This part is from both of us!
Feb. 11th, 2006 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sealieWe realized we had left the boys in the dark, dank tunnels for several months and we know how pissy Jim can get when he's got mold growing between his toes. so Sealie and I thought we'd post a long one this time.
Jim didn't like being considered a student: he was a Captain in the Rangers, the premier Detective in Major Crime. He was solid, solid as a rock, experienced and in control.
Yeah right, he mocked himself.
The sentinel aspect by its very nature was out of control, unless he gave the reins to a young student who meditated and ate wheatgrass. One day they were going to find him curled in a ball, rocking from side to side.
"You come from a heritage older than time," Lucius bellowed. "Your thoughts do your ancestors no justice. You are truly bereft!"
"You try living in my world. Even as a kid, I never knew what I knew was what other people knew. Every time I heard something that no one else could hear, they whispered."
Marcus stepped out of the ether at Lucius side. "What did they whisper, James."
Jim started at the soft voice. "Freak," he uttered in the back of his throat.
Lucius bristled and Marcus placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Peace, brother."
"James, before you found your guide, did your father or grandfather teach you the way of the sentinel?" Lucius asked in a calmer tone.
Jim's cheeks warmed. The last thing he wanted right now was to air his family's dirty laundry. But he answered, "No, my grandmother was... maybe, I'm not sure." He thought of his roommate. "Blair's the only one that did any good."
Lucius' expression softened slightly. "It's no wonder you struggle."
Marcus seemed impatient to ask more questions as he rocked on his sandaled feet and chewed his lower lip. The second his sentinel quieted, he continued. "The way of the Sentinel is taught from generation to generation. But there are other ways. You have your guide now. I'm amazed you two met under such primitive circumstances."
Jim had a feeling Marcus would run on for hours had Lucius not cut him off. “I don’t get it."
Marcus jiggled. "You should have been apprenticed to a sentinel and guide as I am working with Ante Lucius. My sentinel, Gaber, is stationed in the Senate with my honoured father."
"Blair told me that sentinels are rare. He..."
"How did he learn?"
Jim smiled affectionately. "Pure pluck and bullshit."
"You know nothing." Marcus drifted forwards, hands outstretched to offer comfort.
Jim backed off a fraction and Marcus froze.
"It is a miracle of Mithras that you've survived," Lucius reached out and grabbed Jim's wrist.
The touch was incandescent.
The lineage of the sentinel unfolded before and behind him. Lucius and a man, Jim assumed was Marcus' father, stood behind Marcus and Gaber. Stretching between Jim and Gaber were a hundred score of men and women standing tall. Firm jawed and blue eyed, Jim saw the stamp of his own face in each expression.
"You're my great grandfather," Jim blurted.
"A few more greats, I think," Lucius said dryly.
Each Sentinel had a guide. Tall guides, short guides, skinny guides and pudgy guides.
Dizzy with shock, Jim tried to remember how to breathe. His world had just reached super-nova and the fallout stunned him to his core. He was a part of this. Blair was a part of this. They were as ancient as dirt and vital as oxygen.
Hell, he wasn't a freak. He was part of a history that compared to nothing else he'd ever known before. Staring out over the mass of faces, Jim saw the honour he'd searched for when he joined the army and the police force.
His people.
Blair's people.
Damn.
"You need a master," Lucius mused, scratching his clean shaven jaw. "It doesn't sound like there are any."
"Did the Gods cast a plague on the touched?" Marcus shrugged expressively, and once again, Jim was utterly reminded of Blair.
He suspected that Marcus and Blair were related. But aware, out of the corner of his eye, of the other guide watching -- not all were of Blair’s family.
Marcus finally couldn't resist any longer and had to touch Jim. He made a conscious effort not to shy back. Marcus like Blair communicated through many media. "I don’t' pretend to understand how we can speak here in the other world, Ante James. If we were to guide you, I think that we would have met many years ago? Or Mithras would have introduced you to Lucius and my father."
"There's a..." Jim licked his lips. "Grave marker. Lucius' grave marker. I touched it and this whole thing unfolded."
"Ah, you are indeed gifted."
"And Mithras has honoured you," Lucius seemed unperturbed at the thought of his grave marker.
The ancient sentinel moved closely and with great deliberation drew Marcus from Jim's side.
"Grandson, there are two lessons for you to learn."
"Only two?"
For a second Jim wondered if he had asked out loud, but it was Marcus that had asked the question.
Lucius tilted his head to gaze down at his guide's son with fond exasperation. "Yes for now, may I continue?"
Marcus nodded.
Jim found himself once more thinking of Blair. It was so strange.
