| From: | Mach <mach@****.CALTECH.EDU> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | "and works of love or enmity fulfil" |
| Date: | Tue, 5 Jan 1999 02:18:11 -0800 |
>>>>>[Date: 01/04/60
I guess it was only a matter of time before my past caught up to me. Now
there is no choice. I must move on. Part of me wants to burn this from
my mind, but then, I can never dare to lie to myself about who or what I am.
Watch, and remember.
+++++include: enmity.vid
A human male in his early twenties models a red knit sweater held up in
front of his loose bleach-white tank-top clad chest. Model, being a
choice word on this occasion, because his sculpted features and lithe
frame could place him on the cover of any fashion magazine, but for the
fact that his gentle cobalt eyes and warm smile lack the arrogance and
contempt expected of a supermodel. He tosses the sweater aside and picks
up a pair of black leather jeans that he holds in front of the loose khaki
canvas he wears, lashed to his narrow waist with a rope belt.
"To frisky?" he asks no one in particular with a lyrical accent and tosses
back his generous waves of auburn hair. Behind him, several other lumps
of clothes are scattered on a comfortable-looking couch. A radio plays
softly in the background.
Without warning, there is the *thunk* of a heavy door lock opening. He
barely has enough time to drop the jeans in surprise and begin to spin
towards an inner doorway, when a voice shouts: "Freeze!" He does.
Lunging into view is a tall blond human male with rough-hewn features in
dark bike leathers still shining wet from rain. The ubiquitously generic
bluesteel heavy pistol in his gloved hand is leveled at the other's back.
He kicks the apartment door shut with his heel.
"You can turn around now. Nothing quick," the other man says with a
slight Irish lilt. In his left hand he mockingly waves what appears to be
a maglock passkey. "Never thought you would get this sloppy, Seren, or
should I say Quicksilver, or whatever it is now? You've been out of the
game far too long, it seems."
"Clancy," Seren says, turning slowly, his arms, raised at the elbows,
palms out in a submissive pose. "I figured with DiCaela and Argent dead,
you'd find work somewhere else, but I thought you'd give up on me."
"You? Argent's little beast? I saw the footage of the drone spraying
that cab. You didn't look too well, but I've seen people survive worse.
'Course with the bosses dead, it did put a damper on me finding you. Oh
yeah, I got work, but I figured why bring you in to be someone else's toy
when I could have you all to myself. I just needed some money, time, and
for you to screw up."
"I...see."
"First, intermittent rumors from the Seattle music scene, of a stunning
albino appearing here and there with the name Quicksilver. Then, that
artist? You of all people posing for a work of art that would eventually
be sold in public?" Clancy says mockingly, his gun still aiming steadily
at the other's heart. "Not that you weren't a show-stopper as always.
Probably twenty grand of the selling price was from your pose alone."
"I did both poses," he corrects, amazingly calm despite death staring him
in the face.
"Interesting. But yeah, should have thought of that. Simple matter of
tracking down the artist. Then it was pretty trivial to confirm. You
shouldn't have gone to that New Year's party, to the right eyes you stand
out from a crowd. Too bad about Adrian. I was hoping he would lead us to
you, but, well you know how impatient a man Argent is. I just didn't
think he would have the balls to kill his own son, let alone have him
dissected and mailed piece by piece to your friend, the Sybarite. That
takes a twisted mind even I can't comprehend."
For a second, Seren looks faint, and almost stumbles, but recovers
himself. His skin seems to ripple in a mysterious shimmer momentarily,
but it passes.
"Heh...thought you had gotten over him by now." Clancy walks up to him,
tossing the passkey onto the couch. He puts the gun to the defenseless
boy's chest and with his free hand, forcibly turns Seren's face from side
to side, inspecting it as though he were an animal for sale. Again, the
ripples pass over Seren's flesh as though it was fluid and he pulls out of
Clancy's grasp. "I know how much effort it takes you to sustain a form.
It's been what? Two hours? You don't have to bother." Clancy continues
to inspect him by eye, "It's not bad for what it is, but well, you know my
tastes differ. Must say I am surprised you getting close to a classy
artist. What happened? Sybarite get tired of you the same way DiCaela
did?"
"No dragon this time. Fact is, he decided he didn't need me any more.
So, when the opportunity came, I left him. And the artist? She gives me
what I need. That's all. You didn't do anything to her did you?"
"No, you know I work cleaner than that. Although I suppose she'd be
touched you asked. Amazing. And here I was thinking Argent had succeeded
in breaking you."
"What makes you think he didn't," he says lowering his eyes. "But he's
gone, and I needed someone to take his place. Someone to _belong_ to."
Now the ripples flow in profusion about his form. In seconds, they pass
and he has become a red-headed Irish lass, half a head shorter than he was
before, that could incite the jealousy of any man in the Emerald Isle.
His clothes as well have changed to flatter her new look. His pants now
cling to her curves and appear to be black velvet. His tank-top is now
her lace bodice and is quite flatteringly filled out. "I've been
wandering because I haven't had anyone to belong to like I did to Argent."
She hangs her head defeatedly. "I'm tired of running Clancy. And I'm not
going to fight you now." Her now brilliant green eyes look up at him
pleadingly as she leans closer. He has to lower the gun to her side as
she glides closer to him, putting her hands on his chest and lowering her
head to his heart.
