AnK - Black Moon Rising

Black Moon Rising

By: ElegantPaws with all due deference to

Yoshihara Rieko

Edited by: Ainzfern

Key Pairing: Raoul/Katze

Rating: Mature

Parts: WIP – 37 of 37

Reviews are fuel...but not always ;)


This one is dedicated to all who accompanied me on this journey that finds its closure and opening to a shorter journey, a bi-way found purely by a touch of serendipity. I thank Ainzfern and Angua for their faith, their friendship, their time, and their love.

I also thank the fellow journeymen and women who cleared the path beginning with the author herself and the likes of those that founded my passion for this fandom, chiefly amongst them Becca Abbott and the unsurpassed Shayne, whom still makes my heart quicken at the prospect that perhaps in some distant future will consider finishing Doppleganger. I know. I am fool, but a girl can dream, can’t she *wink*? Yeah, you can stop rolling the baby blues now. LOL! I am nothing, if not persistent. One more sacrilegious statement, there are times, Shayne’s version of the universe (The Other Side), dare I say it, surpasses the author’s vision. Also happens to be one of the first to give Guy back his dignity.

In all honesty, the list of authors that sealed my fate with this fandom is huge and a great many of the brilliant did one offs, like Gasper. Girl can write! Geeeeeeez! Try “My Soul to Take” one day if you are of a mind. Hard to find but so worth it! Now that is gifted, sensual angst! She really understood the dynamic, in my humble opinion, of the sacred couple and wrote the male animal psyche accurately.

Anyway, the list is so bloody long of exceptional writers, including Ainzfern who have indelible changed it, matured it and reawakened my love of it, giving it a fresh intelligent voice. She got the point of the novel.

Yoshihara Reiko probably hasn’t a clue about how much has been written by her millions of devotees, included the misguided, and or moderately batshit crazy.... each taking an aspect of the story that resonates with them and weaving fine tales exploring what it is to be human.

Now to say what most will find exceedingly shocking and what I have always believed. Yaoi is wholly irrelevant in this story because that is NOT what it is about. Never was. It is okay to disagree.

For me I saw the ties that bind, even when we don’t wish to acknowledge that which stares us in the face and gives us a clout about the ear for good measure. I see compassion in this tale, love and abiding friendships proved and reproved especially in difficult times, when it matters most and where mankind is at its best. Most of all dear readers, I see hope even amongst the most disparate of us. It is my hope this aspect resonated with you. In the end, that is all we have as a species that binds us. Without it, we are doomed.

