Post by Eurydice on Jun 7, 2008 12:33:36 GMT -5
((For the record: this definitely never happened ^^ And this entire line of thinking is entirely Jess' fault, for asking what our characters would be doing in a modern setting. Also, this will probably not be entirely Iviran based-- some Recon characters and others-- but the majority are Iviran, so I am posting it under the Sarahverse board.))
Doctor Tamora Mellarlyn gave her list a once over and nodded; Captain Dustyn Fey’deyn had been the last appointment for the evening, and things had been quiet enough recently that she didn’t mind relaxing a little. Wincing slightly as she stood, slowly placing her weight on her bad leg— it had been early in her career as a medic, and she’d learned since then not to be slow— she started tidying her little corner of the world, here in the hospital.
It was the end of an uneventful day, and she had not been expecting anything else, certainly not visits from high-ranking officers. Mellarlyn snapped up in surprise at Colonel Rhiannon Kelhern strode in. The Colonel was a curious woman, very perceptive with others, but never really seeming comfortable in command, and certainly never the same since Sergeant Nicholas Thomas, her close friend and rumored lover, had been killed in action a year ago. Colonel Kelhern had died a little that day, or so people said. Mellarlyn took her in with sympathy. It was one of the hideous risks that accompanied life in the service, the prospect that a friend or loved one would suddenly be gone, with nothing to be done except mourn their passing.
Colonel Kelhern greeted her briskly. “Doc… Major Mordrellyn was supposed to drop by earlier this afternoon, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, um, yes, Colonel; he came in at, um…” She shuffled over to her little table where the sign-in book and planner sat. “…Fifteen hundred. Why?”
The Colonel sighed. “Must have been some time in the last couple hours then,” she muttered to no one in particular.
Mellarlyn stared at the Colonel’s annoyed demeanor and in an instant, was mentally caught up to the situation at hand. “He’s gone AWOL again?!”
***
“So,” said Kuntaire, “Where we goin’, boss?”
They’d finally swapped out that dreadful VW bus that they’d been stuck with for at least a year. Truly unfortunate, but people just didn’t leave 1957 Chevrolets sitting around, unlocked and with the keys nearby, nearly as often as would have been convenient.
The hood was down, the wind speeding past. Angie was propped up on the back of the car, her legs, long and taut, dangled out on the back seat. Oversized sunglasses shielded her face, and the tail of her silvery silk scarf trailed wildly behind, the fringe dancing a hectic little piece of its own design. She stretched lazily, like a cat in a patch of afternoon sun. “Somewhere we can have a little fun, boys.”
Kuntaire grinned and gunned the acceleration. It was a very nice car.
Journalism was his trade. He'd been a student of history for a time, but it was too iffy, too changable, too far distanced for him to deal with; short of, say, traveling back in time, it was an inevitable problem with trying to understand the story, and learning the truth of a story in its entirety had always been Kuntaire's desire. Reporting had seemed a logical career choice, and he was very good at it.
All that had gotten a little more difficult when he started looking into the hottest trial of the decade, an investigation into the leaders of the Order of the Crescent Moon. Angelina Kaillyn and Aethmyr Trellyn were called visionaries by some, lunatics by others, but the indisputable evidence before the court was the obscenely high body count that the Order had produced. Much of their cult had gone to ground on Angie and Aethmyr's capture, but Kuntaire had found the whole spectacle fascinating, first the cult, then the trial, and then Angie herself, a woman who was simultaneously dripping with charisma and a heinous bitch.
The trial had been long and difficult. Judge Thanasis was a tough bastard, but the cult's lawyers had wrangled every loophole imaginable, even if it was only delaying the inevitable. Angie and Aethmyr were found guilty by a jury of their peers and were sentenced to fry in the chair.
So Kuntaire did the only thing a loyal fan would do: he busted them out of death row.
It had not been, in all honesty, a very well thought out prison break, but Kuntaire was not a professional criminal. Angie took pity and taught him well; now, a year later, they had a very comfortable little criminal operation running, one which ranged from robbing banks to taking down the religiously oppressive. Aethmyr was a particular fan of the latter.
