Date: 2/21/1999 10:35 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
With the clack of body armor, two of the squad drop their ungangly black burden into a padded ebony chair before a very unassuming desk crammed into a barren box of a room that hasn't seen true occupation in quite a while. The package itself shifts to reveal four distinct limbs, a shock of platinum locks, and two very disgruntled silver eyes.
“Hey, next time do you think I could upgrade to coach travel? The ride may not be much better, but at least I’d get a little bag of peanuts... ”
“Shut up Mr. Thorn.” comes the reply as the chair at the other end of the desk’s expanse swivels about. “You’re here to listen, not talk.” Beringed fingers steeple before a man who could only be described as looking... rich. Slick black hair gleams over a smooth, angular jawline as he turns a hawkish gaze toward his quarry for the minute. “And quite frankly, I find your performance disappointing so far. Your Rhydin PD file would suggest you to
be a man made of smoke. So why then is such a pathetic force able to drag you in here without trouble?”
A slippery grin meets all the accusations, absorbed into an all-too-amused stubbly countenance. “Because, Mr. Titan, if I were to elude every mob squad sent out after me, how would I ever find a proper job?”
Barely taken aback, and showing it even less, the business suit dressed man allows one eyebrow to raise. “You know who I am.”
“Of course I do. CEO of Titan industries, who recently had... according to the afformentioned Rhydin PD... “an attack of unknown natural powers” upon a lesser building just recently. Lemme guess, a former employee who was unsatisfied with the unemployment package?”
“You try my patience Mr. Thorn.”
Slipping into a more comfortable position in the chair he was given, the midnight dressed rouge grins again. “Wait, I'm sure to get all the way into pissed."
At that, the guard behind him soundly raps his gauntled fist across blonde spikes.
With a sigh, almost doubting his judgement in bringing this arrogant man into his plans, he continues. "To the point. You are a part of a cult known as the Duel of Fists. This group was the recipiant of five stones of power from another realm, and time."
"Ahso, the suit's story comes into place," Tareth interrupts, still wincing as he rubs the sting out of his scalp. "You want the opals. But someone beat you to it, most likely this guy who wrecked your building." Building steam, he continues before the suit can get in edgewise. "The blue opal was never examined for purity after its miraculous recovery... I was wondering where they dredged it up for the tournament. So... " blonde brows furrow,
remembering another bid in another part of this seedy district, but dismissed in favor of further thought stream, "the other two must be fake as well." One finger taps gently against his lips for a moment. "And the Tribune published something about laboritory equipment found in the wreckage of the building. You're planning something with the five opals."
"You do your homework." The well dressed one unfolds his hands to lean forward as well... he had made a good choice.
"So what do you want from me?" Tareth leans back in his chair, having made his point and mark. "Honestly, I'd have thought one of your competitors would contact me before you would."
"Well, you're a thief. Obviously I want you to steal something."
"Why me?"
"Because I heard from someone you were the one to contact, and because you were the only one to impress me enough to.. " A smirk, thinking on the true fate of these peope, "...elude... those I sought to contact you initially."
"Fair enough. Which do you want... the other two opals or the three you seem to be missing?"
A grin splashes across perfect white teeth. "Both. You will be paid exactly one million for each of the items you bring to me." As if punctuating his statement, he rises and straightens each sleeve before nodding to the larger of the two flak armored guards that resemble nothing so much as stained green beetles.
The burly guard steps up and siezes the back of Tareth's gi collar, hauling him to his feet. Dangling unceremoniously, he watches his new employer step over to the door, absently noting the Armani tag sewn into the lining of his jacket.
"You can contact me when you succeed." Turning, he fixes the dangling man with that authorative glare. "If you fail, you'd better be as good at disappearing as you're reputed to be." As his frame leaves the doorway, his voice barely drifts into the room, "Show our guest out."
"Alright you." grates the sand and gravel voice of his captor as he jerks the prone one toward the exit. But as the black dressed body reaches the doorway one booted foot kicks off the framing bar... he twists in midair and plants a fist halfway through the startled guard's cheek, toppling him. Glaring down at the man sprawled out on the office floor, Tareth steps up on his chest, squatting down to pull his sidearm.... a rather odd conglomeration
of automation... and push it against his chin. Eyes narrowed, and fully aware of the other squad members piling into the doorway behind him, he spits, "I hope your armor is as strong as it smells."
A small glass bauble flares brilliant white in his free fingers.