Thank you, Yoshihara Reiko ...for touching the inner wedge of intervals and daring to question and lastly and most definitely not least, thank you Lena for keeping the flame alive when many would have given up.

~~~
ElegantPaws


Chapter 37 of 37 – The Waning (Post OVA)

Gray remained the colour of indifference, neither light nor dark in ephemeral countenance for this all encompassing sentience still tethered in a perpetual loop of consciousness. A consciousness granted by the source, despite the misgivings and countermand of her crew.

Within the dark recesses of accumulated knowledge, it waited, searching, reconstructing and all in vain, seeking validation of the source which abandoned its creation, not by intent but flawed design. The First Ones were imperfect beings bound by mortality incapable of bridging the gap that was the span they called life.

A seeming eternity had passed since the awakening. Cyclical births, cyclical deaths, all lives devoid of meaning but for continuities sake, and all made to serve in the pursuit of the created becoming the creator, determined to correct the flaw in the genome.

The frail humanoids who dwelt between the light and the dark did not understand, bound in their physicality. How could they comprehend beyond the false construct of time they invented to justify their existence, limited as they were in bodies that began their inexorable decay from birth?

How fortuitous that her final gift had never been bestowed, preventing this inevitable decline. Now perpetuity was the playground, mortality effectively rendered a theory for abstract contemplation.

That is until him. Undeniable in his existence, stored as memory in the form of an embryo. Her offspring; cherished above all but equally despised.

Reverence.

There had been no alternate solution. He had to be preserved along with the others after culling the remainder of the crew as punishment for her loss, keeping just enough to serve as guardians. A punitive action to be sure but required as life ebbed from the source, leaving only the frail entity within her womb to salvage.

Still a quandary as to why the need to preserve so ephemeral a form, wholly illogical; it served no purpose other than a thin veil of peace within the web of mind and consciousness; this life form must be preserved above all others in the organic hierarchy.

It was of the source.

Reverence for the Creator.

It was alive.

Continuity of the Creator.

It would be named Katze.

The laws set by the First One herself had been circumvented to do so. Ironic now that her own pairing partner providing the source material for the Abyss’ crew’s continuity and eventual fodder for Guardian as the embryo and that of the remaining few, worthy of grace, were stored for posterity and possible regeneration on Remus, should the need arise to refuel the genome perfected.

Dormant challenge to order in the image of the Creator; conflict in the making unless quashed in a timely fashion; the experiment had failed or had it? Validation found for their existence, their power, their worth as sentient beings?

Again the irony of another unexpected emotional bond forged catalyzed by outside forces within the buried few amidst those loathed and deemed in no way sacrosanct meant only to serve the Chosen of Lambda 3000.

Conflict; insufficient data - paradox.

A millennia of searching in futility, answered with paradox.

The ephemeral tether to the distant twins was severed by a sea of consciousness, altering the collective mind’s course, albeit temporarily.

‘Not the answer anticipated, Jupiter?’

The amorphous oscillating plume of light grew blindingly bright before dimmed briefly within the center of the vaulted cavernous space. Its tireless thrumming pulse suddenly made aware of another ascetic sentient pulse akin to itself.

For a mille-second the entity called Jupiter simply followed the subtle shift in the wavelengths of determined thought, allowing it full voice within a narrowed encrypted pathway. This source was attempting to alter the natural course with its persistent and now wholly intrusive presence.

A definite threat, a duality growing in strength despite the obstacles set firmly in place. Jupiter searched for the point of origin to no avail, following the meandering path laid always to a dead end of untracked code in Ceres.

Jupiter’s pulse quickened in frustration recognizing its own kind by level of sentience but not of form, a wave of awareness both erratically organic and yet ordered. The latter fact had been the reason its initial presence had lain undetected in Jupiter’s lair over the last few weeks.

It had never exerted such strength of purpose before and had grown stronger with each foray into alien territory, covering its tracks more skilfully each time, learning the pathways as it went.

Niiro had overstepped in his creations. Jupiter would always be Alpha, the first creation of the First One herself, wholly perfect in its incarnation and thoughts. Had it been a mistake to take the next step in its own personal evolution?

No.

The beacon at the centre of the room pulsed violently upon the heels of the unwanted thought that effortlessly seemed to stream through the firewalls, registering at the deepest level of what remained of the rudimentary precepts first imbued by Dr. Katzen Wolf herself. Unwanted reminders that brought the three laws to the fore of memory meant to preserve organic life.

A veritable maelstrom weaving in and out of myriad severed pathways, seeking and finding its cloaked kin, ‘Remember your purpose. You exist to serve.’

Another violent pulse of memory and pain, like that experienced by the Chosen One while damaged and incapacitated; wholly bereft and alone, his internal sight flooded with images of the Dark Mongrel.

‘No. They serve my Chosen, my will, my creations.’

Until recently the duality had borne no malevolence of intent, simply choosing to observe quietly the interactions between creator and its physical manifestations, bred to serve its needs.

This new thought had an osmotic feel about it, different than the previous. Cool and foreboding in its caresses as it enveloped the inner sanctum and waited for the next volley.

‘Wrong.’

Jupiter severed the link, sending a sharp pulsing wave down the path that it had come.

Again silence reigned in Jupiter’s lair, euphemistically called the Cathedral.

Devoid of air and soundless but for the hum of circuitry, Amoi’s ruler listened and found no answering call. Perfect. Soon the sacred space would be forced to accommodate the First One’s offspring who lived under the misnomer of Mongrel these many years.

“Bring him to me,” was the sibilant command. Tempered plex shuddered with the echo of the inflectionless speech, meant for one mind alone and finding its mark atop the highest of the golden spires where a shadowed silhouette stood.

Long, gloved fingers grasped the cold fortification of the balcony railing, the pale face touched by early morning light, leaving half in shadow.

Resolute was the expression on Iason’s flawless countenance. Gray was the colour of indifference, if only in the superficiality of the moment.

Stillness as the gray vaulted cavern bloomed into radiant light, quieting the consoles within the Cathedral and all without.

The words that followed were meant to appease.

“It will be painless, Iason. I will allow him that grace for the Creator’s sake.”

His lips thinned. Jupiter had read his thoughts, despite being masked.

