"Colt!"

Colt was a heap of Daniels lying in the underbrush of the forest floor and instantly Dylan was at his side. Her fingers reached out, locking in a death grip around his arm as she shook him desperately. "Colton Nash Daniels, this isn't funny. Stop it!? The hysterical tone creeping into her own voice frightened her further.

But there was nothing, no sign of movement from Colt. His chest rose and fell but there was no sign of alertness. This wasn?t another one of Colt?s awful pranks. For the first time that Dylan could remember, Colt was down, Colt was weak, Colt was vulnerable. The realization only made the fear clench her stomach further. "Oh my god."

"Help!" Her shout echoed through the forest but rattled only the birds in the trees above. They were too far out. There was no one to hear them. Molly?s wet nose was pressed against Colt?s cheek with a scared whimper. Molly was a great dog, but she wasn't Lassie and Dylan didn?t doubt for a moment that there would be no prying Molly from Colt?s side even if she could somehow get a message across for help. Dylan was alone. None of her older cousins were going to swoop in to tell her how to handle the situation as they always seemed to do.

"Damn it Colt." She felt around for his phone and grabbed it from the front pocket of his camo jacket. Fingers frantically scrolled through the recent call log, murmuring the names as she passed over them. ?Seth, Slate... Harper!?

The ?send? button was immediately hit. The telltale beep that she was greeted with turned her stomach and she pulled the phone away from her ear to see the message flashing on the screen that she already feared would be there. No signal! Damn RhyDin and its nexus-interfering coverage! Damn Colt for having to live buried in the woods outside the city!

"Shit!" After one last look down at her cousin?s face, Dylan shot up and took off running, holding the phone above her head. Lacking the Daniels ease in the woods and with her eyes upward at the phone she was waving desperately in the air rather than low at the ground, the run was treacherous. Her hiking boot caught on a tree root causing her to stumble forward into a tree but she bore on urgently. The clearing. She knew there was coverage in the clearing around his cabin.

"Come on damn it, g'it a signal!" Thankfully, Colt hadn't taken her far from a path and she knew her way back. The trees finally broke abruptly as she rushed her way out of the forest. Her eyes fell to the phone again, one bar; it'd be choppy but it was something. Harper. 3:54 pm. Colt?s boss had called him not even two hours prior again. Austin and Tenacity?s names both appeared further down the list, not that Dylan had paid any attention. In the heat of the moment, her eyes locked on the first helpful name they had found. The send button was pressed as she continued to move forward, hoping for better service.

Harper's voice crackled through the bad connection of Colt's cell phone. "Don't tell me. You've picked a stage name for your virgin run up the spike wall?"

"Ack!" Dylan pulled back a moment to make sure she had dialed the right person and she remembered she was on Colt's phone. "Harper, it's Dylan. Somethin' is wrong with Colt. We was takin' a walk an' he j'es passed out. Come here now!"

She didn?t wait for Harper?s response. She jabbed the ?end call? button and looked back towards the woods frantically. Even with the ever protective Molly at Colt?s side, sadness seeped in that she had left him -- alone and unconscious in the middle of the woods. She didn't want to bother making any other phone calls, she had confidence that Harper would know what to do. With that done, she ran back down the path towards where she had left Colt.

His sense of smell had come back first and then consciousness followed. The earthy scent of forest decay as fallen leaves, branches, and underbrush crumbled back into the ground. The fading scent of Ten from several days ago when she and Molly had wandered out after dinner to stretch their legs. It was all there. With a groan, he shoved himself up into a sitting position, resting the back of his head against the tree. Molly whined absently at his side and Colt dropped a hand on her head to soothe her. It was then he heard the footsteps thumping their way closer. For as little as she weighed, Dylan sounded like a large bear whenever she was in the woods. She certainly hadn't inherited the Daniels hunting gene.

The pain swept back suddenly as she grew closer but this time he noticed that it had been preceded by, not followed by, the dulling of his sense of smell and the loss of the sense of those energy wakes. With every step Dylan took closer, the more cut off he felt and the more the pain swelled up.

"Stop!" Already light-headed and dizzy, he called as soon as the connection was made between Dylan?s approach and the loss of his extraordinary senses. "Don't come any closer!"

Dylan stopped in her tracks, afraid that there was a snake or a bear nearby. "Oh my god. Yer not dead!" She inched forward slowly, looking left to right for danger. "Colt, wha' happened? Are ya alright? I called Harper."

"Go home, DeeDee! Go home!"

There must have been some kind of danger around, she couldn't leave him. Could she? "But what 'bout you?" She sounded hysterical, obviously worried that something very bad was happening. She stopped walking towards him again and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes getting teary with fear.

"I'll be fine as long as you stay the hell away from me," he shouted back through gritted teeth as the darkness swept up, trying to reclaim him. Even then, in that moment of disorientation, he knew he was being unfair but he pressed on desperately. "Go home! Now! I don?t want to be anywhere near you!"