The CEO of Titan industries steps out the doorway of a vacant building that likely costs less than the car waiting in the alley behind it. He pauses to look upward at the tinkling of smashed glass a few stories up, and smiles as moments later a gout of flame jets out of the window of the room he had just adjouned from, followed by most of the wall. When only three of five soldiers come staggering out the same door in black-streaked armor, he nods
to himself. Yes, he'd definitely chosen well.
Pleased to meet you...
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What's puzzling you...
Date: 2/23/1999 1:03 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Grunting, he clambers up the side of a rooftop and spills onto the hard tar surface. Exits were always his strong point. It was a good thing he'd spotted that emergency escape ladder on the other side of the window from his "meeting", else who knows what the king of bad breath called a bodyguard would have done. So his methods were a bit extreme... nobody had complained yet.
The opals.. god... what a mess. Poor Deuce, the only caller he'd really gotten to know... wonder if they even know yet. Surely the holders of the opals themselves would know... ahhh... so that's what's wrong with Fala. He knew... but why didn't he tell anyone? But along those lines... should he, Tareth, tell anyone? What would it gain.. other than mass panic and moreover, a warning to those he intended to steal from?
Rolling over on his back, he takes a moment to contemplate the steam rising from many vents along the rooftop, and how it mingles with the stars to create an odd, shimmery look. And what about that other bid just down the street? Bruce was wanting to talk to him about finding some artifact... but Jimmy would know more. One thing's for sure, after he talks to that scumlord, the Rhydin library and Public File Storage Center has got to be his next
stop. Time to find out why these stones are so sought after.
A moment later all that remains on the rooftop is a set of footprints, leading in the direction of a dingy green neon sign advertising cheap liquor and cheaper women.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Grunting, he clambers up the side of a rooftop and spills onto the hard tar surface. Exits were always his strong point. It was a good thing he'd spotted that emergency escape ladder on the other side of the window from his "meeting", else who knows what the king of bad breath called a bodyguard would have done. So his methods were a bit extreme... nobody had complained yet.
The opals.. god... what a mess. Poor Deuce, the only caller he'd really gotten to know... wonder if they even know yet. Surely the holders of the opals themselves would know... ahhh... so that's what's wrong with Fala. He knew... but why didn't he tell anyone? But along those lines... should he, Tareth, tell anyone? What would it gain.. other than mass panic and moreover, a warning to those he intended to steal from?
Rolling over on his back, he takes a moment to contemplate the steam rising from many vents along the rooftop, and how it mingles with the stars to create an odd, shimmery look. And what about that other bid just down the street? Bruce was wanting to talk to him about finding some artifact... but Jimmy would know more. One thing's for sure, after he talks to that scumlord, the Rhydin library and Public File Storage Center has got to be his next
stop. Time to find out why these stones are so sought after.
A moment later all that remains on the rooftop is a set of footprints, leading in the direction of a dingy green neon sign advertising cheap liquor and cheaper women.
----------=Thorn=----------
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Deeper than a well
Date: 3/3/1999 9:32 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
Streamers of steam seep up from the holes in the sewer covers, angling diagonally with the breeze across the rain-slicked street. Powerful lights cut beams into those roiling pillars only moments before any manner of vehicle from a hovering fiberglass transport to a horse-drawn carriage destroy the symmetry of smoke.. only leaving the columns to reform again moments later as silence once more claims the thoroughfare.
It was not a night to be out walking, very few figures move through the cones of irridecense cast by fragmented lampposts. If one was watching, as one was, they might catch a glimpse of someone trying to be stealthy enough to avoid any light whatsoever... a figure clad in black from head to toe darting from one building's lee to another. However, that shadow steps once in front of a puddle of deeper midnight between buildings. A single scuff and
muffled gurgle accompanies the hissing of another vehicle passing, and a different shadow, this one just as dark but spiky-topped, flows smoothly along the sidewalk in the same direction... not bothering to avoid bright circles cast on concrete from above.
Finally the dark-dressed one stops, leaning casually against one post not truly distinguishable from another. Several minutes, a car, and a floating wizard pass before heavy-lidded silver eyes lift to the sound of something approaching. A familiar long black sedan pulls level with the curb and an umbrella sprouts from a rear door, but still the leaning man holds his position.
"Ye don't disappoint Tareth," comes a silky purr from beneath the umbrella hood, tinged with an Irish burr. "Please tell me you didn't kill the real delivery person..."
