Chapter Five: Interview
October 18th, 2006 - midafternoon
The campus bar was open, and I bee-lined for it. I had been sitting in the furthest corner booth for all of five minutes, glaring at but not touching my Mike's Hard Lemonade, when the shadow arrived at and hovered by the end of my table.
For a few seconds I ignored it, then raised my eyes to meet the shadow's. It was Christopher Dart, lucky me. I'd never me the guy, but it was hard to be on campus and not know him. He was the University Newspaper's editor in chief and was not shy about letting people know it.
Forget your 'paper-geek' stereotypes - Dart was smooth and sometimes kinda oily, but always genuinely attentive. He was one of those kinds with khakis and chin fuzz and hooped earrings and newsies caps. I'd met him at a few parties and never really saw him besides. I didn't take me a second to figure out why he was darkening my proverbial doorstep right then - he had a digital camera in his hands and his eyes on my sword.
"Sit," I said, trying to cover the strain in my voice with an air of the casual.
"I'd heard rumours flyin' around campus," he started slowly. "I was kinda surprised to see it was you."
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot today."
"S'cool," he shrugged. "I guess I don't mind it's you. Better than one of the stupid jocks, right?" I fish-eyed him and he attempted a smile, set down the camera and started hacking at the air with his finger. "Can you just see wonna them? 'There can be only one... ooh! Burritos!' The world would be doomed."
"Fought someone like that once," I said, tipping back my head to get a good swig of the sour booze. "Friggin' looser. I did him a favour, taking his head."
Dart paused in his wild gesticulating and dropped his hand to the table top. "Really? What's it like... you know... gettin' the Quickenin'?"
"Is this an interview, Dart?"
He shrugged. "Do you want it to be?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Sure. Why not. My life's pretty much screwed by the stupid VWL anyway. I get to edit it first, though, before you publish."
He nodded and whipped out a convinent pencil and attacked the napkins that ha been left on the table by the people eatign thier dinner before me. "VWL?" he questioned, his eyes still on his scribbling.
"Visible Weaponry Law," I clarified, and he grunted.
"So... the Quickenin'?"
I set down my bottle, now nearly empty, and leaned back into the side of the booth's wall. I crossed my arms over my stomach and repressed a shudder. "It's... it's kinda like pleasure and pain, all at once," I ventured after a moment of thought. "Like the best orgasm you've ever had in your life - only you're hooked up to a street-car cable. You jerk around like a puppet and it's friggin' scary because you're moving and you're screaming, but you're not doing it yourself. The worst part..." I sucked in a breath, then let it out. "The worst part it at the end, when all this other's persons... SHIT... takes over your brain. For a second, for just the briefest flash of a second... you're not you. You're them. And all their memories and fighting techniques and preferences and hates get into your brain and there's this internal battle. The real you is fighting to stay into control and the them is doing the same and in the end ... in the end you assimilate. No, that's not the right word. You... you incorporate them into yourself. They become a tiny part of you, and that's terrifying, because most of the time you killed this person because you didn't LIKE them, and now you ARE them, a little. In the end, there's just a tinnie bit of them inside you... In the end, there can be only one."
I looked up to find Dart staring at me with an open mouth.
"You're catching flies," I said softly. He snapped his mouth shut.
"Whattabout yer sword?"
"I'm not telling you about my sword. I have to keep some secrets. I don't want any Immortal who can pick up a paper to read about my fighting style and sword preference. You might as well sign my death warrant."
Dart shrugged and dragged his eyes back to his napkin to scribble for a second, before looking up and around the booth. "Hey, where's the guy you're always hanging out with? That... Garry guy."
"Garret," I corrected through clenched teeth. "He's... not here. I won't be spending any more time with him."
"Why not?" a third voice cut in, and I felt the buzzing headache sweep through my brain. I didn't bother to look up at him and instead grabbed my Mikes and finished it off. "Don't hold it against the boy. It's his job, after all."
"He lied to me," I snapped.
"You lied to him," Pierson answered back.
I sighed and set my bottle down on the tabletop. "If you'll excuse me, Dart, I have an elsewhere to be."