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion and for a moment she stood still torn between arguing further and against leaving him alone in that state in the woods and running away from the awful things that kept coming out of his mouth. Hurt slowly settled in, setting up deep roots that squeezed around her heart tightly. The phone was tossed at him with a stomp of her foot and wiping a stray tear off her cheek, she did indeed turn and run off.

The moment Reba, Dylan?s cherry red 1966 Chevy Impala, crossed through the shimmering, crackling portal onto the unpaved back Georgian road, her phone began vibrating to alert her that they had entered a zip code with a dying severe thunderstorm watch. Though, the national weather service sort of became the boy that cried wolf in July in those muggy southeast states. There were more nights than naught when angry thunderclouds would move through dropping massive amounts of rain and sometimes even hail as quick as a blink of an eye. Then they would move on as they had tonight, breaking the miserable heat to leave a relatively pleasant evening in its stead.

Unfortunately, this passing storm had turned the unnamed trail from dirt to mud. Bright red wet Georgia clay lay before Reba?s wheels, daring her to try the three hundred yard adventure to the paved but heavily potmarked, Tulelaine Mill Road.

"Well crap!" Dylan slammed her hand against the steering wheel as the wheels just spun and spun in the mud. "Are ya kiddin' me?" Shaking her head, she looked over to Harper. "Sorry 'bout this. I wasn't countin' on there bein' a heavy storm. I shoulda asked Colt for his truck. You wanna wait it out or get out an' push?"

Harper, contrarily, just started laughing, pressing her forehead against the glass of her side window as she stared out into the rain-swept mess. There was a thread of desperation underlying it, but really, given the way her life had been going lately and the ruin her life had become an hour earlier in the wake of the fight between Jochin and Colton, she should have expected something like this. It was a sheer miracle she hadn?t been struck by lightning before they?d even left the city. She turned toward DeeDee; the exhausted smudges that bruised her cheeks made her eyes look almost eerily silver in the dying light. "I'll push," she managed to get out between her giggles. "But if an anvil falls out of the sky and hits me on the head, you're on your own."

Dee looked to Harper like she had lost her mind, she was not feeling the slightest bit of amusement, but after a moment she caught on to Harper's desperation. "I'll help." Harper just looked too tired to be able to push the car on her own. "Keep yer feet movin' so yer shoes don't get sucked in the mud." Grinning, she opened her door and stepped out.

"Don't you have to steer?" She clambered out into the muck from her side. "Really, I can push. I'm tougher than I look, despite the horrible impression I'm probably making."

"I don't know!" Dylan flapped her arms against her thighs. "I always just called Colt iffin' I was havin' car trouble. He an' Seth always took care of thing for me."

The thick woods on either side of the dirt road were alive with noise. Every animal that had laid low during the miserable afternoon hours was suddenly alive and scurrying around in the dense underbrush. But there racket couldn't fully mask the sound of four large wheels approaching even if the twists, turns, and foliage kept the black SUV approaching hidden for the time being.

Annie-Love stopped to listen as she got out, a hand lingering on her door. "This doesn't seem like the kind of road that has a lot of traffic..."

DeeDee started to get back in when Harper spoke. "It doesn't, usually. Only a few locals tend ta use this road." Standing back up, she put her hands on her hips and squinted her eyes, trying to look further down the stretch, which was useless.

"Get in the car..." she ordered quietly more than suggested, her voice going low and insistent. "And pop the trunk so I can get into my bag. Please."

Ducking down into the car, Dylan reached for the vacuum trunk release and gave it a pull, thankful for the dealer added accessory. "It's open." Called to Harper as she stood back up, looking towards the trunk and then back up the road.

The pace of the Tahoe was slow but much faster than that of the Impala. It slowed to a stop on the edge of the muddy road, leaving enough room for the Impala to pass if the Impala were able to pass. Tinted windows masked the passengers within.

Harper eased behind the monster of a car, her feet sucking in the clay, and unzipped her suitcase, searching for something she'd tucked in her bag as an afterthought. "Recognize them?" she asked pitching the question softly. She stayed behind the shield of the open trunk for a moment.

"Nope." Staring at the Tahoe, she tried to see in the windows. "But don't worry, it's a small town." Moving closer, she gave a wave and signaled for them to roll down their window. "Hey y'all!" Called out loudly. "Help us?" She pointed to the car behind her, indicating they were stuck.

Harper?s shoes were a waste in the mud and they were gluing her down. She grimaced once, pasted the smile back on, and slipped her feet out of them to free herself up, standing on their remains. Goodbye cute flats. She snapped the magazine into place, just in case, and peered around the other side of the trunk, smiling on the outside while inwardly cursing.

She was paranoid.

Thomaston was ten thousand people small and it certainly seemed at times that half of those were somehow or another connected to the Daniels family. But the overly muscled man that stepped out of the driver's door was not one of them. The fading sunlight slipping through the overhanging branches cast light off his shaved head and sunglasses remained over his eyes despite the shade and the ebbing light. He didn't seem to notice either woman and instead headed for the door behind his, pulling it open briskly.