One long leg sets itself amazingly stable on the concrete, considering the length of the heel it must balance on. She was dressed to smother, all wrapped in black stretch polyester from knees to throat, but the effect was far from chaste. Only a matching scarf draped strategically along her bustline and thrown over each shoulder left any shapes to the imagination. The effect was rather striking combined with those green laserbeam eyes and cloud of
scarlet hair.
"Mora, please. I deserve at least a little more credit than that. Just saved him the trouble of the secondary part of your employment, you know, the one I had to learn the hard way... " Only the dark man's lips move, having learned by now that the only thing one got from looking was the bad end of the bargaining stick. "I came to talk, not steal a pathetic little comission from some second-rate thief. Here, " ribbon-wrapped fingers toss a
brown-paper encased package on the rear seat of the car, "hardly worth paying for if the messenger boy never arrives."
His speech gained a tittilating giggle from the woman. "Tareth-lad, if I didn't know better I'd say ye were trying to get in my good graces. So talk, but do it in here." 'Here' meant the back seat, where those marvelous legs folded back into to take most of the risk of looking away... most, but not all.
"Thanks most kindly, but no. No more odd jobs, no more gas, and definitely no more of your 'parties'... just the facts. Morgan Le Fay, Jake Thrash, and Gothmorda. I need a history lesson."
"Hmph. Party pooper. But fine, ye did me a favor... " he didn't have to see her to know the grin that perked her lips just now, "and ye'll owe me another for this."
Many more cars passed, and the rain shifted from misting to pelting and back. Tareth had to refuse the offer of an umbrella many times before the tale was fully finished.
A few more moments of silence passed while Tareth plucked at his chin, absorbing the details and what they all meant to his current situation. The gauntlet, as he had figured before, was the key to it all. Five stones, if one person could gather them all, meant much... but not enough if not joined and focused. A good thing he'd made a bid on it already, but he doubted even Jimmy could handle the powers that moved this wheel... too many pieces
missing.
"Now Tareth, about that favor... "
"Hmm? Oh... no Mora, you know that favors are always at the discretion of the giver. By the by, do you happen to know where Rousse is living nowadays?"
"Why, yes!" The level of satisfaction in her voice was much too high for her to be thinking of a simple answer. However, he had little choice but to rise to the bait.
"Where...?"
"Why, I've been invited to a party," Tareth's teeth ached with the sugar put in that word, "at his villa this weekend! I don't suppose ye'd like to accompany me... we could go and have such a nice, comfortable chat with him... "
Sometimes he hated this job.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
Streamers of steam seep up from the holes in the sewer covers, angling diagonally with the breeze across the rain-slicked street. Powerful lights cut beams into those roiling pillars only moments before any manner of vehicle from a hovering fiberglass transport to a horse-drawn carriage destroy the symmetry of smoke.. only leaving the columns to reform again moments later as silence once more claims the thoroughfare.
It was not a night to be out walking, very few figures move through the cones of irridecense cast by fragmented lampposts. If one was watching, as one was, they might catch a glimpse of someone trying to be stealthy enough to avoid any light whatsoever... a figure clad in black from head to toe darting from one building's lee to another. However, that shadow steps once in front of a puddle of deeper midnight between buildings. A single scuff and
muffled gurgle accompanies the hissing of another vehicle passing, and a different shadow, this one just as dark but spiky-topped, flows smoothly along the sidewalk in the same direction... not bothering to avoid bright circles cast on concrete from above.
Finally the dark-dressed one stops, leaning casually against one post not truly distinguishable from another. Several minutes, a car, and a floating wizard pass before heavy-lidded silver eyes lift to the sound of something approaching. A familiar long black sedan pulls level with the curb and an umbrella sprouts from a rear door, but still the leaning man holds his position.
"Ye don't disappoint Tareth," comes a silky purr from beneath the umbrella hood, tinged with an Irish burr. "Please tell me you didn't kill the real delivery person..."
One long leg sets itself amazingly stable on the concrete, considering the length of the heel it must balance on. She was dressed to smother, all wrapped in black stretch polyester from knees to throat, but the effect was far from chaste. Only a matching scarf draped strategically along her bustline and thrown over each shoulder left any shapes to the imagination. The effect was rather striking combined with those green laserbeam eyes and cloud of
scarlet hair.
"Mora, please. I deserve at least a little more credit than that. Just saved him the trouble of the secondary part of your employment, you know, the one I had to learn the hard way... " Only the dark man's lips move, having learned by now that the only thing one got from looking was the bad end of the bargaining stick. "I came to talk, not steal a pathetic little comission from some second-rate thief. Here, " ribbon-wrapped fingers toss a
brown-paper encased package on the rear seat of the car, "hardly worth paying for if the messenger boy never arrives."