Turning serious, Jim's 'many great' grandfather spoke. "Lesson number one is to remember what you are part of, the lineage you come from. Don't doubt yourself, James."
Something stirred against Jim’s right leg. He glanced down, seeing just the mist of that surrounded him. A strong urge to check on Blair rose. "Forgive me for interrupting this. I hear what you're saying. I'm worried about Blair. Is he okay?"
Lucius looked at him with approval. "Lesson number two is about your guide. You're faith in him would not be misplaced."
"But, he's okay, right? Before he could talk to me when I was seeing you. He's not-"
"He's fine." Lucius draped an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "There is much more for you to learn. He can show you."
"First we need to get out of these caves," Jim pointed out.
Abruptly, the world skewed back to the cold, dank, dim confines of the bowels beneath the castle.
“Gee, thanks," Jim said out loud as he knelt down.
"Whrrr?" Blair half-moaned.
"Hang on, we'll be of here soon." Jim slung Blair over his shoulder and stood.
"K." Blair absently patted his ass.
The flickering lights dotted along the corridor, led to both the criminals and the ways out. Jim accepted that trying to traverse the tunnels back to the sea with an injured Blair was foolhardy.
Jim clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He actually felt his clicking like some demented bat. He drew a picture of the corridor. Sight followed hearing, touch played a role, converting an image of where he stood and where he faced and where he would walk into a multi-coloured, multi-faceted sensory nightmare.
"Jim?" Blair moaned.
Ruthlessly, he dampened it down. No person laid in wait for them. Jim drew in a deep breath and took the first of many steps forward.
Corridor led to another corridor. Until he stood at the base of a blocky, granite constructed staircase. A metal banister was embedded against the wall. Escape lay at the top of the stairs. Jim ducked his shoulder and settled Blair on the bottom stair.
He slip, slip, slithered up the stairs -- listening with all his heart and soul.
Faint light seeped around a half sized, tightly fit, heavy wooden door at the top. Jim could see where the stone had been scraped by the door's opening and closing. A hammered metal lever worked like a latch and he reached out to check if locked.
It wasn't.
What should he do? Return to Blair and bring him along or leave him alone while he checked out the space beyond? Jim wasn't happy with either decision so he modified them into one. Listening for any movement and finding none, he opened the old door enough to stick in his head and look. A small room with hand chipped rock walls and floor. The door's opening was partial blocked by a stack of lumber and dusty, tarp covered boxes. This must be how the smugglers kept the tunnels hidden from the general staff.
Jim hurried back down to Blair.
"Hey, partner."
Still propped against the wall where'd he'd left him, Blair looked like road kill. His face pasty white under the grime and dirt, pain lines etched deeply around his eyes, he breathed through pursed lips while clutching his thigh above his broken bones. "Are we there?" he gasped out in a quiet voice.
"Looks like. I think we're under the Keep." Jim hated doing this but wasn't leaving Blair alone. "Do you want to hop or take another ride?"
"Oh, shit." Blair screwed up his face at the thought of either. When he shook his head more dirt flew from his hair. "No, man. Can't I wait here?"
"Sorry," Jim answered while gently pulling him upwards, using his jeans waistband and an upper arm as handles. "We can't risk them finding you."
He ignored the pain-lanced groans as he fitted Blair back on his shoulder and climbed the stone steps again.
Getting through the small door was hard. He finally had to set Blair down and drag him through on his butt. He left Blair to rest while going to the only other door in the room, this one just as old looking but normal sized. He found it unlocked, the narrow hallway beyond was lit by bare bulbs hung from the high ceiling. Another stone staircase at the end promised a way out.
With guide slung over his shoulder again and his back beginning to feel the strain, Jim moved up the stairs, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to run or fight depending upon what he would find at the top.
Another room, larger than the last. Jim still had the impression of being underground however. The feeling was justified as he saw steps leading upward, narrowed at the top. They let to thick windows set just below ground level. This was a large basement of the castle, perhaps used by the garrison to protect the royalty that used to live within.
Display cases lined the wall and a large map of the city hung above, its hand painted detail beginning to fade under the glass. Blair stirred, tucking one hand inside Jim's waistband.
Jim hurried across the room toward yet another staircase. They were close. Already the faint light of dawn could be seen through the basement windows. He'd get Blair to the hospital first and call the police from the waiting room.
"How the hell did you get out?"
The harsh question froze Jim in his tracks.
Coates and Donald were on the stairs, a gun in the leader's right hand pointing right at Jim's chest.