"Thank you, Morgan," Murmured the blonde that slipped out of the back of the car. A sigh was released as her designer heels sunk into the mud but field work was never as clean as one would hope. The hem of her suit pants would be ruined by the time she crossed the short distance towards the Impala. Morgan followed along behind, allowing the blonde no more than a handful of feet's space.

Eyeing the way both the man and woman were dressed, Dylan raised her eyebrows. These people didn't look like anyone that lived around Thomaston. "Can we help y'all? Ya lost?" A glance was cast back to Harper before looking back to the blonde.

"Hey, DeeDee? Can you come back here and help me with this?" She loaded on the accent, sliding into her mama's dialect as smoothly as the mud devoured her shoes. "Hi, y'all. Just a second here."

A smile crossed the blonde's lips, causing her crow's feet to become all the more visible. Morgan gave a low huff of irritation at the delay but he slid to a stop behind his employer. She, on the other hand, remained patient and calm even if entirely out of place.

"Sure." Dee held up a finger to the blonde and the big man behind her and moved towards the back of the car where Harper and her surprisingly good accent were. "We're in some kinda trouble, eh?" she whispered.

"Do you know how to shoot?" Harper answered under her breath to her with a nod.

"No." Murmured back to her. She should know how, most of her cousins knew how, but Dee had always hated the idea of shooting anything. Now she was beginning to look worried.

"Stay here." Harper decided not to risk slipping her the gun, and tucked it in the back of her shorts instead, before stepping out to beam a sunny smile at the pair and lie through her teeth. "Annie's gonna just keep looking for a minute. Lost my stupid cellphone. Hi. I'm DeeDee. What brings you all out on a night like this?" Gesturing with a flap of her hand.

DeeDee looked confused as all get out. "But... ah..." She lingered behind the trunk for a moment, scratching at her hands because they had begun to itch like crazy.

"I've handled Dylan's file since she was ten. I know my product when I see it and you, my dear, are not Dylan Daniels." The woman had a decade easily on Harper and there was nothing fake about the serene smile that remained on her face. She tilted her head slightly as if attempting to peek around the car. "DeeDee, come out now. We must talk. Let's make this easy, love."

"Stay put," Harper countered quickly, a bark of command in her tone for Dylan. The next was aimed at their company. "She says she doesn't know you people."

Dylan was peeking around the trunk still, on edge. Who were these people? How did they know her name? What file was the woman talking about? Her stomach flopped as the woman told her to come out. A million questions ran through her mind. She was torn between listening to Harper and the woman, so she took a step out from behind the car. "Who are you?"

"What young DeeDee doesn't know could fill a stack of encyclopedias," the blonde advised in return. The friendly warmth in her tone began to die into a more business-like approach. "But she is property of my company and the bill has not been paid and we have come to collect."

Her eyes cut past Harper to Dylan. "Ms. Ellersby of the Barlington Firm. I am your case worker, my dear. I know this is all very confusing. The Daniels have had you for a very long time and since you were very young. This was a very unique arrangement but it has come to an end."

"Property?" Her eyebrows went up. When had taken those photos last year, she thought she had read the contract over fairly well. Had she missed something? As the woman continued to speak, she gasped and inched forward. " I'm adopted arn't I?" It was something she had always wondered about whenever things didn't add up but nothing she had ever spone out loud.

"Bullsh**. DeeDee, stay put." Harper took another barefoot step forward, closer to the front of the car than Colt's cousin. "The two of you need to get back in that thing, turn it around, and get the hell out of here."

"She's not lying." Dylan muttered softly. For whatever reason, she knew the woman spoke the truth, but it didn't make her feel any better or safer. The longer she stood there, the more anxious she grew and she began picking at her nails.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Ms. Ellersby's tone remained cool and seductive, enticing Dylan to come closer. For the moment, though, Harper was ignored. At least by the woman, Morgan, however, was taking a step closer to her. "I have all the answers you've been looking for, Dylan. Come. It's time to go."

"DeeDee, Stay. Put." She gritted out, and watched, edging closer as Morgan did the same.

There was a barely visible nod from Ms. Ellersby. A nod that Morgan had been looking for. He reached out an oversized mitt and a crackling charge began building within the cup of his hand. He stretched out his fingers, sending the lightening shooting out towards Harper. She jerked backwards, reaching for her pistol, her feet slipping in the mud and her hip landing against the hood of the Impala with a loud, metallic thud.

Gasping, Dylan lunged forward on a sudden influx of instinct, her hand reaching out as if to block the bolt from hitting Harper. The surge went through her arm. There was no pain, no burning, no heat. Instead, she felt powerful and she watched with wide eyes as the lightening crackled briefly between her fingertips and then shot back out at the man. "Harper get back."

The handler's eyes grew wide as the lightening jetted out. She shouldn't be able to do that. The thought came too late. Any reaction couldn't be mounted in time. Dylan's inexperience in dealing with tossing bolts of energy around kept it from being a direct blow. Instead of zipping through the air like lightening, the charge twisted, grew, manifested. It lessened its strength but increased in width, driving straight into both Morgan and Ms. Ellersby.

He grunted in pain but she remained perfectly silent. The charge short ripped through their bodies and the pair dropped unconscious into the mud in sync.

