I have five minutes to post this. That's how long it took me to come up with something.

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TweenisodeOrange: Please do! Thanks for reading.

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11/10/13: The Meeting

Vlad Masters looked at the meeting place in distaste.

It was a nameless bar, nestled on a back alleyway in the dead centre of Brooklyn, and an unsavoury one at that. Rubbish was blown in the bitter wind about him – a single streetlamp flickered above.

"Charming," he grunted.

He walked in the door, grimacing at the filthy door handle, and went inside. He crossed his arms, sighed, and looked at his watch.

"Well, who's this?"

A group of three thugs had gotten up from the bar counter. Vlad sighed heavily.

"Looks like we got ourselves a rich boy, huh?" sniffed their leader.

He walked up to Vlad and crossed his arms.

"I'm not interested, gentlemen," said Vlad.

"Not interested?" the leader made a show of nodding his head, "Well listen buddy, 'cause we've got rules around here. To live in this part'a town, we need a bit a'..."

"Protection Money?" sniffed Vlad.

"Tribute," snapped the leader, "Let's say...a thousand. Hand it over, and there'll be no trouble."

Vlad shook his head.

"Sorry," he said, unapologetically, "But the answer is no."

"I don't believe I gave you a choice," snarled the leader, "Now, let me say it again. I want..."

Vlad leapt up from his chair and uppercut the thug closet to him. The second lunged at him, only for the billionaire to duck under his attack and flip him over. Putting a foot on the thug's back, he grabbed the leader's collar with one hand and lifted.

The whole attack had lasted about a second.

"You will get nothing," Vlad spat.

The leader paled.

"Yeah, yeah, sure man, we-we were just testing you," he gulped, 'N-no hard feelings, huh?"

Vlad scowled and dropped the thug onto his back. Shaking his head, he walked up to the barman.

"I'm here for a meeting," he snapped, "The gentleman in question asked me to talk to you. Something about...passage to Avalon."

The barman nodded, passing a key over the counter.

"Back room," he said, "You'll need the key."

Vlad took the key, smirked and walked away.

The barman glanced at the thugs, who were now limping out the door.

"And for getting rid of them," he called out, "All drinks are on the house for the rest of the night."

The bar's customers cheered.


The meeting room was small and somewhat smoky. Vlad sat down at the small mahogany table, taking in his fellow's presence.

"Mr. Masters," nodded a scarred man in a three-piece suit, "I trust you had no trouble finding us?"

"None at all, unfortunately," sniffed Vlad, "This place is a sty, Mr. Cromwell."

Mr. Cromwell nodded in agreement.

"It was all I could arrange," he sighed, "Resources have been sparse since...since Camlann."

His expression darkened at the name.

"So it's true," nodded Vlad, "The Witchfinder-Generals have fallen from grace."

"Our best were lost in the battle," Cromwell snarled, "And when the British Government found out about us, they came down on us with a vengeance. I am, as far I know, all that is left."

"Shame," said Vlad, his tone betraying no hint of genuine pity for the man, "But that doesn't explain why I'm here."

"I can tell you."

A green-eyed woman clad in a hooded robe looked up at Vlad. The billionaire's eyes narrowed.

"Morgan le Fay, I presume?"

Morgan le Fay nodded.

"You've met?" demanded Mr. Cromwell.

"Once or twice," replied Vlad, "When one has dealt in the supernatural as long as I have, they generally tend to make acquaintances...and enemies..."

"Today is not the day, Vladimir," interrupted Morgan, "We are here to discuss the most base of desires – revenge."

"I thought the most base of desires was se..." Mr. Cromwell began.

"Revenge against what, exactly?" quizzed Vlad.

"Revenge against those who ruined our lives," replied Morgan, "I'm sure you can think of someone..."

"Jack Fenton," Vlad snarled, "But what about you?"

"The scientist that gave me these scars," replied Mr. Cromwell, pointing at his face, "Dr. Insano."

"Guinevere," said Morgan, simply.

"We all want revenge, Mr. Masters."

All eyes turned to the head of the table. A cloaked individual was hunched over the table, his(?) hood down.

"You, me, Cromwell, Morgan," he continued in an unnaturally deep voice, "And untold others all thirst for it. We can and we will make our foes pay for what they have done to us."

"How?" demanded Vlad.

"I thought you would never ask," replied the cloak.

The wall behind him lit up – a hologram of an ancient city appeared above the cloak.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, "We must capture El Dorado."


Arc arc arc arc arc arc arc arc!