Was this night ever going to end? Jim sighed inwardly. Carefully, he swung Blair down. The gun remained steady, but Coates didn't insist that they to freeze. Jim extended his hearing, and above them, he could sense the early morning cleaning staff going about their business.
Witnesses. Jim smiled ferally.
Coates’ hands shook. And Jim saw unpredictability and fear. Coates’ finger twitched.
Donald hefted a blackjack.
"Down the stairs." Coates gestured with the gun.
Jim knew that if they went down the staircase they were dead. He had to take them both out. The man with the gun was the serious threat. Jim smoothly moved into that hyper state of awareness where action moved without thought. Muscles tensed minutely, preparatory to talking out his prey.
Out of the corner of his eye, an orb manifested. It whisked arrowing towards Coates.
"I said *move*!"
Jim started to squat down to pick up Blair again. His guide was alert enough to see their new danger.
"No, leave him," Coats ordered. "Donald will bring him."
"No," Jim said over his shoulder, ignoring the startled look of panic in Blair's eyes. "I'm carrying him." He took a risk that Donald wouldn't shoot them with people upstairs.
"Jim," Blair whispered rapidly. "What are you doing? You're better off without me on your shoulder."
"Work with me, Chief," Jim answered, draping one of Blair's arms over his own neck and getting ready to straighten.
With a grunt from both of them, Blair left the floor to hang over Jim's shoulder. Jim completed two steps before faking a stumble. "Get ready," he whispered.
"For what?" Blair whispered back.
Donald moved closer, blackjack ready when Jim stumbled again, letting his shoulder hit the wall.
The orb seemed to vibrate impatiently over Coats head, completely undetected by either smuggler. Jim could sense it's willingness to help, hell, he was counting on it.
"Either put him down or carry him right," Donald ordered when Jim tried to stand again.
"Now, kick," Jim whispered.
Blair's indignant 'What?’ came as Jim spun.
Blair's legs swung out and into Donald, knocking him over. The orb dive-bombed Coates.
Jim ducked Blair off one shoulder and shoved him further into Donald and the two fell in a heap, Blair yelping in pain. Leaping over them, Jim drove a solid punch into Coates’ jaw while the man screeched and batted at the orb which was working hard to blind him in the dim lighting of the basement.
Coates fell like a redwood and the gun clattered to the floor. Scooping it up with his right hand, Jim reached down with his left and jerked Donald off and away from Blair by the coat collar. He jammed the barrel into the man's red face.
"Do *not* piss me off, Donald. I'm American and know how to use the damn gun."
More to come
Jim didn't like being considered a student: he was a Captain in the Rangers, the premier Detective in Major Crime. He was solid, solid as a rock, experienced and in control.
Yeah right, he mocked himself.
The sentinel aspect by its very nature was out of control, unless he gave the reins to a young student who meditated and ate wheatgrass. One day they were going to find him curled in a ball, rocking from side to side.
"You come from a heritage older than time," Lucius bellowed. "Your thoughts do your ancestors no justice. You are truly bereft!"
"You try living in my world. Even as a kid, I never knew what I knew was what other people knew. Every time I heard something that no one else could hear, they whispered."
Marcus stepped out of the ether at Lucius side. "What did they whisper, James."
Jim started at the soft voice. "Freak," he uttered in the back of his throat.
Lucius bristled and Marcus placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Peace, brother."
"James, before you found your guide, did your father or grandfather teach you the way of the sentinel?" Lucius asked in a calmer tone.
Jim's cheeks warmed. The last thing he wanted right now was to air his family's dirty laundry. But he answered, "No, my grandmother was... maybe, I'm not sure." He thought of his roommate. "Blair's the only one that did any good."
Lucius' expression softened slightly. "It's no wonder you struggle."
Marcus seemed impatient to ask more questions as he rocked on his sandaled feet and chewed his lower lip. The second his sentinel quieted, he continued. "The way of the Sentinel is taught from generation to generation. But there are other ways. You have your guide now. I'm amazed you two met under such primitive circumstances."
Jim had a feeling Marcus would run on for hours had Lucius not cut him off. “I don’t get it."
Marcus jiggled. "You should have been apprenticed to a sentinel and guide as I am working with Ante Lucius. My sentinel, Gaber, is stationed in the Senate with my honoured father."
"Blair told me that sentinels are rare. He..."
"How did he learn?"
Jim smiled affectionately. "Pure pluck and bullshit."
"You know nothing." Marcus drifted forwards, hands outstretched to offer comfort.
Jim backed off a fraction and Marcus froze.
"It is a miracle of Mithras that you've survived," Lucius reached out and grabbed Jim's wrist.
The touch was incandescent.
