|
"The Agency: Meeting of Souls "Written By: Karina Pairings 13x6 [eventual], 5xS, 3x4, Others undecided at this time. Warnings: Extreme Alternate Universe setting. Unbetaed, Aussie spelling and grammar, not much else in the early chapters though it will involve murder, stalking and possibly some colourful language down the track. Some Out Of Character depictions are unavoidable considering the alternate universe setting. Rating: M [In Australia that would be mature adult 15+] Not sure with the new rating system about international ratings. Rated for violence and language and adult concepts. Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. That's about as plain as you could say it. Summary: The world took a very different turn with the acknowledgement of psychic abilities and training of select psychic individuals enlisted in elite fields such as law enforcement and politics. A grading system for the strength of psionic abilities was developed and those who were the top of the elite have been dubbed Prime Talents and are highly sought after. Elite institutions have been developed to mark, train and employ individuals with useable psionic talents. The colonies of canon Gundam Wing do exist in this fic and were constructed before the psionic system was founded. With the advent of psionics in open use in society younger people are appearing in positions of power as they are awakening to their abilities earlier and are highly trained in their fields of expertise. Archive: Gundam Wing Universe [gundam-wing-universe.net]
//…// Thoughts
Chapter 39 He wished the throbbing would stop. He was not accustomed to headaches and certainly not to headaches of this calibre. Even when pushing his psi talent to further the development of his stamina when using his kinetic talent he had not been cursed with this degree of throbbing. The trainers at Tsuberov were careful to keep their charges within the limits of their developing potential. At the present time there was too much happening around him that needed thinking about and he was drowning in pain, unable to concentrate. Too much had happened in too short a period of time and one could not really call any of it coincidence. Duo had never liked being out of the loop. If no one would tell him what has going on around him then he would discover it for himself. He was naturally inquisitive and had a natural instinct for sniffing out trouble. He knew there was trouble at Tsuberov and already he had an insight into what was really happening and what little he knew only whet his appetite to learn more. What he knew about the events of the last few days was only the tip of the iceberg and already events seemed to be spiralling into a storm of supposition and confusion. There was a lot to be considered and it had to be approached from multiple angles before he could hope to understand what exactly was happening within Tsuberov's structured and generally ordered society. He wanted to sit down and compose himself and take his time to dissect what he knew; the little bits and pieces, the tantalising hints that suggested murder and mayhem and the curiosity that was revealed to be Heinrich Otto. He wanted to concentrate on the succession of puzzles which might link into one single solution, but there was simply too much pain, too much discomfort, to allow him to concentrate and sort the jumble of impressions and hope to make sense of it all. He wanted, equally as badly, to curl into a ball of misery and sleep, hoping to wake free of pain and clear headed. If he did not know it would be a damnably stupid thing to do he would take the entire bottle of pain killers and empty the little blue pills down his throat just to stop the thundering in his head. He was too world savvy to make that kind of stupid mistake. There were a lot of things Duo Maxwell was, but suicidal was not one of them. //Damn, I've never had a head like this before!// Tsuberov kept a strict regime of exercises to build up a student's capabilities, developing their stamina, reach and sensitivity in gradual stages. A certain level of discomfort and, yes, pain was to be expected, but this kind of pain…this degree of pain? No. No, this kind of pain usually meant both student and teacher were at fault for failing to read the individuals limitations. At least that would be the case in a training environment. And he had not even done anything of a strenuous nature with his talent to warrant the pain! That was what irked him the most, he knew. It was through no fault of his own, no activity he had initiated himself, that saw him feeling the pounding of a dozen sledge hammers bashing at his skull. Otto had said she did not have control of her psi talent and that was why she was at Tsuberov. She was a first year, a rank novice who clearly outstripped the capabilities and experience of her teachers at her home who would have trained her from the first indication of her possessing a psi ability. That was why she was at Tsuberov, to get the kind of attention required to pull her talent in line. Relena of Sanc, Crown Princess and really rather a pretty and personable young woman. Could he accuse her, it was certainly her fault, but if she had so little control of her talent… An untrained psi was a danger to themselves and everyone in their vicinity. He had heard it touted time and again and he knew it was true. This was only a minor example of that rule. The little blue pills would quiet the thundering and if they did not he would request assistance. He was not a fool and if the pain did not ease within an appreciable period of time then he knew he was in trouble and what he must do. He could have wished he had been doing something enjoyable to deserve the hangover from hell. The after effects of drinking all night would have given him at least some joy in earning this kind of pain, but he had not even had the pleasure of tasting and over indulging. The only pleasure he would have in swallowing something would be two of the little blue capsules and there was no kick to be found in them to delight his system. Ah, well, not quite true. The delight in swallowing them would come with the easing of the infernal pounding in his head. Two. That was all he could allow himself to take. They were potent, designer drugs