Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good time deserves my dying
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'till it bleeds
Wish I'd died instead of lived
A zombie hides my face
Self forgotten with its memories
Diaries left with cryptic entries
And you don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'till it bleeds
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be, yeah
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on, once I hold on
I'll never live down my disease
"Goddamn."
Maj watched as Doyle fell to the earth upon seeing Saeryth gone, whether from exhaustion, blood loss or disappointment, he didn't know, but the Colonel wasted no time in ordering a group of three soldiers to pick the General up and another group of ten to protect their way back towards the base. He'd have to get the man to safety before he'd be able to break the news. He'd left Gwyn in charge of the rest of the fighting, truth be told, with the collapse of Breia's front their soldiers were closing in on the humans in a steamroller pincer movement and every moment driving the former aggressors back towards their encampment in the next valley- he predicted the battle would be won within the span of the night.
The thought of Breia made him growl aloud. He'd chased that damn woman as fast as he'd been able, had his way obstructed by humans of all sorts, from despondent to suicidal to comatose to aggressive to downright psychotic, a veritable cornucopia of crazy bipeds. He'd had to kill some to get them out of the way, had had to go around large groups of others. In other words, he'd trailed behind the horse about a quarter-mile before Breia disappeared over the ridge and he'd been left with the feeling that either or both of his lungs would explode at any given moment if he continued at the pace at which he had been going.
Not a good day, despite the victory. Why the hell had she taken Cordelia? And what the hell had happened out there, exactly?
Hours later back at the base, Maj ordered Doyle taken to his private chamber and Archi, the head surgeon, was called for there. When Archi arrived, covered in blood from others he was tending to, Maj respectfully bowed out of the room and allowed the man to do his job while he paced outside, wondering what the hell he could possibly say that would keep Doyle from storming out to Saeryth's camp and trying to fight his way to Cordelia single-handedly. You got that way when you lost something important that had just been recently returned to you.
He sighed and leaned his back against the door, using the tip of a claw to pick absently on the scab beside his ear and chip away at the dried blood in his fur. He sat that way for who knew how long, staring out at empty space and picking at his cut until it began to bleed again.
"Colonel, sir?"
He looked up as Gwyn's personal assistant scurried into the room, looking so out of breath that his horns were turning blue from lack of oxygen. "Jem?"
"Major Gwyndemyr wishes that I report the withdrawal of the enemy from the battlefield, sir."
Maj breathed a sigh of relief. One down… "Tell her to post three thousand volunteers to front line duty and the rest to bring back bodies," he ordered. Jem made to go, but Maj coughed to regain his attention. "Um, ask her to bury the humans out there too, Jem, once we've taken care of our own."
"Sir?"
"Well if their own guys aren't gonna do it, someone has to," he responded, feeling some pity for the human dead. "Plus… our guys kept tripping over the bodies," he added as an afterthought in a last ditch attempt to make his argument sound logical rather than sentimental. That was odd.
"Aye, sir." Jem saluted and scurried off.
~~~~~~~~~
So, destiny had not betrayed him after all. It has just seen fit to give notice that he was not as prepared as he had first presumed himself to be and thus, could only stand to prepare better. He wasn't even angry at Breia, whose entire regiment had been either killed or captured, causing the flank of his entire battle plan to collapse in on itself, giving the Protective Army time to rally around its leaders and drive his men back during the span of the night. It was just a battle, not the war after all. And if he himself had been unable to kill Doyle than the plan could be considered moot point anyway. He stared straight ahead as his surgeon stitched up the gash on his neck. It didn't hurt, but served as reminder to over-admiration for General Doyle and neglect to details by himself. He wouldn't call his defeat ignominious however, simply educative. He wasn't one to dwell much on the past unless it served an immediate purpose important to him (ie comparing recounts of Doyle's bout with his father to study the demon's battle prowess). Today had been a valuable lesson.
"Finished, my lord," the surgeon stated after a moment, and he could hear the sound of the man packing up his supplies. "Take care not to pop the stitches before they're set, sir."
He nodded absently and dismissed the older man with a perfunctory wave of his hand. He supposed he should get to the business of clean up now, try and soothe the fury of the Supreme Command and punish his men for being the complete dolts that they were. Then there was the matter of counting the dead (or imprisoned, an issue raised recently which he would have to talk about with Breia later) and readjusting plans and regiments to compensate the losses. He'd also need spy reports of the state of Doyle's army. And a larger training room… Oh. And he had to have the remaining idiots from Breia's corps tortured and killed.
