Title: Little hope of escape
Author: IrishRavenX
Disclaimer: It's not mine. I betcha you already knew that. Had to rub it in, didn't you?! :P
A/N: Tralalalalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. That's about it. Oh yes, and please review. ;P.
**************************************************************************** ***********
Chapter III
**************************************************************************** ************
"Dr. Immo," Ian nodded in greeting.
"Good Morning, Ian. What can I do for you toda..."
As he spoke, Kennith came flying through the room with a sheet tied around his neck like a cape, running around the parlor and jumping over chairs. He made a few full circles, and then disappeared into another room. Seconds later, the Irish Wolfhounds came running into the room and cowering behind Ian. Even they knew when something was seriously wrong. Their master running around the mansion like a lunatic and making flying sound effect noises...it just wasn't right!
As Dr. Immo stared after his old friend, disbelief was apparent in his eyes.
"What...how...is he..."
Ian looked at Dr. Immo with some considerable amount of worry. It was rare day indeed when he was at loss for words.
"I do not know," Ian replied. They were silent for a few moments, as Dr. Immo processed what he had just seen.
Immo looked at Ian, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"This isn't some kind of prank, is it?"
Ian looked at Immo dubiously, knowing that the thought process of Immo and himself were quite similar at that moment.
_Mr. Irons? A prank? That would require a sense of humor to speak of..._
"No, I suppose it's not."
Ian and Immo stood in the parlor, watching for the occasional glimpse of Irons running past the door with his sheet, chasing the Wolfhounds about the mansion, and hearing the screams of staff and the random clattering of priceless metal objects.
"He must have amnesia," Immo said after a few minutes, and whimper from one of the dogs, "Or something happened that has caused Kenneth to have been reverted back to a childhood stage."
Another crash was heard, followed by many individual crashes.
_The porcelain cabinet._ Ian thought to himself with a sigh.
"I'm afraid I can't do much here," Dr. Immo said after a pause.
There was silence, then the triumphant yell of a five-year-old, and the screech of a staff member.
"I suggest that you call a psychologist, or study up on Freud. It is said that amnesia can last anywhere from a few hours to a few years."
"A few years?" Ian repeated to himself, mainly in speculation and a good amount of horror. Ian could not stand Irons, it could be pure hell living under his control. But Irons as a child...it was shaping up to be far worse.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Sara walked from the coffee shop, feeling much better about the day. Caffeine did that for a person. She stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, looking up and down the street. A man bumped into her as he briskly walked along.
Helloooooo hot momma,
"What did you say?!" Sara demanded, turning around quickly.
"What?" the man looked at her in bewilderment.
Oooo, Feisty too. I'd like a piece of that...
"How dare you?!" Sara exclaimed, slapping the man across the face.
The man's hand went up to his face in shock and confusion.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Bitch!
"You need to watch your mouth!" Sara growled.
"I said *what*!!" the man protested.
Geez. PMSing much? What a psycho bitch.
Sara decked the man, and he fell to the ground. The people around her just stared, and carried on with their business.
What happened there? Should I call someone? Wow...remind me not to ever piss that woman off. Is that my ex-boyfriend? A man passing by looked down at the man Sara just knocked out. Nope. He'd never wear that suit. Did I leave the toaster on? Why waste money on these stop-walk lights when no one cares? Come on people, move! I'll bite your bloody legs off!
Why the hell don't New Yorkers wear brighter colours?! I'm gonna snap if I see another black umbrella... Sara heard a scream from down the street, emanating from a woman stomping on a black umbrella she had grabbed from a passing businessman. Now he was a very dazed and shaken businessman, and without an umbrella.
Sara blinked her eyes in rapid succession, and the voices were gone. She looked sternly at the Witchblade.
"I thought we had come to an understanding," she shook her head, and put the Witchblade in her pocket. She could feel the bracelet glowing angrily through the material of her jacket.
Sara stepped into the street, looking both ways before beginning to cross. Not a car in sight. She stepped into the road, and milli-seconds later, dove back towards the curb, just barely avoiding a very personal, and not to mention *painful* encounter with a Mac truck. She looked back into the street, and it was once again clear
She could feel the Witchblade glowing once again, the wicked laughter ringing silently in her ears.
"All right, all right. But behave, will you?!" Sara exclaimed, getting a few odd looks from innocent passer-bys as she scolded her bracelet.
She put it back on and sprinted across the street before any more eighteen- wheelers could appear out of nowhere. Sara glanced at the clock in a store- front window. Nine thirty. So much time. No where to hide.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Ian walked into one of the many rooms of the mansion, where he finally found Irons, sitting in front of the television, once again.
"Mr. Irons?" Ian inquired cautiously.