Aethmyr was reclined in the front passenger seat, lightly sleeping and muttering about something called Detoric. Kuntaire wasn't really sure what the other man was talking about most of the time, even when he was awake, and in the past few months, Aethmyr had become crotchety and irritable to almost everyone except Angie. Probably just a by-product of their being on the road so long; but of course, they couldn't stop for long in most places without being recognized.
The other passenger in the back was a lanky teenaged girl, idly kicking against the seat. Her name was Maura; she had been a bit of a fan of the cult, at the time of the trial, and although everyone except Aethmyr liked her well enough, no one was really sure who'd asked her to come along, during their last stop. Maura had been in boarding school, idling away her free hours sitting behind the counter of Liara's Drug Store and seemed all too eager to get away.
Kuntaire chuckled. She was a good kid. She'd be useful, with some experience, and their merry little band of criminals usually took whatever help they could find.
The monotonous landscape sped by, all a blur of scattered trees, grassy patches, gas stations, backwater towns, billboards, repeat. Aethmyr opened one eye, lazy in the afternoon sun, and idly glanced over at Kuntaire. His voice was dry, both in expression and in that he was a bit parched; they hadn't paused at a rest stop to refill on drinks and munchies in a while. "Kun, are you going to keep hogging the wheel? I want a turn at this beauty."
"Sure, sure..." Kuntaire peered ahead, a futile gesture. "Boss?"
"Take the next even numbered exit," said Angie. "There'll be a little diner; we can make a pit stop and switch drivers."
Kuntaire nodded, swerving to avoid the worst of a rough patch. The car rumbled anyway.
Maura glanced towards the back uncertainly. "Um. Is Dad going to be okay?"
"Dunno," said Angie, "let's ask him." She banged on the back of the car. "Oi! Bryant! How are you holding up?"
A muffled string of profanities emenated from the general area of the trunk, followed by a slightly less intelligable shout as the tires swept over another pothole. Another angry, unintelligable rant, and then discontented silence once more. Angie stretched, satisfied. "He'll be fine."
***
Humming a little tune of her own devising, Lorelai threw her swimsuit and towel into a duffel bag and strode out the door at a leisurely pace. The sunscreen was already applied and in the bag, where it lived permanently; Lorelai was painfully fair and slopped the damned stuff on every afternoon. Some of her classmates wondered why she bothered working as a life guard if she burned so easily, but there were only so many reasonable jobs within walking distance of school, and even though the year was almost out, Lorelai had wanted to get an early start on work.
The other students were abuzz with chatter about their summer plans, the families to whom they were going. Lorelai never spoke of her family; to a few close friends, she had said simply that they passed away, and no one pressed beyond that.
Classes had just ended for the day, and the dorm halls were rife with students pushing outside with lawn chairs, frisbees, and the like, determined to enjoy the afternoon's full sunlight. Lorelai grinned. Headmistress Alshalys had made an announcment a few days ago, asking that students stay focused on their work, even as the weather turned tempting, but it hardly made a difference. Beside, Headmistress Alshalys, sometimes stern, never seemed too strict when it came to the students taking advantage of pleasant circumstances.
Remembering a mental note she'd made earlier, Lorelai stopped in on the bottom floor, three doors in. There was a scrawled note on the dry-erase board reading simply, "Go away."
Lorelai pushed the door open.
All the shades and curtains in the room were pulled closed against the afternoon sun, shielding the black-clad little figure hunched in front of the computer. Headphones hung around his neck, blaring Linkin Park. Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Hey, Vanir?"
The boy looked up sharply, annoyed at first, and then softening somewhat. "Oh. Hi."
Lorelai gave the room a quick once-over, but Vanir's roommate, Zeke, was absent; part two of the inseperable emo duo, she decided, was probably off making out with his long-time girlfriend, or writing bad poetry, or something. "You haven't seen Maura around today, have you?"
Even in the shadowy room, Lorelai could tell Vanir was blushing. It was the worst-kept secret at school that he had a crush on Maura. "No," he muttered. "Why?"
"Oh, it's probably nothing." Lorelai shrugged and started for the door again. "I just haven't seen her near her room since yesterday morning, and she wasn't in class today. Figured you might know." She waved a hand. "Didn't mean to interrupt; you can go back to your computer nerding."
"Hacking!" he yelled after her.
Lorelai smirked and sailed out the front door.