A head peaked into the entry way of his tent. He turned to look, nearly succeeded in popping those stitches his surgeon had seen fit to tell him not to. He'd always been a rebel.
"My lord?"
Seeing who it was, he turned to the mirror, touching his stitches and moving his head from side to side while studying his reflection. "Breia, considering your complete and utter defeat yesterday at the hands of a force equal to a third of your own, don't you think you should be off cowering in a corner and thinking about what a very bad girl you are?" Satisfied that the stitches would stay in place if he moved slowly, he got up and strode toward his desk.
She came forward, fixed him with a small smile that he found exceedingly odd. She didn't look ready to seduce him for a lesser punishment. That was new. "Saeryth, I came to ask you something…" Her voice was sincere.
He arched a brow. She didn't usually ask for things until afterwards, when his mood was considerably improved from previous activities. "You've certainly a lot of nerve, my love, if you're requesting favors after so shameful performance."
She bowed her head. "Sir, I came to ask that we might try to negotiate with the Protective Army…"
If it wasn't such a damned indignant thing to do, his jaw would have dropped. "Come again?"
She even ignored that obvious opening for libidinous commentary. "I was hoping we could offer them a trade. You see, on the field today, I took one of their officers, and since they have my men…"
He felt a stirring of excitement at her words. "An officer, you say?"
"Yes sir. She's the new one, I believe, I'd never seen her before."
He laughed aloud now. "Ah my dear, I almost forgive your earlier transgressions. Do you think General Doyle would appreciate us returning her to him limb by limb with a spray of roses for decoration?" He began to trail off, the litany of thoughts that poured into his mind at this fortuitous advantage copious to extreme amounts. "Boil her head maybe, so her lips peel back in a rather comical grin for eternity? Amusing. It would certainly be another chink in his resolve regarding the whole war movement. Or even better. Perhaps we can convince her to fight for us? Imagine the look of pain on his face if he were to witness such a betrayal…"
She looked horrified. "Sir, they have several hundred of our men we must use her to…"
"Your men? Idiots, the lot of them," he dismissed unsympathetically. "If they're so stupid as to get captured, those creatures can use them for rations for all I care. I would have undoubtedly killed them to cure myself of boredom one day anyway. We, my dear, have to think about the future. Namely, what to do with this officer of yours. Naturally, General Doyle is all in a tizzy about it. It's in his nature. And to our advantage."
She made as if to speak. He cut her off with a gesture. "No, you can't torture her. Not yet, anyway. We need to plan a little more before we do something hasty, dearest. Go, see to it that she's comfortable, and quite afraid of what we could do to her at any moment. I have to debate how I wish to approach this."
She opened her mouth again.
Upon hearing her intake of breath, he turned towards her, looking stern. "Colonel? I believe that was an order."
She swallowed the excess air and bowed her head before scurrying out. He watched her go with narrowed eyes. "Curious."
~~~~~~~~
Maj started when Archi peered out of the General's door. "He's fully awake now, Colonel. Asking for you," the surgeon stated neutrally.
Maj swallowed and nodded, got to his feet and let the doctor pass. "Thanks, Arch."
"Colonel, when you're done speaking, I want you to come to the infirmary and get that head wound looked at."
"Ah, just a scratch, Arch, it'll be okay."
"Sir, by my medical authority…"
The Colonel sighed. "All right, all right. I'll be down after I speak to the General…" **If the old boy hasn't killed me already anyway,** he added in thought. He got up and padded into Doyle's room, nudged the door closed gingerly behind him with his hind foot. "General?"
"Maj?"
"Yes, sir."
"What the hell?!" Doyle growled, struggling to sit up and face his subordinate. "And how long have I been out?"
"Um, it's morning. Archi just came to check on you just now."
Doyle's eyes widened considerably. "What? You've got to be kidding me. It feels like I was just…" He sounded miffed, managed a glare at his friend.
"Good to see the blood loss and exhaustion aren't affecting you adversely, sir," Maj stated, backing up (only a step).
"We'll see if'n you can't do the same in a second if ya don't tell me what the damn that little charge o' yours was all about. I had that bastard on the ropes. Was 'bout to cleave his head right off!"
