The advent of spring beckoned flowers to bloom. Life sprung forth in bright colors; innocent and pure, they were also delicate and fragile, the ghosts of winter sometimes enough to bring their beautiful lives to a swift and tragic end... if the wind blew cold enough.
But the warmth of spring had not faltered, and Alain could not help but hope that the blackness of that winter was behind Rhy'Din for good. There was the issue of a probable other killer harassing the Scathachians (the 'wagon incident,' as he had come to call it), but maybe this murderer was indulging in vengeful sin in the absence of the original killer? Antagonizing the Scathachians, perhaps, was not the communicated goal between two parties, but the torch taken up by a copycat with a different style. Maybe something had happened to the original, or he had grown bored, to fade into history like Jack the Ripper? Then the copycat would be caught, or would even more rapidly tire of a goal that was not his own to begin with...
Optimism. The nightmares had ended for a time with the warm weather... though he'd had another, just the night before... As with the previous five nightmares, he had been pursuing a dark figure and been killed, but this time differently. He found the inverted scales of justice carved into his skin, the same he'd seen too many times in the morgue, but instead of bleeding to death? He had been stabbed in the back, and saw the blade come out through his chest.
The snow was melting, but memory of the nightmare made him shiver.
"So what'd you have in mind?"
Alain and Leslie walked away from the medieval comforts of the Red Dragon Inn; Leslie led the way towards the docks. Neither were dressed well, the detective in an Oxford and trousers, the Hawaiian in a simple but pretty dress that made him think of flowers.
"There's a lot of good places downtown," he added.
?Well.? She twisted her lips and clicked slowly along in her heels beside him. The weather was warm, and the mood was quiet. ?I had planned on taking you to this seafood place, bruddah, by th'docks?? The Hawaiian accent. Alain counted on it to tell how she was feeling, what she was thinking. "But... well, I'm not sure you're used to, like, fancy... mmm?" Worked like a charm. "If I hadn't forced you to dress up, I'd suggest going to Rave again."
He blinked and looked down at his outfit ? white Oxford and brown trousers ? and back up with a grin at her. ?I think I can fit in about anywhere. It?s entirely up to you? so long as you feed me.?
Leslie answered, but Alain didn?t hear. A change in the wind changed with it the sounds brought to his ears, and stirred in him a feeling he?d felt on these streets many times before? they were being watched. His blaster felt heavy in its holster under his shirt as he looked at dark alleyways down the street and frowned at them.
Suddenly he was aware Leslie was slowing them to a halt. Looking up at him in silent question.
He explained his nightmares to her and they walked away from the spot. The mood darkened, rescued only by his antics when they reached the restaurant, Undertow. He raced ahead of her to the door and pulled it open, addressing her as ?mademoiselle?, posture stiff, regarding her with lifted chin. She giggled and went on inside? and he lingered, shivered for that single moment alone, and followed her in. His imagination was being cruel to him.
Nothing more.
But the warmth of spring had not faltered, and Alain could not help but hope that the blackness of that winter was behind Rhy'Din for good. There was the issue of a probable other killer harassing the Scathachians (the 'wagon incident,' as he had come to call it), but maybe this murderer was indulging in vengeful sin in the absence of the original killer? Antagonizing the Scathachians, perhaps, was not the communicated goal between two parties, but the torch taken up by a copycat with a different style. Maybe something had happened to the original, or he had grown bored, to fade into history like Jack the Ripper? Then the copycat would be caught, or would even more rapidly tire of a goal that was not his own to begin with...
Optimism. The nightmares had ended for a time with the warm weather... though he'd had another, just the night before... As with the previous five nightmares, he had been pursuing a dark figure and been killed, but this time differently. He found the inverted scales of justice carved into his skin, the same he'd seen too many times in the morgue, but instead of bleeding to death? He had been stabbed in the back, and saw the blade come out through his chest.
The snow was melting, but memory of the nightmare made him shiver.
"So what'd you have in mind?"
Alain and Leslie walked away from the medieval comforts of the Red Dragon Inn; Leslie led the way towards the docks. Neither were dressed well, the detective in an Oxford and trousers, the Hawaiian in a simple but pretty dress that made him think of flowers.
"There's a lot of good places downtown," he added.
?Well.? She twisted her lips and clicked slowly along in her heels beside him. The weather was warm, and the mood was quiet. ?I had planned on taking you to this seafood place, bruddah, by th'docks?? The Hawaiian accent. Alain counted on it to tell how she was feeling, what she was thinking. "But... well, I'm not sure you're used to, like, fancy... mmm?" Worked like a charm. "If I hadn't forced you to dress up, I'd suggest going to Rave again."
He blinked and looked down at his outfit ? white Oxford and brown trousers ? and back up with a grin at her. ?I think I can fit in about anywhere. It?s entirely up to you? so long as you feed me.?
Leslie answered, but Alain didn?t hear. A change in the wind changed with it the sounds brought to his ears, and stirred in him a feeling he?d felt on these streets many times before? they were being watched. His blaster felt heavy in its holster under his shirt as he looked at dark alleyways down the street and frowned at them.
Suddenly he was aware Leslie was slowing them to a halt. Looking up at him in silent question.
He explained his nightmares to her and they walked away from the spot. The mood darkened, rescued only by his antics when they reached the restaurant, Undertow. He raced ahead of her to the door and pulled it open, addressing her as ?mademoiselle?, posture stiff, regarding her with lifted chin. She giggled and went on inside? and he lingered, shivered for that single moment alone, and followed her in. His imagination was being cruel to him.
Nothing more.