formulated to aid specifically a telepath or high level empath to control the headaches that resulted from overflow to their receptors. They were also safe for other psi talents to use, but only the telepaths and empaths used them with any regularity and he only had ease of access to them because he roomed with two very high talent empathic telepaths. Two pills and then he could approach Quatre to help ease the tension in him. He knew from past experience that Quatre had great hands and he could somehow channel his empathy into a person he touched… No, Duo knew that was not exactly what Quatre did to make you feel good, in fact it was a piss poor description of the magic Winner was capable of, but damn it all, he just could not think straight and he wanted relief. Relief was what you felt to have Quatre's hands on you, massaging your shoulders and neck and taking out all of the tension. A massage from Winner was what he needed; it would help to relieve the pain, guaranteed, but first… first he wanted out of the monkey suit. He swallowed the pills dry, rubbing at his temple with trembling fingers and with his teeth grinding. The pain had not felt this bad a few minutes ago, it was not his imagination, but that was alright. It was not dangerous, not yet and he could do something about it. A hot shower would help to relax him and give the pills a few minutes to start working. Taking a steadying breath he moved to lean out of the bathroom door, looking around the suite until he found Quatre standing near the motionless pair of men engaged in deep level psi work and oblivious to everything but their own inner world. That was just one of the questions he wanted answers to. Just what the hell did Zechs think he was doing allowing a veritable stranger into his head? Tsuberov's policies expressly forbade such interaction and for very good cause. //Prime Talent or not, how the fuck did Zechs think he could trust a stranger?// He would have Quatre answer his questions when he felt better, but not now. Quatre should have known better than to aid and abet the contact; he should have screamed blue bloody murder to stop the interaction. Tsuberov, despite whatever Quatre might think, would be more than vocal about this breach. Duo would ask and he would expect answers, but that was third on his `to do' list. Pills swallowed, one down, and now second on his list was that hot shower he was aching for. "Hey, Kitty Kat." "Duo?" Winner turned immediately, one blonde eyebrow arched and aqua blue eyes concerned. "You don't look so great." Winner looked relaxed enough, Duo supposed, given Quatre was developing a frown the longer he looked at him. Which probably meant there was no trouble with the working pair as yet, though that might change quickly enough. Otto had yet to make an appearance in the suite so Duo presumed he had time enough to sort himself out and get comfortable. Otto was sure to be a bit miffed by the breaches of etiquette that had taken place this night and Duo was not going to miss anything interesting just because of a headache. He hoped Otto remained outside of the suite and continue to argue, or whatever he was doing by now, with the men he presumed were the Prime's agents, that should help keep the man focused on anything other than his earlier activities shared with Quatre. Until he felt human enough to listen attentively to anything of interest and not miss something which might fill in a missing puzzle piece, he wanted that man otherwise occupied. Who would win out of a confrontation between Tsuberov's Otto and the Prime T/E's security contingent? Would Otto have a few choice words to say in the Prime's hearing? Of course he would, Duo had never known Otto to back down. Oh yes, headache be damned, he was going to watch that! "I'm just going to have a quick shower and see if it will help with this headache." "I think that's a good idea. When you are done I'll help ease the tension if you wish?" Duo nodded, yes he certainly did wish for all the help he could get, but he cast a glance again at the working pair, wondering just how thin Quatre could afford to spread himself. "Yeah, that would be good. I'd really appreciate it, but… Not going to cause a problem with them, is it?" Quatre frowned for a moment, blue eyes flicking back toward the men seated in frozen tableau and shook his head slowly. "They are rock solid. Stable. There has not been so much as a flicker out of place in either aura for the deep level they are working on since they started. It's really rather an eye opening experience to monitor that kind of ability and training. I can monitor them while I work on easing the pain for you without a problem." He would have to trust in Quatre to know his own limitations, that level of skill was what they were at Tsuberov to learn after all. Zechs was still a student but he had already qualified for his Prime Empathic rating and had almost completed his Prime Telepathic certification. He and Winner were years behind Zechs in their studies and this simply proved what they had always known. If Zechs could work on a par with a certified Prime level psychic without missing a beat… Well, he would not long remain at Tsuberov. "Great. I've taken a couple of those magic little blue pills you and Zechsy swear by, and I'll have a shower and get changed. Won't be long." "Take your time, Duo. I rather doubt the Prime will be finished for a while yet and those pills will need a good few minutes to work. That I can see, there is no need to rush." "Not too sure I like the sound of that, Quatre." His gaze locked on the working men, studying them, searching for even the faintest flicker of an eyelash, or the smallest twitch of a muscle, or tick of a nerve. "Not too sure I like that at all." "Oh, its okay! Really. No problem at all. Zechs needs this kind of attention; you would not believe the difference I can feel in him. Compared to what he `felt' like when we came up here tonight… Well, there actually is no comparison. It's… rather remarkable, really, such a large change in so short a time. Go and have your shower and then I'll work on you." A moments more hesitation, but there was little he could do and Duo knew it. He sure as hell could not interrupt a working session; that would be dangerous to everyone involved and potentially more so to those in the immediate vicinity from any backlash. To interrupt and intrude upon a deep session of two Prime level psychics… well, he really was not suicidal. Zechs was a credited Prime level even though he had not, as yet, received his official certification. One Prime psychic going off his tree would be too much, but two? No, the consequences did not bear thinking about. Duo would be patient and if he thought things were getting out of hand he would do the responsible thing and call Tsuberov's laboratories and get some of the trainer's quick smart. //Since when have I been that responsible? Damn, spending time in Tsuberov is changing me.