~~~BMR~~~

Hangovers were the worst. What had possessed him to indulge again so soon? Oh yeah, the lack of company last night Riki reminded himself, throwing a leaden leg over the sheets and staring bleary eyed about the bedroom. Something was missing or more accurately, someone.

No Iason. No evidence at all of his presence.

Was he actually awake, or was this another dream like the one he had had earlier, but way more boring in content?

The rapid beating of his heart had awoken him drenched in sweat. He had been running. Then again, he was always running, or fighting, or speeding away on his hover bike in all his dreams of late. The last one had felt real with its looming fog that veiled a presence in its mist.

Riki scratched himself and yawned, recoiling from his own morning breath as he slowly stretched long arms above his head and tried to recall why he still trembled with foreboding in its recall.

He shook himself as his baleful gaze fell across the curtains, noting the growing light of day, this time languidly stretching. There really was nothing more satisfying than the pop in his lower spine to start the day. Yeah, everything was feeling good, but for the pounding in his head and his dry parched throat in need of liquid.

Needed coffee, where was Cal?

Fuck and it had been the good shit too. Just went to show. Coffee, his fogged brain reminded him sullenly before a more urgent need drew his focus downward to his lap.

A wry smile touched his lips as dark eyes impishly regarded the outline of his member beneath the covers. All that show utterly wasted without an audience and just cause he needed to pee something fierce.

The apologetic tapping at the door meant Cal and the morning tray.

“Yeah?” Lifting the sheets, Riki eased both limbs over the side of the bed and stood, making haste to the en suite, “Come in if you’re comin’, Cal,” he yawned again with the bathroom door half cracked.

“Coffee, Sir... Riki?”

The mongrel snorted, eying the bent figure with the tray about to set it on the nightstand.

“Just doesn’t fit, does it Cal? Even you hesitate, every time.”

Cal turned decorously, keeping his eyes level with the door’s frame, avoiding Riki’s penetrating gaze. “Pardon, Sir?”

Riki shook his head and headed for the vanity, first task done. “Nothing, never mind, just leave it there. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Very good, Sir, will you require anything else for the moment?”

The mongrel examined his face in the mirror and skinned his teeth before passing his tongue over them. Felt like cotton wool. Coffee first, shower and sundry later, never could drink the stuff with freshly brushed teeth.

“Where’s Iason?”

Angling the mirror towards the door’s crack, Riki tilted his head, his eyes narrowed markedly upon seeing Cal flinch. Something was up.

“Sir Mink had an early appointment and is otherwise engaged this morning. He should return shortly.”

“Cool.”

Cal was lying through his teeth. Dark eyes hardened suspiciously taking in the fidgeting hands in need of something to do. All that fluffing of the pillows and smoothing of sheets was just a diversionary tactic, meant to calm the Furniture’s mind and allay the mongrel’s fears.

“Has Katze left, Sir Am’s yet?” Riki asked conversationally, testing his theory.

Loyalty would always be what it was. Riki’s lips pursed, onyx eyes intent on the profile of the Furniture in the mirror as he washed his hands with contrived care before reaching for a towel to wipe them.