His speech gained a tittilating giggle from the woman. "Tareth-lad, if I didn't know better I'd say ye were trying to get in my good graces. So talk, but do it in here." 'Here' meant the back seat, where those marvelous legs folded back into to take most of the risk of looking away... most, but not all.
"Thanks most kindly, but no. No more odd jobs, no more gas, and definitely no more of your 'parties'... just the facts. Morgan Le Fay, Jake Thrash, and Gothmorda. I need a history lesson."
"Hmph. Party pooper. But fine, ye did me a favor... " he didn't have to see her to know the grin that perked her lips just now, "and ye'll owe me another for this."
Many more cars passed, and the rain shifted from misting to pelting and back. Tareth had to refuse the offer of an umbrella many times before the tale was fully finished.
A few more moments of silence passed while Tareth plucked at his chin, absorbing the details and what they all meant to his current situation. The gauntlet, as he had figured before, was the key to it all. Five stones, if one person could gather them all, meant much... but not enough if not joined and focused. A good thing he'd made a bid on it already, but he doubted even Jimmy could handle the powers that moved this wheel... too many pieces
missing.
"Now Tareth, about that favor... "
"Hmm? Oh... no Mora, you know that favors are always at the discretion of the giver. By the by, do you happen to know where Rousse is living nowadays?"
"Why, yes!" The level of satisfaction in her voice was much too high for her to be thinking of a simple answer. However, he had little choice but to rise to the bait.
"Where...?"
"Why, I've been invited to a party," Tareth's teeth ached with the sugar put in that word, "at his villa this weekend! I don't suppose ye'd like to accompany me... we could go and have such a nice, comfortable chat with him... "
Sometimes he hated this job.
----------=Thorn=----------
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Re: Pleased to meet you...
Date: 3/13/1999 5:10 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
A bar of yellowed light swings wide, the figure haloed by its low-grade hum quickly reaches to his right and flips more of the sub-quality light on inside the smallish apartment.
Swinging the door behind him, he tosses an ornate yellow, green and red feathered mask to a musky blue chair next to the entryway. It took precisely the same amount of time for Tareth to strip off the silly orange jumpsuit that it takes the mask to flutter to the motheaten cloth of the chair, regardless of how many seams he has to tear. Passing a rather mustier but otherwise matching couch, he flips on the bathroom light on his way to the bedroom.
More lights flicker to life as he bends over his suitcase, rummaging around for a better towel than those mouldering pink things barely hanging from the bent rack in the other room.
He has time only for one fragment of a surprised grunt before his feet are yanked out from underneath him, slamming his chin into the edge of his suitcase. Taking a roll and leaning up against the end of the bed, narrowed silver finds only a smirking burly man crossing his arms over a chest that could probably fit a whole Tareth inside it.
Rubbing a second cleft in his chin, and coming away with a crimson smear on his finger, he spits his first words since parting with Mora. "That... was not the most intelligent way to get my attention."
"Ohhh... " just now the man becomes recognizable as Mr. Gravelly from the office of his first meeting with Mr. Titan, "what ya gonna do... fight me in your underwear?"
"No. I'm going to give you three seconds to get out of my hotel room, and if I can still see either of your kneecaps, I'm going to put a bullet through each of 'em." Tareth finally withdraws his other hand from underneath the bed, holding the Walter PP that had fallen with him.
"Chill out ya stinkin' faerie. Nice outfit by the way. Mr. Titan wants a progress report."
The first reply is the snappy retort of one small bullet being ejected into the wall beside the big man's knee. Then Tareth speaks to still ringing ears... the hotel room was not big or well furnished enough to swallow a whole lot of the noise.
"I happen to know quite a few very nice faeries, all of them better looking and better dressed than you. But fine, you want it, you got it. One, I track and learn about the targets and mission. Two, I shoot people who bother me too much about my eveningwear." Another small hole appears in the wall next to Mr. Gravelly's opposite knee. "Three, I tell Mr. Titan's overpaid, undershowered lackey that unless I see a hole in his pocket where the money
burned through, he can just be patient like all my other clients. Now get out."
"Listen here ya little... " the guard begins with a push toward Tareth, but halts as both sets of ears perk to multiple pairs of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Scowling, the smaller man drops the gun and siezes the still distracted one's arm. Rolling back and planting a foot firmly on the other's hip, Tareth kicks up and tosses the man neatly out the long window behind him.
