Leaving the comfort of their street-lit terrace, Roman leads the trio away, a plan working between his ears as they go. He couldn't say he had one worth the power of audio, but the thought of this 'immortal' man burned him in a way—-no one should have such gifts—-no one like him in any case. Then there's the bit about it's origin, this Martyr. He couldn't thumb it, but the name held a place in him. He thinks it over in the literal context, sure, but it sounded right as a title rather than a term. Used as a name before, he thought. Working towards the convenience store (since Clyde's constant bitching over the filter-less failed to cease), Roman pulls out his cellular and begins thrapping away on the luminant screen.
A few blocks away, Roman's feet give up their pace, the Slav now still upon the pavement, peering into the screen.
"I'm thinking I found her. I look up archived issues of newspaper, since her name seeming so familiar. It says she, or at least a woman by the name of 'Martyr Slane', was hired at that Bristy....Cree....Well," his tongue having non of it, he decides on pushing the light of the phone against Lil's nose, letting her read it for her self.
A few blocks away, Roman's feet give up their pace, the Slav now still upon the pavement, peering into the screen.
"I'm thinking I found her. I look up archived issues of newspaper, since her name seeming so familiar. It says she, or at least a woman by the name of 'Martyr Slane', was hired at that Bristy....Cree....Well," his tongue having non of it, he decides on pushing the light of the phone against Lil's nose, letting her read it for her self.