// With a nod that threatened to have his head fall from his shoulders at the resulting spike of pain, Duo retreated into the bathroom. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowed against the bright lights that flipped on automatically as he turned on the shower and quickly manipulated the heat setting. He wanted the water temperature to be at the high end of his tolerance to work into his aching muscles, but it would have been kinder on his aching head if he could have enjoyed the shower in a darkened environment. He was quick to remove his clothes, carefully placing the suit neatly on the rack that came standard with the suite, trousers precisely folded and jacket on the hanger provided. He treated his shirt more casually, tossing it aside with his socks and boxers to later be placed in the laundry basket. After a long moment of hesitation he removed his hair tie and unravelled his braid before stepping under the spray. Normally he would not have considered washing his hair at this late hour of the night, but normally he did not have a killer headache to nurse. Plunging his head beneath the spray of blessedly hot water Duo simply stood, head bowed and eyes closed, allowing the water to cascade over him. It was such an awesome feeling to allow the heat to soak into him. To just stand still and enjoy the warmth, to let the water jets massage him and ease the aches and pains he had not been aware of before Otto had joined them at the elevators. If he stood under the hot spray long enough it was sure to help relax him. He wanted desperately to get rid of the pounding in his head and a few minutes of standing still and allowing the warmth and force of the water to work on him and then he would force himself to shift. He would wash his hair and while lathering in the shampoo and conditioner he would be massaging his scalp and find some small relief in the action. It was all designed to give those pills a decent amount of time to ease the pressure in his head and soothe the aches so that Quatre would be able to work on him. He needed to relax as much as possible to make it easier for Quatre to work his particular kind of magic. With a low sigh he reached for the shampoo but dropped his hand… he had time, surely, to just soak a little more? He had always enjoyed washing his hair, massaging with gentle but strong fingers against his scalp. That would be sure to help but not just yet, though the weight of his hair was currently not so pleasant. The headache was not being helped by the sheer weight of the mass of very wet hair but the pleasure, small as it was, of just standing under the spray was worth it. //Anyone would think I had been drinking all day.// He tilted his head back, baring his face to the spray and moaned softly with pleasure. Lifting his hands slowly, extending his arms high above his head… interlacing and locking his fingers together and taking a single step forward. The hot spray hit him between his shoulder blades and he moaned again. //Anyone would think I was getting it off in the shower.// Slowly he worked his shoulders, rotating first forward and then back, stretching cramped muscles, tilting his head for additional stretch, slowly, always slowly for fear of something breaking. He felt it would be all too easy to strain something if he moved too quickly and too deeply, but it was such a pleasure to indulge himself at the moment. It felt so incredibly good having the hot water massaging his aching muscles. He might almost say it was better than sex, but, let's be realistic he mused, nothing could be better than good old fashioned, wholesome sex. //Not that I've enjoyed a good bit of rough and tumble for a long time.// Being unattached had its down side, and it was not as though he was a high level telepath or empath who had trouble with intimacies. It was just that he did not particularly fancy anyone in his acquaintance at present. His room mates were certainly not on his `to be humped if the chance arose' list. He had learned in the past that one did not engage in casual relationships of the sexual type with one's room mate. It was unfortunate, but such relationships in the past had become messy fast, and he had had enough of that. No, facts were facts. There were plenty of hot guys at Tsuberov; he was homosexual and while he admired the girls it was the guys who heated his blood, but none of them stirred him. They were too `rich' for his blood. Duo was well aware of who he was, where he had come from and what and where he wanted to be in the future. His desire in regards to a partner of the intimate persuasion lay more along the lines of being more `down to earth' than the children of the uber rich and famous. It was silly really, given that Quatre was one of the children of those uber rich and famous families and, Duo admitted, but only to himself, that he wouldn't mind indulging there. But, thankfully, he was not really into Quatre's innocent and clean cut look. Room mates were out of bounds. Zechs would have better fitted the bill, certainly he was hot as and came from a background that certainly did not fall into the luxurious and wealthy in the extreme category, but again there were problems. Both Quatre and Zechs were telepathic empaths of high ability and sex for them was… well, secondary. Circumstances had to be just right for them to consider indulging in intimate contact and Duo was far too open and, in all honesty, sexually based than either of the two could handle safely. No, he wanted someone who was from a different background than money and privilege, someone who knew more than what it was to be waited on hand and foot. He needed a partner who did not chance insanity, or hurting their partner in the `heat of the moment' with an unguarded thought and who could fend for himself no matter where they were or what they were doing. For Duo there was no need for such concerns for any partner to be able to match his psi abilities simply to have a chance of surviving sex with him. He did not particularly care if any prospective partner in the future had so much as a single iota of psi talent. Blue eyes swam unbidden to peer at him from his closed eyelids. Blue eyes and unruly brown hair… //Shit! Where did that come from? No fucking way! That is just wrong, Maxwell.