The Stars End Spaceport Sector of Rhydin...

"What are you gonna do?" the young woman asked her companion, who was obviously related by blood, as they both bore the same red hair, the same fair complexion, the same sprinkling of freckles across the nose. There was no mistaking the fact that they were kin, though they were often mistaken for sisters, rather than mother and daughter.

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" the other replied, zipping her jacket and slipping a comm unit into her pocket. They'd only just received news of an old enemy's arrival in port and she wasn't taking any chances.

"Take me with you," the younger one pleaded, as if reading her mother's mind.

Lydia frowned at her daughter. She'd already decided to take matters into her own hands, and she wasn't about to let anyone change her mind, not even those who loved her most. "No. I need you to take care of your siblings. Make sure they're safe."

"But, Mum..." her daughter argued, tears prickling at green eyes that were so like her mother's. "You can't fight them alone."

Lydia sighed and took her daughter by the shoulders. "Kayla, listen to me. I need you to take them to the pride. They'll be safe there. You're the only one who can do this."

Kayla opened her mouth to protest, but Lydia would hear none of it. "Don't worry. I'm not going to fight them alone."

"But who...?"

Lydia paused a moment, as if hesitant to reveal her plan, even to her own daughter. This was, after all, a matter of life and death for those whose lives she held dearest. It was better if Kayla didn't know. "A friend," she said simply. "A very old friend."

Aboard the Ship Wayfinder

Transmission 1489.2.
Start....
Reading...
Breaking Encryption...

Begin Message 1.

"Could use your help. Besides, been a while since you were seen around here. L."


Ice blue eyes narrowed as he read the message. "L." He thought a couple of seconds, thinking over names and who would want to hire him, since he's been out of the loop. Sure life was going as normal, well normal as it has been for him. A hunt that ended unsuccessful, a part of his life ended, a part that made him softer...a part that he missed at one time, now just a part that fueled more of the darkness. "Lyds?That's about the only name that starts with L who would know this comm unit."

Again he read the message, then a bit of a dark smile formed on his face. It was time to go to the one place that he always called home, and find one of the very few people that he considered a friend.

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

The meeting place was never discussed. A couple of clues were left in a second message and it lead him to a nightclub. He'd heard that she'd owned a club at one time, and the night before the meeting he checked the place out. A normal spot for men to hang out. Glammed out boys, and some of the want to be toughs, all strut and pose to impress the mostly female staff, thinking that tonight, could be their night to win the fantasy girl of their choice.

The bouncers were average at best. Big, buff, and had the look, but with the right pressure, Varian knew he could make them cry like a schoolgirl. The meeting would be at the club, anything after that would be on his terms.

Varian knew there was trouble, but what kind of trouble was remaining to be seen...all he knew was to prepare, and that meant for anything.

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

Choke me in the shallow water before I get too deep.
What I am is what I am.
Are you what you are - or what?
__________

It was a beautiful night, crisp and clear -- the stars over the Spaceport shining brightly, the lights of the Spaceport blinking like those upon a Christmas tree -- but Lydia hadn't noticed or even cared.

Instead, she'd paced back and forth, like a tiger in a cage, exhausted but too anxious to sleep. She'd gone over everything a dozen times or more, and still she could find no alternative. She'd thought that asking Varian for help would ease her mind, but somehow it had only seemed to complicate matters.

Maybe she shouldn't have gotten him involved; maybe she should have handled matters on her own, but it was too late for that now. He was involved, and if they failed, his blood would be on her hands, as would the blood of her children.

She didn't understand the old hatreds. She didn't understand why they couldn't just leave her alone. She didn't understand why the one person she'd always counted on hadn't been there when she'd needed him most.

Like so many things in Lydia's life, none of it had made any sense, and yet what had Varian told her? That it was all part of the path of life. That which doesn't destroy you only makes you stronger. True enough. Seline knew Lydia had faced plenty of demons in her day, but somehow she sensed that this was going to be worse than anything she'd ever faced before.

(Lyrics from "What I Am" - Edie Brickell)

The night after...

The club was pulsing with life. A driving beat and bodies crowded around stages holding up money for their favorite fantasy. A few of the faces in the crowd and on the stages looked familiar, but when you are looking for someone that is to be expected.

He stopped near the main bar, and took a lean. He was casual, alert as ever, but relaxed. There were no threats, no targets, no real danger. He'd been off world a long time, and in that, anyone looking for him would not be looking for him in a strip club.