It took a long while to convince the rest of the hotel that he'd already disposed of the intruder, but finally he's able to rest back in a hot bath and contemplate gauntlets, legends, and ways to avoid having to talk to Mora or Rousse ever again.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
A bar of yellowed light swings wide, the figure haloed by its low-grade hum quickly reaches to his right and flips more of the sub-quality light on inside the smallish apartment.
Swinging the door behind him, he tosses an ornate yellow, green and red feathered mask to a musky blue chair next to the entryway. It took precisely the same amount of time for Tareth to strip off the silly orange jumpsuit that it takes the mask to flutter to the motheaten cloth of the chair, regardless of how many seams he has to tear. Passing a rather mustier but otherwise matching couch, he flips on the bathroom light on his way to the bedroom.
More lights flicker to life as he bends over his suitcase, rummaging around for a better towel than those mouldering pink things barely hanging from the bent rack in the other room.
He has time only for one fragment of a surprised grunt before his feet are yanked out from underneath him, slamming his chin into the edge of his suitcase. Taking a roll and leaning up against the end of the bed, narrowed silver finds only a smirking burly man crossing his arms over a chest that could probably fit a whole Tareth inside it.
Rubbing a second cleft in his chin, and coming away with a crimson smear on his finger, he spits his first words since parting with Mora. "That... was not the most intelligent way to get my attention."
"Ohhh... " just now the man becomes recognizable as Mr. Gravelly from the office of his first meeting with Mr. Titan, "what ya gonna do... fight me in your underwear?"
"No. I'm going to give you three seconds to get out of my hotel room, and if I can still see either of your kneecaps, I'm going to put a bullet through each of 'em." Tareth finally withdraws his other hand from underneath the bed, holding the Walter PP that had fallen with him.
"Chill out ya stinkin' faerie. Nice outfit by the way. Mr. Titan wants a progress report."
The first reply is the snappy retort of one small bullet being ejected into the wall beside the big man's knee. Then Tareth speaks to still ringing ears... the hotel room was not big or well furnished enough to swallow a whole lot of the noise.
"I happen to know quite a few very nice faeries, all of them better looking and better dressed than you. But fine, you want it, you got it. One, I track and learn about the targets and mission. Two, I shoot people who bother me too much about my eveningwear." Another small hole appears in the wall next to Mr. Gravelly's opposite knee. "Three, I tell Mr. Titan's overpaid, undershowered lackey that unless I see a hole in his pocket where the money
burned through, he can just be patient like all my other clients. Now get out."
"Listen here ya little... " the guard begins with a push toward Tareth, but halts as both sets of ears perk to multiple pairs of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Scowling, the smaller man drops the gun and siezes the still distracted one's arm. Rolling back and planting a foot firmly on the other's hip, Tareth kicks up and tosses the man neatly out the long window behind him.
It took a long while to convince the rest of the hotel that he'd already disposed of the intruder, but finally he's able to rest back in a hot bath and contemplate gauntlets, legends, and ways to avoid having to talk to Mora or Rousse ever again.
----------=Thorn=----------
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Check.
Date: 4/2/1999 12:16 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
"Nice doin' business with ya Thorn. A pleasure as always...." The smile on Jimmy's face was enough to make anyone puke. Bad enough that terrible habits had destroyed any aesthetic value, but to see Jimmy smile at you was like watching a fissure open in the ground beneath you... either you were gonna go down, or you were gonna see something down deep that you didn't really want to.
In this case it was prudent to simply shake the greaseball's hand and slip out of his office without a word. The obnoxiously loud music and undulating bodies up front offer no distraction right now as Tareth runs through his day, making sure that his plans were as carefully executed as they were laid.
* * * *
It had started out simply enough, a healthy breakfast of girl scout cookies and milk. He'd need the sugar high to get going... it would be a good, but extremely lucky, thing to get everything done today.
Jimmy's was the first meeting to attend. He'd sent his usual informant, Dolly, over to Tareth's apartment late last night with a message to meet. It was easy enough to recieve the message, but not so easy to get rid of the messenger. He had no desire for such rendezvous. She'd avoided him as he walked into the bar this morning.. amazing how quiet it could be in there. Without it's usual business, it was just another place. Jimmy had been all
too eager to spit out the name, which shot Tareth's plans into an overdriven stage two.
Now, he had absolutely no intention of stealing the gauntlet from one who had risked her life for the thing... if there was one thing he did respect it was honest hard work. But he had no intention of investing ten grand of his own into a risky at best venture... plus he had a score to settle with an overarrogant overachiever.