The lineage of the sentinel unfolded before and behind him. Lucius and a man, Jim assumed was Marcus' father, stood behind Marcus and Gaber. Stretching between Jim and Gaber were a hundred score of men and women standing tall. Firm jawed and blue eyed, Jim saw the stamp of his own face in each expression.
"You're my great grandfather," Jim blurted.
"A few more greats, I think," Lucius said dryly.
Each Sentinel had a guide. Tall guides, short guides, skinny guides and pudgy guides.
Dizzy with shock, Jim tried to remember how to breathe. His world had just reached super-nova and the fallout stunned him to his core. He was a part of this. Blair was a part of this. They were as ancient as dirt and vital as oxygen.
Hell, he wasn't a freak. He was part of a history that compared to nothing else he'd ever known before. Staring out over the mass of faces, Jim saw the honour he'd searched for when he joined the army and the police force.
His people.
Blair's people.
Damn.
"You need a master," Lucius mused, scratching his clean shaven jaw. "It doesn't sound like there are any."
"Did the Gods cast a plague on the touched?" Marcus shrugged expressively, and once again, Jim was utterly reminded of Blair.
He suspected that Marcus and Blair were related. But aware, out of the corner of his eye, of the other guide watching -- not all were of Blair’s family.
Marcus finally couldn't resist any longer and had to touch Jim. He made a conscious effort not to shy back. Marcus like Blair communicated through many media. "I don’t' pretend to understand how we can speak here in the other world, Ante James. If we were to guide you, I think that we would have met many years ago? Or Mithras would have introduced you to Lucius and my father."
"There's a..." Jim licked his lips. "Grave marker. Lucius' grave marker. I touched it and this whole thing unfolded."
"Ah, you are indeed gifted."
"And Mithras has honoured you," Lucius seemed unperturbed at the thought of his grave marker.
The ancient sentinel moved closely and with great deliberation drew Marcus from Jim's side.
"Grandson, there are two lessons for you to learn."
"Only two?"
For a second Jim wondered if he had asked out loud, but it was Marcus that had asked the question.
Lucius tilted his head to gaze down at his guide's son with fond exasperation. "Yes for now, may I continue?"
Marcus nodded.
Jim found himself once more thinking of Blair. It was so strange.
Turning serious, Jim's 'many great' grandfather spoke. "Lesson number one is to remember what you are part of, the lineage you come from. Don't doubt yourself, James."
Something stirred against Jim’s right leg. He glanced down, seeing just the mist of that surrounded him. A strong urge to check on Blair rose. "Forgive me for interrupting this. I hear what you're saying. I'm worried about Blair. Is he okay?"
Lucius looked at him with approval. "Lesson number two is about your guide. You're faith in him would not be misplaced."
"But, he's okay, right? Before he could talk to me when I was seeing you. He's not-"
"He's fine." Lucius draped an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "There is much more for you to learn. He can show you."
"First we need to get out of these caves," Jim pointed out.
Abruptly, the world skewed back to the cold, dank, dim confines of the bowels beneath the castle.
“Gee, thanks," Jim said out loud as he knelt down.
"Whrrr?" Blair half-moaned.
"Hang on, we'll be of here soon." Jim slung Blair over his shoulder and stood.
"K." Blair absently patted his ass.
The flickering lights dotted along the corridor, led to both the criminals and the ways out. Jim accepted that trying to traverse the tunnels back to the sea with an injured Blair was foolhardy.
Jim clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He actually felt his clicking like some demented bat. He drew a picture of the corridor. Sight followed hearing, touch played a role, converting an image of where he stood and where he faced and where he would walk into a multi-coloured, multi-faceted sensory nightmare.
"Jim?" Blair moaned.
Ruthlessly, he dampened it down. No person laid in wait for them. Jim drew in a deep breath and took the first of many steps forward.
Corridor led to another corridor. Until he stood at the base of a blocky, granite constructed staircase. A metal banister was embedded against the wall. Escape lay at the top of the stairs. Jim ducked his shoulder and settled Blair on the bottom stair.
He slip, slip, slithered up the stairs -- listening with all his heart and soul.
Faint light seeped around a half sized, tightly fit, heavy wooden door at the top. Jim could see where the stone had been scraped by the door's opening and closing. A hammered metal lever worked like a latch and he reached out to check if locked.
It wasn't.
What should he do? Return to Blair and bring him along or leave him alone while he checked out the space beyond? Jim wasn't happy with either decision so he modified them into one. Listening for any movement and finding none, he opened the old door enough to stick in his head and look. A small room with hand chipped rock walls and floor. The door's opening was partial blocked by a stack of lumber and dusty, tarp covered boxes. This must be how the smugglers kept the tunnels hidden from the general staff.
