Situations and Introductions
Five Worlds Saga
Nike
cloverhoney@angelfire.com
Disclaimer: I don't own Gargoyles. Disney and Buena Vista do. I'm just a poor college student doing this for fun so please don't sue me! All original characters are mine! You must have my permission to use them in any way. If you kidnap, steal, or otherwise use and abuse my characters and ideas I will hunt you down and sign you up for every Barney fan club in existence.
Warning: Violence, blood-shed, and some naughty words, so it's rated PG-13. I don't think it warrants higher than that, though. Oh, yes, I should probably tell/remind you that I have an odd sense of humor.
Author's Note: This is the second fanfic in my Five Worlds Saga. Basically some new and some old friends show up and you get to better know my characters.
And now our feature presentation…
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Situations and Introductions
Today:
Detective Elisa Maza was tired. Captain Chavez hadn't been too thrilled when their witness to the Quarrymen arson disappeared before they had even gotten a name or a way to contact him. Everyone in the precinct knew that a tall blonde man in his twenties with a sharp nose, wide chin, a gorgeous smile, and the nervous habit of running his hands through his hair had the potential to put John Castaway behind bars. The thing was, the man had refused to testify and had disappeared into thin air. No one knew who the man was or what he had been doing in the warehouse district at that time of night. All Elisa knew was that she, Matt, and Goliath were the only ones who knew what he even looked like and that finding a tall blue-eyed blonde in Manhattan was like finding a needle in haystack. What made things worse was the blood-covered knife that was later found at the scene and no one to compare fingerprints with.
Elisa filed the last of her paper work, stood up and stretched with a yawn, then grabbed her jacket and piece.
"Ready to go, Matt," he asked her partner. Detective Matthew Bluestone, formerly of the FBI, looked at his remaining paperwork and groaned.
"Yeah, I'll finish the rest tomorrow. I'm too tired to keep going."
"Great, I'll drop you off before I head home myself."
"Not stopping by Eyrie?" Matt asked as they slid into Elisa's red Fairlane. The dark-skinned woman shook her head.
"The guys are going to be asleep in fifteen minutes and I'd never make it in time with the traffic. Besides, I never really cared for Xanatos' conversations." Matt chuckled sleepily and they rode in a companionable silence the rest of the way to his apartment.
John Castaway sat sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. To his disappointment, the arson didn't make the front page. It got notice, of course. One couldn't set off a bomb in Manhattan and not get noticed. It just wasn't as big as he had hoped it would be. There was no mention of murder in the papers. Perhaps the man's corpse had fallen into one of the vats. If that were the case, then maybe it was for the best.
A knock drew his attention to the door.
"Come in." A man entered and stood there, hands at his side. He was a large brute but his menacing appearance was detracted from by the fact that his right forearm was swathed in medical gauze.
"Is he dead?" the Lenny Varden asked bluntly.
"No sign of any body. There's blessed little in the papers, though."
"Good. I hope that bloody gargoyle lover's dead," the large man stated. Castaway eyed the man's injury.
"How does it feel?"
"I got the top of my arm slashed with a damn knife! How do you think it feels?! Sir," Lenny added belatedly, remembering to whom he was talking.
"Indeed," Castaway quietly replied, "I'm trusting you'll to take care of your uniform. Patch up that slash and do try to get all of the blood off of it. That will be all." The brute gave a disgruntled grunt and left the room. Castaway turned back to his newspaper, frowning as he read a passage about a bloody knife.
Yesterday:
The burly man jumped back howling in pain. Castaway could see the blood freely flowing from the wound, could see the light flash on the gory knife the young man held defensively before him in the stance of a trained knife fighter.
"What's going on?" Castaway demanded, "And who is this?" The young man glared at Castaway.
"I could ask you the same thing except I know who you are, you prejudiced bigot," the young man stated fiercely.
"A gargoyle lover," Lenny Varden spat, holding his still bleeding arm. Castaway stepped forward.
"You can join us or you can be completely silent and go away."
"Or I could go to the cops and tell them you're about to blow a building sky high."
"We don't know what you're talking about," Castaway replied calmly. The young man's eyes flicked to the warehouse.