The sunlight was not as harsh as it had been an hour ago, and Lorelai sighed with some relief. En route to the pool, she stopped off at the library, an austere, upright building just off campus, to drop off a few biographies that she'd used for her music history project. Ms. Aurana had suggested a few volumes specifically that had turned out to be of great use, and the library staff had been doubly helpful.
The librarian at the front desk greeted her politely, peering down at her over old-fashioned glasses. "I hope these proved to be what you needed, miss."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Rinteras, thanks."
"Any plans for the summer?"
She shrugged. "Still working at the pool. It's work."
He smiled and nodded, scanning in the books and handing them off to the small, skinny woman with the book cart. Lorelai could never remember her name— Kir-something. "Well," Mr. Rinteras said with a pleasant smile, "be sure to stop in, if you need a break from the sunshine and screaming kids."
Lorelai laughed. "I will, thanks."
Thunder cracked, resounding through the library's majestic walls, and Lorelai's head snapped towards the nearest window. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me..."
Mr. Rinteras ambled over to the window as well; the rain was starting in a slow but unrelenting trickle; within a minute's time, it was a steady downpour, and a minute after that, it would just be falling in sheets. "Ahh, the crazy, fickle summer weather... you might want to stay in here until this lets up, my dear."
Lorelai sighed, fiddling with her pale hair, up in a ponytail, picturing her classmates scrambling inside, dragging their sports equipment and sunbathing gear with them. "Nah, it's okay, but thanks. Pool will have to close, since there's lightning and all, so I might as well just head home."
"As you like, then."
Stepping outside, sheltered by the front of the building, Lorelai watched Headmistress Alshalys strolling down the street without a care in the world, an umbrella in one hand and her satchel in the other. The abrupt shift in weather had not, apparently, caught her off guard, nor had it even bothered her much; the headmistress wore a deeply contented smile as the raindrops pattered off the umbrella and fell in lyrical rhythms to join the enormous puddles littering the sidewalk. She saw Lorelai and waved. Lorelai waved back.
She briefly considered sprinting back to the dorms with her towel held high above her head, but she was fairly certain that it would become pointless very quickly. Oh well; nothing to be done. Lorelai braced herself and began the mad dash back to her room, and the cold spatter of rain washed the sunscreen off her snow-white skin.
Doctor Tamora Mellarlyn gave her list a once over and nodded; Captain Dustyn Fey’deyn had been the last appointment for the evening, and things had been quiet enough recently that she didn’t mind relaxing a little. Wincing slightly as she stood, slowly placing her weight on her bad leg— it had been early in her career as a medic, and she’d learned since then not to be slow— she started tidying her little corner of the world, here in the hospital.
It was the end of an uneventful day, and she had not been expecting anything else, certainly not visits from high-ranking officers. Mellarlyn snapped up in surprise at Colonel Rhiannon Kelhern strode in. The Colonel was a curious woman, very perceptive with others, but never really seeming comfortable in command, and certainly never the same since Sergeant Nicholas Thomas, her close friend and rumored lover, had been killed in action a year ago. Colonel Kelhern had died a little that day, or so people said. Mellarlyn took her in with sympathy. It was one of the hideous risks that accompanied life in the service, the prospect that a friend or loved one would suddenly be gone, with nothing to be done except mourn their passing.
Colonel Kelhern greeted her briskly. “Doc… Major Mordrellyn was supposed to drop by earlier this afternoon, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, um, yes, Colonel; he came in at, um…” She shuffled over to her little table where the sign-in book and planner sat. “…Fifteen hundred. Why?”
The Colonel sighed. “Must have been some time in the last couple hours then,” she muttered to no one in particular.
Mellarlyn stared at the Colonel’s annoyed demeanor and in an instant, was mentally caught up to the situation at hand. “He’s gone AWOL again?!”
***
“So,” said Kuntaire, “Where we goin’, boss?”
They’d finally swapped out that dreadful VW bus that they’d been stuck with for at least a year. Truly unfortunate, but people just didn’t leave 1957 Chevrolets sitting around, unlocked and with the keys nearby, nearly as often as would have been convenient.
