Long section coming up. Hope it makes up for last week.
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Questions
1. What kind of person is Lcorn Llorne? What does she look like (in your mind)?
2. What kind of person is the Deborah Ignigus? What does she look like (in your mind)?
3. Does the setting seem fitting? Would you like to know more?
4. Does the entire sequence with the axe make sense? Was it as nifty as I think it is?
The farm
yard was littered with trees which helped cover L’lorne in her approach to the
farm house. Closing in, the roar of the
truck's engine continued echo throughout the farm yard, yet it hardly disturbed
the owners who were just now settled into a long and what they had hoped would
be an uneventful night. No such luck.
She stopped
behind a small cart that had been left in the yard and hid there as the truck
pulled up in front of the house. L’lorne
looked back towards the barn and Deborah therein and gave her a little
wave. The girl responded, likely having
found how to get the zoom feature to work some time ago. She learns very quickly, hopefully not too
quickly. That thought only nagged on L’lorne's
mind for a moment as she returned to the task at hand when the troops climbed
out of the truck.
Ten of
them, heavily armed, lead by a man who while not a grizzled old veteran, wasn't
some wet behind the ears kid either. In
an almost polite manner, he stepped calmly up to the door and knock, while his
men surrounded the entrance, their weapons aimed right for the door knob.
No
response. L’lorne looked up through the
upper floor window, and past the curtains to find both farmer and wife soundly
sleeping. Their bodies moving with the
steady beat of age, their minds simply not responding to the outside
stimulus. Even the dog that slept at the
end of the bed seemed undisturbed.
The squad
leader, however, was most disturbed, and ordered the men to break down the
door. There was enthusiasm as they leapt
to this act of destruction and power, knocking the door down with one fresh
kick to the door. They filed in, guns
moving along each wall, studying it for threats while the squad leader settled
down on the porch swing in the front and put on a calm, but ready face and
manner. It would be a shame to kill him.
Killing
them all was necessary, L’lorne had concluded.
She looked back to the barn and sighed.
Deborah would be a problem.
Simply killing them for no apparent reason would ruin the relationship
that had so far been built. There would
come a time to tear down the wall, but this incident, right now, wasn't that
time. If she could present them as a
direct threat to her, maybe she could justify it.
Of course,
she would have to assume Deborah had figured out how hear what was being
said. Delphi had long ago set up blocks
to prevent L’lorne from tracking the glasses and what Deborah had learned about
them, part of their agreement over the girl’s place in L’lorne’s plan. At this point, they were too far along to
alter that plan greatly, not that any of it would come to fruition until they
found Ritch ‘arrd.
She
couldn’t simply goad them into attacking her; it would put too much work at
risk. L’lorne thought only for a moment,
then came up with the best solution, one that would not only endear her more to
Deborah, but would also remove the threat.
Plus, it would be fun.
The
soldiers came back out, dragging the old farmer and his wife, still dressed in
their night clothes, out the front door, the dog following, barking all the
way. "What the hell is all
this?" The farmer was livid, and
glared at the squad leader as they moved out on to the porch, lit only by the
truck's headlamps.
"Terribly
sorry sir," the squad leader replied calmly. "I was afraid that something might have
happened to you when you didn't respond to my knocking." He stood up and stuck out his hand. "I am Captain Mervin George. I'm hoping you can help us out."
"Damn
fool thin' to be dragin' a man n' his wife out in the middle o the night. Better be a damn good reason or I'll stick my
foot so far up your ass. . ."
Captain
George pulled his hand back, partially because the farmer obviously wasn't
going to return the gesture, but mostly because he was afraid he'd never get it
back if he did. "As I said, I am
sorry. A pair of fugitives escaped from
the capital last night, and we're attempting to track them down."
"So
what?"
The Captain
frowned in disgust, and lied.
"They've committed some serious crimes, and are considered very,
very dangerous. I need only know if
you've seen them."
"I
ain't seen nothin.'"
"Please
sir," Captain George reached into his pocket to pull a couple of cards
out. "If you take a moment to
listen to their description, perhaps you did see them, but didn't know."
"I
tell you. . ."
"Steven,
just listen to the man already," the farmer's wife said, a fine tone of
fear in her voice. He glared at her and
nodded finally, in an irritated way.
"Thank
you ma'am. We're looking for two women.
. ."
"You
mean one," L’lorne stood up from behind the cart, her hands slightly
raised. The guns spun around and leveled
right at her, but L’lorne ignored them and kept walking, slowly,
confidently. She really didn't have a
thing to fear. "You see, the other
one was busy while the terrible crime was being committed. I did that, all by my lonesome."