I rose to my feet, ignoring Dart's bewildered expression and noises, and made to walk around the other Immortal and to the door. He grabbed my upper arm in a surprisingly strong hold and tried to stare me down. I glared right back.
"Unless you wanna start something," I hissed, "I suggest you let go."
"Le me buy you a beer," was his response. Again he attempted the lopsided smile. "If we're going to be on the same campus together, we should at least try to be civil, right?"
"Your interview cant've been that fast."
"Professor Martin is a Groupie - I was in and out and hired like that."
I rolled my eyes. Beside us Dart's gaze was flashing back and forth between my Rapier and Pierson's Ivanhoe. "Whoa, another one?"
Pierson's hazel eyes turned to Dart with a glitter of amusement. "I am Professor Pierson. You are...?"
Dart sprang to his feet and stuck out his hand. "Chris Dart, Editor in Chief of the paper."
Pierson had to let go of my arm to shake Dart's hand. I briefly considered high-tailing it, but by this point in the afternoon I was too worn down to want to. I couldn't keep running until my evening classes, and I didn't want to anymore.
"Ah, did I interrupt an interview?" Pierson asked genially.
"No, no! Please, join us," Dart waved to the seats around us.
"I'll be right back," Pierson said, with a little nod, and strode purposefully towards the bar. Heads turned to follow him, gazes lingering on his weapon, but he paid them no heed and cut through the crowd like a fish among rushes. When he began to walk back with a pitcher and three glasses I sighed and resumed my seat.
He sat himself and poured for the three of us, then took a long satisfied pull from his own glass. "Ah," he sighed, relaxing back into the chair. I silently appraised his physique - solid yet lithe, flexible from the way he seemed comfortable even in these crappy chairs, and from the way he held his beer, ambidextrous. I hoped I never had to fight him. "Food of the Gods."
"Beer is a liquid," I corrected, taking a sip of my own.
"Not in ancient Egypt is wasn't. Had to eat the stuff with a fork."
I eyed him over the rim of my glass. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And how do you know?" I asked, ignoring that Dart was taking this all in like a sponge. "The news said you were a newbie. Less than half a century."
He shrugged and said, "I am."
"Uh-huh."
I was about to say more when Garret slowly, cautiously, like an uncertain young colt, approached us.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" Pierson crowed and waved him over. An attentive buser brought over a clean glass, and Garret was poured a drink.
"No, we're not." I got to my feet, snatched up my coat, and shoved past Garret without so much as a 'hello'. I was still pissed off at him.
"Abby..." he began, but I kept walking. If he said more, I didn't hear it.
I didn't WANT to hear it.
Garret was my Watcher. Three years he'd been my friend, I'd thought. Three years I'd hung around with a guy you really genuinely seemed to care about what I thought or said or did. Now I knew it was a lie. Now I knew that he wasn't interested, that he didn't CARE - that he was just collection his goddamned data.
Watchers were a bunch of perverted sickos, and I wanted nothing to do with Garret.
I left him standing with his jaw on the floor in the middle of the bar with Dart and Pierson, and ran to catch the bus.
Fuck my evening classes. I was going home. I really, really need to beat on something, and it was between my practice bag or my Watcher.
Practice bags don't whine when you hit them.
~~~
Author's Note: Yikes, what a useless chapter that was. I'll pretend I really meant for it to go nowhere and was using it for character development. Right. That's it.
Responces:
Nancy6: Happy you can see the plot bunnies. They're playing hide and go seek with me. Hey, it's Easter, shouldn't they be giving me a break? And I NEVER make it easy on my characters. You should read "Spider" and "Wolf". If I ever met the real Aishirinu, she'd kill me. And she could, too.
jnp: As I said in my last chapter, I would love to see other stories basded on this fandom - feel free to go ahead. All I ask is that you dont' touch Abby and Garret until they're story is done. But there has to be a ton of other Immies and situations to get them into, right?
frogi: (awesome name!) Glad you're enjoying it. It means a lot to me when people tell me they dislike OCs but enjoy my fics.
Starcat1: I'll admit, I'm a ROG groupie. Of COURSE Adam would be there.