Maj swallowed, regretfully. "I didn't know, sir."
"An' I told you to keep an eye on Cordy…next thing I see ya chargin' on my field an' yer not even keepin' an eye on your own damn soldiers, let alone her."
The wolf looked down at the floor. "About that, sir…"
"Yah?"
**Just lay it down there, Maj. You've faced more dangerous situations before. Really. Deep breath, look him in the eye. That's it. Now pretend you're still a badass and he won't knock you to hell and back with a rolled up newspaper for being a naughty puppy.** "Um, sir…Cordelia was taken."
~~~~~~~~
Cordelia groaned and sat up in a strange bed, within a strange tent, clutching her head as the annoying sound of morning birdsong filtered in through the canvass. "What the hell?" she muttered, feeling weak inside, a thousand evil forces had imbedded themselves into her very soul, littered it with pinprick spots of darkness and pain. She shook it off, tried to make the nausea leave.
"Hurts like a bitch, don't it?"
She yelped and jumped in the bed she'd been laid in, startled at the voice, and turned to its source to her immediate right. A man in a sleazy looking brown jacket and Hawaiian-print shirt greeted her, toothpick in mouth and hat tilted at an ambitious angle atop his head. She drew back, pulled the strange blanket covering her higher on her person, as if it could protect her from whatever threat this newcomer posed.
The man laughed, heartily. "Hey, easy there sweetheart. I'm one of the good guys."
"You look like a bookie," she responded before she could stop herself. The sound of her own voice hurt her ears. "Damn. Remind me not to do that again," she murmured, much pained.
"Yeah, that's what I'm here about actually…" he started, amiably. "The name's Whistler."
"Oh…" She wracked her throbbing brain. She'd heard that name before. Right. Doyle. "Right. Doyle." Her eloquence was astounding.
Whistler seemed pleased that the good General had seen fit to mention him, even during her brief tenure in his company the past few days. He took a nonchalant breath, smiled at her. "So, you cleaned the souls of about 600 humans yesterday afternoon."
She groaned, rubbed at her temples ineffectually. "Good to know why I feel so slimy inside."
"One of the drawbacks of some awesome superpowers, sweets."
"So, you came to be Mister-State-The-Obvious, or are you going to tell me what the heck happened?"
Whistler ignored her sarcasm. "You activated your powers on the field…remember that little stunt you pulled on Connor a whiles back? Did the same thing…except multiplied like, 800 times, babe." He took a sharp, inhaling breath. "Not healthy for you. Especially since Tharrier's tend to take it all inside of themselves… takes them about six hours to break down small amounts of that darkness at a time. Most of the time, it only makes you feel a little gloomy. But too much at once can be positively deadly."
"Again I say, good to know," she muttered, not really caring about the technicalities so much as where the hell she was and when her headache would fade. "Where the hell am I?"
"Saeryth's camp. Colonel Breia's tent, actually."
Her eyes widened, pain momentarily forgotten. She'd been taken prisoner? "What?"
He put his arms up to placate her. "Relax…Breia saw you collapse after your little Siegfried and Roy light show. Overcome by a strange new thing called compassion, Saeryth's little girlfriend picked you up and took you here to nap, right as her entire regiment pulled out of the field."
Cordy frowned. "Why?"
Whistler was amused. "Weren't you paying attention? You sucked the darkness right out of her. Doesn't work the same way for everyone, but it's what happened to her. She felt bad for you."
"That's a good thing, I guess."
"Definitely." He stepped towards her, hands rubbing together. "So, I'm here to tell you not to do it again."
She was confused, and sent him a look expressing just that. "What?"
"What Doyle said earlier? On the dot. You try to do the whole human army in the way you did Breia's regiment today; you'll be dead inside a week, sweets."
She frowned. "But I thought… what about destiny and all that?"
"Hey, the Powers that Be may be a bit fickle, but they generally don't want their players killed off, Cordelia. What I'm sayin' is, your mission here's a little different. I'm here to give you a few hints before you burn out overdoing it, like you almost did today."
She rubbed at her temples and took a deep breath before looking back up at him. "So, spill."
He chuckled admirably. "Well for one, no more mass cleansings, okay? As much vitality you got in you, Tharrier still can't take that much."