Jim hurried back down to Blair.
"Hey, partner."
Still propped against the wall where'd he'd left him, Blair looked like road kill. His face pasty white under the grime and dirt, pain lines etched deeply around his eyes, he breathed through pursed lips while clutching his thigh above his broken bones. "Are we there?" he gasped out in a quiet voice.
"Looks like. I think we're under the Keep." Jim hated doing this but wasn't leaving Blair alone. "Do you want to hop or take another ride?"
"Oh, shit." Blair screwed up his face at the thought of either. When he shook his head more dirt flew from his hair. "No, man. Can't I wait here?"
"Sorry," Jim answered while gently pulling him upwards, using his jeans waistband and an upper arm as handles. "We can't risk them finding you."
He ignored the pain-lanced groans as he fitted Blair back on his shoulder and climbed the stone steps again.
Getting through the small door was hard. He finally had to set Blair down and drag him through on his butt. He left Blair to rest while going to the only other door in the room, this one just as old looking but normal sized. He found it unlocked, the narrow hallway beyond was lit by bare bulbs hung from the high ceiling. Another stone staircase at the end promised a way out.
With guide slung over his shoulder again and his back beginning to feel the strain, Jim moved up the stairs, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to run or fight depending upon what he would find at the top.
Another room, larger than the last. Jim still had the impression of being underground however. The feeling was justified as he saw steps leading upward, narrowed at the top. They let to thick windows set just below ground level. This was a large basement of the castle, perhaps used by the garrison to protect the royalty that used to live within.
Display cases lined the wall and a large map of the city hung above, its hand painted detail beginning to fade under the glass. Blair stirred, tucking one hand inside Jim's waistband.
Jim hurried across the room toward yet another staircase. They were close. Already the faint light of dawn could be seen through the basement windows. He'd get Blair to the hospital first and call the police from the waiting room.
"How the hell did you get out?"
The harsh question froze Jim in his tracks.
Coates and Donald were on the stairs, a gun in the leader's right hand pointing right at Jim's chest.
Was this night ever going to end? Jim sighed inwardly. Carefully, he swung Blair down. The gun remained steady, but Coates didn't insist that they to freeze. Jim extended his hearing, and above them, he could sense the early morning cleaning staff going about their business.
Witnesses. Jim smiled ferally.
Coates’ hands shook. And Jim saw unpredictability and fear. Coates’ finger twitched.
Donald hefted a blackjack.
"Down the stairs." Coates gestured with the gun.
Jim knew that if they went down the staircase they were dead. He had to take them both out. The man with the gun was the serious threat. Jim smoothly moved into that hyper state of awareness where action moved without thought. Muscles tensed minutely, preparatory to talking out his prey.
Out of the corner of his eye, an orb manifested. It whisked arrowing towards Coates.
"I said *move*!"
Jim started to squat down to pick up Blair again. His guide was alert enough to see their new danger.
"No, leave him," Coats ordered. "Donald will bring him."
"No," Jim said over his shoulder, ignoring the startled look of panic in Blair's eyes. "I'm carrying him." He took a risk that Donald wouldn't shoot them with people upstairs.
"Jim," Blair whispered rapidly. "What are you doing? You're better off without me on your shoulder."
"Work with me, Chief," Jim answered, draping one of Blair's arms over his own neck and getting ready to straighten.
With a grunt from both of them, Blair left the floor to hang over Jim's shoulder. Jim completed two steps before faking a stumble. "Get ready," he whispered.
"For what?" Blair whispered back.
Donald moved closer, blackjack ready when Jim stumbled again, letting his shoulder hit the wall.
The orb seemed to vibrate impatiently over Coats head, completely undetected by either smuggler. Jim could sense it's willingness to help, hell, he was counting on it.
"Either put him down or carry him right," Donald ordered when Jim tried to stand again.
"Now, kick," Jim whispered.
Blair's indignant 'What?’ came as Jim spun.
Blair's legs swung out and into Donald, knocking him over. The orb dive-bombed Coates.
Jim ducked Blair off one shoulder and shoved him further into Donald and the two fell in a heap, Blair yelping in pain. Leaping over them, Jim drove a solid punch into Coates’ jaw while the man screeched and batted at the orb which was working hard to blind him in the dim lighting of the basement.
Coates fell like a redwood and the gun clattered to the floor. Scooping it up with his right hand, Jim reached down with his left and jerked Donald off and away from Blair by the coat collar. He jammed the barrel into the man's red face.
"Do *not* piss me off, Donald. I'm American and know how to use the damn gun."
More to come