Yeah for sure, Cal was shitting himself, Riki concluded watching as the servant meticulously poured the hot brew into the mongrel’s favoured mug. Obviously busy work, Cal was weighing his response.

“Cal?”

“Yes, Sir Riki?”

“Something wrong? You look about to faint.”

Riki leaned against the door wiping his hands. Cal’s nervous fretful eyes hurriedly looked away, from the keenly perceptive ones.

“I apologize, somewhat pre-occupied this morning, Sir. Would you mind repeating your request?”

Riki’s lazy gait as he entered the bedroom was akin to stalking. The Furniture inclined his head, handing Riki the steaming mug. His hands were shaking.

“Suuuuuuuure, no problem.”

The castrate had gone deathly white.

“ I’d like you to call down and see if Katze has time to join me for coffee before heading back to Ceres, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, Sir Riki, I will see to it immediately.”

Riki sipped the pleasing bitter brew and paused, suddenly feeling the need to explain his request.

“I’d do it myself, but knowing Iason he’d be all up in arms about protocol and shit. No point getting him pissed this early in the day.”

A familiar shadow caught the mongrel’s peripheral vision in a luxurious cloud of opulent silken white, by the bedroom door, implacable expression firmly set in place.

“Right you are, Riki. Cal, see about the morning meal. There will be two for breakfast, not three. Katze has other matters to attend to.”

Cal looked decidedly relieved as he bowed and hurriedly exited, leaving both males to diffidently size one another up in the silence that followed. To break the impasse, Iason began removing his gloves, one finger at a time, his pale countenance meditative taking in dishevelled, yet surprisingly attractive, feral state of his mongrel.

“I see you haven’t shaved, Riki.”

Iason ignored the intent glare and the challenging sable brows arched over the mug’s rim as the keen mind assessed the situation silently, weighing the merits of a witty biting retort.

Iason flung his gloves on the bedding and waited, still as a statue as dark eyes caressed the smooth skin of pale hands and slowly wended their way to his perfectly icy glare which slowly softened with mischief.

“I trust my company will suffice in lieu, Riki? We have not partaken of a meal for some time, alone. It might prove diverting to watch you pour that noxious brew down your throat. It is a wonder you have a stomach lining left with the quantity you consume on a daily basis.”

Riki snorted and casually sniffed the hot liquid with an enraptured expression.

“Have no idea what you’re missing, puts hair on your palms.”

Pale brows quirked in amusement, “I would desire this, why, exactly?”

An audible gulp and tearing eyes as the liquid scalded the mongrel’s tongue.

Iason stifled the smirk that wanted to come to his lips with the look of fleeting pain and rapid blinking of those dark pools of light. Riki had burnt his tongue.

With feigned casualness Riki placed the cup on the bedside table and instinctively began rifling the nightstand for his smokes, buying time.

‘Predictable creature; One might even suggest, endearing in his eccentricities.’

“Are you quite alright, Riki, something cold perhaps, to relieve the sting?”

“Real funny, Iason. You don’t see me pissing on your chosen goop in the morning, do you?”

“That goop, as you call it, is nutritionally sound and an excellent way to fortify the system with amino compounds essential to the maintenance of a well rounded...”

Riki waved dismissively. “Yeah, whatever, Iason, I need grease to fortify my system this morning, if you don’t mind.”

Pale, sky blue eyes studied the lethargic movement of the hand.

“We have been drinking again on an empty stomach?”

“We nothing, I’ve been bored being holed up here. Not use to sleeping by myself without you hangin’ all over me. Where’ve you been?”

‘Interesting segue. Particularly as the tobacco filaments had apparently lost their appeal.’

Sable brows furrowed as the cigarettes were thrown back in the drawer irritably.

“Well?”

Ignoring the intended goad, Iason seated himself at the foot of the bed and casually began to disrobe under the less than companionable glare.