She gave him her most obvious "duh" look. "So what's my purpose if I can't fix things here?"
He smirked. "That's where you're wrong. That's exactly your purpose. To fix things."
She growled. **Stupid Omnipotent ambiguity. If they'd just up and tell us what they wanted it could totally save us all lot of angst.** She vowed to drop a scathing report into the PTB's comment box the next time she got a chance. "Clarify? Please?" she voiced, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"Wars are won in small steps, Princess," he stated, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving an indistinct shrug of the shoulder. "You find the key, you win the war. You don't have to overturn every rock'n boulder."
She regarded him with a disgusted expression, disorientation and that dull throbbing inside of her skull making her more irritable than usual. "Yes, and for those of us who speak English that would mean, what?"
"You find the key," he responded simply. "The whole army isn't important."
She blinked. "The key? Like, small, metal, unlocks locks?"
He laughed outright. "Okay, bad metaphor, I guess. You'll have to excuse me. Rules of engagement say I'm not supposed to give you all the answers. Just a lot of clues."
"Yeah, and you wonder why this planet's been at war for centuries," she snorted. The gesture sent her head spinning again, and she had to close her eyes briefly. Once she'd regained her equilibrium, she forced them open. "So I find the key."
He turned speculative. "Lemme put it this way, hon. You ever notice how a lot of the time, one person can change the whole world?"
She groaned out loud. "If this is some spew about my destiny, excuse me while I gag."
He shook his head. "No, not more of the same old jargon, I know you've heard it enough as is. I'm just offering some speculation that might give you a little insight on what I'm talking about here. I ain't allowed to tell you out right, ya know. But if you don't figure it out, the way things have been progressing, this whole dimension's going down the pot hole."
She sighed, resigned to cryptic lectures. "So, talk."
He smiled at her understanding and cleared his throat. "You see, it's like this. There are rules the PTBs operate by sometimes. Not fixed, mind you, they can change whenever fate's feeling particularly capricious. But they are there. Take our rules regarding earth, for example. Humans are good and bad, vampires are just bad, Slayers are good. You know, general rules."
She quirked both eyebrows at his obvious statement. "And?"
"And? Sometimes those rules get shot to hell. Take the "vampires are bad" thing, for example."
"There's Angel."
"No, no, he doesn't really count. I guess. The Soul thing kind of puts him in the realm with other humans, though some of his physical attributes are different fundamentally, I guess. But what I meant was, every now and again, a vampire comes along that isn't like the rest of them. Which can be bad or good, depending on how you look at it. Take the Master, for example. He was out of the ordinary for bad as far as vamps go. He was real nasty. Smart, inspiring, real strong. It's why he survived as long as he did. You don't see every vampire out there being just like him, do you? He was like, the Michael Jordan of evil vamps. And then sometimes it swings the other way. To use a recent example, like William the Bloody. Spike to you."
A small snort of surprise. "Spike?"
Whistler shrugged again. "Yeah, he seemed real bad, but he was never Angelus bad, or Master bad. And it turns out he's really just passionate. He willingly fell in love with a human, willingly sought out a soul."
"As surprising as that is, this all has to do with the war, how?"
He looked slightly annoyed at her umpteenth interruption. "I'm getting there," he assured her hastily. "What I'm saying is, both the Master and Spike had or have, in some cases, the potential to change the world because they're different. Because they weren't the ordinary, stupid-lackey-fashion-victim-vampires that are the majority of the species."
"So they were special. What did they want, bumper stickers? A ride to school in the short bus every day?"
He chuckled at the last comment. "Nah…alls I'm saying, case isn't so different here than on earth." He paused, trying to find a way to correctly word what he wanted said. "Look, babe. There are two types of people here that make the world move. You've got your big bads; you've got your heroes. The thing they've all got in common is: they're visionaries. They're unique. They've got a way they want to see the world, and they go for it. Instead of watching off to the side like most people, they make things move, bad or good. The rest of us are all just pawns. The Powers…they try to keep it on a balance, keep it from flying over one edge into another, ya know? From too good to too bad. The problem in Kaylorin is we've got these players, these movers, and for a while, things have been shifting out of balance. We need to nip that in the bud. That's what you're here to do. Forget the pawns, sweets; you can't get 'em all. What we need from you is to find one of the kings who's out of sorts with all the other players, and patch him up a little."