"Stay
right there!" one of the soldiers yelled, his gun safety already off. Anxious, fearful, L’lorne could only figure
they had been fully briefed. Good move,
better to know all what the enemy was actually capable of then be in the
dark. Almost something he would order
done.
"No
problem," she said. "Now stop
pestering those people and let them get some sleep."
Mervin
George stepped off the porch, his eyes scanning the black haired woman up and
down, studying her carefully. When he
was within arm's reach, a very dangerous position but he seemed not to care
about that, he finally spoke. "You
don't look like much." He paused
and took a step back. "But then,
they say never judge a book by the cover.
I take it you'll be coming along quietly?"
"No."
"Good. After what you did, watching my boys dump a
few hundred rounds into your pretty little body will be most satisfying."
L’lorne did
her confidence chuckle, which was so close to a simple hum that it might
actually be mistaken for one. "You
didn't let me finish. No, I won't go
quietly, not yet anyway." She
looked over at the soldiers that had taken up a kind of reverse semicircle
around her, ready to turn and gun her down whichever way she ran, even right at
them. "You seem to have a lot of
confidence in your men, so perhaps we can make a deal."
"I
don't make deals," he said flatly and turned away from her, retreating
behind the line of fire.
"A
challenge then. If you win, I go
quietly, I'll even tell you where your other 'fugitive' is, lead you right to
her. If I win, you leave and pretend
that you never saw me."
The Captain
was behind his line now and gave his own version of the confidence
chuckle. "And what kind of
challenge would that be?"
L’lorne
pointed down to the pouch on her hip.
"I'm going to remove something from my belt. It is a weapon, but it is strictly for this
challenge." As she finished, she
slowly reached down and undid the little metal button that held the pouch
closed. The guns moved up slightly as
the soldiers got a better grip for whatever was to happen, but only watched as
a black axe head fell into her hand.
She held it
up for them to see, her palm placed between the lip of the blade and a short
stub of a handle that lay on the one side.
Even then, it didn't seem more than twice the size of her hand, such a
small object that some of the men relaxed, while the Captain reached down to
his own weapon and readied to raise it up.
Her wrist moved slightly, like she was squeezing the metal, and a second
blade swung out from inside the first, locking neatly into place, forming the
head of a double bitted axe. Another
twitch of the wrist, and the stub seemed to grow, shooting out from its barely
six inch proto self to a full four feet, all of it as black as the head of the
axe.
"Relax,"
L’lorne grabbed the handle with her free hand and swung the head down towards
the ground. "It's only dangerous if
provoked." The tip of one of the
bits locked into the dirt, slowly carving out a long, flat line, some six feet
in length in front of her. "The
challenge," L’lorne said as she finished the line. "Is for me to stop every bullet you fire
at me before it crosses this line."
Captain
George merely raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the action. "You realize, if you fail, you'll be
dead."
"That's
possible. Not a problem for you, is
it?"
"Sir,"
one of the soldiers spoke up. "We
can't really shoot her, can we?" He
looked from officer to L’lorne and back again.
Something about the confident look on both of their faces confused the
young man, and he desperately needed clarification.
"Well,"
Mervin kept his eyes glued to L’lorne.
"She is quite dangerous, is now armed and has made it clear that
she will not come quietly." A smile
riddled its way onto his face. "I
feel we have no choice. Take aim!"
The young
soldier's gun snapped up into an even stronger firing position. The line flattened out and aimed quite
clearly at the woman before them, weapons up and ready, safeties off, fire
controls shifted to full automatic.
There would be no escape. L’lorne
took on a relaxed look, positioning the axe in front of her in readiness. The challenge was set, shame the soldiers
never had a chance.
"FIRE!"
The guns
fired off, roaring in rapid succession.
Most of the rifles fired in short bursts, the result of constant
training, while the two larger guns fired almost continuously, all aimed at one
target.
She had
already decided not to rush this, no real reason after all. There was plenty of time between each shot to
prepare for the next one. The worst part
was waiting for the first few shots as they traveled the short distance between
the porch and the cart where L’lorne stood.
The bursting fire, three shots in rapid succession, meant that there
would often be a long break between busy movements of the axe. At least the two heavy weapons would provide
a more or less constant diversion.
She struck
the first bullet with the flat of the axe head, about right in the middle of
one of the bits. The force of the bullet
should have knocked the axe clear out of the way, but all the kinetic energy
was absorbed like water to a sponge, rippling from the head, down the handle
and finally into L’lorne's arm, where it was put into something useful, namely
the next movement of the axe. As the
bullet fell straight down as if its will to move forward had been completely
removed, the axe moved ever so slightly to catch the next bullet to execute
that poor piece of lead's will in a similar fashion.