"Oh, please. I recognize C-4 when I see it. And if you think I'll help you in anyway, then you are sadly mistaken. Makes one wonder what your siblings think."
Castaway froze. How did…? But no one knew he was Jon Canmore. This man couldn't know. Still… no point in leaving loose ends.
"Then you leave us with no choice," Castaway said, gesturing. Everyone attacked at once. Several hands grabbed that arm that held the knife, forcing the young man to drop it while others held the squirming body still and someone held a cloth over the young man's mouth and nose. He struggled violently against them but the struggles slowed and finally stopped as the chloroform took hold. They quickly tied his wrists behind his back and Castaway watched as they placed him in an out of the way place. The fire fighters – who would come to control the blaze the Quarrymen's bomb would start – would find the young man. Castaway stood there, debating, as everyone else left the scene long before the bomb could go off. Everyone except the wounded man.
"I can't believe we're just leaving him here. He should die!"
"Then you won't mind helping me move him near the bomb then," Castaway stated. The burly man froze and then a smile stretched underneath the mask. Soon after finishing this task, they left, cold-bloodedly condemning a man to his doom.
A few days later:
Nicole Rye watched Nibs go through his routine, sword blade flashing in the early morning light. His movements were reminiscent of a by-gone age, before fencing was a gentleman's sport and used for survival instead. He seemed to combine moves that were part gymnastics, part martial arts. His torso was bare from the waist up and his sweaty skin gleamed in the early morning light. The flash of his blade, the gleam of his skin, the agility of his lithe body, even the soft smile that played upon his lips conspired together to make the young man appear to be absolutely beautiful and very dangerous. Then he stopped, turned, and bowed to her.
The spell was broken; he was no longer some lovely wild and dangerous beast. Instead he was a moderately good-looking young man whom nobody would call handsome.
"Come to spar, angel?" he asked with a friendly grin.
"No," she answered, shaking her head. He shrugged and turned away, toweling off his sweat.
"Why are you here?" he asked, picking up a black shirt.
"I was looking for a diversion and you provided an excellent one," Nicole answered, giving the backside he had turned to her an appraising look, "Your back is looking better, by the way." Nibs paused with his shirt over his head but not yet covering his bare, muscular back. Then he finished putting the shirt on, brusquely pulling it down.
"You know," Nicole said, walking up to him and putting her hand on his shoulder, "you don't have to pretend we're lovers if you don't want to." He turned and looked at her.
"Anything else would be a flat-out lie."
"But it's still not the truth, not the whole truth, anyway."
"Since when have I ever told the whole truth, angel?" Nibs asked quietly, raising an eyebrow. When she didn't reply, he turned away and walked out of the room.
Nearly a week later:
Nicole Rye stood on a balcony that overlooked the mansion's fancy gardens.
"The party's in three days," Nibs announced, walking up behind her.
"That's nice," she murmured.
"What are you thinking about?" Nibs asked her curiously.
"Just wondering what all those businessmen and politicians will be like," Nicole Rye murmured. Nibs laughed.
"Just like the ones at home, angel."
"Oh, so they're going to be kind, courteous, and all-together charming while planning to stab everyone they meet in the back."
"How cynical of you, angel." Nibs raised an eyebrow.
That night:
He had his eyes closed as he fell. There wasn't much to see what with the fog and all. He still wasn't quite sure what he'd been doing, going to the top of the Empire State Building to begin with; he was still afraid of heights.
Oh, he knew why he was currently plummeting towards the sidewalk. That large man with the bandages on his forearm had been following him ever since they had literally ran into each on the street. The look of recognition followed by severe hatred was unnerving. He had stepped into the nearest building and tried to loose himself in the largest crowds. The end result was that he had ended up on top of the Empire State Building with the man but an elevator ride behind. He really hadn't meant to get near the edge. The next thing he had known was someone pushing him and falling.
He fell quietly, not even a scream or shout. It wasn't like anyone would hear him and stop his fall in time to prevent him from splattering on the sidewalk. Then again…
Strong arms were around him, jerking him out of his freefall. A feeling of nausea came and he opened his eyes, only to realize he had fallen past the cloud-cover and could see all the way down to the street. It was still a long way down and he did what any normal acrophobic would do; he panicked.