"Oh, with the current population of this whole WORLD, I'm sure that won't be hard," she drawled. "You seriously want me to find one of your little visionaries and fix him right up?"
Whistler shrugged. "If not, things could get ugly, toots. Here's a hint…you spend enough time with the humans here, you'll see a pattern. You spend enough time in the Protective Army's bases; you see a pattern. There's always one to how things usually are."
"So you want me to look for a pattern?"
He winked. "Wrong again, sweetheart. I want you to look for an anomaly."
She had been ready to question him on his purposely ambiguous statement, but a rustling at the tent's entrance could be heard, interrupting her train of though. She turned towards it quickly, before turning back to Whistler for a last word. Or at least a theoretical last word, as the spot he had been in seconds before was now vacated. She cursed under her breath before hastily laying back down and shutting her eyes. She wasn't sure after all, if the people coming to visit were here to see her or kill her.
Breia crept into the tent, balancing a bowl of warm water in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Seeing that her charge was still asleep, she set the bowl on the table beside the bed before taking a chair and pulling it to the side. She dipped the cloth into the water and cleaned off some of the dirt that smudged the girl's face. Strange that she seemed unharmed for anything except her unconsciousness. She assumed that the strange flash in the midst of battle had had similar effects to this human as it had her own men.
Cordelia decided that whoever was here wasn't going to sponge-bath her to death. She slowly peeled open an eyelid. The blonde woman wiping her head gave a bit of a start. **I guess this would be Breia…but just to make sure…** Cordy sat up gingerly, made an effort to prop herself up against the headboard so as to be able to regard the other woman eye to eye. Once settled, she turned to face her. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "I'm Colonel Elsebett Breia."
"Where am I?"
"You're in my tent."
**And Whistler scores for accuracy. Ten points! Ooh, but minus ten for bad clothes and we break even…right, information gathering…on it.** She cleared her throat. "Why am I here?"
The other woman pressed her lips together. In all honesty, she didn't know why she'd felt compelled to take the girl herself. Uncharacteristically (of her past anyway) she decided to go with honesty when answering. "I'm not sure."
**Ooohkay. Weird. Time to change the subject.** "Uhm…wasn't there a battle?"
A shadow of amusement flickered across the blonde's hazel eyes. "You ask a lot of questions for a prisoner. I am told they're usually not so talkative. But yes, there was a battle. Truth be told it ended in another draw."
"Oh." Cordelia rubbed her head. That could be either good or bad, but she didn't want to think about it right now. "So, I'm your prisoner, huh?"
"I guess you are." Breia put the wash cloth aside.
"You just don't have a dungeon?" Cordy drawled before she could think.
Breia was accustomed enough with Saeryth's sarcasm to know when it was being employed. "We don't usually take prisoners."
That was weird. "So what do you do with the…oooh." Her eyes went a little wide when she understood the meaning behind the answer. "So… I'm the lucky first?" She laughed nervously to herself. "Great."
"I'm to take care of you. My lord will most likely be here soon, after he breaks his fast, to tell us what will be done with you." There was a hint of regret in her voice. After a second, Breia cleared her throat and posed the question that had been nagging her mind since her retreat from the field. "Tell me, what does Doyle do with his prisoners?"
Cordelia made a face. "I don't know. I didn't see any when I was in the…oooh. Um. I'm not sure. Does he take them a lot… either?"
The Colonel shook her head. "Not often. But today his army took many men from my regiment. I'm afraid they'll be executed."
Cordelia turned a bit indignant. "Hey now, I'm sure Doyle's just locked them up or whatever. It's not like he'd kill a whole bunch of helpless people."
"Their base was not designed to hold prisoners."
"Oh." Cordelia had to wonder about that.
"Are you hungry? You have been asleep for a while now."
**Saved by the subject change.** "Um, sure. I guess. Sort of."
Breia reached over to ring a bell on the table that had been resting beside the bowl. Not a second later, a head peered cautiously into the flap of the tent. "Colonel?"
"Bring us something to eat, Myer."
"Yes, madam."
Cordelia looked dully impressed. "Good service."
"Fear for your life will do that to a person."
"I see your point." **And your conversation skills sink to a new low.** They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "So…what do you think's going to be done to me?" Cordelia posed after a minute or so.