His regressed employer was a bit angry with him still. Ian had to shoot Kenneth with a tranquilizer gun in order to calm him down. It seemed to be the way to cause the least amount of harm. But since the reaction he got when the child/Irons had woken up was not a very good one, Ian decided it would not be wise to use the tranquilizer gun again.
Ian walked over and stood in front of the wide-screen television, blocking Iron's view of the screen.
"Mr. Irons..."
"My name is Kenni," he protested, trying to look around Ian to see the television, "Mr. Irons is my father. I don't want to be like my father. He's mean and beats his servants."
Ian was silent for a few moments before continuing, feeling the scars on his back more than ever.
"Mr. Kenni," Ian said slowly, "Do you know who I am?"
Kenni looked at Nottingham for a few minutes, his face scrunching up as he thought.
"Nope. Are you one of Father's friends?"
"Something like that," Ian replied. He was beginning to notice the German accent that was evermore evident in Kenneth's voice.
"He won't be home until tomorrow. Can you tell the servants to clean up so he doesn't get mad. Vater bekommt sehr, sehr gemein wann er Böse ist. Sehr sehr gemein.und wann er Böse an Mutter letzte zeit bekommt.es war nicht gut"
Kenneth shook his head. Ian had only caught a few of the words Kenneth had said. Not because it had been in German; Ian was fluent in German, Kenneth had been muttering as if he was afraid someone else would overhear. He had said something to the extent of "Father gets mean when he is mad. Last time he was mad at mother.it was not good."
Silence passed for a few moments, Irons leaning on his side to see the television around Ian.
"Do you know the date, Kenneth?"
"Yes, of course. It is April 1st, 1903,"
"And how old are you?"
"I am six," he replied proudly. Kenni thought about it for a moment, "Well...I'm six tomorrow. Daddy says he's going to get me something very special. But sometimes he forgets."
Ian took pity on Irons. He looked more like a child than an adult with the look on his face. It was hard to think of him as the man who had terrorized his youth.
"Well, what do you want for your birthday?"
Kenneth looked around, as if afraid someone was listening in on their conversation.
"I want a train set the moves on a track...and a German Shepard. Father refuses to get me one. He only likes Irish Wolfhounds. He says Shepards are not eloquent enough to have around the house. My first choice was a bunny, though. But Father says boys do not keep rabbits as pets. "
Kenneth sighed. Ian just stood their, studying him in confusion while rubbing his beard, deep in thought.
"Mr. Ian?"
"Yes, Mr. Kenni?"
"Could you move? I can't see the television,"
Ian moved swiftly out of the way, and Kenneth's eyes became once again glued to the screen. This day would indeed prove to be interesting. Luckily, tv acted like a sedative to children. As long as he kept the television on, he would have little problems from young Mr. Irons.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Gabriel sat in his computer chair, staring at the television intently. He didn't realize that the phone was ringing until the fifth tone. He reached over for the phone, which was slightly out of reach. He managed to get it, but in doing so, his chair tipped over.
"Ow. Talismanic. I'll sell you objects of power in return for aspirin."
"Sorry, Gabe," Sara replied, "I definitely need all I can get right now.
"Then what can I do for ya', Chief?"
"Do you have your little Witchblade hand-book nearby?" Sara asked sarcastically.
"Always,"
"Then can you tell me what the hell is going on with this piece of metal on my wrist?!"
Gabriel held the phone away from his ear, the end of her sentence ending in a yell.
"I was wondering when you'd call about it," Gabe said nonchantly.
"Wait...Gabriel," Sara said, in her oh-so-famous warning tone, "Did you already know about this?"
"Er...yeah. Nottingham called me about it just an hour ago. Something about Irons..."
"It's effecting Irons?"
"Yeah. Nottingham says that it will effect everyone in the Wielder's life."
Sara paused, about to open the door to the precinct.
"Gabe...when you say *everyone* who exactly does that entail?"
"Well..." Gabe paused, "I don't rightly know,"
The door of the precinct burst open, and three officers and a monkey with a police hat came running out.
"Hey Gabe, I'll call you back,"
~*~~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~*~
The back of Danny's chair was now on the floor as he inched his way towards the phone. He had his hand on it, when a monkey burst into the office and grabbed it from his hands, and ran out. He groaned and hit his head on the floor repeatedly. A monkey. Of course. A monkey... Danny looked towards the door the primate had left through. The monkey had looked surprisingly like Dante...
******************************************************************
A/N: Alloooooooo. Did you enjoy the chapter? I hope so. Want ta' tell me about it? There's a little blue button...makes a world of difference. You can talk about anything, really! Tell me about your mother... ::takes out the psychiatrist note pad::
:: the psychiatrist she stole it from kicks around in the closet:: Muahahahahaha!
(Note to self again...don't write author's notes after 1 am. It scares people away...)