The hood was down, the wind speeding past. Angie was propped up on the back of the car, her legs, long and taut, dangled out on the back seat. Oversized sunglasses shielded her face, and the tail of her silvery silk scarf trailed wildly behind, the fringe dancing a hectic little piece of its own design. She stretched lazily, like a cat in a patch of afternoon sun. “Somewhere we can have a little fun, boys.”
Kuntaire grinned and gunned the acceleration. It was a very nice car.
Journalism was his trade. He'd been a student of history for a time, but it was too iffy, too changable, too far distanced for him to deal with; short of, say, traveling back in time, it was an inevitable problem with trying to understand the story, and learning the truth of a story in its entirety had always been Kuntaire's desire. Reporting had seemed a logical career choice, and he was very good at it.
All that had gotten a little more difficult when he started looking into the hottest trial of the decade, an investigation into the leaders of the Order of the Crescent Moon. Angelina Kaillyn and Aethmyr Trellyn were called visionaries by some, lunatics by others, but the indisputable evidence before the court was the obscenely high body count that the Order had produced. Much of their cult had gone to ground on Angie and Aethmyr's capture, but Kuntaire had found the whole spectacle fascinating, first the cult, then the trial, and then Angie herself, a woman who was simultaneously dripping with charisma and a heinous bitch.
The trial had been long and difficult. Judge Thanasis was a tough bastard, but the cult's lawyers had wrangled every loophole imaginable, even if it was only delaying the inevitable. Angie and Aethmyr were found guilty by a jury of their peers and were sentenced to fry in the chair.
So Kuntaire did the only thing a loyal fan would do: he busted them out of death row.
It had not been, in all honesty, a very well thought out prison break, but Kuntaire was not a professional criminal. Angie took pity and taught him well; now, a year later, they had a very comfortable little criminal operation running, one which ranged from robbing banks to taking down the religiously oppressive. Aethmyr was a particular fan of the latter.
Aethmyr was reclined in the front passenger seat, lightly sleeping and muttering about something called Detoric. Kuntaire wasn't really sure what the other man was talking about most of the time, even when he was awake, and in the past few months, Aethmyr had become crotchety and irritable to almost everyone except Angie. Probably just a by-product of their being on the road so long; but of course, they couldn't stop for long in most places without being recognized.
The other passenger in the back was a lanky teenaged girl, idly kicking against the seat. Her name was Maura; she had been a bit of a fan of the cult, at the time of the trial, and although everyone except Aethmyr liked her well enough, no one was really sure who'd asked her to come along, during their last stop. Maura had been in boarding school, idling away her free hours sitting behind the counter of Liara's Drug Store and seemed all too eager to get away.
Kuntaire chuckled. She was a good kid. She'd be useful, with some experience, and their merry little band of criminals usually took whatever help they could find.
The monotonous landscape sped by, all a blur of scattered trees, grassy patches, gas stations, backwater towns, billboards, repeat. Aethmyr opened one eye, lazy in the afternoon sun, and idly glanced over at Kuntaire. His voice was dry, both in expression and in that he was a bit parched; they hadn't paused at a rest stop to refill on drinks and munchies in a while. "Kun, are you going to keep hogging the wheel? I want a turn at this beauty."
"Sure, sure..." Kuntaire peered ahead, a futile gesture. "Boss?"
"Take the next even numbered exit," said Angie. "There'll be a little diner; we can make a pit stop and switch drivers."
Kuntaire nodded, swerving to avoid the worst of a rough patch. The car rumbled anyway.
Maura glanced towards the back uncertainly. "Um. Is Dad going to be okay?"
"Dunno," said Angie, "let's ask him." She banged on the back of the car. "Oi! Bryant! How are you holding up?"
A muffled string of profanities emenated from the general area of the trunk, followed by a slightly less intelligable shout as the tires swept over another pothole. Another angry, unintelligable rant, and then discontented silence once more. Angie stretched, satisfied. "He'll be fine."
***
Humming a little tune of her own devising, Lorelai threw her swimsuit and towel into a duffel bag and strode out the door at a leisurely pace. The sunscreen was already applied and in the bag, where it lived permanently; Lorelai was painfully fair and slopped the damned stuff on every afternoon. Some of her classmates wondered why she bothered working as a life guard if she burned so easily, but there were only so many reasonable jobs within walking distance of school, and even though the year was almost out, Lorelai had wanted to get an early start on work.