The blonde looked up from studying the pattern of the blanket and faced her. "I'm not sure. Saeryth is…"
"Really mean?" a hint of hope in her voice for a negative answer.
Breia frowned. "No, he's not mean at all."
"Downright wicked?" Cordelia continued before she could stop herself. **Yeah, so tact apparently only works when you're commenting on décor and are not in a life threatening situation. Well golly gee willikers, Batman. I'm just like my mother!**
The Colonel shook her head again at Cordy's inquiry. "No, he's not wicked either. He's…indifferent… I suppose the word is." She paused to look toward the tent flap, and lowered her voice. "Which is oftentimes far worse than mean or wicked."
Just then Myer returned with a tray of food: steaming hot something or other covered in gravy, two good sized loaves of bread, and cups of water. He gave one plate to each lady before bowing and backing out of the room with his head lowered. Cordelia studied the steaming-something. She smelled it. Then decided to go with the bread. **Bread I know.** She tore off a chunk and nibbled the edge tentatively. *Tastes like bread.** She took a larger chunk and put it in her mouth.** Definitely bread.** And then she started coughing, grabbing for her cup and downing a large gulp of water. **Very dry other-dimension bread. Obviously they have yet to discover the wonder that is fat free processed butter-like spread. Though I guess we know what the brown stuff is for now.** After she swallowed, she turned back to her hostess to continue their conversation. "Why is indifferent worse?"
Breia almost asked her what she was talking about, but then recounted what she'd last said before the delivery of the food. "He cares for nothing that does not include his vision, I suppose," she whispered after a moment of thought.
**Oh, trigger word. Work, memory, work.** "A vision, you say?" she inquired, curiosity piqued.
"For the betterment of mankind, he calls it. It is his vision to revolutionize the world."
**And the plot thickens.** "So… he's got all these ideas and stuff?"
Breia dipped her bread into the gravy but did not put the portion in her mouth. "Many."
Whistler's words sung in Cordelia's head. The movers, the ones who made things function. A visionary. An anomaly. It couldn't be this easy, could it? "So, he's not like other guys?" she started, tentatively.
Breia gave her a strange look. "Why are you so interested in my lord?"
Cordelia feigned innocence. **Take that, evil casting directors! I so CAN act!** "Just making conversation," she said on the outside.
Breia tore the corner of the loaf and played with it between her fingers. "Most humans are savages," she allowed. "Emissaries of sin. They have no self-motivated purpose other than that which either they feel they desire at that very moment or which someone else tells them they desire at the moment. Most of them are sheep. Docile creatures, like horses."
"And then you've got your great leaders," Cordelia added.
Breia eyed the other human girl curiously. "Yes. Like Saeryth."
"Are you like that?"
"Docile?"
"No, a leader."
"I'm both, I suppose." Breia looked her over once more. "And what are you?"
"Cordelia," Cordelia responded, not really sure what else she could say.
"That's your name?"
"Yeah."
"It's a strange name. And you're an officer of the Protective Army?"
"Yeah."
"You're new."
Cordy looked startled. "How'd you know?"
"I've never seen you prior to today."
She calmed. "Oh. I guess that makes sense." She put her food aside, deciding that the bread wasn't worth sandpapering her throat over.
"You aren't hungry?"
"Um, I was. But now I'm full. Uh, where I'm from, that's a lot of food." She gestured to the corner of bread she'd eaten. "A lot." **I didn't even have to lie. Girls from Los Angeles eat like, NOTHING,** she added mentally.
"I see." Breia followed and put her own tray aside. "May I ask you a question?"
"Well, you're the sheriff. It's not like I can stop the interrogation."
Breia didn't know what a sheriff was, but the second sentence of the response seemed encouraging. "Do you know what happened on the field today?" The self assurance the woman had presented in every aspect prior to asking seemed to melt a bit with the question. "What was that light?"
Cordelia's heart rate sped up considerably. "Light?" she asked, lamely.
"You must have seen it."
"Oh. That light." Cordelia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "It was…bright?"
Breia nodded. "Like something was washing through me. A flash."
Cordelia looked down towards her knees under the blanket, poking out in small peaks under the brown cloth. "It made you feel different."
"Yes. It made all us humans feel different."
"But you… and when I say you, I mean we… cause we're all humans here ha ha ha…don't know how it happened."
"Yes."