As they both went down, Dylan shrieked. "Cheese and rice!" Flailing her arms, she motioned to the unconscious pair and then turned to face Harper. "Are they dead? What the hell was all that?"

"Oh!" Gusted out, more breath than sound. Three heavy pants while she got her bearings, the semiautomatic hanging loosely in her hand and her eyes wide as RhyDin's twin moons. Harper shook her head and launched herself back into motion. "Grab your keys and cellphone. Is there anything else in the car you can't live without?" She was already slip-sliding to the driver's side door to pop open the hood.

"No..." She eyed her car, not liking where this was going. "Am I abandoning Reba?!" She did as Harper said and got her keys and phone, trying to tuck it into a dry place on her body.

"Unless you can levitate it up to the highway," she grunted as she went around and hefted the hood up, fiddling with the distributor cap in the light of the Tahoe's headlamps. She'd tucked the gun back into the waistband of her shorts. "There's an extra couple clips for my gun in my bag. Grab them."

Moving to the trunk, she dug through Harper's bag until she found the clips. "Do you want your bag?" Asked as she lifted it out of the trunk. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Sure, if you can grab them. But hurry. I want to get out of here before they come to. I'm yanking the rotor out of your distributor so they can't hotwire your car." Cursing under her breath as she worked in the dying light, it was only a matter or moments before she got what she wanted and let the hood fall shut with a crashing bang.

Slinging Harper's bag over her shoulder, DeeDee rushed to join her. "Let's just get out of here."

"Get in the truck. I'll drive." Harper slopped through the mud toward the running Tahoe, meeting a swarm of Georgia's finest gnats on the way, and flailing an arm in front of her face as she forged through the flying mob.

"Yes Ma'am." How did Colt work with this woman? She barely stopped herself from saluting Harper as she moved around the truck and jumped in the passenger side.

Harper pulled the gun out of its resting place in the small of her back as she climbed up into the cab, clicked the safety in place and set it on the console between them. The seatbelts slid into place across them as they closed the doors. Just as well. She adjusted the seat forward to make up for the height difference, and threw the truck into reverse, careful not to go too fast, lest they slide into the ditch. Faster to take the truck backwards until they hit a wider spot or an intersection in the mud tracks where she could execute a turn. ?Come on, come on, come on,? she muttered.

"Harper?" Dylan took a deep breath. "Do you have an idea what this is all about? Is there a reason Colt sent you with me?"

The tires jolted over a muddy rut in the dirt road, bouncing them hard. She didn't dare take her eyes off the view through the rear window to look at her. "I'm not sure, but hey, we're having fun, right?" She did her best to feed a thread of enthusiasm into her response. Hoo-yah. "We need code names after this. I'll be Thelma and you can be Louise." Concentrating intently, she slowed down at a curving stretch that looked wide enough to let her maneuver around. Her three-point became five before she nailed it and they were going forward.

"Fun? I just found out that my whole life is probably a lie an' I nearly killed two people with light'nin that friggin' shot outta my fingers! But sure, yeah. Fun. Yer insane." Grabbing the 'oh sh** bar' she held on tightly as they started to get moving. "I don't think those are very good code names. Just sayin'."

"Okay, you pick," she said agreeably, doing everything she could to try and keep the panic level down to a DefCon 2. Colt couldn't have anticipated this, or he wouldn't have let them go, no matter how angry he was. Her head was still spinning.

?I'll be Jayne and you can be Marilyn." She grinned at the reference, briefly forgetting about their troubles. "You know Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn... Never mind." She waved her hand. "Where are we goin' now?"

"Trying to find the highway. Where can we crash in Thomaston until we figure out what's going on?

"I'm guessin' my house isn't safe?" Pressing her lips together, she sighed. "Colt and Seth got this old tree house out in the woods. It's pretty neat and it'll keep us dry. Otherwise there is a little motel off the highway about ten miles from here."

"I don't want to risk this truck being seen if they report it stolen... We?ll go to the tree house. Who's in town right now that we can call? Anyone?"

"All of our parents. Seth. Dakota, I think."

"Seth's in RhyDin," she shook her head. She'd just seen him a night or two before. "Where's Jackie? I haven't seen her around lately."

"Seth is back?" That was news to her. Shrugging, she blew out a breath. "She might be here. I don't know. I haven't really been talkin' to anyone. Not since... not since what happened with Colt. Only talked to Austin a bit."

Harper pressed her lips together, thinking. "Okay. Let's try Jackie or Austin? Can you call them when we get a signal and ask them to call Colt and tell them we need to talk to him, urgently? Maybe they'll have a better place for us to lay low until he calls and we can figure out what to do next."

"I'm on it." Her fingers flew over the buttons of her phone. Surely someone she was mass-texting would be able to get him to call. "For now, just keep goin' up this highway."

(Thanks to the players of Dylan Daniels and the Bad Guys for this, adapted from play!)

B
The Barlington Firm

WORK ORDER NO. 408921J-DDAN
CONTRACT NO. 009085201
VENDOR: Pathwise LTD.