He'd found Mr. Gravelly at a luxury suite in the Rhydin equivelant of the Doubletree Inn. Relatively civilly, he'd informed the thug of a discovery he'd made, and how it would benefit his employer in the Opal quest. Of course, it took a few times to get it straight with Titan's lacky that he would meet with the item only under his specific terms... some of those dueling defensive moves came in handy, he wasn't in the mood to be anything but evasive
just yet.. this man still had a purpose to serve, it wouldn't do to exterminate him just now, no matter how much Tareth wanted to.
One lunch and a few phone calls later and he'd been mesmerized by a piece of paper chasing a bus like an overamorous bird after an elephant.... enough so that by the time he'd turned around Mr. Titan already had his hands in the paper bag on the sidewalk next to Tareth's boot. It was a brief meeting... instead of the mil he'd have gotten for an actual opal, he only claimed a fifty thousand for this little item. Not a bad take for the gauntlet of
power.
Next stop was the target. However... this was to be a little different than his usual job. A knock on the door revealed to the quester a blonde man in a USB uniform... brown overalls and cap pulled far down over his eyes. A quick exchange... ten of the fifty thousand given to him by Mr. Titan for the real gauntlet. Respectfully, and leaving as little to his identity as possible... after all, he's just a messenger... he ducked back out. Sometimes
it's good to know all the right people.
Back at his hotel room... a blowtorch and some pliers serve to unroll a scrolling filligree on the gauntlet's edge... and insert a tiny chip. While the metal's still hot, he replaces the decoration... transciever in place. Ahh... the piece d'resistance... as dirty as it is, nobody will notice a little more dust blown up into the interior. A special blend of course... Thorn express. The very same stuff a few of his favorite toys are made with..
the ones that go boom.
* * * *
Now back on the street again.. quicksliver eyes scan each building's shadow. Titan would be looking for him no doubt, as well as Khorien, coming in to retrieve the item. His own take... hey, forty-five wasn't bad... though probably not worth having an enemy like that. But hey... what's life worth living without a challenge.
His chest heaves in a deep breath. The wheel had been set in motion, and only he knew where all the mechanics that turned it were. 's good to be king.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
"Nice doin' business with ya Thorn. A pleasure as always...." The smile on Jimmy's face was enough to make anyone puke. Bad enough that terrible habits had destroyed any aesthetic value, but to see Jimmy smile at you was like watching a fissure open in the ground beneath you... either you were gonna go down, or you were gonna see something down deep that you didn't really want to.
In this case it was prudent to simply shake the greaseball's hand and slip out of his office without a word. The obnoxiously loud music and undulating bodies up front offer no distraction right now as Tareth runs through his day, making sure that his plans were as carefully executed as they were laid.
* * * *
It had started out simply enough, a healthy breakfast of girl scout cookies and milk. He'd need the sugar high to get going... it would be a good, but extremely lucky, thing to get everything done today.
Jimmy's was the first meeting to attend. He'd sent his usual informant, Dolly, over to Tareth's apartment late last night with a message to meet. It was easy enough to recieve the message, but not so easy to get rid of the messenger. He had no desire for such rendezvous. She'd avoided him as he walked into the bar this morning.. amazing how quiet it could be in there. Without it's usual business, it was just another place. Jimmy had been all
too eager to spit out the name, which shot Tareth's plans into an overdriven stage two.
Now, he had absolutely no intention of stealing the gauntlet from one who had risked her life for the thing... if there was one thing he did respect it was honest hard work. But he had no intention of investing ten grand of his own into a risky at best venture... plus he had a score to settle with an overarrogant overachiever.
He'd found Mr. Gravelly at a luxury suite in the Rhydin equivelant of the Doubletree Inn. Relatively civilly, he'd informed the thug of a discovery he'd made, and how it would benefit his employer in the Opal quest. Of course, it took a few times to get it straight with Titan's lacky that he would meet with the item only under his specific terms... some of those dueling defensive moves came in handy, he wasn't in the mood to be anything but evasive
just yet.. this man still had a purpose to serve, it wouldn't do to exterminate him just now, no matter how much Tareth wanted to.
One lunch and a few phone calls later and he'd been mesmerized by a piece of paper chasing a bus like an overamorous bird after an elephant.... enough so that by the time he'd turned around Mr. Titan already had his hands in the paper bag on the sidewalk next to Tareth's boot. It was a brief meeting... instead of the mil he'd have gotten for an actual opal, he only claimed a fifty thousand for this little item. Not a bad take for the gauntlet of
power.