The other students were abuzz with chatter about their summer plans, the families to whom they were going. Lorelai never spoke of her family; to a few close friends, she had said simply that they passed away, and no one pressed beyond that.
Classes had just ended for the day, and the dorm halls were rife with students pushing outside with lawn chairs, frisbees, and the like, determined to enjoy the afternoon's full sunlight. Lorelai grinned. Headmistress Alshalys had made an announcment a few days ago, asking that students stay focused on their work, even as the weather turned tempting, but it hardly made a difference. Beside, Headmistress Alshalys, sometimes stern, never seemed too strict when it came to the students taking advantage of pleasant circumstances.
Remembering a mental note she'd made earlier, Lorelai stopped in on the bottom floor, three doors in. There was a scrawled note on the dry-erase board reading simply, "Go away."
Lorelai pushed the door open.
All the shades and curtains in the room were pulled closed against the afternoon sun, shielding the black-clad little figure hunched in front of the computer. Headphones hung around his neck, blaring Linkin Park. Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Hey, Vanir?"
The boy looked up sharply, annoyed at first, and then softening somewhat. "Oh. Hi."
Lorelai gave the room a quick once-over, but Vanir's roommate, Zeke, was absent; part two of the inseperable emo duo, she decided, was probably off making out with his long-time girlfriend, or writing bad poetry, or something. "You haven't seen Maura around today, have you?"
Even in the shadowy room, Lorelai could tell Vanir was blushing. It was the worst-kept secret at school that he had a crush on Maura. "No," he muttered. "Why?"
"Oh, it's probably nothing." Lorelai shrugged and started for the door again. "I just haven't seen her near her room since yesterday morning, and she wasn't in class today. Figured you might know." She waved a hand. "Didn't mean to interrupt; you can go back to your computer nerding."
"Hacking!" he yelled after her.
Lorelai smirked and sailed out the front door.
The sunlight was not as harsh as it had been an hour ago, and Lorelai sighed with some relief. En route to the pool, she stopped off at the library, an austere, upright building just off campus, to drop off a few biographies that she'd used for her music history project. Ms. Aurana had suggested a few volumes specifically that had turned out to be of great use, and the library staff had been doubly helpful.
The librarian at the front desk greeted her politely, peering down at her over old-fashioned glasses. "I hope these proved to be what you needed, miss."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Rinteras, thanks."
"Any plans for the summer?"
She shrugged. "Still working at the pool. It's work."
He smiled and nodded, scanning in the books and handing them off to the small, skinny woman with the book cart. Lorelai could never remember her name— Kir-something. "Well," Mr. Rinteras said with a pleasant smile, "be sure to stop in, if you need a break from the sunshine and screaming kids."
Lorelai laughed. "I will, thanks."
Thunder cracked, resounding through the library's majestic walls, and Lorelai's head snapped towards the nearest window. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me..."
Mr. Rinteras ambled over to the window as well; the rain was starting in a slow but unrelenting trickle; within a minute's time, it was a steady downpour, and a minute after that, it would just be falling in sheets. "Ahh, the crazy, fickle summer weather... you might want to stay in here until this lets up, my dear."
Lorelai sighed, fiddling with her pale hair, up in a ponytail, picturing her classmates scrambling inside, dragging their sports equipment and sunbathing gear with them. "Nah, it's okay, but thanks. Pool will have to close, since there's lightning and all, so I might as well just head home."
"As you like, then."
Stepping outside, sheltered by the front of the building, Lorelai watched Headmistress Alshalys strolling down the street without a care in the world, an umbrella in one hand and her satchel in the other. The abrupt shift in weather had not, apparently, caught her off guard, nor had it even bothered her much; the headmistress wore a deeply contented smile as the raindrops pattered off the umbrella and fell in lyrical rhythms to join the enormous puddles littering the sidewalk. She saw Lorelai and waved. Lorelai waved back.
She briefly considered sprinting back to the dorms with her towel held high above her head, but she was fairly certain that it would become pointless very quickly. Oh well; nothing to be done. Lorelai braced herself and began the mad dash back to her room, and the cold spatter of rain washed the sunscreen off her snow-white skin.