Back in RhyDin...

Even in the dead of night old houses were never silent. They creaked and ached and whispered and groaned. Coupled with a rich or tragic history, some found that quality spooky or ominous. Having grown up in old homes all her life, Sophie found it reassuring and the fuller the house?s back story, the more like home it felt. Even when Alain was not at home, she was never alone. She had the house for company.

Tonight, though, she also had the Archduke of Grenoble for company -- at least by way of telephone. She rolled her eyes as he continued on complaining about the Cantanovians on his western border. Nothing was new. These were the same old tired issues that the old families had tried to settle between the two countries for generations.

?I understand that, your Highness. You know that my family is interested in assisting you to keep the peace,? she replied patiently when he let her get a word in. This may be her only opportunity so she seized the moment he took to catch his breath in order to change the subject. ?The reason for my call is that my uncle, Ronald, is missing. He has not checked in for some time and my grandmother asked me to see if you had heard from him.?

?Yes, yes. Rooney is what he goes by.? His answer caused a heavy exhale and a frustrated shake of her head. ?No, of course. I understand, your Highness. And, yes, we would consider it a personal favor if you called us if you hear word of his location.?

?Thank you. I will be in touch in regards to those war games you wish to conduct on the western slopes. Thank you again. Have a nice night.? With relief in finally getting him off the phone, she returned the phone to the cradle and sunk into the chair behind her desk with a softly muttered curse.

The porch creaked - it always did - before the front door rattled open. The way his feet fell, the sound of keys tossed into the little dish on the table in the foyer, it had to be Alain. "Soph?" he called as he shut the door behind him. He moved around downstairs a while longer, putting away his coat, checking the fridge for a quick bite to eat. Oh hey, a banana.

Releasing a heavy exhale, she dropped her hands to her desk to shove herself to her feet at the sound of Alain's voice. She only made it as far as the doorway of the study, taking a lean against it to call back to him. "Hey. I'm up here."

The banana didn't last long. He made his way up the stairs, loosening his tie as he went. "Hey," he said, necktie in one hand - the other perched on her shoulder while he leaned in for a kiss. "Find anything new?"

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment in the kiss, enjoying that one stress free moment before pulling back to find his eyes. Her shoulders lifted into a shrug beneath his touch, smiling softly but tightly up at him. "No. I can't believe I'm going to so much trouble for Rooney."

"I like Uncle Rooney," he countered with a smirk, and after watching her for a moment, passed her into the study. "Best stone drunk shooting I've ever seen." He thumbed through the letters that had collected throughout the day on his small desk, slit open the seals on the most important-looking ones and skimmed the contents. They'd all get a more thorough review later, when he had more time.

A slight smile appeared on her lips in spite of her desire to appeared annoyed as she turned in the doorway to allow her eyes to follow after him. Of course, he enjoyed Rooney. After all, Alain practically used to be Rooney... with maybe just a touch less drunken debauchery. Just a touch. She tilted her head to the side to resist shaking it at him. "He's probably found a pair of acrobatic belly dancers or something and is holed up in one corner of the multiverse or another enjoying them.... obviously that's not something I have said to my grandmother."

"Your uncle Rooney is a gentleman of refined taste," Alain offered, lips twisting still further. "I'm sure it's only one acrobatic belly dancer." His expression went rather still, the smile in place but now immobile, held at that exact spot, the way he always did when he had come across a piece of new information or anything he had not expected. He reread the contents of a small envelope, and gave her a grim look as he passed the letter over to her. "A friend Eleanor made out in the desert last year. She got SPI's telegram and sent this back."

The grim look he shot her was an instant charge of negative energy, causing her shoulders to tighten as she reached forward for the letter. With brows furrowed, she scanned the page. Her head shaking began before she had even gotten past the first couple sentences. "I can't believe this. Why in the world would he go back to the Sutton Province knowing that Chase got in a shoot out with law enforcement and we're still hammering out the last of the contract with Cantrell before we send back his daughter?"

"Of course he'd do it through the zealots, too. Keeps his hands clean and he knows the Militia are idiots -- they're gullible and quick to kill. Trial hasn't even started and they're already setting up the gallows." Alain watched her again, very closely. "Can you send Chase back?"

The question caused her to draw her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it to shake her head. "No." She was only briefly torn between her natural inclination to keep her family business quiet and her desire to unload on him. "I ran a pretty extensive background check on that girl he's been seeing. It seems she's thought that her dad was dead for a couple years. I found a couple offshore accounts that he had set up before his death. I found out that they were still active but weren't a part of Cait's inheritance. We tracked the money. It turns out that Cait's father isn't dead. He's alive. He faked his death. She had no idea. Chase is... going to be dealing with that for a couple days."

He scanned her face for a few moments, and then came to a decision. Nodding as much to himself as to her. He went to the bookshelf in the corner and pulled back three encyclopedia volumes and removed a wooden chest, containing a six-shooter and thirty long Colt rounds. "Chase has the business with Caitlin, SPI's still on lockdown over Saint-Just, and the Order's stretched too thin already... I'm the obvious choice here, Sophie." He popped the cylinder out and picked six customized rounds carefully, committing their order to memory as he went.