Next stop was the target. However... this was to be a little different than his usual job. A knock on the door revealed to the quester a blonde man in a USB uniform... brown overalls and cap pulled far down over his eyes. A quick exchange... ten of the fifty thousand given to him by Mr. Titan for the real gauntlet. Respectfully, and leaving as little to his identity as possible... after all, he's just a messenger... he ducked back out. Sometimes
it's good to know all the right people.
Back at his hotel room... a blowtorch and some pliers serve to unroll a scrolling filligree on the gauntlet's edge... and insert a tiny chip. While the metal's still hot, he replaces the decoration... transciever in place. Ahh... the piece d'resistance... as dirty as it is, nobody will notice a little more dust blown up into the interior. A special blend of course... Thorn express. The very same stuff a few of his favorite toys are made with..
the ones that go boom.
* * * *
Now back on the street again.. quicksliver eyes scan each building's shadow. Titan would be looking for him no doubt, as well as Khorien, coming in to retrieve the item. His own take... hey, forty-five wasn't bad... though probably not worth having an enemy like that. But hey... what's life worth living without a challenge.
His chest heaves in a deep breath. The wheel had been set in motion, and only he knew where all the mechanics that turned it were. 's good to be king.
----------=Thorn=----------
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The New Toy
Date: 4/3/1999 12:20 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Deuce Mack
Finally. Months upon months of fruitless searching had left him a withered (even moreso than before) and disgusted old man. Now, the labor's prize was his. Incredible how the Opals seemed to guide themselves into the proper locations on the gauntlet. Focused tenfold, their magic raged through him with sickening speed and ferocity, lending him a strength he had not yet felt in his far-too-many years of life. Two
flickers of yellow, seated on a small pile of rubble within the broken castle ruins, watched the wizard as he fought to keep himself intact against the wave of energy.
"You are pleased, Master."
The laugh of reply was unnaturally deep, drawn not just from the depths of the decrepit lungs, but the bowels of the land itself. "I am! The day of reckoning has arrived. I will show these mortals what the punishment is for abducting power beyond their understanding."
Somewhere in the servant's mind, the irony of that statement was realized, but his conscious thought remained unaware. "Yes, Master. They have held us for too long. Teased us with freedom, yet withheld it unabashedly, with no regard for the power at their fingers. What will you do?"
"You know of this Diamond Quest, of course. A larger gathering there shall not be for many moons in that place. To destroy the entire heirarchy of their sport in one fell swoop, shall be but the beginning."
"It is a fine beginning, Master. How will you accomplish this magnificent feat?"
"You have done well, my boy, but you must give me your power beforehand. Hold it for now; consider it a reward. When the holder of our soul returns from wherever he may be, she shall be retrieved, and once more shall we wield our might in full."
"Master, it is wise, yet I am curious. What happens if the kidnapper of our soul does not return?"
"He will. I see things that you do not. The gods know of our plight, they will not forsake us in this. They have allowed me sight of future things. He will return in time."
From: Deuce Mack
Finally. Months upon months of fruitless searching had left him a withered (even moreso than before) and disgusted old man. Now, the labor's prize was his. Incredible how the Opals seemed to guide themselves into the proper locations on the gauntlet. Focused tenfold, their magic raged through him with sickening speed and ferocity, lending him a strength he had not yet felt in his far-too-many years of life. Two
flickers of yellow, seated on a small pile of rubble within the broken castle ruins, watched the wizard as he fought to keep himself intact against the wave of energy.
"You are pleased, Master."
The laugh of reply was unnaturally deep, drawn not just from the depths of the decrepit lungs, but the bowels of the land itself. "I am! The day of reckoning has arrived. I will show these mortals what the punishment is for abducting power beyond their understanding."
Somewhere in the servant's mind, the irony of that statement was realized, but his conscious thought remained unaware. "Yes, Master. They have held us for too long. Teased us with freedom, yet withheld it unabashedly, with no regard for the power at their fingers. What will you do?"
"You know of this Diamond Quest, of course. A larger gathering there shall not be for many moons in that place. To destroy the entire heirarchy of their sport in one fell swoop, shall be but the beginning."
"It is a fine beginning, Master. How will you accomplish this magnificent feat?"
"You have done well, my boy, but you must give me your power beforehand. Hold it for now; consider it a reward. When the holder of our soul returns from wherever he may be, she shall be retrieved, and once more shall we wield our might in full."
"Master, it is wise, yet I am curious. What happens if the kidnapper of our soul does not return?"