The bartender was not overly attractive. She was dressed to show her best assets, and had a very winning smile. She worked the men at the bar, flirting, smiling, listening, and offering the pet names at every opportunity. The creds flowing over from tip jars said that she was good at her job, and good at making men feel like they have a shot with a woman at a club, like any of them had a shot of waking up with more than a box of tissues and a girlie magazine. Varian held back a laugh at the thought, and sipped from his glass of Remy Martin, waiting for her to come to him.
She looked as good as ever when he saw her. He'd known her long enough to tell that there was a force to her smile, but a relief in her eyes when she saw him. They talked as old friends in front of the crowd before going to her office, guarded by a nosey bouncer that sized Varian up as he passed, standing straighter and even puffing out his chest, looking for a moment like he was about to beat on it and piss in the doorway staking his territory. Again the assassin held back a laugh as he closed the door behind them, and took a seat to get to business.

She told about a pack of Garou, he knew them better as Werewolves, and how they hunted her and her family. They were purists and Varian knew about dealing with those type of people, only he called them Fanatics.


Cont...

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

There were points in the conversation, no matter how serious they were that lead back to the way things always were between the old friends. Light Flirts, or flat out commentary how the other couldn't handle it. This time though, in his eyes, things were different.
Almost real.

They talked of options. She even agreed that her place would not be safe and without much of a hesitation, she took the offer of the spare room at his place. At the time of their arrival, it was late, and they both were exhausted.
No more talking.
No Goodnights.

Varian walked into his bedroom and looked around for the first time since his arrival back in the port. He looked at the things once shared, the things that were bought, or gifted. Offerings of a future, beginnings of a past.
Slowly, he walked through the room, removing works of art, personal photographs, and various momentos.
He turned around to get ready for bed and dropped the Remy, held there in his left hand. She was there, green eyes sparkling, and a smile playing across her lips. A look he'd seen when the need for sleep was put off for a few hours. Her bare shoulders, waiting for a line of kisses, her neck bent just the right way, and in a blink, she was gone.
"Ghosts of the past, will not haunt my future." He growled as he bent to wipe up the spilled drink.
A few taps on the comm unit at the desk and new bedroom furniture was ordered to be delivered, a guess at the size of some clothes for his new roomate, then a fire started in the living area to start the burning of ghosts.
The night pressed on. Past what she called The Hour of the Wolf.
Little sleep was had, but progress was made.
Progress of freeing his mind.
Progress of moving on with his life.

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

The next day was uneventful. He woke with a groan, stretching and rubbing his temples, and could tell that he needed more sleep. Sleep, however, was to be missed, and he knew he'd need to be sharp. He dressed in the darkened room while working out the kinks in muscle, and stretching even more. A roll of his neck to the side to allow for a freedom of movement produced a metallic pop and then a shake of his head to clear the cobwebs. He knew at one point during the night he was not alone in the pacing. He heard Lydia in her room, no matter how hard she tried to be quiet, the stress was already starting to tear at her, and the worry sat in long ago, long before she'd called him. As he walked from his room, he glanced down the hall toward her room, thinking about going to wake her, but upon hearing the shower start running, he knew that she was already moving about. A slow turn on heels, and he was in the kitchen, starting the coffee, and waking up in his own way.

The newsfeed was torn free of the printer, and he smiled as he recognized some of his own work in the headlines. A sip of Coffee and more news made him feel a little more human. He walked and read, sipping now and again from the mug, then found himself in old habits of picking dead leaves from the plants around the koi pond. He blinked from his reflection on the design of the pond and aboretum as he smelled the shampoo and soap, and then saw her standing in a borrowed robe looking very appealing.
"Calm down boy." He muttered to himself, then smiled to her. "Morning, coffee?"

The conversation was light, pleasant even. Before long she offered to buy breakfast, and at breakfast is when all hell broke loose.

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

Overhead the speakers cracked and popped an Oriental version of Stranglehold, while the patrons of the greasy spoon went on about their own business or just simple, basic survival of breakfast. The pair talked about things past, present and of course future, and he said something that made her breakfast seem un-appealing, fast.
She ran from the restaurant, leaving him to throw some creds down to cover the bill and on the way out the door, he lit a cigarette, and watched as she paced the parking lot.
"Going somewhere, Lyds?" He asked in a smokey exhale, blue eyes narrowing.
"I have to get home." She replied, watching him.
"You know, if you want me in this, it's not good to run off, thinking that I know what you are thinking, or where you are going. You called for my help, now...use it." His voice was low, and cold, and he still watched her pacing lightly.
She walked to him, and forced a smile as she plucked the smoke from his lips and said, "Drive."