This Work Order is issued under the provisions of a CUSTOMER contract. The services authorized are within the scope of services set forth in the Purpose of the contract. All rights and obligations of the parties shall be subject to and governed by the terms of the contract including any subsequent modifications, which are hereby incorporated by reference.

PURPOSE:
Recovery of Barlington Asset Dylan Dixie Daniels, AKA DeeDee Daniels (case file attached).

STATEMENT OF WORK:
Deliverables are subject to review and approval by AGENCY prior to payment.

Start Date: Dec. 26, 2012
Delivery Date: No later than Dec. 31, 2012

Expense reimbursement subject to standard contracted rates and limitations, not to exceed $5,000.00 USD

Both the Agency and the Contractor are responsible for ensuring work performed is within the scope of this Work Order. The Agency must monitor proper compliance with the terms of this Work Order. Any changes or amendments to this Work Order must be in writing and acknowledged by the Vendor Coordinator. IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties have executed this Work Order.

AGENCY APPROVER:
Melinda Ellersby
Case Manager

Ford Daniels had a goddamned headache.

When Colt arrived, he was standing at the mouth of the driveway, dressed for a day in a deer stand, not for drinking coffee and going in search of fireworks. Summer had his shotgun, and he cussed for a solid thirty minutes before his brother arrived over that one, but he had his hunting rifle slung over one shoulder. Fresh snow covered the gravel and hid the tracks his truck left when he came in the night before. His breath steamed the air in front of him, and falling snow made everything else look idyllic.

The jeep rolled to a stop before Ford and Colt remained in the cab for a moment, releasing a deep sigh. Once he collected the energy necessary to deal with the unknown that lay ahead, he leaned over to open the glove compartment and pull out a handgun. It was holstered as he slid out of the jeep and to his feet, reaching in to grab his camo coat from the passenger seat.

"What's up, Ford?"

"I don't know, but you gotta see these tracks. Nothing I've seen before and it wasn't alone. All around the back of the house and down by the garage. They have to be pretty fresh 'cause of the snow. Was takin' the trash out and saw 'em. Dyl's damned stray cats are nowhere t' be found either."

A gust of wind rattled the bare limbs of the oaks and whispered in the long-needled pins that dominated her property and snapped at their clothes. "Getting colder out here, too."

"Yeah." The zipping sound of his coat was nearly lost in that gust. Gloves were pulled free of his pocket as he started towards the garage. "We're probably looking at more snow shortly. Let's go take a look at these tracks before they get buried."

No smoke curled from the chimney of Dylan's cabin. It was probably good that there wasn't a fire in the hearth because it would have been hard for Colton to resist heading inside to warm by the fire and forgetting the mystery tracks down by the garage. Ford was still new to RhyDin. It could have been one of RhyDin's more exotic creatures getting a little too close to Dylan's property but to avoid poking Ford into a grumpy mood, it was simply easier to take a look at the tracks, reassure Ford, and then go about their day as planned.

Snow crunched under their boots and a branch cracked like the distant shot of a gun as Ford stepped off the gravel to avoid the cluster of filling impressions around the back stoop. They came up from and led back to the area around the garage and then trailed down into the trees beyond.

There were two sets of human prints - one made by running shoes of some sort and the other made by some thick-treaded hiking boots. "Those are mine," Ford said, pointing to the first set, a few sneaker prints that came out, skidded, and turned back inside. "I came out the front after I got dressed. Those," indicating the thicker treads, "aren't mine. And I don't know what the eff those are." His finger aimed at a third set of prints - animal prints of some sort. Whatever it was, it was compact and heavy. It left the impression of elongated footpads about three or four inches in diameter, and four thick claws. They were neither dog, nor wolf, bobcat nor raccoon.

Colt dipped to a crouch before the third set of prints to inspect and to draw in a breath through his nose. Usually in freshly fallen snow there was no reason to concentrate so hard on scent (particularly with it buried under inches of snow) to track when the prints were so visible outlined by the indention of snow. This time, however, he hoped to get a clue as to the creature in question by its scent.

Campfire smoke. Unwashed fur. Fish. Blood. Cat blood.

Colt twisted his features in disgust when the answer became apparent as to why the stray cats Dylan was always putting out food for had disappeared. He kept several feet to the side of the tracks so as not to disturb them. "Person with it has nice, thick boots."

Ford scowled and followed the path of the track into the woods with a sweeping glance. "Yeah. I was up for a while. No one knocked."

The gray sky was letting only hazy light slip through so there was little difference in the amount of light as they followed the prints into the trees surrounding the property. Besides the two sets, it was virtually untouched. Only the wind shifted snow slightly, burying half a print here and there. But no others ventured near it. In fact, there wasn't a turkey, squirrel, or raccoon within a quarter of a mile. Not that Colt could blame them. The creature didn't seem all that picky about its prey. Animals and people didn't tend to meander aimlessly, particularly in this sort of weather. The tracks would lead somewhere and the destination would hold answers.

Ford had never had an opportunity to see Colt's talent in action, not since he'd told him what he could do. Hunting deer together was one thing, and there was always beer and stories about girls in town to distract him. This time, he watched closely, fascinated. When Colt straightened, and the silence between them lingered, he asked, "So what is it?"