// It was just as well the thumping in his head, which had moderated somewhat he was pleased to note, gave him something other than that particular hot arse to think about. Thinking about that certain individual would only cause his blood to rush to southern regions and give him something else to worry about. He needed to get his mind back on track and stop fantasising about the `hot as' arse of the investigator visiting the campus. //But its such a nice arse.// No, best to change focus now. Where best to start? The demon in the nether regions had already twitched and he really did not feel up to playing with his problem self. Grabbing the shampoo bottle he squeezed the tube, shifting his position to move his head from under the spray of water. Shampoo curled, cold and creamy into the palm of his hand and he closed his eyes as he began to work it into a lather through the cascade of his hair, stepping forward in the shower to concentrate the water better to flow down his back. It took time to wash a head of hair as full as his and he fell to practising his breathing exercises to assist in calming his body as he pulled more and more of his hair into his hands. There were other things to think about than one sexy… Damn. Time for a mental list which he determined to write down when time and circumstance allowed. There was Otto. The Security Chief and his somewhat more than suspicious behaviour of late; the man had to be working for someone, some agency or company other than Tsuberov. It was not so unusual for elite Security personnel to engage in multiple contracts, but something struck Duo as being wrong about this particular circumstance if that was what Otto was involved in. After witnessing what he and Winner had in the Security Chief's Office, there was little doubt the man was working for more than just Tsuberov, but who… and importantly, why? At this elite level Otto would be very well rewarded financially, so money was not likely to be an issue. Tsuberov had the money to pay well for the best of the best. There was the Sancian Crown Princess who had entered their lives with all of the finesse and delicacy of a bomb going off. The girl seemed to have no doubts at all that Zechs was a cousin, and Duo might not know much about the noble families of Earth but he knew enough to know they were picky about who they claimed openly as being a part of their bloodlines. Relena's claim and Otto's debunking of those claims had shit loads of weirdness attached to it. And to add additional substance to the growing list of questions how about a T/E Prime suddenly appearing from out of nowhere to work on a panic attack that was, according to Quatre, apparently not a panic attack? It was not as though the man would have been lurking in the vicinity to just pick up on a vibe and come running. There was someone, not someone he wanted to meet, he decided, who didn't think twice about disrupting an institute the size of Tsuberov and necessitating the summoning of a private and highly qualified group of investigators to the campus. It was not as though Otto was incapable of investigating a bit of malicious damage after all. Then there was the death on campus and that, Duo supposed, explained the investigators well enough, though none of them were simple law enforcement investigators. Internal security could not investigate a death. That kind of incident had to be investigated by the appropriate law enforcement agencies. These guys were a little more than police and that was enough to get him curious as to exactly why they had been summoned. Simply saying they were on site because Tsuberov housed the children of the highest profile citizens of the ESUN seemed… well maybe it was that simple. //Way too many questions. Come on man, you are supposed to be calming the headache down, not stressing out and giving it a boost.// Pick a topic and indulge in some weirdness, he mused. The whole thing might have been some stupid arsed game show on the entertainment channels except for the fact he and his friends were involved and someone had died. Would there be a prize if he came up with an answer or two? //This sure as hell ain't soothing. Oooh, pardon me. Ain't ain't grammar and I ain't gonna use it are I.// He cracked a grin and shook his head slightly. //Have to remember that. My elocution teacher would be proud of me. Do I really want to think about any of it?// No. No, he really did not want to consider any of it tonight. Not until the thumping in his head eased enough for him to draw an even breath and he could be sure he was thinking clearly. Returning to the series of breaths that concentrated his focus and based his working concentration before he began an exercise, he reached again for the shampoo, squeezed and began working a lather up in the hair he had not yet attended to. Those magic blue pills were beginning to work and by the time he worked the conditioner through his hair and did a final rinse off he would, if he was lucky, be able to deal with Quatre. He wanted whatever answers Quatre could give him and then he wanted nothing more than a good nights sleep. ———————————————- Deep shadows, always welcoming, always safe, always friendly. It did not matter, the smell, the openness of the sky above. It was shadowed, safe… it had always been safe in the shadows so why… Throbbing, agonising, consuming… Why now… Pleasure. Why now did it seem so… Scream in the night, muffled, he must not draw attention. To draw attention was to destroy the safety of the shadows. He did not wish to be noticed. He had been warned. Good… Very