He was on the bike, and she climbed on behind him, readying for the ride and hanging onto him, leaning closer than she had the night prior. He drove around a moment before she told him to head West out of the port, and about half an hour later, they were near the wooded land of her shared home.

The bike was parked where she said. She knew the area, and knew they could be watched from nearly anywhere. They took a couple of steps from the bike, and she turned to him, as he checked his weapons.
"You smell that?" She asked, as she leaned her head back slightly, sniffing the air.
"What exactly am I supposed to be smelling?" He asked as he watched her.
"Nevermind, I forget that we are...you are..." She trailed off.
"I smell the shampoo you used this morning. The light vanilla of the soap. I can smell the leaking gas seal on the engine of the bike, and a woodburning fireplace." He too leaned his head back, sniffing as she stared at him, not really knowing much of this man she called friend, and all the pieces and parts he'd had replaced over the years, then blinked as he grinned and said, "Blood. Someone's been injured."

She turned then, heading further up the path, faster than he could think of moving. "A fire, Varian."
"That's the woodburning fireplace." He called behind her.
"No one's home to start one!" She called as she shifted into the form of a Bengal tiger.

He'd never seen anyone shift like that, and would think more on it when he wasn't trying to keep up with her, and he stopped as they approached the burning house, the flames leaping high into the sky. A growl of the tiger, a howl of the wolf. He knew then they were not alone.

(Re-posted for The Assassin.)

You were once
my one companion...
you were all
that mattered...
You were once
a friend and father...
then my world
was shattered.
__________

The house wasn't just a house to Lydia. At least, not anymore. Over the years, it had become her secret place, her refuge, her solace. It had once belonged to her father, and of all her siblings, he'd passed it down to her, perhaps somehow knowing she needed it more than the others.

She was, after all, her father's daughter and more like him than any of his other children. When he'd died, her world had been shattered, and even after all these years, she still remembered and missed him as much as ever.

When he'd died, it had been like a part of her had died along with him, and for years, the house had remained empty. She'd left Rhydin with a broken heart and had only returned after realizing that if one truly wanted to heal, one had to face their pain, not run away from it.

Not long after that, the house had become a home for herself and Am and their children, but all that was over now. All that had changed. Am was nowhere to be found, probably off fighting in some war somewhere. How many times she had begged him to stay, only to hear him tell her how much bigger and more important the universe was than the two of them.

When danger had threatened, she'd tried to contact him, but to no avail, and in all truth, she no longer even knew if he was dead or alive. All she knew was that he'd left her behind once again to fend for herself and their children, despite the danger involved.

And now, there would be nothing left of her father's house but ruins of charred rubble, like the ruins of her heart. Whatever love and happiness they'd once shared there was nothing more than a fading memory, all of it going up in smoke.

(Lyrics from "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from Phantom of the Opera.)

Gareth seethed. Three of them were dead. One had been mauled, the second had a bullet in his brain, and the last appeared to have been tortured to death. The bitch had eluded him, yet again, and he was sure she'd had help because bullets had never been her style.

But it wasn't the loss of his friends that bothered him. He didn't have any friends really, just companions. Followers. Cohorts. Minions. Lackeys. Their loss didn't bother him. There were plenty of others ready and willing to lay down their life for the cause. Fools all of them.

Still, it pissed him off to no end. It was bad enough that she'd evaded him for years, made him look like a fool, but to find someone to help her was simply unthinkable. Probably sleeping with the guy. Like she'd done before on Gaia. Love 'em and leave 'em. That was the Lydia he knew or thought he knew. Not that he knew from experience. He'd never allowed himself to mingle in that way with her kind and never would, no matter how great the temptation. She'd seen to that, too. Taken that choice from him.

It had all been so very long ago, but still he seethed. It ate away at his soul, like maggots to rotting flesh. She had effectively taken his manhood from him, and for that, he would never forgive her. Never mind the fact that she had been fighting for her life at the time, that he had been about to do far worse to her. She had mingled with a half-breed, and now she was breeding them herself, or so he'd been told, but in all honesty, he didn't really give a rat's ass about bloodlines anymore. All he cared about was revenge.

He would make her pay. He would make her suffer, like he'd suffered. He would make her wish she'd never been born. First, he'd destroy her life, then he'd kill her kin. And as if that weren't enough, he'd then take from her what she'd taken from him, and only then, after she'd suffered excruciating pain and shame and terror, would he finish the job. And that would be the end of the were-bitch for good.