A couple quick steps were taken to him before she could stop herself, shaking her head quickly. "Jakob is way too much of a techie for him and his division to be able to handle this and I'm stuck here dealing with fallout from our engagement but... Stefan is dealing with relief efforts from that mudslide in the village in Parla. I could get him back and redeployed... or maybe get one of my other cousins out of school long enough to deal with it." Even she knew, though, that neither of those options made sense. Stefan would never get there in time and even if he did his mouth would probably cause more problems than it solved and none of her other cousins were experienced enough to head into the Sutton Province with only a small team for back-up.

"You need someone who shoots fast, shoots straight, and won't hesitate to put more kills on his tally. And you need them on the move tonight." He slapped the cylinder back into place and left the study, still talking as he went to their bedroom to grab clothes and, more importantly, a suitable holster. "I've got friends here in the city, old favors I can call in before I go, but they need someone who knows the terrain and knows the situation to lead them... and you know I can go it alone if I need to. I've done this before." He paused in the closet with his back to her, spread his arms out to rest his hands against the frame.

"...I don't want to leave you here as much as you don't want me to go."

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he wouldn't be able to handle what was waiting for him but it sure was a hell of a lot easier to watch him walk into danger when she was at his side. She slid up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist to draw herself in with a deep inhale of his scent. "That can't possibly be true," she whispered with the hint of a sad smile. "Careful of that sheriff. He nearly took Chase's shoulder off. He's a good shot."

"I'll stay out of his way," he murmured, folding his arms over hers. He drew her fingers up to kiss them slowly, watching her over his shoulder, then twisted around in her arms, almost lunging for the next kiss.

"Four days," he promised when it broke. "Two to stop the execution, two to get back."

"Yeah. Four days," she replied with a grin as she reluctantly loosened her grip on him. With her humor came the slightest hint of her southern accent, the only Polk trait she seemed to inherit and one which she usually took care to keep well hidden. "And this better not be like my 'quick trip' to Vrashne, alright? We've got a wedding in five months."

"Four days, I mean it. We've got a date, remember?" He tightened two holsters, one at his right hip and the other under his left arm, carrying a revolver, ammunition, and two of what could only be Gaelle Possamai's customized grenades; all this vanished under a long brown duster, and he snagged a grey hat for good measure. "How do I look?"

There was always something about Alain looking ready to go into a gunfight that sparked a fire. Her grin never diminished. It merely took on a suggestive tone as she took a step back further to tilt her head to admire him playfully. "It'll look even better when you put it back on in an hour."

He'd just been picking up the phone when Sophie made her play: "Be ready to leave at midnight," he said to whoever was on the other end and hung up again. He didn't need telling twice, and in minutes their clothes made a fresh trail from the closet to the bed.


(Adapted from live play with Sophie Rhovnik, with thanks!)

Amir could see the location of the gallows, and there was something inside of him that wanted to just go on over there right there and then and simply sabotage it before the man had to be hung. Next he took the binoculars to a ridge not too far from there, covered in tall grass, but with little else to provide cover. "Goddamn it," he hissed, "not a single damn tree in sight... Just tall grass... This isn't going to be as easy as I thought, especially when I start firing."

Crouched behind a large dry-moss covered boulder with a hand held out against it to steady himself. He found himself tightening his lips into a deepening frown. He held the binoculars to the man beside him, cussing away to himself in a hushed whisper while he removed his cowboy hat. "It's going to be tough getting a clear, level aim with all these damn ridges and hills..." He turned his head left and right, making sure the coast was clear.

"Over there," he pointed to the target location, "seems like the hill is steeper on one side. Can't see how deep it goes, but it might be a good enough ridge to escape from."

"I'd feel a lot better if we had three men instead of two," Alain muttered, taking the binoculars back. "The way we're doing it, they won't think I'm a phantom, just that I'm a really good shot. Gray Man my a**. Gonna be hard to drive them into a panic... Still. It looks like my best approach would be from that ravine, and through that underbrush. Gives me the longest stretch of cover, and gives me a good angle on the gallows once I come into view."

"Gray Man, huh..." Amir turned his head to the left, further away to a different angle of approach, then back to Alain. "How about a damn good distraction?" He moved to point out at the small slope at the other end of the gallows: "If we set up a second sniping point there, we could be able to cause enough of a confusion to instill that panic you're looking for." Amir nodded to his previous nest. "I will be located there, as originally intended."

Alain rubbed at his jaw, then smiled. "You know what, Amir? I think you'd look damn good in gray. And how about the motor on your turret, if that's what you're thinking... Figure we could rig some twine to it, maybe dress it up, too?"

"... It would go with my eyes." Amir grinned. "It wouldn't take too much of a build. Perhaps rig up some strong branches, make it look like a gray ghost, which cannot be killed even after it's shot... Right out of the comics."

"Their ghost goes down a second time... then steps right out of the underbrush, pistols drawn. We've got five hours, Amir." Alain passed the binoculars back. "Let's go make a ghost story."


(Adapted from live play with Amir Wong, with thanks!)