Author: IrishRavenX
Disclaimer: It's not mine. I betcha you already knew that. Had to rub it in, didn't you?! :P
A/N: Tralalalalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. That's about it. Oh yes, and please review. ;P.
**************************************************************************** ***********
Chapter III
**************************************************************************** ************
"Dr. Immo," Ian nodded in greeting.
"Good Morning, Ian. What can I do for you toda..."
As he spoke, Kennith came flying through the room with a sheet tied around his neck like a cape, running around the parlor and jumping over chairs. He made a few full circles, and then disappeared into another room. Seconds later, the Irish Wolfhounds came running into the room and cowering behind Ian. Even they knew when something was seriously wrong. Their master running around the mansion like a lunatic and making flying sound effect noises...it just wasn't right!
As Dr. Immo stared after his old friend, disbelief was apparent in his eyes.
"What...how...is he..."
Ian looked at Dr. Immo with some considerable amount of worry. It was rare day indeed when he was at loss for words.
"I do not know," Ian replied. They were silent for a few moments, as Dr. Immo processed what he had just seen.
Immo looked at Ian, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"This isn't some kind of prank, is it?"
Ian looked at Immo dubiously, knowing that the thought process of Immo and himself were quite similar at that moment.
_Mr. Irons? A prank? That would require a sense of humor to speak of..._
"No, I suppose it's not."
Ian and Immo stood in the parlor, watching for the occasional glimpse of Irons running past the door with his sheet, chasing the Wolfhounds about the mansion, and hearing the screams of staff and the random clattering of priceless metal objects.
"He must have amnesia," Immo said after a few minutes, and whimper from one of the dogs, "Or something happened that has caused Kenneth to have been reverted back to a childhood stage."
Another crash was heard, followed by many individual crashes.
_The porcelain cabinet._ Ian thought to himself with a sigh.
"I'm afraid I can't do much here," Dr. Immo said after a pause.
There was silence, then the triumphant yell of a five-year-old, and the screech of a staff member.
"I suggest that you call a psychologist, or study up on Freud. It is said that amnesia can last anywhere from a few hours to a few years."
"A few years?" Ian repeated to himself, mainly in speculation and a good amount of horror. Ian could not stand Irons, it could be pure hell living under his control. But Irons as a child...it was shaping up to be far worse.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Sara walked from the coffee shop, feeling much better about the day. Caffeine did that for a person. She stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, looking up and down the street. A man bumped into her as he briskly walked along.
Helloooooo hot momma,
"What did you say?!" Sara demanded, turning around quickly.
"What?" the man looked at her in bewilderment.
Oooo, Feisty too. I'd like a piece of that...
"How dare you?!" Sara exclaimed, slapping the man across the face.
The man's hand went up to his face in shock and confusion.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Bitch!
"You need to watch your mouth!" Sara growled.
"I said *what*!!" the man protested.
Geez. PMSing much? What a psycho bitch.
Sara decked the man, and he fell to the ground. The people around her just stared, and carried on with their business.
What happened there? Should I call someone? Wow...remind me not to ever piss that woman off. Is that my ex-boyfriend? A man passing by looked down at the man Sara just knocked out. Nope. He'd never wear that suit. Did I leave the toaster on? Why waste money on these stop-walk lights when no one cares? Come on people, move! I'll bite your bloody legs off!
Why the hell don't New Yorkers wear brighter colours?! I'm gonna snap if I see another black umbrella... Sara heard a scream from down the street, emanating from a woman stomping on a black umbrella she had grabbed from a passing businessman. Now he was a very dazed and shaken businessman, and without an umbrella.
Sara blinked her eyes in rapid succession, and the voices were gone. She looked sternly at the Witchblade.
"I thought we had come to an understanding," she shook her head, and put the Witchblade in her pocket. She could feel the bracelet glowing angrily through the material of her jacket.
Sara stepped into the street, looking both ways before beginning to cross. Not a car in sight. She stepped into the road, and milli-seconds later, dove back towards the curb, just barely avoiding a very personal, and not to mention *painful* encounter with a Mac truck. She looked back into the street, and it was once again clear
She could feel the Witchblade glowing once again, the wicked laughter ringing silently in her ears.
"All right, all right. But behave, will you?!" Sara exclaimed, getting a few odd looks from innocent passer-bys as she scolded her bracelet.
She put it back on and sprinted across the street before any more eighteen- wheelers could appear out of nowhere. Sara glanced at the clock in a store- front window. Nine thirty. So much time. No where to hide.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Ian walked into one of the many rooms of the mansion, where he finally found Irons, sitting in front of the television, once again.
"Mr. Irons?" Ian inquired cautiously.