good but… Wrong, so wrong. It… did not last. Nothing was right. Unease returned as soon as the moment was over. "You really were a virgin, heh?" It was wrong now. For the first time he was not sure of the shadows' safety. Was it because of… him? Because he was not alone? It should not be so… so sordid. The moment was gone, the pleasure gone. Now the smell was noticeable… worse than it had been before. It was so ugly. So wrong. There was supposed to be pleasure in the act. Pleasure. It was supposed to make him feel good. Feel good… for more than a moment. Feel good, not unclean. "Can't say I've had many first timers." Shut up. Shut up! It was not time to talk, not time to prove how wrong this was. The shadows were not safe while there was someone near. "Well, you didn't last long, but there is no discount." Sirens somewhere in the night. Wailing their alarm to the star pointed darkness, filling the canyons between the buildings with sounds that matched the wailing in his head. Wrong, so very wrong. Where was the wonderful feeling he had heard you were supposed to have? "Come on back if you want another go, sweetie." Shut up! "Hands off unless you want to pay for a second round… but something tells me you don't have the stamina." It was ruined. Wrong. "Hey! I said hands off unless I see the colour of your money." His hands tightened… his head throbbed and the sirens wailed… always wailed… and he would not shut up! Where was the pleasure, the… afterglow… that was what he had been told good sex left one with. The afterglow that made all the effort worthwhile. He had found nothing… nothing but mess and stench and garbage. The afterglow that made the dirt and mess worthwhile… where was it? "Sgh...ahg..'et… go!" "Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" A moment, one single moment when the world shattered… It had felt good and then… nothing. Nothing… garbage, stinking garbage and sluttish greed. There was only pain and dirt and mess and… and… wrongness. The scent to match the mess. The reek of garbage, the filth of human waste piled up around him, reeking and disgusting. The foulness of humanity hidden in the darkness but reeking, always reeking. Where was there pleasure to be found in this disgusting act called sex? His fingers tangled in dark hair, tightening to the point of shooting pain through his knuckles, hot thickening fluid coating his hands. It was… not… good…All of it was not good. The wailing, the weeping… the screaming. Why did he hear nothing of the pain to be found in sex? Why did so many seek it out? Was mankind truly so depraved at to want this stinking, oozing sweating contact? Was that singular moment when the world came apart worth it? Why did he hear nothing of the… mess? Why did he only hear talk of love and the pleasure it could give? This was wrong. It was not how it should be. It was not how it must be for Him. HE must know pleasure It was disgusting. Drool. Disgusting, messy slobber running from pierced nostrils, slack lips, mixing with darker liquid to flow pink. Sounds that echoed pain continually haunting and howling. Hands clawed and scratched. Jagged nails cracked and broken, tearing at the ground… legs flailing, feet grinding into garbage. Filth like all the rest of the filth surrounding them. Fire in his veins burning to the core… A different kind of pleasure. The ultimate pleasure he had known once before. Yes, there had been pleasure in this disgusting little alley, but nothing like he desired the release to be… gone far, far too quickly. Just… It was just a disgusting mess. It would not do. There must be more to be had than… this. The scent of burning overshadowing the stench of refuse. A moment of burning fire, pure pleasure, but overshadowed too quickly by the disgust, the horror of human garbage. His hands clenched tighter. Pain rising in a steady wave, fast, hard…Rising panic. A mistake. His mistake. His fault for shamelessly debasing himself with garbage. It could never be what it should have been with less than perfection touching him… touching in turn… Gasping gurgle in the darkness, garbage shifting, kicking. Shut up. This was… had been… sordid. Disgraceful. Shut up. He should have known what he needed to learn he could never learn from a street walker. Shut up! This was… wrong. This heat he had felt, hot, sweaty, disgusting… was lust. The brief flare of fire in that one moment of pleasure was lust alone and therefore it was not pleasure. Lust was disgusting. Lust was dirt and garbage and pain. Lust was not and never could be what love could give. The one, He who was desired, was no whore who would sell himself to any taker with credit enough to pay. This was not the mouth he would taste; who he would have taste him. Not the one he would plunder, savour… worship. No, this had been… was… a mistake. The screaming was quieted, the sirens shrill wailing gone into the night. The pain rising around him was personal, from deep within. Deep spears of intensely blinding pain crashing in to fill the silence filling his world in the aftermath of the sirens. Pain throbbing in his head, replacing the screaming wails that had torn into his delicate ears. Finally the whore was silent but the pain… the pain was rising and he could feel blood on his face, dripping, running over his skin, seeping from his ears, from his nostrils, from his eyes. He must return. He needed his dark and silent place. It was too much too soon. His mistake. Hands unclenched from fists, stiff, his fingers jerking; tiny spasms trembling as he released… long hair slipped through his fingers, tickling his palm, snagging on his ring. This was not love. This was not… not even sex. This was… was… Fornication. He had made a mistake and like all mistakes he would learn from it. Pain was returning with more speed and greater intensity than he had expected. Relief from pain had been all too brief and he needed to calm himself. His mistake for acting too soon, for making such stupid mistakes as to mistake lust for love and for soiling himself fornicating with garbage in the midst of garbage. There was… he must… no witnesses? No. He was safe. There had been no one to watch him approach the whore. He had been careful, wanting to be discrete. No one had watched him walk away from the crowded