October 18th, 2006 - midafternoon
The campus bar was open, and I bee-lined for it. I had been sitting in the furthest corner booth for all of five minutes, glaring at but not touching my Mike's Hard Lemonade, when the shadow arrived at and hovered by the end of my table.
For a few seconds I ignored it, then raised my eyes to meet the shadow's. It was Christopher Dart, lucky me. I'd never me the guy, but it was hard to be on campus and not know him. He was the University Newspaper's editor in chief and was not shy about letting people know it.
Forget your 'paper-geek' stereotypes - Dart was smooth and sometimes kinda oily, but always genuinely attentive. He was one of those kinds with khakis and chin fuzz and hooped earrings and newsies caps. I'd met him at a few parties and never really saw him besides. I didn't take me a second to figure out why he was darkening my proverbial doorstep right then - he had a digital camera in his hands and his eyes on my sword.
"Sit," I said, trying to cover the strain in my voice with an air of the casual.
"I'd heard rumours flyin' around campus," he started slowly. "I was kinda surprised to see it was you."
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot today."
"S'cool," he shrugged. "I guess I don't mind it's you. Better than one of the stupid jocks, right?" I fish-eyed him and he attempted a smile, set down the camera and started hacking at the air with his finger. "Can you just see wonna them? 'There can be only one... ooh! Burritos!' The world would be doomed."
"Fought someone like that once," I said, tipping back my head to get a good swig of the sour booze. "Friggin' looser. I did him a favour, taking his head."
Dart paused in his wild gesticulating and dropped his hand to the table top. "Really? What's it like... you know... gettin' the Quickenin'?"
"Is this an interview, Dart?"
He shrugged. "Do you want it to be?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Sure. Why not. My life's pretty much screwed by the stupid VWL anyway. I get to edit it first, though, before you publish."
He nodded and whipped out a convinent pencil and attacked the napkins that ha been left on the table by the people eatign thier dinner before me. "VWL?" he questioned, his eyes still on his scribbling.
"Visible Weaponry Law," I clarified, and he grunted.
"So... the Quickenin'?"
I set down my bottle, now nearly empty, and leaned back into the side of the booth's wall. I crossed my arms over my stomach and repressed a shudder. "It's... it's kinda like pleasure and pain, all at once," I ventured after a moment of thought. "Like the best orgasm you've ever had in your life - only you're hooked up to a street-car cable. You jerk around like a puppet and it's friggin' scary because you're moving and you're screaming, but you're not doing it yourself. The worst part..." I sucked in a breath, then let it out. "The worst part it at the end, when all this other's persons... SHIT... takes over your brain. For a second, for just the briefest flash of a second... you're not you. You're them. And all their memories and fighting techniques and preferences and hates get into your brain and there's this internal battle. The real you is fighting to stay into control and the them is doing the same and in the end ... in the end you assimilate. No, that's not the right word. You... you incorporate them into yourself. They become a tiny part of you, and that's terrifying, because most of the time you killed this person because you didn't LIKE them, and now you ARE them, a little. In the end, there's just a tinnie bit of them inside you... In the end, there can be only one."
I looked up to find Dart staring at me with an open mouth.
"You're catching flies," I said softly. He snapped his mouth shut.
"Whattabout yer sword?"
"I'm not telling you about my sword. I have to keep some secrets. I don't want any Immortal who can pick up a paper to read about my fighting style and sword preference. You might as well sign my death warrant."
Dart shrugged and dragged his eyes back to his napkin to scribble for a second, before looking up and around the booth. "Hey, where's the guy you're always hanging out with? That... Garry guy."
"Garret," I corrected through clenched teeth. "He's... not here. I won't be spending any more time with him."
"Why not?" a third voice cut in, and I felt the buzzing headache sweep through my brain. I didn't bother to look up at him and instead grabbed my Mikes and finished it off. "Don't hold it against the boy. It's his job, after all."
"He lied to me," I snapped.
"You lied to him," Pierson answered back.
I sighed and set my bottle down on the tabletop. "If you'll excuse me, Dart, I have an elsewhere to be."
