1990. A disco in Buenos Aires. Darla Hails was dressed in tight black leather trousers, a turquoise tee shirt with a low cut, and made up in the new romantic fashion. A furious dark purple framed her green eyes, and the black lipstick covered the pinkness of her lips. Glass in hand, she was burbling to a man who paid her hardly any attention, but was intent on the cut of her tee shirt.
She felt the buzz and almost fell off her seat. She was drunk and she had left her sword at the hostel. It gave her some sort of guilt and she took yet another drink to relieve it. A brunette in a red shirt and a black skirt sat beside her. She asked for a beer and drew Darla's attention.
"I'm Gabriela Maria Cuadra Saavedra." Darla thought she had a nice voice, and that Argentine accent leaking through every syllable of her badly pronounced English made her more attractive than she already was.
"I'm... Darla... Hailssh." The slurred reply made Gabriela laugh.
"Are you here for action?"
"I left my... sshhword at home."
"So did I. Getting drunk is dangerous for one of us. Especially if you leave your blade at home. You should know that."
"Victor never told me..." A hiccup. "... that."
"Victor... is he your master?"
"Only in the teacher sense... someone I..." Darla giggled stupidly.
"Someone you...?" Gabriela repeated. "Yes. I know the feeling."
"But are you on good terms with that persshon?"
"I guess so. I don't know. I haven't seen him in a century. But I still miss him. How old are you?" Gabriela asked, always with a beautiful smile.
"Twenty-eight." Another drunken hiccup followed the words.
"You still have so much to learn, young lady. Perhaps we could meet for some lessons on... life in general... in my apartment perhaps... now."
Darla found the invitation too irresistible to deny it, and had it been otherwise, she was too drunk to say no. She beamed as she leant closer and closer to Gabriela's face and mouth...
-----
Darla woke up with a start. The train was not moving anymore. The wagon was empty and she noticed a security guard moving toward her, surely to wake her up. She grinned with a bit of embarrassment, stood up and got off the train. Where was Methos? She did not know, and did not care.
She took a taxi to the hotel where she had booked a room. She thought a bit about Gabriela. Their relation had been brief, yet intense. Darla was wandering the world, and wanted Gabriela to join her. But the other was deeply rooted in Buenos Aires. Parting had been sad for Darla. Not as sad as was parting with Victor, but sad still.
She checked in at the hotel and entered her room. Her bags already in, she slammed the door and opened a black suitcase. She took out and assembled three pieces of metal, which together formed a large broadsword. She stared at the blade and her own reflection. She pushed a button in the hilt, and two very short blades surged out of it at the sides of the larger blade.
Darla put on a large coat, hid the sword in it, and walked out. His friend Christophe was waiting near Champs Elysees. She had met him shortly after Victor's death. He was 23 and good looks, but something else had drawn her. They were only friends. She felt he wanted more than that, but it was not the right moment. It might never be it.
The place was just as she remembered it. Beautiful. He sensed a dim buzz and looked around. A shorthaired man, with red hair and a pair of fine glasses waved at her. She smiled and went towards him. They kissed on the cheek twice.
"You look bella." He said in a bad mix of English and Italian.
"Merci." She replied. He was rather obsequious at times, and always told her romantic things. She could not deny she liked it.
"So... what do you want to do?"
"Actually, there's a friend I have to meet. Want to come?"
"Oui." He replied. She felt that the answer would be the same even if she suggested going to a nude beach full of male Africans just released out of prison after twenty years in sole confinement.
----------------
They headed to a church nearby. Almost at the gates, she felt the premonition and smiled. They went inside the church and moved through the central alley. Empty. She coughed loudly, and it echoed. A priest appeared from the confession box. He smiled happily.
"Hello, Darius." She said joyfully. The priest and her hugged. "Christophe. This is Darius."
"We know already, Mon cheri. Hello, father."
They followed Darius to his room, where he showed them a chess table. Darla sat down and Christophe went to the altar to pray. They began to play. Darla moved a pawn. Darius moved his horse.
"You like him, right?"
"I do, Darius. But you know he's one of us... I'd hate he became immortal because of being with me."
"Indeed." He sneezed. "You look... different, Darla."
"I guess you've heard the news on me."
"The Sister of Death? That's not what I mean."
"I'm not fine, Darius. There's been... certain issues." Darla's voice was cracking.
"You were not fine when I last met you. You'd just parted with Victor, and were still getting over it. I wish I hadn't told you his story, but I didn't know that your Victor was the same person I'd met a hundred years ago." He paused. "Now, you're... battered. Emotionally battered."
"He was beheaded. I will never see him again, and I never told him that..." She stopped. She felt vulnerable.
"He knew, Darla. You have to survive him, or it will consume you."
"It's hard." Finally, Darla opted to move another pawn. Darius moved a knight and ate it.
"You have to get over it. It doesn't mean that you stop feeling what you feel. The day you do that, you'll be a dead woman walking."
"Thanks, Darius." She smiled. "But in a way, we are all dead people walking."
They laughed at the comment. Darla managed to eat Darius' knight, but in the endeavour she lost a tower, the two horses and the queen. He was close to the checkmate when their heads welcomed the premonition.
"Who might it be?" Darius wondered.
"I have an idea." She said bitterly.
Darius left the room first and Darla followed him. Christophe was gone. Methos was sitting in the first seat next to the altar. He raised his eyebrows in salutation. A brunette woman was kneeling in the seat behind him. She looked up. Her face revealed bliss in seeing Darius, and rage when her eyes placed over Darla. The young immortal was surprised of seeing her friend again, but why was she darting daggers at her?
"Gabriela..." she uttered.
Gabriela Maria Cuadra Saavedra stood up, and produced a saber. She went forward, past Darius and tried to slice Darla, who managed to move away. Darla produced her sword and went behind the altar. Darius had gone away. Methos stood up.
"This is holy ground, Gabriela."
"I don't care, Adam!" a bitter shriek replied.
Gabriela lunged at Darla. Metals clashed. Darla pushed the other away and had a clear chance to stab her. But she did not want to hurt her friend. And it was holy ground.
"What is it?" She asked.
"You killed him!"
Darla moved towards the central alley. Gabriela struck. Darla slipped when blocking and her sword fell as she did. The Argentine immortal swung her sword up and made it fall heavily down. The clash was deafening. Another sword had appeared. Methos was staring from behind. Darla saw the blade of an old Roman sword firmly saving her head.
"Darius..." she mumbled.
The priest had blocked the deathblow. Gabriela withdrew her sword and hid it.
"Just because of you, Darius. But only this time." She said with frustration. She moved past them and out of the church. Methos took the sword out of Darius' hands. The priest looked perturbed. Darla stood up, on the verge of tears. She headed back to Darius' room, under the concerned look of Methos and Darius.