street with the whore. He had been just one of many bodies in the street and… and… only one of many talking to a whore. A slut. A streetwalker no one would miss. It had been dark. He had been well covered, a hat and long coat, nothing distinctive, nothing to mark him as being above the dross of humanity. Pain spearing through his head. Making it hard to think… but no. He was safe from discovery. He was sure. No one had watched them… watched them… watched… him… Watched him soil himself. Defile himself. Degrade himself. No one had been there to watch. No one witnessed his debasement. He must purify himself. Cleanse himself. Wash away the depravity, the filth, the sin. He could not, must not, approach Him covered in the filth of the streets. He must not soil Him. Thrust the clinging filth from him. Filthy. He was filthy. He needed to bathe, to purify himself. It clung to him, the filth of the whore, the filth of the garbage, the filth of his sin. "Stop screaming." He could hear screaming, the whore, the garbage, the world… It screamed at him, hurting him, dominating the world… He must return to his safe place, his haven in the dark. Dark and silent and safe. There he could cleans himself, make amends and purify himself, beg forgiveness… "Stop screaming." He could not, must not, face the lights. If he walked out into the streets, within the bright rays of the lights, someone might see him. He must return to his safe place and to reach that haven he must walk the dark paths. The silent ways where few dared to venture, where none knew the way to his sanctuary. A long walk, but a safe walk and it would serve to quiet the thunder in his head. The walk, the sheer distance involved would help him to relieve the echoing screams in his head. He could quiet the pain rising around him, he had done it before and he was not afraid of the pain. They had said it might happen and he had been willing to experience it. Because it would give him HIM, the one he desired, the one he loved and worshipped. The walk would give him time to think. To plan. He needed to learn the art of love, not the art of depraved, lustful sex. Dirty, sordid, diseased sex. That depravity was all he would learn from the whores of the world. Disgusting. Dirty sex was all they knew…and how to scream. He would not soil his lover with something so… base. Sex… It was not sex he desired. He sought far more than lust. He sought to love. He desired to pay homage to the beauty of Him. Impure sex was not paying homage to perfection. Only purity could do that. He had soiled himself, made himself unworthy. He must… somehow, cleanse himself of the stench of the act of sex with the unclean. To set hand to Him one must be pure, perfect. To worship him one must be pure, perfect. To make love to Him he must be pure, cleansed. Perfect in his turn. One could not learn the art of love in a filthy back alley filled with stinking garbage from the refuse of society. How could anyone learn to love, adore, pay homage to and be worthy of perfection when one had only the dredges of humanity to look upon? "Stop… screaming…Stop… screaming…" Fornication was a disease rife throughout the city. Fornication was sin. Sin needed to be purified. Sluts. Whores. The dregs of society… All of them needed to be cleansed. Decent people could not walk the streets without whores approaching them, accosting them, tempting them to fall from a state of grace. He who was to be worshipped must not walk such filth laden streets. Not a dirt stained finger must touch him, not a sin laden mind must soil his beauty by looking upon Him. Something, someone, needed to do something. Something must be done to keep the streets safe. "Stop screaming… Stop screaming…" Something must be done. "You will…" He was unclean, unfit to approach Him. He must purify himself. Purify all who were soiled with the sin of lust. He must banish imperfection from His sight. None but the pure of heart and soul could be permitted to gaze upon Him. "You will… stop. You will…" He must make amends for his weakness. He must purify himself and prove himself worthy. "You will… stop screaming…" —————————— Below her, sprawling between the base of the cliff and the sea, New Port City spread in a sparkling gown of glittering lights. It might have been a ball gown of incomparable beauty instead of a seething mass of humanity. A city full of sparkling lights and gorgeous colours, a broad mix of the old and the new. New Port City claimed a beauty under the night sky anyone could see yet few looked at with any regularity. It was worthy of a lament that few individuals appreciated that rare beauty. She had always enjoyed the view from this wing of the palace. In her early days in the country the view had offered her some comfort and during these later years it offered her some hope. Her daughter's future was bright and she had no doubt Relena would step up to her place with pride and be the ruler these people needed. Not that her husband would soon find his passing. He was not a young man by any means, but he was healthy, alert of mind and had his hand firmly on the reins of power. Stephan Peacecraft had many more years of sitting upon the throne ahead of him and their daughter had time to grow into herself before taking up the mantle of Queen. Her early doubts about her marriage had faded as they had become familiar with each other. She had expected there to be more difficulties, in all honesty, than there had been, given the age difference when she had wed the King. He had ever been a gentleman and though he had been less than warm to her in the early days of their marriage they muddled along tolerably well. Who would have been enthusiastic given the circumstances of their arranged marriage? Certainly she had not been and therefore she could not blame Stephan for his reservations. It had proven not to be such a bad life becoming Queen to Stephan's King. In many ways it was rather archaic in Sanc. Traditions that were upheld and revered here were long forgotten elsewhere in Europe. Some days the quality of the time that filled the ancient hallways of the palace weighed heavily on her shoulders. In some of the older sections she would swear she had glimpsed strange things that, on second glance, proved not to exist at all. She had