Cordelia would have said something, but the sound of horse's hooves pounding the ground nearby drew Breia's attention away. She stood up and stacked her plate on top of Cordelia's, a large portion of the food also uneaten. Cordelia watched as the other woman knotted her hands in front of her. **Nervous. That's not encouraging.**
Myer scurried in, hurriedly, bowing three times as he did, in rapid succession. His voice shook with fear as he hastily tried to make his announcement (as protocol demanded). "Announcing the arrival of his Lordship, Supreme Commander of the…aah!!" he yelped like a kicked puppy as Saeryth came up behind him, shadow completely enveloping him, tall and foreboding. Under normal circumstances the General had created a sort of custom that consisted of placing his hand firmly atop the assistant's head like one would palm a basketball and tossing him conveniently to the side rather effortlessly should the man be in his way at any given time. However, at the moment, and in the presence of ladies no less, the General restrained himself with noteworthy dignity, and waited for Myer to scurry out of the way before stepping forward. The assistant responded to his master's generosity clumsily, sliding hastily to the side and running face first into one of the Colonel's sturdier bookshelves.
Both women cringed at the loud thud.
Saeryth took a breath. "Thank you, Myer. Wonderful to see you in good health," the General intoned cheerfully, voice and bearing both regal despite the assistant's ignominious appearance. The fact that the little toad would be so clumsy during Saeryth's carefully manufactured first session with the prisoner irritated him. That in all his grandeur, the insignificant worm would have the gall to belittle his introduction and at the same time disgrace the entire army by being such a complete Philistine made the General itch to turn around and crumple the bones in the man's neck between his fingers, not unlike a dry leaf.
Instead, he straightened even more and smiled charmingly in the lackey's general direction. "That will be all, Myer. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me, when you've the chance," he stated amiably, though the glint in his eye belayed to the servant his truly annoyed state of mind. It was a well known fact that Myer's mother was currently in a boarding home for the elderly back in the human city of Seph, receiving care for a deadly disease on which the payment for her treatment rode solely on her son's ability to perform well in his office. Saeryth's statement had been a warning, not a polite incursion as to the wellbeing of his inferior's relations. It would be unfortunate indeed if the man's mother paid the price for his bungling up his lordship's interrogation. Myer swallowed and backed out of the room bowing repeatedly and muttering half-coherent platitudes.
Once the grub had made his rather disgusting exit, Saeryth turned to his present company; executed a smart half bow towards the two women and greeted them cordially. "Ladies."
Breia managed a weak smile in response. She saw behind the façade, knew it all too well. The General was at his most fearsome when charming, a snake that made his prey desire the bite before he struck. She cast her eyes downward. "My lord."
Sparkling azure eyes then fell on Cordelia, complete in their attention, unwavering in their intensity. "And what vision appears before me thus?"
Cordelia gave him the once over. **He's hot. In a strictly scientific way, of course. Yes.** "Who are you?" she responded, refusing to answer his question until she knew more herself.
Breia inhaled a little breath at the dark haired girl's rather forward question. Cordelia took that as a bad sign.
"Me? Oh I am nothing, if not at your service, my lady," Saeryth drawled, taking her hand and brushing a chaste, though entirely charming kiss against the knuckles, continuing to study her luminously, veneer of cheerful sincerity presented on the outside while he cunningly calculated every aspect she presented to him with his mind and filed it away for future use. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am General Erwin Saeryth, commander of the Human Purification Armies, madam. And you are?" He spoke the title smartly, asked the question seductively; voice deep, a purr that rumbled over her skin like satin.
**Mmmm, very hot. But Erwin? What a dorky name…Like Dexter only more so. Stop staring. Answer him. Brain to mouth, come in mouth. Work mouth, work.** "Um, hi. I'm Cordelia. Cordelia Chase."
One half of his smile quirked further upward, and she wondered if he could simultaneously melt and cut someone with such a look. "A foreign name. Strange, though exotic as your beauty my dear," he said of her introduction.
Of all the things she would defend unto the utmost, Angel, Doyle, Connor, and her name lay at the top of that list. **Foreign? Exotic? Not so bad. But STRANGE?** "What, and Erwin is impressive?" she shot back without thinking.
Breia cringed visibly.
