I'm finally done with my assignment (don't think I'll ever wanna hear about the industril revolution... ugh) and so here's chapter 3!
Thanks a lot for the reviews and AKKON, I'm aware of the similarities when it comes to the use of the present and such but aboutthe2nd chapterI handn't realised it untill you said it. Maybe you did inspire me without me realizing it?You're right andIcan only hope that I don't writeanything else that resembles your fic... at least I can assure you that the plot won't lol and thanks a lot but I still think your story is infinitely better than mine!
Ok, just for the record, I hate this chapter. I'll explain why at the end.
Thick clouds of cigarette smoke float through the air of the dingy Parisian bar, curling and spreading to infest the entire atmosphere with nicotine. An amateur band fills the space with a repetitive drumming rhythm, almost drowning in the noise originated by the conversations, laughter and shouts.
In the centre of the room, some men are playing pool while others are engaged in a card game in a corner. A skinny bartender stands lazily behind the counter, having already served the last costumer that isn't yet beyond his account of alcohol. This man sits on a stool, leaning on the wooden counter while he sips his scotch. His azure eyes obscured by dark bangs stare absentmindedly at the mirror on the wall behind the bartender. His irises focus slightly on it when it shows the door that grants entrance to the bar open and a girl coming in. He wouldn't even have bothered with sparing her a glance if it wasn't for her extremely young appearance.
She has the looks of a girl in her late teens, 16, 17 maybe. However, she moves with the decided posture of a grown woman. She comes to sit beside him on a stool, not once looking at him.
"Bacardi lemon" she states simply in a clearly English accented French, addressing the bartender in a bored tone. The blue-eyed man takes a moment to observe her more closely, out of pure curiosity. She's not very tall, has shoulder-length dark hair dyed red on the front and extremely pale skin, accentuated by the dark clothing she wears. He is now sure, this girl can't be older than 17.
The bartender also seems to share his suspicions as he checks the newcomer up and down, taking in her baggy jeans and petite frame.
"Card d'identité" he barks firmly. The girl throws him a dirty look, but reaches into her back pocket for the ID card. She lays it on the table casually and bartender promptly examines it. The man also takes the opportunity to have a glance of it.
'Alison Winters, 24'… yeah right. Nice forgery though.
The bartender is still eyeing her suspiciously but gives her the ID back and proceeds to fix her drink.
The girl shrugs and pockets the card, proceeding to rest her head on her hand and drumming her fingernails on the counter. The man notices they are painted black.
A teen Goth with a fake ID in one of the dingiest bars in Paris… curious to say the least.
And being such a curious smart-ass, of course he has to comment:
"Nice forgery. Where d'ya get it?" The girl glances at him out of the corner of her eye, boredom still clear in her face.
"You talkin' to me?" she asks in a monochord tone.
"See anybody else round here with a fake ID?"
"What makes you think it's fake?" He snorts.
"If you're 24 then I'm 68" she looks him up and down.
"Wouldn't surprise me"
"Why thank you, it's good to know I'm in such good shape" he replies with a smirk.
"You welcome" they are interrupted by the bartender who arrives with her drink. She takes to sipping it casually.
"So" he insists "how old are you really?"
"What's it to you?" annoyance now clear in her face.
"I'm curious. Kids don't usually get their hands on fake IDs"
"Curiosity killed the cat" she retorts.
"Is that a threat?" he asks amusedly. She sighs in annoyance.
"If I tell you my age, will you fuck off?"
Hardly.
"Maybe…" he replies. She finally locks eyes with him.
"I'm 17, you happy?"
Bulls eye.
"So… 17… does mummy know you're here?" he teases her. He half expects her to be annoyed, but is somewhat surprised when a sarcastic grin crosses her features. It's gone in a couple of seconds.
"None of your business" she retorts simply. He shrugs, but is soon back at it. Hell, he's bored and this kid is funny to pick on.
"Is your name really Alison?" She looks at him, unnerved.
"Who are you, some kind of bar fiscal? A copper!" she blurts out.
Just fancy that. A copper.
He has the urge to break up laughing.
"Don't insult me, will ya? I'm just a nosy guy with nothing better to do" he chuckles. She stares at him blankly for a couple of seconds, before turning away.
"Whatever" she mumbles. Then, turning to the bartender, calls "Combien?"
"3 euros" he replies coldly. She throws the money on to the counter and turns to leave.
"What's the matter darling?" the man calls after her "Got tired of my company? Or does mummy want you home before 2?" She doesn't reply and he just chuckles until, by mere chance, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo in the back of her neck. In the movement of standing up, her hair had moved aside to reveal a red symbol similar to an 'A' with a small curl on the side.
He freezes on the spot. By the time he manages to react and rush after her, she's already out the door.
Aysha gladly welcomes the night's air that ruffles her hair the moment she exits the bar. She's happy to be free from the smoke filled atmosphere, not to mention from the annoying nosy guy.
What a pain in the ass. Pathetic, really, must be going through some middle age crisis.
She dismisses the thought and starts to wonder off slowly. It is, actually, quite annoying that people regard her as a kid just because of her physical age. After all she's been through, she has the mental maturity of an adult!
She blows, exasperated, as she recalls how she went through hell to get that bloody fake ID along with all the other legal papers necessary to make herself "existent" on the world outside the Strahov.
The only times Aysha had been out of that dreaded place before had been on missions and always under the strict supervision of the Cabal military forces.
She snorts.
I still don't get why the hell didn't we just kill 'em all. We had the power to do it all along, after all.
She knows perfectly why, though. Because, as kids, they were scared to death and had no knowledge of an outside world. And then, when they grew up, they had been taught all along that they were doing the right thing. Of course, they hated it. They hated the humans that controlled them, they hated all the hard training and they hated the great work.