been a dutiful daughter of her house, reared to be aware of the necessities and advantages to be gained by playing political games. She had learned early to be aware of the world and knew before it had been formally announced to her family members, the political coup it had been for her father to successfully arrange her marriage into the House of Peacecraft. He had succeeded in not simply arranging a marriage into the House, but into the direct bloodline of the House. The marriage to the head of the bloodline placed her on the throne and gave her family a boost in social standing within her own country. Even in these enlightened times such arranged marriages were accepted, though the age difference had given rise to a few eyebrows. She had accepted her place within her family and her duty to the House and wed the man, but she need not fear the same fate for her daughter. Stephan had promised her Relena would not be bound by archaic chains and practises to provide an heir to Sanc. It was a promise she was determined he would keep. Stephan had long been King of Sanc before the marriage contract between them had been formulated. He had wed before, also an arranged marriage, losing his Queen and first born son in an accident. She felt for the man. He had had poor luck with his marriage bed, from what she had overheard her predecessor had not been easy to live with and they had not gotten on well together. It had made her fearful for his reaction to her after their marriage. He had not sought to marry after the disaster of his first arranged marriage, nor could she blame him, and only Parliament going behind his back to finalise the marriage contract saw him wed to her. It had been arranged and it would have been no small insult and a rather large political incident had he refused to honour the contract. He had been less than friendly at their first meeting, but given the circumstances surrounding the marriage contract she could not say that she faulted him for his reserve. To her, at that first meeting, she had the impression the man had been in mourning for years and had had little if any inclination to wed again. It was only later she had heard the rumours he had been less than friendly with his first Queen and so she assumed it was his son she mourned. He had been forty six when they had met, a widower for more than twenty years and he must have felt like a chastised child when presented with the marriage contract signed and sealed by Sanc's Parliament. Her own feelings on the contract had been varied. She had known since her early years a political marriage to strengthen her family's social standing lay in her future. She was only a low level psychic, graced with a mild empathic talent, and her talent had given no excuse to avoid physical intimacies. At the time of the contract there had been no laws in effect for Psi's to provide a minimum of three heirs and she could not say she was of a mind to smile on the thought of artificially breeding children. Whilst not a fan of the modern use of artificial breeding practises to provide talented children for the future, she admitted the practise might give her daughter some surety of avoiding her fate to be a brood mare for the bloodlines. In this modern time even the reigning head of a country was not excused, if one was a high level psi, from providing sufficient heirs to ensure the continuation of desired genes. That was a battle yet to be fought with Parliament, one she would fight willingly to see her daughter free to choose her own partner. She could not say she had not been happy with Stephan, their marriage had been far from unpleasant, but she wanted better for her daughter. If Relena desired to wed she would be pleased, but if the girl chose to breed by contract, foregoing the whole `you must have a consort' tradition, then she would have her mother's backing. How fortunate might the girl be to deal so well with any arranged matches that might be contracted with any suitable young males as she had been with Stephan? Far better for there to be children birthed through the tenants of the Psi Contract, one to inherit the throne of Sanc and Relena free to choose a life partner for honest affection. Certain members of Parliament would choke on that thought. Interesting days lay ahead, but she would not rest until there was an agreement. For her daughter's sake. But Relena was not the issue that interested her this night. Raising a delicate hand to her forehead Katherine pinched the bridge of her nose and wondered, not for the first time in a few hours, what it could mean that the old woman had come to Sanc. Gabriella had been to Tsuberov, that had come out in their conversation over tea in the conservatory, and Relena was currently resident at Tsuberov. Was there cause for her to worry for her daughter? "Madam. His Majesty has returned." Perhaps now she might have some answers to questions she had not dared to ask the old woman. Stephan had often avoided her more direct questions in the past concerning his younger years and was adroit at using means both subtle and direct of turning her attention elsewhere rather than answer her questions. He had an unfair advantage in his psi talent, it was his greatest aid when dealing with people and she was by no means immune to his talent or his charm. "You may request he meet me in the solar in a few minutes." It was an instruction not a question despite the manner in which she had phrased it, and she had no doubt Stephan would be there though the servants would certainly put a different slant on the request. He was always considerate of her and the relationship they had forged over the years and over this last week he had been largely absent from the palace. Given the amount of interaction they had shared he would not begrudge her an hour of his time now that his business for the day was concluded. No doubt someone would have taken the time and effort to inform him of the identity of their most recent and much esteemed guest. "Have refreshments served. Cognac, I dare say for Stephan, and Earl Grey Tea." The faintest motion of her hand, the staff were all trained to pick up on small signals, denoted she was done with her instructions. The staff who served in the private family quarters were adept at