The act
would be repeated again and again, each bullet losing its will to move forward
as soon as it came in contact with the axe.
Sometimes it would come with the strike at the head, or the handle, even
the very edge of the blade. The bullet
would then fall straight down, the force of gravity doing its part even if the
bullet refused. Each fell with a slight
thud, forming a little crater of dust, right in front of the line L’lorne had
drawn.
All this
passed in a blink of an eye for everyone who was not L’lorne. While she contemplated various ideas and
their possible results, they saw only a blur as the axe flashed back and forth
in a whirling motion only ever matched by electric fans and spinning
propellers. Eventually, even with the
large clips and gung ho attitude, the guns fell silent as they ran out of
ammunition, even the mighty heavy machine guns died for lack of that precious
lead. As the final shots sound, the
movement of the axe slows, moving slow enough that the blur is now gone, but
the speed is still prevalent. Then there
are no more shots, and an eerie calm settles for a moment.
One final
shot rings out. The soldiers are stunned
by the sound and would have turned around to see their captain, his side arm
drawn and held steady, aiming at the woman that still stood before him, they
would have turned if they hadn't seen the axe shoot up and stop the bullet dead
center. The piece of lead held itself in
the air for a moment, the tip pressed only slightly against the axe itself, and
then it fell with a slight poof onto the ground below.
"Well
then," L’lorne said as she shifted the axe out of her way. "I guess that means I win."
Captain
George lowered his weapon, staring down at it as he did. It had failed him, and he considered his
options, finally electing to holster it once more. "I guess you did." He stood tall and looked right at L’lorne,
glared at her eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Everyone into the truck."
"But
sir."
He didn't
even change the direction of his glare, only that of his voice. "I said in the truck, NOW!" His men complied and piled back into the
truck while he stood and continued to stare at L’lorne. They both knew there was no way he wasn't
going to report this, he had to, it was his job. Did he know he still had to die? It was hard to say, but perhaps he did. Without answering the question in any real
way, he turned around, boarded the truck, and ordered the driver to return them
to base.
The farmer
was excited, his wife amazed, and they said so, repeatedly, congratulating her
on something that was so small it was really barely worth mentioning. Still, she accepted their accolades, and
finally broke away from them after promising to come in for breakfast as it was
far too late for dinner. The axe
returned to its pouch, folding up much as it had before, and she returned to
the barn and met Deborah who sat on her bed of hey and blanket.
"You
stopped every one?"
"Are
you surprised?"
Deborah
shook her head. "No, but that was
still pretty neat. Where'd you learn to
do that?"
An explanation
of that nature would take a long time, and L’lorne wasn't in the mood to go
into many details. "A good friend
of mine, actually. He's helped me out a
lot recently." The count was almost
finished. Only a handful of seconds
remained. The truck was out of sight now
and far enough away that the sound wouldn't be heard for what it really
was. L’lorne decided to drag out the
conversation a bit; a few details wouldn't be that bad after all. "He's actually much better with the axe
than I am. Truthfully, he invented the
entirety of its use, though he didn't create it." Times up, wait for it.
"Really? What's his name?" Before L’lorne could reply, a loud bang
rattled off from the distance.
"What was that?"
"Hmm?" L’lorne looked out the loft door, a look of
confusion covering her knowledge of the source.
"I didn't hear anything."
"I
could have sworn," Deborah paused her thought, and then decided to
discontinue it. "It was probably
nothing."
"Probably." It was something alright, an explosion of
decent sized proportions. At its center
sat the truck and its ten passengers.
Most were killed outright when the gas tank mysteriously exploded, but
those in the cab lingered for a bit, their bodies impaled by flying debris,
their heads slammed into the windshield, steering wheel and dash board. Amongst them is Captain Mervin George, a man
whose last thoughts, as he lies bleeding to death on the verge of
unconsciousness and death is how in the hell that woman managed to plant a bomb
on the truck. L’lorne only smiled. "We should get some sleep, we've been
asked over for breakfast, and I know they'll want to have it early."
"Sounds
good." Deborah wrapped herself in
the blanket and closed her eyes briefly.
"Oh wait," she sat up.
"What's his name?"
"Who?" Beat.
"Oh, him, his name is Quinn.
Maybe you'll meet him some day."
Deborah
yawned a half hearted agreement and bid L’lorne good night.
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Questions
1. What kind of person is Lcorn Llorne? What does she look like (in your mind)?
2. What kind of person is the Deborah Ignigus? What does she look like (in your mind)?
3. Does the setting seem fitting? Would you like to know more?
4. Does the entire sequence with the axe make sense? Was it as nifty as I think it is?
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