I rose to my feet, ignoring Dart's bewildered expression and noises, and made to walk around the other Immortal and to the door. He grabbed my upper arm in a surprisingly strong hold and tried to stare me down. I glared right back.
"Unless you wanna start something," I hissed, "I suggest you let go."
"Le me buy you a beer," was his response. Again he attempted the lopsided smile. "If we're going to be on the same campus together, we should at least try to be civil, right?"
"Your interview cant've been that fast."
"Professor Martin is a Groupie - I was in and out and hired like that."
I rolled my eyes. Beside us Dart's gaze was flashing back and forth between my Rapier and Pierson's Ivanhoe. "Whoa, another one?"
Pierson's hazel eyes turned to Dart with a glitter of amusement. "I am Professor Pierson. You are...?"
Dart sprang to his feet and stuck out his hand. "Chris Dart, Editor in Chief of the paper."
Pierson had to let go of my arm to shake Dart's hand. I briefly considered high-tailing it, but by this point in the afternoon I was too worn down to want to. I couldn't keep running until my evening classes, and I didn't want to anymore.
"Ah, did I interrupt an interview?" Pierson asked genially.
"No, no! Please, join us," Dart waved to the seats around us.
"I'll be right back," Pierson said, with a little nod, and strode purposefully towards the bar. Heads turned to follow him, gazes lingering on his weapon, but he paid them no heed and cut through the crowd like a fish among rushes. When he began to walk back with a pitcher and three glasses I sighed and resumed my seat.
He sat himself and poured for the three of us, then took a long satisfied pull from his own glass. "Ah," he sighed, relaxing back into the chair. I silently appraised his physique - solid yet lithe, flexible from the way he seemed comfortable even in these crappy chairs, and from the way he held his beer, ambidextrous. I hoped I never had to fight him. "Food of the Gods."
"Beer is a liquid," I corrected, taking a sip of my own.
"Not in ancient Egypt is wasn't. Had to eat the stuff with a fork."
I eyed him over the rim of my glass. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And how do you know?" I asked, ignoring that Dart was taking this all in like a sponge. "The news said you were a newbie. Less than half a century."
He shrugged and said, "I am."
"Uh-huh."
I was about to say more when Garret slowly, cautiously, like an uncertain young colt, approached us.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" Pierson crowed and waved him over. An attentive buser brought over a clean glass, and Garret was poured a drink.
"No, we're not." I got to my feet, snatched up my coat, and shoved past Garret without so much as a 'hello'. I was still pissed off at him.
"Abby..." he began, but I kept walking. If he said more, I didn't hear it.
I didn't WANT to hear it.
Garret was my Watcher. Three years he'd been my friend, I'd thought. Three years I'd hung around with a guy you really genuinely seemed to care about what I thought or said or did. Now I knew it was a lie. Now I knew that he wasn't interested, that he didn't CARE - that he was just collection his goddamned data.
Watchers were a bunch of perverted sickos, and I wanted nothing to do with Garret.
I left him standing with his jaw on the floor in the middle of the bar with Dart and Pierson, and ran to catch the bus.
Fuck my evening classes. I was going home. I really, really need to beat on something, and it was between my practice bag or my Watcher.
Practice bags don't whine when you hit them.
~~~
Author's Note: Yikes, what a useless chapter that was. I'll pretend I really meant for it to go nowhere and was using it for character development. Right. That's it.
Responces:
Nancy6: Happy you can see the plot bunnies. They're playing hide and go seek with me. Hey, it's Easter, shouldn't they be giving me a break? And I NEVER make it easy on my characters. You should read "Spider" and "Wolf". If I ever met the real Aishirinu, she'd kill me. And she could, too.
jnp: As I said in my last chapter, I would love to see other stories basded on this fandom - feel free to go ahead. All I ask is that you dont' touch Abby and Garret until they're story is done. But there has to be a ton of other Immies and situations to get them into, right?
frogi: (awesome name!) Glad you're enjoying it. It means a lot to me when people tell me they dislike OCs but enjoy my fics.
Starcat1: I'll admit, I'm a ROG groupie. Of COURSE Adam would be there.