But Saeryth only laughed good-humouredly, a low rumble in his chest, deep and throaty. "Ah what spirit! It warms my heart to see such fire. If only half of my men displayed this type of inner strength, the war would be won. I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to observe such a captivating creature, Breia. You have done me a great service by bringing her here."
Emboldened, Cordelia sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, about that. What are you going to do with me?"
His eyes twinkled mischievously and he looked her slowly over once more, a hint of what he might have done with her, given her consent. He wasn't an animal, after all. Upon seeing that his heated gaze had the desired affect of making Cordelia flush slightly, he winked boyishly before turning back to his Colonel and nodding in her direction. Breia, apparently not at ease with the General's outward appearance of charisma, turned away and ducked outside, muttered something to the guard standing at the door. "What's going on?" Cordelia questioned, more than slightly worried at that point.
"It is a shame really, these archaic rules of warfare. And such a travesty that one of your free spirit should be subdued. But unfortunately, centuries of protocol demands of me that you, designated the enemy, must be restrained until it is deemed that you pose no risk. Were it up to me, my dear, the crime of binding hands such as yours would be avoided at all costs." He looked her over again, eyes deceptively beseeching. "I trust you will cooperate, as we struggle to remain civil on grounds such as these, though the monsters that we battle day and night constantly try to strip even that from us."
She wished she could have protested; could have told him what she had been forced to learn the hard way. That not all demons were evil. But she had not the effort now.
Mesmerized by his speech, she could only hold out her hands for him when Breia returned, delivering the rope that was to bind her. He began to wind it around her wrists.
Once finished securing her, he looked back into her eyes, (was that a hint of smugness she detected?). "Just a precaution, I assure you. It's nothing personal."
She looked skeptical. **Okay, still hot, but kind of an ass now.** "Whatever."
"Many thanks. Perhaps…perhaps when this mess is seen to, I could persuade you to fight alongside us, alongside me, against our common enemy?" he purred, deep voiced and shamelessly seductive. With her intake of breath at his inquisition, he straightened and smiled again, though this particular grin bit in deep contrast to his previous addresses, from soft charm and dignified sincerity to something else; something cold, calculating, with murderous intent; something triumphant.
Cordelia turned away from his eyes and let her bound hands rest in her lap. **Oh you SO fell for the charm thing Cordy. Bad. He's the bad guy, remember?** She blew some hair out of her face, slightly miffed at her inability to avoid his snake-charmer's flute before realizing his attractiveness was more likely than not completely insincere. But she was on to him now. Really, she was. "So," she breathed, tugging at the bindings around her wrists. "You're the big bad in these parts, huh?"
~~~~~~~~
Maj stared at Doyle. This hadn't been the reaction he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting yelling. Possible dismemberment and a lot of colorful language. The blank stare was scaring him. They'd been sitting here for five minutes. No one had moved. He blinked once.
"Maj, get out of here."
And there it was. Only a million times worse than he could have imagined. "Doyle…"
"Leave."
"Sir, I don't think she's dead, they probably…"
"Dammit man, get out of here if ya wanta live. Go."
Maj looked at his superior, his long time friend. He swallowed nervously. Doyle looked so calm on the outside, save for the occasion deep, shuddering breath. He looked like a living statue, sitting there in his bed, fresh stitches on his arm and an ugly purple bruise forming rings around both eyes from the blow to the nose. The calmness was the most deadly part; the Colonel had seen it before, the same cold precision that Doyle had used to destroy General Fredmond Saeryth on the battlefield long ago. It was impersonal and icy, the sort of anger that froze rather than scathed. "Sir…" his plea was meek.
"Have my horse saddled. I'm goin' fer her tonight."
"Sir, Breia took her…after what happened on the field today…"
"Dismissed, Colonel!!!!" Doyle shouted suddenly, and Maj froze as the General's dagger pounded into the wall scant millimeters from his ear, quivering with enough force to make the hilt shake, to split the hairs at his cheek. An inch right and he would have gone into his eye, through the back of his head, would have pinned him to the wall like paper on a corkboard.
**So that's it then.** He bowed his head, solemnly. "Aye, sir." And padded out of the room.
Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good time deserves my dying
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'till it bleeds
Wish I'd died instead of lived
A zombie hides my face
Self forgotten with its memories
Diaries left with cryptic entries
And you don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'till it bleeds
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be, yeah
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on, once I hold on
I'll never live down my disease