"I don't know. Smells a bit like a bear but... not." He kept his eyes on the tracks, his nose tilted downward towards the ground. The snow was perfect for tracking. Not too deep, not too fluffy. But the first few flakes were beginning to make their slow dance towards the ground. It would get heavier. He could feel it in his bones. Before the afternoon was over the tracks would be buried in freshly fallen snow.

A crow, startled more easily than it should, rapidly ascended from a branch as they came close, crying loudly as it took flight. "I think it eats cats."

Ford, following, pulled up short, his own startled gaze shooting along the same trajectory as the crow. A swirling of snow all but concealed him for the time it took him to exhale, but the dark mottling of his camouflage popped back into focus as the gust died. "A cat-eating bear with a human friend?"

Colt came to a stop beside him, giving a slow shake of his head. "You really going to say that's the weirdest thing you've seen since being here?"

Perhaps if Ford hadn't stopped short, they never would have spotted the campsite until they were close enough that its occupants could hear them coming. The Georgians had not yet invested in snow camo. The grays and browns that had served them perfectly fine through the Georgian winters didn't allow them the same cover here in RhyDin. The whites and blues of the snow camo tent and gear that the human and creature were using for cover was much more efficient.

Cooking fish over a low campfire caught Colt's nose even if he hadn't yet caught sight of them. A hand reached out to thump against Ford's chest to still him as Colt's eyes searched a break in the trees and brush ahead.

The quip that sprang to Ford's lips died unspoken. Even his relatively dull nose picked up the scent of the campsite ahead of them, and once he was paying attention, the crackle of flames was indistinguishable from the sound of the wind in the woods.

"All right. I found 'em. Now what do you think we should do, brainiac?" His voice was a low whisper as gradually the whites and grays gave way and he could pick the tent out from the backdrop.

The wind had been in their faces approaching the campsite, stinging skin and washing the scent of the trail towards the trackers. It also masked the approach that came from behind and to Ford's right. A menace of a growl from the trees cut off the debate.

Ford straightened, and slowly turned his head to see if he could catch whatever it was in his peripherals, his hand shifting to draw the strap of his rifle down.

There was a muttered curse, low and regretful, as he too turned towards the snarling animal, slowly and carefully. A hand reached for the weapon holstered at his side.

It emerged from the trees, walking on two legs, a short, thickly-furred creature with long, tapering ears and a twitching nose like the muzzle of the black bears they were familiar with back home. Its dark eyes were alert, its brow lowering at them, and it was wearing a ragged cowhide skirt like a dashboard hula girl. In the curl of its long-clawed forepaws, it carried a baton carved of ivory or bone.

It took one step from the trees, then another, and let loose a rumbling moan that echoed amid the stand of pines.

The moan should have put him on guard but the sight of the creature caused Colt to remove his hand from his weapon. One foot crunched over the snow and then another as he carefully approached with both palms held out innocently. "Aw. It's alright, lil' fellow. We ain't gonna hurt you. Would kindly ask if you'd stop eatin' cats, though."

"Wouldn't get any closer if I were you." The low grumble of a voice behind them broke in.

The tension in Ford's shoulders eased considerably when he saw the little bear-thing. It looked like something that he'd expect to see strolling into the Red Dragon Inn and climbing onto a barstool with a booster seat for a mug of cocoa. He didn't have time to marvel over how much his perspective of 'normal' had changed over the last couple of months, however. The second voice cut that short.

Ford had the stock of his rifle in his hands when he turned back around to face the booted member of the camping party. "Hey there, mister." He drummed up a pretty convincing grin.

Medium height, medium build. The booted member would be entirely forgettable if it were not for the expensive gear. Short salt and pepper hair was buried beneath a snow camo hat, the flaps flipped down to keep his ears protected against the swirling wind. With the collar of his white and gray jacket flipped up to save his neck, most of his exposed skin was kept safe from the worst of the biting cold. His cheeks, though, were a ruddy color and he sniffled back as the cold stung his sinuses. Most significantly, though, was the shotgun pointed at Colt and Ford. "You're out pretty far in the middle of nowhere. Somethin' I can help the two of you out with?"

Colt allowed a glance the man's way but with Ford turning to fully face the human member, he decided to keep an eye on the restless, furred creature.

"Yeah," Ford's slow drawl masked the frenetic whirl of his thoughts. Stick as close to the truth as possible. "Bought the place you an' your friend here visited this mornin'. Just moved in last week, an' until yesterday, I've been feedin? a buncha stray cats. Funny thing, they haven't showed up for a couple now." He worked a wry grin. "Saw your tracks when I was takin' the garbage out an' decided to take a look this way. See what's up."

The news that the cabin had recently changed owners caused the camper's face to coil in disappointment. The past two and a half days of hunting had been a waste. He was no closer to finding the asset and there was a very limited amount of time remaining. Disappointment was followed quickly by anger and the pair of young men were the only ones present to feel the weight of it. He lifted the shotgun a little higher. No longer was the barrel pointed harmlessly towards the ground. Now it was pointed at Ford's chest. "Well, you saw. Now it's time to get moving."

