Chansons de Geste – Songs of Deeds

by Cataglottisme

Beta-reading : Floofwolfe

- Chapter 1 : Out of Tune -

"Shit... You're getting sloppy, mate."

He couldn't believe that the newbie had pulled a fast one on him. He hadn't been focused enough. He had fallen for the oldest trick of the trade. He had underestimated his opponent. If he had been fighting a Paladin, he'd be dead by now.

"Fuck."

His left leg was hurting something fierce. He could feel beads of perspiration rolling down his temples. The whole situation was starting to aggravate him.

He blew away a lock of hair that was sticky with sweat, to keep it from falling over his eyes. He needed a haircut...

Fuck, he needed to get out of there, and fast.

He twisted his neck, squared his shoulders, and tensed his back. He tried to slide down another inch. If only he could slide under that metallic rod before -

"For fuck's sake!"

Shit, as if it wasn't hard enough to cope with the thousands of volts playing merry hell with his nervous system, he had to dodge the odd lost bullet too. He was a fucking sitting duck in there.

"For FUCK's sake..."

He wondered briefly why the electricity hadn't killed him yet. It should have, by now. But he had a suspiciously high tolerance toward electricity. That wasn't exactly normal. Even being shocked repeatedly by religious zealots during ten years couldn't account for such a resistance.

"... out of all countries..."

He had always wondered why the Paladins' tethers weren't built to kill. It would have been much easier for them to shock the Jumpers to death, instead of playing tag for hours. He suspected that a sick bastard like Roland might follow some kind of fucked up killing ritual. But then again, even amongst the Paladins, Roland was a special brand of crazy. Most of them just went straight for the kill with whatever came in handy.

But after all, maybe the tethers were aimed to kill. Maybe Jumpers had some kind of immunity against electricity...

There was something to dig here. He had to remember to try one of the Paladins' own weapons on them next time, to see if they dropped dead or not.

Another jolt ran through him, making him scream out loud. Well, electricity might not be lethal, but it sure hurt like a bitch.

"... this had to happen in fucking Chechnya."

Okay, another try. He was nearly over the rod now, if only he could slide out of the net of cables, he'd be able to concentrate long enough for Jumping. Not for a big Jump, but a couple of feet were enough to get him into cover.

"Fuck."

A bullet had just ricocheted under his jaw; another near miss. He was going to die here, because of that fucking American rat bastard, and his sneaky ways.

No.

Because of his own carelessness.

"Come on boy, concentrate. You have to get your skinny arse out of this fucking mess."

There! He'd done it.

Sliding out of the cables, he managed to Jump a few feet away, right behind the crushed Mexican truck. He rested a couple of seconds, long enough to gather his breath and try to rein in his emotions. Behind him, a building exploded, making the ground shake. Gritting his teeth, he used his left arm to deflect flying bits of cement and iron. He closed his eyes and exhaled, breath whistling between his teeth.

"I fucking hate Chechnya."

Without taking a last look at the surrounding battlefield, Griffin Jumped.

Japanese sacred grove wasn't a good site for a lair, but it certainly had its perks as a safe place.

Griffin had to stop and think.

Even though it had seemed like a fucking eternity at the time, he couldn't have stayed in Chechnya more than half an hour. So that meant that he still had a chance.

Roland and his Merry Men were all busy with Marvel Boy in Bumfuck, U.S.A , so they might not have had the time to dispatch a squad to his lair yet. He had a small window of opportunity, and he had to make do with it, and fissa.

He had two possible places already secured, but he had to pick one of them, and get moving shortly. France or India.

Choosing France meant going back underground, and Griffin wasn't too happy with the idea of holing up again. He had gotten used to open air. Not to mention that the last time he had been in France, it had been a complete fiasco. But still, the French location was ready to use, whereas the Indian one still needed some work.

He didn't have the luxury to be picky. Not when Paladins were breathing down his neck like now.

Fuck. He had liked his Egyptian lair.