"Thats...better," Clancy fumbles over his words, then laughs. "What was
that quote Argent was so fond of? 'Spirits when they please...?'"
Seren, looks up at him when he can't find the words, and interjects,
"Milton, _Paradise Lost_:
For Spirits, when they please,
Can either sex assume, or both; so soft
And uncompounded is their essence pure,
Not tried or manacled with joint or limb,
(She accentuates the word "manacled" holding out her wrists before her.)
Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,
Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose,
Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,
Can execute their airy purposes,
And works of love or enmity fulfil."
Throughout her soliloquy she seems unconcerned that the other's handgun
is still trained on her.
"Paradise Lost? Appropriate for the man," Clancy cannot help his laugh
again, almost giddy. "'Better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven,' or
something like that...," he pauses, lost in thoughts that are made plain
by his roving eyes. "So which is it going to be?" he asks, a smile almost
on his lips.
"Which?"
"Love? Or Enmity?"
"I guess it depends on why you are here. And you can put the gun away.
We both know how much faster and stronger you are than I am. I won't try
to get away."
"Fair enough. But if I remember correctly, that was never your way
anyhow." Clancy steps back and lets her hands draw down his arms. He
hides the gun under his jacket at the small of his back. "I want you to
come back with me. We could be together, just like old times. You would
help me out from time to time, and I would keep you safe. If I could find
you, somebody else will eventually." If there is a threat there, it isn't
given away in his voice. "We used to have fun, you and I, didn't we."
"Yes we did." She steps closer to him. "I seem to remember us having
lots of _fun_." She runs a hand over his brow and brushes at a stray lock
of hair until he takes her wrist and moves her hand away without any
effort. "Which was more exciting? Me, or the fear that Argent would
catch us? You saw what he did to his own child, I can only imagine what
he would have done to you."
"But he didn't, now did he? I was careful. Still am."
"Lucky you." She rubs at her wrist gingerly.
"Like that camera there." He looks directly at it. "No chance I'd
leave here with you without it. Although, I think I'll let it run.
Might catch something worth saving for later."
"Perhaps," she says without sounding uninviting. "So, I do for you what
I used to do for Argent, in return for you keeping me safe? I could live
with that."
"That's it? I figured you would have to take more time to get used to the
idea. I was going to take you even if you weren't willing, and keep you
long enough for you to understand you don't have any choice in the matter,
but this makes things so much easier."
"It does, doesn't it? And, you're right. If you want me to play hard to
get I will, but what's the point?" Seren smiles thoughtfully. This time,
when she steps even closer and runs her fingers across his chest, Clancy
doesn't seem interested in stopping her. He finds no resistance in her
when he pulls her close to him and begins kissing her, tentatively at
first, then deeply. He pins her arms to her sides with his own, her hands
behind her. Out of his view, but in full view of the camera her right
hand draws one of a pair of rings from her left thumb and places it in her
left palm.
Slowly, his grip on her relaxes. When she is free to turn, Seren does so
languorously, until she can lean back against him. She emits a soft purr
as she turns her head and he begins to kiss her bared neck. His arms wrap
around her and begin to caress her roughly. Meanwhile, she slips the ring
onto her right thumb. She draws her hands apart, flexing gently under his
hold to free herself some. Something between her hands catches the light
and sparkles faintly. She turns again, faster, in a move that excites him
more than it startles. Drawing her hands up his stomach, and chest, she
wraps her arms about his neck and kisses him hungrily. His hands wander
down her spine and follow the curve of her flank.
They remain entwined for several seconds. Several seconds during which
her hands are out of sight behind Clancy's head. Finally, Clancy has to
gasp for air. "God...I'd almost forgotten what it was like." He smiles
broadly.
"And now you'll have me all to yourself. 'To have and to hold,'" she coos
to him.
"'Til death us do part," he replies contentedly, and begins kissing her
again.
Their intimacy is interrupted by a high-pitched *twang* as Quicksilver's
arms separate abruptly at either side of Clancy's neck. His body jerks
awkwardly, and she has just enough time to catch his head as his body
falls away in a spray of blood. She cradles the head to her chest and
begins kissing him gently on the forehead. She begins to slowly rock back
and forth murmuring to him gently and running her fingers through his
hair. After more than a minute passes, her form becomes fluid and she
again transforms. Her hair and skin are bone white and her clothes are
what the boy had been wearing before. Those that have been active in
Seattle's music scene just might remember her distinctive features and
adolescently developed frame as those of the albino elf calling herself
Quicksilver. She tenderly leans down and places Clancy's head next to his
body.
"I could never go back to that life, Kenneth. Not to what I was...," She
sniffles miserably. "Why did you make me have to...," she swallows
hard. She brings her hands apart swiftly then slowly together at the
thumbs before sliding the ring from her right thumb back to her left. She
turns back to the camera, and walks towards it. Her chest and clothing is
spattered and stained with blood. Wiping at her tears, she smears her
cheeks with red. The last image is of her face, a grotesque mockery of
war paint made with the blood on her hands.
+++++end include]<<<<<
--Quicksilver personal system <02:00:03/01-05-60 PDT>