Ford's grin wavered and reasserted itself. "Woah! Woah, woah woah!" He put his right hand up, palm out in a staying motion. The left shifted position on the shaft of the rifle as he transferred its weight. "We aren't goin' to report y' for havin' a... whatever that thing is. And there ain't no law against campin' in the woods around here. Just keep him outta my cats."

When the gun came to bear on Ford, the furry accomplice took two steps closer to Colt, snuffling at the hem of his coat, a deep growl threatening in its chest.

"Think we're just going to bury you nosey ***holes and use the cabin as a base of operations," the hunter stated in a low smooth tone without an ounce of guilt. "Take them out, Mutt!"

'Mutt' wheeled back his forearm, bringing the baton in hard for a lateral swipe at Colton's stomach, his teeth bared in a secondary threat. Bring it down low and CHOMP! seemed to be the mode of attack. His human companion wore a similar grin as he let his attention slide to them for a hair's breadth.

It was the only opening Ford was going to get. He mirrored the bear-thing's attack with a broad slide of his rifle against the shaft of the man's shotgun. It flew out of the hunter's hands with the blow, dropping harmlessly into the snow several yards away. The hunter, though, didn't immediately run for it. Ford was clearly not the type to shoot him immediately. He'd try to knock him out, instead. To avoid giving him the opportunity, the hunter twisted off to one side, ducking low to attempt to avoid a follow up blow.

Colt cursed loudly. He'd managed to jump back just in time to miss the baton striking his gut but the creature had managed to sink a couple teeth into his bicep as he rapidly backed away. Not enough teeth for it to hang on, though. He yanked away, ripping his flesh from the creature's mouth.

The swing connected and did what he'd intended, but it also threw him off-balance on the slick and uneven ground, sending him into a dance of sliding boots on stone. The two grapplers moved at opposing angles. Behind them, the bear roared its anger at being denied a good vice grip on its target and followed, its ungainly and comical gait at odds with its intent.

It was a moment of opportunity.

With the bear-creature distracted by anger and teetering toward him, Colt could mount an offense and try to pull that baton out of its clawed paws. With Ford sliding over the slippery ground, the hunter could dive for his weapon. With a heart heavy with guilt for throwing a blow at his furry, kilt-wearing attacker, Colt shot a fist in towards its muzzle while the hunter pulled his weapon snugly against his shoulder, clicking off the safety as he aimed for Ford.

In a slow-motion replay, the teddy-bear face of Colt's opponent arched up and back in an almost comical pantomime of assault. Spittle flew, mingling with the falling snow to spatter on the ground, speckled with the red of blood where its deadly incisors bit into its own tongue, lolling out in a wag of 'what just hit me?'. The baton flew the opposite direction, pin-wheeling over and over again before landing knob-end up in a drift of snowpack at the foot of a weathered oak stump. Its forepaws flew up as it staggered back on its hind legs.

The same slow-motion display swept to a different point on the field of combat would see the barrel of a shotgun moving in a grey steel slice towards the chest of an unsteady man in green and brown camouflage, his body seeming to flicker in a blur of snowflakes and motion. As he fell backwards onto the ground, his tailbone careening toward a snowdrift, he managed to get his hand on the grip of the hunting rifle he held, bringing it around and up to bear on his attacker.

He hit the ground.

Both guns went off.

The double-blast of gunshots echoed loudly all around them, bouncing off of trees and ringing in their ears. The sound seemed to distract their creature further. As his paws reached up for the pain the noise caused his long ears, Colt wrapped his hand around the baton and brought it around in a swift, fluid movement to crash into the two-legged bear's skull.

He didn't wait to watch the creature drop. The baton slipped out of his fingers as he turned to squint through the snowflakes that were now coming down fast and furious. "Ford!"

His brother panted raggedly from the ground, the shock of the rifle's recoil still vibrating through his arm and against his chest where the stock hit him. He stared at a spot on the ground just a few feet away where the snow melted red beneath the ruin of the hunter's face. The nameless man had missed, scattered barbs of metal shot buried in the trunk of a leaning pine a few yards right and a dozen yards behind Ford.

Ford's shot had not.

Colt maneuvered over slippery terrain for Ford as soon as his eyes landed on his brother. He bent to a crouch at his side, patting him down even though there were no obvious stains. He needed the reassurance. The blood that stained the arm of his own torn coat was light, not at all life threatening. "You all right, man? You all right?"

The younger Daniels? eyes were round with disbelief and affront when he finally tore his gaze away from the dead man and focused on his brother.

"That son-of-a-b*tch!" he gasped. "He almost shot me!"

"He missed, though." Colt's voice was heavy with relief as he dug through his pocket to come up with his phone. Two bars. Enough to get a call out. He rose to his full height, dialing a number he didn't dare store in his contacts.

?Hey," he spoke gruffly as his call was picked up. "This is Agent Daniels. I know, I know. Former agent. Former. Look. I need a clean-up job."

