was NOT an option as of right now, but setting the borders of whose land was whose was not a bad idea. Especially since a particular feral mindset was territorial. He looked back up at shay finally tiredly. They both still were worn from their fight, the damage done took a lot of energy from both of them.

Kuar flicked his tail again before saying "Setting the borders would be an alternative if you do decide to drop the job. We both could use the walk, to ease tense muscles. Worst thing we could do is let the muscles rest to much while healing." He picked up a stone and examined it. This was more of an attempt not to make eye contact with Shay. Every time Kuar did, he got this sense of not only a motherly gaze, but a predator. It gave him a slight chill, not a bad one, but still a chill.
Flicking his tail once more he gave up and tossed the rock over his shoulder, it hitting the ground with a distinct scraping sound. He looked back at Shay and had a thought cross his mind that caught even him off guard. In fact, he shook is head in reaction. Why, in gods name had he thought about her reaction to a hug, or kiss. Either thought just made him want to back up, rewind, and NOT think about them. He let out a small chuckle still shaking his head lightly as he walked so his back was facing Shay now.

He spoke over his shoulder as he said "either choice you make, I will be tailing you. But I do advise dropping the job again..it would be best for both of us with the condition were in." He shifted his wings and growled lightly as pain shot down his back. This entire time he had been feeling pain whenever he flicked his tail, but not nearly as bad as when he moved his injured wing. He had an urge to claw something, just to get rid of some frustration. But, he was at Shay's, the walls were stone..and would indeed bite back..though hypothetically. So, he just sighed and waited for Shays answer.