"Put me down! Put me down!" the young man screamed, fighting frantically. Brooklyn, afraid he'd drop him, quickly alighted on top of a nearby skyscraper. The young man tore himself away from the gargoyle, only to stumble and land hard on his rear. He sat there for a few moments, breathing heavily. Finally, he looked up at Brooklyn and said, "Don't you ever do that to me again!" Brooklyn did a double take.
"You're… not afraid of me?" The young man blinked.
"No," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "Should I be?"
"I, um, you… you were so frightened just a minute ago," the red beaked gargoyle replied lamely.
"Oh… that. I'm a severe acrophobic. I'm so bad I get dizzy on a step stool three feet above the ground, and we were a lot more than three feet off the ground a minute ago."
"Oh, sorry," Brooklyn said, looking sheepish.
The gargoyle looked the young man over. The human reminded Brooklyn of a scarecrow; the unruly hair was the same color as straw and the man was tall and thin. He'd be gangly if it wasn't for the fact that his movements had an agile grace to them. The sharp nose and broad chin were somewhat forbidding, but they were softened by the kind smile that lit up the man's face.
"Um, how are you going to get back down?"
"I'll take the stairs… I'm Nibs, by the way." The gargoyle smiled.
"My name's Brooklyn." Nibs smiled wryly.
"Nice to meet you, Brooklyn." Silence ensued for several minutes. Finally, Nibs stood up.
"Well, I guess I should be going."
"Yeah… Here, let me get that door for you!" One sharp tug brought the locked door leading to the stairwell right open. Nibs eyed it in amusement.
"Well, that's one way to get in," he drawled. It was probably just as well Brooklyn had done it; Nibs wasn't sure how the gargoyle would react if Nibs had suddenly picked the door lock like he had originally planned.
"Yeah," Brooklyn agreed, looking at his handiwork with another sheepish look. Nibs smiled kindly at him, putting his hand on the red gargoyle's shoulder in a friendly gesture, almost as if he had been doing it for years.
"I'll be seeing you, I'm sure." With that, he disappeared into the dark stairwell.
Nibs, upon reaching the street, looked up to see a familiar winged form gliding away. The young man smiled and turned away after Brooklyn disappeared from sight.
"So this is where you started your Timedance, my friend," Nibs murmured, "Interesting." With that he disappeared into the night-time crowds that walked down the sidewalks.
Later:
Central Park
A couple slowly walked past the fountain, looking at each other lovingly. If anyone had been watching they would have seen what looked like the same couple coming back. There was no love in this couple's eyes, though. The man and woman looked about searchingly, as if they found this place to be new and unusual.
They sat down on the rim of the fountain and looked about. The woman placed her hands on her lap and looked down at the water. Her reflection showed something other than the mildly pretty woman she appeared to be but then she hit the water, ruining the image. Then the shape shifter looked away dejectedly.
"I can sense it. It is here, in this city," the man said, sniffing the air.
"It is a very large city, though. We can't just waltz through every single building looking for the Gateway. Even if we could, some of these buildings would take days alone to search!" The seeming man looked at his companion.
"Surely we can narrow it down further?"
"Perhaps, but it will take time. We won't be getting home any time soon." He took her hands in his.
"Time is all we have and we will get home soon enough."
Elsewhere
She had draped her white feather wings around her shoulders like a cloak and was perched rather precariously on the ornamentation of one of the older buildings of the city. She didn't mind. She loved the heights; loved feeling the wind whip by and tug at her hair. She was a part of the sky. Besides, she was an immortal. No fall could harm her.
She surveyed the city below her. Her face was a mask and her eyes were blank, empty, soulless. What was she doing here? She had an entire world ready to accept her as their queen, yet here she was in a different world.
Then an odd look crossed her face. Of course, 'They' were here and the two shape shifters would try to get back. She had to prevent that, or all she had worked for would be in vain. She would make sure they never got back.
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Standard story recipe: Add more characters to thicken the plot. Warning: Very dangerous if left unattended. Don't worry; I know what I'm doing. Whether or not you know what I'm doing is another matter entirely.
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