-------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------

(Edited from play between Ford Daniels and Colt Daniels. No actual bear-elf-things were harmed in the writing of this SL.)

A seductive beat pumped steadily in the background seizing upon the crowd until their blood pumped in time with it. On the stage of the intimate burlesque club, Lilli's Lace and Ladies, a blonde dancer clad in only a bikini was climbing into a giant martini glass. Blonde waves of hair hung over her bare shoulders and violet eyes seemed to make contact with everyone and yet no one at the same time. She was attainable but mysterious. The glow of a soft spotlight bounced off the siren?s sparkled skin as she tossed the top of the bikini over the side of the glass, smiling coyly to the enthralled crowd.

In the back of the club, Colt set a handful of bills down on the bar as his drink was delivered. The stack wasn?t large enough to draw attention but too large to just be for the drink. The sight of it caused the doe-eyed bartender's eyes to lift from the money to Colt with a curious tilt of her head. Her voice held a musical, ethereal tone. It was as if she sang every word. Like the woman on stage, there was no way she was completely human. "There something I can do for you, Colt?"

"I need to know if Lilli knows anything about Sergei's whereabouts," Colt responded low and even.

The bartender's lips thinned into a tight, unhappy line but delicate feminine fingers wrapped greedily around the bills pulling them in close with a nod. Colt watched long enough to see her turn to whisper into the ear of a bouncer. Assured his message would be delivered, he turned to head back for his table with his stout rocks glass in hand.

And there Alain was, as comfortable as if he'd been there for hours, nursing a glass of whiskey. He looked up as Colt approached and spread an arm, welcoming him to take a seat at his own table. He remained silent at first, his expression inscrutable.

There was a murmured curse as Colt's eyes landed on Alain but he allowed only a momentary hesitation in his step before he took a seat at the table, making sure to choose one with a good view of the stage. Even breasts, though, were not going to distract Colt from the man he had suddenly found at his table. He set his own glass of whiskey down before him after a stinging swallow. "You should see Kitty Kitty Bang Bang. She's up next. She does this whole routine with fire."

"I'll have to stick around." A brief crinkle of his eyes was the only sign of laughter. He tipped back his drink and set the empty glass down in the center of the table, gave it an idle spin. He wasn't looking at it, though: his gaze was fixed on Colt's, cold blue eyes searching and assessing. "You've been using my resources."

As much as Colt would have liked to ignore the look, to turn back towards the gyrating on stage as if unaffected, he couldn't help but let his eyes linger under the look, his expression hardening. "There was a situation. It won't happen again."

"It will." He withdrew his scarred hand from the glass, curling his fingers into his palm until he felt a faint stab of pain. "You've made powerful enemies, and they won't stop until Dylan Daniels is taken and your family is dead. As for Rodovic... he'll never stop getting himself in over his head, and you don't have the resources to back him up... but you need them."

Stunned silence followed Alain's declaration. It wasn't that Colt was surprised that his former employer knew about the dangers facing the Daniels or even why he was here tonight. That they were watching him was expected. What had shocked him was how it sounded so decided, so final. Dylan taken back, his family dead, Sergei lost for good. He tried to wash away the bitterness it left with a swallow from the glass but the taste returned as soon as the burn left. The glass struck the table but the sound was drowned out by the pumping beat of the music as two corseted women assisted the martini glass dancer from her escape.

A passing c*cktail waitress slipped a napkin onto the table beneath an unrequested refill, picking up his not quite empty glass from the table before moving on. Colt moved the fresh rocks glass to turn the napkin over for the message he knew was waiting. No news. I will keep an ear out for you, Dollface., it read in Lilli's distinctive cursive.

Colt crumpled the napkin up into his fist, breathing a heavy exhale. "And what? You decided to come rub that in?"

"As a means of showing you your only options... yes, I did," he nodded faintly. "You can let them die, or you can do for me what you were always meant to. This won't be like last time. We don't need you to avenge the dead. We need you to protect the living. I won't waste my time here defending the way I do things... You already know how high the stakes are in our fights."

Alain shifted in his seat, stretching his arms along the back, and continued his unflinching assessment of the man across from him. "What I will do is tell you that, as one of us, your interests are our interests. We've already been tracking Rodovic, we have an interest in Tartarus' fate -- if we combine what we know, I'm sure you can help him. And I can bring Barlington to the table, and make them accept an equivalent exchange, because this city is my territory and your family are my people, and I'll burn anyone who crosses that line. You know you need that."

Baltimore was a pipe dream. Colt had always known that but faced with the choice laid out plainly before him he just felt cold. The loss of his dream in exchange for the safety of those he loved. In the end, it was hardly something he needed to consider but he hedged. "I need to talk to Ten."

Alain considered it. There was no practical reason to allow him this time, and for a moment he broke eye contact, frowning as he rubbed at his temple with two fingers... "Fine. But you forward us everything you know ASAP, so we can check it against our intell in the meantime."

"I'll call LaRocca in the morning with what I?ve got and I?ll make my decision by Monday," Colt promised with a somber nod.




((With thanks to the player behind Alain DeMuer.))