A/N: Howdy! So… how is everyone?
Yes, I know, I've been gone for a very long time… again. I've changed fandoms… again. And, again, I can't guarantee that this story will ever get finished. I plan to have a fairly complicated and multi-branched plot with several different plot lines. No, my original character has absolutely no romantic affiliations with anyone, so no worries and no flames. She is also not the main character. I think that will be Raimundo. Yes, I can guarantee some Jack/Rai slash later, although if you're expecting sex, you'll probably be disappointed because I'm really not planning on it. Please don't bug me about characterization; I know these characters in the limited sense that I started watching the show a month ago.
Because it was Flower's stories and influence that got me onto the whole Jack/Rai thing, I shall dedicate this to her, because I now think Jack/Rai is the most fabulous thing ever. If you don't like the pairing, I don't care, so don't tell me so. You won't get a response and you will most likely just make me laugh. You shouldn't be reading this if you don't like the pairing.
Anyway, those who do like the pairing and wish to may review. This is only the prologue and it's not-so-wonderful; not even 1000 words. But it's just a prologue, so I guess it's not supposed to be particularly lengthy. I hope I finish this story; I have high expectations for it.
As for the disclaimer, no, I do not own Xiaolin Showdown or any of the characters. I do, however, possess the rights to Raimundo's accent. Or I at least wish I did.
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PROLOGUE: Into Oblivion
There was no choice but to work beside the darkness, to make it an ally of sorts. Night fell and there was nothing left to do but watch and wait. Nothing had gone according to plan and the entire operation had blown to hell. A figure moved in the darkness, but only for a moment, skirting the building and crouching beside an outcropping jutting out from the corner of the wall. There, it waited, keen eyes peeking around to scout the opposite wall. Nothing; everything was quiet, exactly as she had been told. The amount of money she had paid for the information that had led her to this spot should certainly have merited it valid. If this would get her out of the spot she was in, it would be worth every penny.
She'd been running for ten hours already, over a continent and more than seven countries (with the help of a plane, of course), but she couldn't fool them for long. If she couldn't get to Portugal, she was toast. The airports there were being patrolled, as they had been proclaimed international ground, and every entrance over the border was being watched as well, every guard given instructions to arrest her if she tried to cross over. Again, well-paid customers often gave quite detailed information.
Apparently if an heiress committed a murder, it was a big deal.
The truth was, she had killed a man, in cold blood at that. She hadn't been falsely accused, she hadn't been set up, and she hadn't been possessed. She had killed him and remembered every victorious moment of it. However, the punishment seemed almost unfair. Jason Parsons had deserved to die, after what he'd done. Americans thought they could get away with anything, but that's not how they played it where she came from and he had learned his lesson well.
She wasn't sorry, either. If she was ever caught, she'd be damned if she lied about being sorry. However, she wouldn't be caught if she could help it. Her salvation floated just beyond her grasp in Portugal, but there was no way in. If only her family hadn't been staying at the manor in Marseilles for the summer, none of this would have happened in the first place.
All she could think was, stupid Americans.
Stupid Americans with their stupid egos and their stupid movie stars with their stupid slander.
She frowned in the darkness, crouching now as she watched the temple door intently. There were sounds; she knew someone was in there. Voices drifted from inside in the silent night and she froze, sinking even further into her protective cape of obscurity. She looked down at her hands resting on her knees, turning them over to gaze at her palms, illuminated only slightly by the glow of the full moon. Even in the dim she could see the traces of blood still upon them. The memory was so fresh she nearly shuddered, but regret refused to take her. Gaze averting, she continued her night watch, eyes narrowing slowly. If it took all night, she would wait.
The voices grew louder as a pair of figures appeared from beyond the door, the light from the building revealing their faces; a man and a woman, or a boy and a girl if you wished to be entirely exact. The male was shorter than the female, the murderer noted, and his head was entirely shaved, which made it appear much larger and rounder than the normal person. The girl, on the other hand, sported a lovely pair of black pigtails and looked to be of Japanese heritage.
It didn't matter who they were, she decided. The only thing that mattered was that they left. She soon got her wish as they strolled away to the adjoining buildings of the temple. After a few silent minutes of watching and listening, the criminal decided the coast was clear and made her move.
It was exactly how her source had described it. She had to admit, she was quite pleased. Perhaps she would tip him, if she wanted to take the pain to go see him again, which wasn't incredibly likely. But then again, once she had gotten herself into Portugal, she would have to hold up her end of the bargain.
The ends of her mouth curled slightly in pleasure. Yes, the vault was certainly here.
Crossing to the center of the room, her eyes darted around the premise. Everything was exactly right. Perhaps she had mistrusted him too much, but she had already decided she wouldn't apologize.
"Perfect," she murmured, touching what appeared to be a stone platform in the middle of the room. She knew better.
But she heard the footsteps too late. "Who's there?" said a distorted voice from the door. In her panic, the killer couldn't place the accent and for some reason, it annoyed her. She turned around, her hand moving as quickly as it could to her gun holster.
She was too late.
"TYPHOON BOOM!"
She felt herself fly through the air, terror and failure coursing through her for the moments before she smashed painfully into the opposite wall. For a fleeting second, the world was fuzzy and pale before everything before her faded into oblivion.