Griffin sighed and scratched his chin. He needed a shave. Hell, he needed a shower, and a good night sleep. But this had to wait; the priority was to get out of Egypt.

It took Griffin nearly an hour to collect all his data (well, all the things that hadn't been burned, or squashed under a pile of rocks) and secure it all in his new lair. The few earthly possessions he had only took an extra couple of trips. The Chinese wooden chest seemed heavier than usual to him - the last 48 hours had really taken their toll. He was exhausted, and on top of that he was starting to get fidgety.

Griffin hated to have to up sticks like that, at the last minute.

But he was running out of time, he knew it. The Egyptian Paladin squad would be here soon, and he had to hurry up. He simply couldn't afford to leave behind anything that might potentially give him away.

He was outside, grabbing a couple of jerrycans, when he realized that the bus was still there. Sloppy work indeed.

'Never draw attention to yourself', heh? A fucking double-decker in the middle of the desert; now that was quite the eyesore...

Roland's presence had triggered something inside him, made him switch to stupid gut reactions, and kept him from using his brain. That shouldn't have happened. That shouldn't even be remotely possible.

Griffin already had had his share of clashes with Roland, and he had thought he had gotten over this kind of taunting long ago. The Paladin's words shouldn't even have reached him.

"It's time to send you home to Mommy!"

Fuck, that had hit straight home. The words, the tone, had burned him like a red pike, blinding him, sending him careening across the room. He had answered the bait by running straight into it, head down, like a kid throwing a tantrum.

He had thought that he was over it, that he had stopped caring, that the hurt had stopped. That he had become indifferent, somehow. That his mind was free from the pain, free to concentrate on this unique goal: vengeance.

He'd thought he had to die inside, to master his feelings, his impulses. When you suffer, you don't think; you just react. Revenge is best served cold, indeed. You have to build up your vengeance. You have to dedicate yourself to it. You can't let yourself be distracted by things like feelings, scruples, or second thoughts. Well, that had been the plan. It had worked nicely.

Up until now.

Something had gone awry in the last 24 hours...

No, it was before that. Something had gone awry since he had met that American rat bastard.

Griffin snorted and absent-mindedly kicked an empty jerrycan around, "Hah sure Griff', blame it on the boy. You loose your cool, and it's the newbie's fault."

But still. Meeting David had unlocked something in him. And he'd be damned if he didn't find what, and why.

His old pains were reawakening. He was straying from his routing, dropping his caution, strutting around Tokyo in a sport car, having fun playing hide and seek... Fun. For Christ's sake, he had been having fun like a retarded moron, when Roland and his posse of bigoted maniacs were running around, wreaking havoc.

But it had been fun; fighting with David.

A lot more fun than his usual games with the Paladins troops. Once the adrenaline rush ('Will they kill me first? Will I die today?') was over, the Paladins were quite a dull sort to fight. Always the same routine: 'thou shalt die', 'ho ho, this one knows how to fight', followed by a panicked look, and then they died. More or less. Their scientists barely came up with a new weapon every three or four months. Not enough to keep a young man like him busy.

But fighting with another Jumper, now that was something else!

The distant sound of a motor reached Griffin and interrupted his stream of thoughts.

They were getting there, and they had sent the whole fucking cavalry. He could hear at least three cars, and maybe a chopper. Time to get the fuck out of here.

Griffin set the three detonators, and waited until the last moment to Jump out of his former lair. The explosion would take care of the Jump Scar. This time, the Paladins would not be able to trace him.

In the Pyrenees Mountains, in Southern France, the sun was rising.

Deep under the earth, in his cave, Griffin didn't care. He had to get some rest, for his next day promised to be long. His last pal had coughed up a few access codes before going swimming, so he was going to take a stroll though the European Paladin database, to start. Maybe see if they were working on a new weapon or two.

Not to mention that he had to completely rebuild his network. Scout the surroundings, start triangulating the area...

And then, he had to find out if that annoying American brat was still alive.

Knowing Griffin's luck, he was.