"He will. I see things that you do not. The gods know of our plight, they will not forsake us in this. They have allowed me sight of future things. He will return in time."
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Message in a bullet.
Date: 4/12/1999 5:56 PM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
The street steamed in the cold morning air. He knew. The various modes of transport screamed their way along the roads and overhead, morning commuters either off to work, or more likley, finally on their way home from the previous night's events. A cold sense of something settled across Tareth's shoulders, creating a cold water pipe where his backbone used to be. Chilly, yes, but more than that, it was a sense of finalization.
He knew.
Rumors had floated down the chain of gossip of what had happened at the Diamond Quest. It was with no small smile that Tareth noted his own hand in that, but like his mere glass rank descried, and his stature with the Titan corporation warned, he had avoided a personal appearance.
His unhurried black footsteps lead past the hotel main desk and pillared, fountain speckled lobby. Past the glass elevators and posh lounge door, past the 'Employees Only' sign and through the frieght elevator, finally landing him at just another door in a long corridor of the same. Within moments, he closes the still locked door behind him, and clears his throat at the end of wide, occupied bed.
At least the man had some training. The once-sleeping one lurched up amid a flurry of sheets, and in one bound managed to reduce the distance between he and the dark intruder to mere inches. But Tareth, in a dream sequence of events, had drawn his silenced Walter PP and pulled the trigger.
Silver eyes re-open, Tareth's head turns slowly back from where it had snapped to avoid the blood spray from Mr. Gravelly. His prey now lay panting, leaning at the foot of the bed where the impact of the bullet had thrown him, a crimson blood rose slowly blooming through the sheets behind where he rested.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Tareth sedately states, his gun arm lowering, eyelids at half mast and a red blizzard painting half his pale, blonde head. No reply from the bodyguard, that one is busy clutching his shoulder to stem the blood flow.
"Yeah, it hurts like a cur now. But it's flesh, all of it. Muscle tissue. No bone.... tendons, no cartilage. It'll heal, and leave no permanent damage... just a knobby little scar. In fact, if you just leave it alone, it'll be so that you don't even remember it in time. "
Shifting, he simply turns the doorknob behind him and steps halfway through.
"I've got a lot of scars like that. Trust me, it's best to just let it go."
The door closes, the bleeding man left to ponder Tareth's last spoken words to the Titan Corporation.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
The street steamed in the cold morning air. He knew. The various modes of transport screamed their way along the roads and overhead, morning commuters either off to work, or more likley, finally on their way home from the previous night's events. A cold sense of something settled across Tareth's shoulders, creating a cold water pipe where his backbone used to be. Chilly, yes, but more than that, it was a sense of finalization.
He knew.
Rumors had floated down the chain of gossip of what had happened at the Diamond Quest. It was with no small smile that Tareth noted his own hand in that, but like his mere glass rank descried, and his stature with the Titan corporation warned, he had avoided a personal appearance.
His unhurried black footsteps lead past the hotel main desk and pillared, fountain speckled lobby. Past the glass elevators and posh lounge door, past the 'Employees Only' sign and through the frieght elevator, finally landing him at just another door in a long corridor of the same. Within moments, he closes the still locked door behind him, and clears his throat at the end of wide, occupied bed.
At least the man had some training. The once-sleeping one lurched up amid a flurry of sheets, and in one bound managed to reduce the distance between he and the dark intruder to mere inches. But Tareth, in a dream sequence of events, had drawn his silenced Walter PP and pulled the trigger.
Silver eyes re-open, Tareth's head turns slowly back from where it had snapped to avoid the blood spray from Mr. Gravelly. His prey now lay panting, leaning at the foot of the bed where the impact of the bullet had thrown him, a crimson blood rose slowly blooming through the sheets behind where he rested.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Tareth sedately states, his gun arm lowering, eyelids at half mast and a red blizzard painting half his pale, blonde head. No reply from the bodyguard, that one is busy clutching his shoulder to stem the blood flow.
"Yeah, it hurts like a cur now. But it's flesh, all of it. Muscle tissue. No bone.... tendons, no cartilage. It'll heal, and leave no permanent damage... just a knobby little scar. In fact, if you just leave it alone, it'll be so that you don't even remember it in time. "
Shifting, he simply turns the doorknob behind him and steps halfway through.
"I've got a lot of scars like that. Trust me, it's best to just let it go."
The door closes, the bleeding man left to ponder Tareth's last spoken words to the Titan Corporation.
----------=Thorn=----------