So why hadn't they revolted against their masters? It was well within their power…
Because Ethaniel said we should wait.
And so they had waited. Because had Ethaniel had said so, and Ethaniel always knew better. He was the CO for some reason.
Well, apparently he doesn't know so much or he would have gathered us again by now.
Her heart stings whenever she thinks of her siblings… or at least the place where her heart is supposed to be.
Do things like me even have a heart?
She doesn't think so. But still, it pains her to think of her companions. She thinks of them as her family, her only family… She's been looking frantically for them ever since she escaped the Strahov, but has had no luck so far.
She knows, however, that they are alive. She would have felt if one of them had died. She only hopes they haven't been recaptured by what is left of the Cabal…
Her disturbed thoughts are interrupted by the slamming of the bar door about 20 meters behind her.
"Hey kid! Wait up!" she hears someone calling after her. She turns around slowly, surprised, but her expression quickly turns from one of confusion to one of annoyance as she recognizes the annoying guy from the bar.
"What the hell do you want!" she snaps.
The man stops for a moment to gather himself. What's he going to do? Just walk up to some strange kid and ask her why does she have a Nephilim related symbol tattooed on the back of her neck? He knows he's going to sound like an idiot, but he chooses a more discrete approach.
"Nice tattoo" he comments. Aysha blinks a couple of times, her face blank.
"Do you want something?" she asks finally.
"Do you know what it means?" he asks in turn.
"The tattoo? Beats me" she lies, shrugging. Then, with a hint of suspicion demands "Why? What about it?" He still tries to maintain the casual façade, replying with another question.
"Did you know it's a satanic symbol?" Not very accurate, but oh well…
"Really?" Aysha's brow furrows with weariness. This guy is beginning to creep her out.
Could he possibly know…?
"Yeah" he's eyeing her attentively now, searching for signs of understanding from her part. Anything to prove right his suspicions "Where d'ya get it?"
"I had it done by some guy who lives on a trailer in a side road in the middle of nowhere" she starts to back away now, ever so slowly "Why, you want one like it? You some kind of Satanist?"
He notices her unease and smiles inwardly. As she backs away, he starts to move towards her.
"Do you know what a Nephilim is?" he finally drops the bomb. Her eyes widen momentarily but, to her credit, she pulls herself together quickly.
"No sweet clue" her voice an icy whisper now "Now fuck off"
"Oh, I dunno… Some annoying little voice right here" he points at his head, still closing in on her "keeps telling me that you do know what it is. Am I wrong… Alison?"
Aysha decides that she's sick of this nerve wrecking game. She takes of running. As far as she knows, this guy could very well be a Cabal member.
The man needs no further proof. He takes out his Boran X and rushes after the girl. Young or not, she is definitely a Cabal member, if not a Nephilim.
Nah… if she were a Nephilim I'd be dead by now.
He chases her through the darkened Parisian streets, constantly surprised by her speed and reminding himself to take a break from smoking.
She moves with the speed and the agility of a cat, soon leaving him far behind.
Oh, to hell with discretion!
The man aims his gun at the scurrying form and fires a few rounds. Of course he isn't expecting to hit his target from that distance but at least now she knows he means business.
Aysha got the message perfectly. She quickens her pace, if possible, even more, running for her life at a dazing speed.
She barely has time to ponder on the confusion that his actions bring.
What's he doing! If he's Cabal then he's supposed to recapture me, not kill me!
Without even thinking, she turns a narrow corner that leads her to a darkened path, ending in…
A dead end! No fucking way!
Panic begins to settle in. She'll have to fight him. She doesn't want to, though , she just wants to be left the hell alone…
The man turns the same corner, a smirk pulling at his lips when he spots the dead end.
I've got you know honey…
His expression breaks, however, when he takes a good look around. He spots a few trashcans, a couple of cardboard boxes, lots of dirt, a cat sitting casually on a wooden crate…
Where the hell did that kid go!
Angered, he kicks the cans, sending them flying towards the wall. The cat lets out an aggravated "meow" but he fully ignores it. Where could she have gone?
He curses in frustration. He's lost her.
"Bloody Nephilim!" he blurts out. Eyes glistening with anger, he turns around and heads for the exit of the alley, muttering to himself "She probably flew or something" with one last glance backwards to make sure, he wanders off.
These last words are clearly registered in the "cat's" brain, however. As she slowly morphs back and her figure becomes that of a human, a confusing thought bites at her brain.
If he was Cabal, he would know that I can't fly.
Half an hour later finds the man smoking, looking absent-mindedly at the river Seine.
There aren't supposed to be anymore Nephilims. Where that kid came from, is a mystery to him. Either way, he has a problem. One that he thought had been solved months ago, but still a problem… but had it really been solved? The sleeper had been destroyed, that wasn't even to be questioned… was it?
As if on cue, a gust of wind throws a torn newspaper his way. He immobilizes it with his foot. On the cover, a large picture of a woman with brown eyes and a ponytail smiles back at him, accompanied by a caption in bold letters "Lady Croft cleared of all charges"
He sighs, blowing out a curl of grey smoke.
"Maybe it's time to pay Lara a visit… I need my Chirugai, anyway" Kurtis decides.
He drops the cigarette and crushes it under his boot, putting it out. As he walks away, he doesn't even bother to look back. Even if he had, it was very unlikely that he would have noticed a pair of bright blue eyes watching him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
There.I hate it. It came out absolutely forced because I needed Kurtis and Aysha to meet before hepaid a visit to Croft manor. Oh well... I'll try to make the nextchapters better.Oh, and about Aysha: It's not as simple as you think it is lol