Thread: Wicked Game

It was a long drive. Too long of a drive. Not so long that it should have been a problem for him to cover it, the estimation was- what? Three hours?- and he was pushing the gas hard as his beat up old peace of crap would allow, chopping blocks off that number as quickly as they came. He wasn't really sure how much head start Celeste had though, but it was going to be enough to beat him there anyway, unless the illness really got to her bad. Her bikes put his girl to shame in more ways than show. No. He'd eaten up the first chunk of that like nothing, it was the later part that was hitting him. Kael had made rides longer than three hours. He'd walked for that long without any real breaks before, and not as amped up on adrenaline like he was now. That adrenaline bit him in the ass before long though. Two hours in, the lack of sleep was making the continuous driving into a sweet lullaby, and it almost hurt to keep his eyes focused, darting around traffic and pulling the long stretches, looking for his turn. His body reacted well, but even that wouldn't last forever. He could pull off to the side of the road, set an alarm for twenty minutes, and the nap would give him enough to finish the trip strong. But he might well have been on borrowed time already, and if things really went sour on him who knew if the alarm would be enough to rouse him. It was just to push on. He was going to have to find the girl and stop her before she tossed her ass on the fire again. Emptying her guts everywhere and with her memories still jumbled, there was no way she could handle something like Frostchild, even remotely. She hadn't handled it even there- she'd been half ready to crumple and wait to die at one point. Not something he'd ever done, but he was a stubborn bastard, and had his temper to help him. Of course, all it apparently took was a good spanking as Mei Lee would put it, to get Cel's own temper up and going again. He'd have to be there to deliver it though. And probably without throwing her over a shoulder this time. And somehow not end up at gunpoint afterward. And then... then... then he had to convince her to come back to someplace safe too. Hell if he knew how he'd talk her out of this fit of silent treatment, but he'd do it somehow. And once he did that... once he did that... there were her memories. And the test. Which one did you even start on? Or maybe he discussed getting serious first? Couldn't imagine a ring on his finger, not by a long shot. It was... utterly bizarre and beyond. But he had to take responsibility. He... he could actually settle down with her. Hell, his detachment and the arguments might have had to do with him hurting her just like how he'd been avoiding any commitment to not do to anyone. It was a lot of shit on his plate and he wasn't sure where to start except that he had to be there as something if this was happening. He knew enough to understand the chances of her aborting were slim, and two weeks in, pills were probably not an answer anymore. If he made all of that about the kid, though, Cel would probably shut him out like... ...like... like his mind in its vain search for a simile right now. He blinked several times, clearing fog from his eyes, though on the last they stuck, and when he forced them open something wasn't right. He suspected it had to do with the flames everywhere, the tumbling timber and stone, haunting ambient voices not so much surrounding as soaked into every inch of the air, saturating the experience. Or maybe it was the thundering charge heading toward him, headed by a figure reflecting amber shine of the fire in a hundred directions off mercurial golden armor, swathed in shadows and bold strokes his mind somehow fixated so hard on the whole of that the details didn't matter- nothing except the burning red lights under its visor. -f-f-F-FUCK. He let off the gas and drifted toward what should be the side of the road before his stability could suffer more, and just in time to feel the rush of air and hear the horn of something large surging by him furiously, carving a semi into the nightmare, that fell apart like a cloud subjected to a bolt of Zeus' golden-fucking-spears, twisting to nothing. The road. It was... to his side now, and he pulled back as the bike started to tip and jar violently, still bouncing as he took up the shoulder, cursing under his breath as he settled it out and kept slow while his mind tried went into a frenzy. There wasn't much else he could do, when his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly hold himself going straight. He wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep on the road, or if it was the most crass, blatant invasion of his waking mind yet. Either way, it wasn't good, but as he waited for after shocks, nothing came. Silence, but for the roaring wind and a distant keening wail. Maybe that was to be expected. ...fuck me. Fuck. There was one upside- fear had stricken his mind into such a desperate surge of will to fight for survival, that as soon as the shaking subsided, he'd be able to keep pushing it. He'd need to. If he lost that focus and it happened again before he got there, he could be going under the wheels of the truck next time. ...fuck. It took a little over an hour to finish the ride, and by the time he pulled into the place and slowed down to pull out the slip and start checking addresses, just a few buildings at a time until he got to the right one, the exhaustion was like a pillow being shoved over his head again. He struggled not to yawn or shut his eyes, reminding himself why he was here. Here. He looked at it, and frowned. Not really what he'd been expecting. But when he checked the little piece of paper again, it still said the same thing. So with a noise of frustration, he searched out a good spot to park and chain up his bike, not too far away. Of course, he was in a place he didn't know, so he had to be at least as careful as he did back home. And that meant checking the pole he found to make sure it wasn't a trick- he had grown up in Carter City. He knew that sometimes punks like the sort he'd spent too much time with liked to screw with these things, give themselves a way to lift the pole right out of the ground so they wouldn't have to worry about anything as arduous as cracking a combination lock or hacking through a chain out in plain site. He'd also made sure to get a few tiny pebbles into that lock a while ago- not big or sturdy enough to jam it up. Just above sand, so that if someone with some inhumanly sensitive ears wanted to crack it, it wouldn't be child'splay. If they could just rip or cleave the post or chain... well, he'd known enough of those, but usually the bastards had made the big time well enough to not concern themselves with rust buckets that looked as if they should have expired already, they were either rich already or only went for the big time. Once the bike was set, he gave his head a good pounding- smacking the helmet with his palms, rattling the padded thing about his head, and jarring himself. Once it was off, his eyes got a gentler dose of that, and he stood up, tucking his hands into his pockets, and looking about. Scarred up face, a duster, and something in one of those long and narrow duffel like carriers over his shoulder, longer than a gold club should have been? No, he didn't look suspicious at all. Certainly not if he got clumsy and let the sawed off in his coat, or the metal plates on the back of his hands show too clearly. But... Hell, he knew she'd been to his place before, but wasn't she from rich blood? Really? What kind of guy would have her going to this place? Course, it wasn't as abandoned as it should have been. If the guy was supposed to be here... he might have missed it otherwise, but he was betting this fella outside was an eye for them. Hopefully that meant the crew was still handling business with her inside. All he could do was act like he belonged, and go right on in.