reading body language and an assortment of set signals, and she was well aware just how many of them were distant cousins of the Blood. One did not insult the staff in the private Peacecraft quarters as they were all to varying degrees, blood related to the King. Cousins, they were commonly called. The Peacecraft penchant for interbreeding with the common masses had made little sense to her in the past, and she had viewed it as a rather nasty Lord of the Manor rights and privileges from the Dark Ages, to be loose and free with common women. Time and exposure to the ways of Sanc had subtly altered her perspective and she admitted having the Cousins attend the direct line family worked. The Cousins could be found throughout all levels of the hierarchy in the palace and they were highly trusted with sensitive information and tasks. What most astounded her about the practise of taking in children born of such liaisons was that the practise had been followed for centuries and, not even in the dark days of feudal Europe, had one of these children born out of wedlock been involved in revolution against the crown. Sanc all too often seemed to be a world apart and some days she still felt herself to be an interloper. "Ma'am." She did not need to see him bow his way out of the room, she had witnessed it hundreds of times since her arrival in Sanc. Over the years she had heard whispers concerning this old woman who had arrived unannounced. She was the oldest, the original Prime T/E talent. She had assisted in the formation of the current rules and ranking system that governed all with psionic talent and this august personage had arrived without fanfare or advance warning. Were the stories she had heard of this old woman exaggeration? She could only hope so. This was, undoubtedly, The Gabriella she had heard about since coming to Sanc. It had been somewhat more than twenty years since last Gabriella had been in Sanc, and from accounts that last visit had been anything but uneventful. It had been just after her marriage contract had been finalised and announced to the world at large, as she recalled, though she had never laid eyes on the woman herself. From her isolated guest quarters surrounded by her family to insulate her from the local happenings, she had heard of a stir in the King's inner circle of attendants and Ministers, but she had no idea as to its cause… not then and not to this day. Her assumption had been it was a less than favourable reception of the contract. Gabriella, from what she knew of the woman, might well have objected to the contract. She was Prime. She was somehow involved with the Peacecrafts on an intimate level and from all reports she was rather strongly opinionated and not shy of letting her views be known. Following their shared refreshments she found herself rather liking the old woman who had not struck her as being the devil she was reputed to be. Which meant that the old woman was probably worse than rumour had it. Thinking back to that long ago time, Katherine had a vague recollection there had been whispers of someone dying. A Cousin? Perhaps, she mused, certainly someone who had an effect on the rather broad `family' that made up the Peacecrafts, though she could not recall how the relationship might have equated to the direct lineage. There were, in her opinion, far too many Cousins to keep track of and at that time everything about Sanc had been foreign. She did know that the Prime was blood related to the Peacecrafts, accounted a family member, albeit one to be watched and tip toed around. She supposed that given the Prime had blood links to Sanc's ruling line that the person who had died, if that was what her presence had been about, might have been one of her children, or perhaps a grandchild? There had been no large funerals and the palace had not entered into any official mourning period that she had noticed so she could not be sure, but whatever it was the old woman had arrived in a rage. From the whispers that had filtered to the guests in residence, the Prime had made quite the impression on staff and parliament alike; particularly on Stephan and his Chief of Security, Lord Alistair Pagan. The self same Alistair Pagan Gabriella had come to see this morning after more than twenty years of absence from the country. He had been quick to come to her summons, formally bowed to Gabriella with the exact same degree of formality as he bowed to Stephan, and thereafter the pair had adjourned to a private meeting that was still ongoing. That meeting had begun hours ago and neither had appeared since. Her servants informed her refreshments had been served at Pagan's summons periodically, and in the last two hours instructions had been given for them not to be disturbed. That instruction had come from Gabriella and she had sited psi work would be in progress. To say that her curiosity was piqued was an understatement. She felt positively left out, an outsider looking in. Pagan was a curious old bird. Sometimes over the past years the old man would look at her and she would get the unsettled feeling that he blamed her for something. That she had done something which had affected him and, to her knowledge, they had never crossed words. She had her own staff to liaison with Security and during social occasions they were impeccably polite to each other. It had gone on long enough. She wanted answers. //Perhaps Stephan can give me some of the answers tonight.// Drawing in a deep breath Katherine Peacecraft smoothed her gown, squared her shoulders and set her carriage as befitted her station. A moment to firm her resolve before facing whoever she must pass who stood between her and her meeting with her husband and she swept from the parlour. Her husband would be unlikely to reach the solar before her and he would have long ago been informed of their guest and that Gabriella was currently ensconced with Pagan in a closed meeting. Whilst it was not by any means early in the evening they rarely retired before midnight, and since Stephan had been absent for the majority of the day he could very well keep her entertained whilst she waited for the meeting between the Prime and Pagan to conclude. And he could talk to her about the past and the role Gabriella played in it. ~ * ~ |