His regressed employer was a bit angry with him still. Ian had to shoot Kenneth with a tranquilizer gun in order to calm him down. It seemed to be the way to cause the least amount of harm. But since the reaction he got when the child/Irons had woken up was not a very good one, Ian decided it would not be wise to use the tranquilizer gun again.
Ian walked over and stood in front of the wide-screen television, blocking Iron's view of the screen.
"Mr. Irons..."
"My name is Kenni," he protested, trying to look around Ian to see the television, "Mr. Irons is my father. I don't want to be like my father. He's mean and beats his servants."
Ian was silent for a few moments before continuing, feeling the scars on his back more than ever.
"Mr. Kenni," Ian said slowly, "Do you know who I am?"
Kenni looked at Nottingham for a few minutes, his face scrunching up as he thought.
"Nope. Are you one of Father's friends?"
"Something like that," Ian replied. He was beginning to notice the German accent that was evermore evident in Kenneth's voice.
"He won't be home until tomorrow. Can you tell the servants to clean up so he doesn't get mad. Vater bekommt sehr, sehr gemein wann er Böse ist. Sehr sehr gemein.und wann er Böse an Mutter letzte zeit bekommt.es war nicht gut"
Kenneth shook his head. Ian had only caught a few of the words Kenneth had said. Not because it had been in German; Ian was fluent in German, Kenneth had been muttering as if he was afraid someone else would overhear. He had said something to the extent of "Father gets mean when he is mad. Last time he was mad at mother.it was not good."
Silence passed for a few moments, Irons leaning on his side to see the television around Ian.
"Do you know the date, Kenneth?"
"Yes, of course. It is April 1st, 1903,"
"And how old are you?"
"I am six," he replied proudly. Kenni thought about it for a moment, "Well...I'm six tomorrow. Daddy says he's going to get me something very special. But sometimes he forgets."
Ian took pity on Irons. He looked more like a child than an adult with the look on his face. It was hard to think of him as the man who had terrorized his youth.
"Well, what do you want for your birthday?"
Kenneth looked around, as if afraid someone was listening in on their conversation.
"I want a train set the moves on a track...and a German Shepard. Father refuses to get me one. He only likes Irish Wolfhounds. He says Shepards are not eloquent enough to have around the house. My first choice was a bunny, though. But Father says boys do not keep rabbits as pets. "
Kenneth sighed. Ian just stood their, studying him in confusion while rubbing his beard, deep in thought.
"Mr. Ian?"
"Yes, Mr. Kenni?"
"Could you move? I can't see the television,"
Ian moved swiftly out of the way, and Kenneth's eyes became once again glued to the screen. This day would indeed prove to be interesting. Luckily, tv acted like a sedative to children. As long as he kept the television on, he would have little problems from young Mr. Irons.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Gabriel sat in his computer chair, staring at the television intently. He didn't realize that the phone was ringing until the fifth tone. He reached over for the phone, which was slightly out of reach. He managed to get it, but in doing so, his chair tipped over.
"Ow. Talismanic. I'll sell you objects of power in return for aspirin."
"Sorry, Gabe," Sara replied, "I definitely need all I can get right now.
"Then what can I do for ya', Chief?"
"Do you have your little Witchblade hand-book nearby?" Sara asked sarcastically.
"Always,"
"Then can you tell me what the hell is going on with this piece of metal on my wrist?!"
Gabriel held the phone away from his ear, the end of her sentence ending in a yell.
"I was wondering when you'd call about it," Gabe said nonchantly.
"Wait...Gabriel," Sara said, in her oh-so-famous warning tone, "Did you already know about this?"
"Er...yeah. Nottingham called me about it just an hour ago. Something about Irons..."
"It's effecting Irons?"
"Yeah. Nottingham says that it will effect everyone in the Wielder's life."
Sara paused, about to open the door to the precinct.
"Gabe...when you say *everyone* who exactly does that entail?"
"Well..." Gabe paused, "I don't rightly know,"
The door of the precinct burst open, and three officers and a monkey with a police hat came running out.
"Hey Gabe, I'll call you back,"
~*~~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~*~
The back of Danny's chair was now on the floor as he inched his way towards the phone. He had his hand on it, when a monkey burst into the office and grabbed it from his hands, and ran out. He groaned and hit his head on the floor repeatedly. A monkey. Of course. A monkey... Danny looked towards the door the primate had left through. The monkey had looked surprisingly like Dante...
******************************************************************
A/N: Alloooooooo. Did you enjoy the chapter? I hope so. Want ta' tell me about it? There's a little blue button...makes a world of difference. You can talk about anything, really! Tell me about your mother... ::takes out the psychiatrist note pad::
:: the psychiatrist she stole it from kicks around in the closet:: Muahahahahaha!
(Note to self again...don't write author's notes after 1 am. It scares people away...)