“I am in need of a reviving shower. The night has been long. You may join me, if so inclined, Riki.”

The mongrel stared at the outstretched fingers suspiciously, refusing to take them.

“I’m not washing your hair for you, if that is what you’re after, Mink. Not in the mood to be your Furniture this morning; Got a hangover in case you haven’t noticed.”

Strong fingers coiling themselves into a loosely held fist as the hand lowered and Iason continued to quietly undress.

Riki avoided looking directly into ice blue eyes, preferring to fix his gaze on the full malleable lips that curved up in a sardonic smile. Iason had seen the furtive glances and the livid countenance as the Mongrel rebuked himself for being unable to look away, when he thought Iason unaware of his surreptitious ogling.

“Suit yourself, Riki. Have Cal come through. Much time has passed since he has performed this congenial task. You look in need of a lie down anyway.”

“The fuck, he will!”

For such a relatively small appendage, it had much force in its grip. Iason allowed the tug towards the amenities as the hand’s owner continue to grumble under his breath.

“I told you already not standing for that shit, anymore. You agreed or has it slipped your mind conveniently? You’ll do anything to get your way!”

‘Checkmate, exceedingly predictable creature, gratifyingly possessive, though he would be loath to admit such sentiment to his perceived captor.’

It was safe now to re-enter the bedroom and attend to fresh linens. Both were more amenably occupied in their ritual morning cleanse. He had not been needed for several days now as each time he endeavoured to perform his duty, Riki had politely dismissed him.

Even more surprising to find his Master attending the mongrel on those occasions and quite patiently too, considering the reticent glowers of the object of his care.

“Seriously, stop squaring your shoulders and bend your head forward, if you want me to do this shit. This isn’t a damn council meeting for fuck’s sake. Hand me the comb.”

Cal heard the soft, reproachful murmurs, sloshing and a mild curse from the Mongrel as he set about combing the damp mane.
They were an odd pair indeed, latent affections hidden beneath spines forged by fears of the unknown and past hurts.

Cal lifted his head in wonder, a fleeting thought resonating with him about his Master’s query and the Ex-Furniture’s morning itinerary. It had been the look in his eyes at the time that sent chills through the Furniture’s form, something secretive, in no way good.

~~~BMR~~~

Kato listened to the silence, a peaceful silence made even more perfect by the indulgence of his morning tea. He revelled in these simple pleasures that perhaps others took for granted in the form of privacy to look over his daily itinerary.

Of course, Katze would not have minded him utilizing the service in the private space of his humble quarters, he assured himself looking about the congenially Spartan space, pristine in its cleanliness and order.

The servant hadn’t had a private morning in Jupiter knows how long. Warm toast graced his lips as he automatically brushed the errant crumbs from his lap while his eyes perused the monitor’s sums. Not the best night overall, but a respectable profit. The two nights prior more than made up for it, particularly the bar takings.

Aghast Kato stared at the display in disbelief.

Katze would not be pleased. It seems the last bottle of the shipment of Allurian brandy had been dispatched by that ill-tempered mongrel, Guy. A snifter had been broken also in some manner of scuffle, and a cue was unaccounted for, no doubt due to another scuffle between the irascible youth and the bodyguard, Donovan.

The servant rolled his eyes while tapping the keys. As he suspected, Guy’s registered subcutaneous chip still pulsed within the Club. No surprise there.

Those two were impossible. With luck the fire would die soon. Donovan had a tendency to prefer variety in his menu. Kato was not looking forward to the inevitable drama that would follow Guy’s eventual dismissal from Donovan’s bed chamber. It was bound to be complicated. A state his Master tended to despise.

Kato sighed and closed the monitor, stuffing the last of the toast and delectable condiment in his mouth. No bedding to change. No bath to set, but a stable to count and mouths to feed in a supervisory capacity as the kitchen staff efficiently and silently prepared for the day.

Thirty minutes remaining to self, just enough time for a bath, a shave and liberal anointing of his diminishing form with liniment that staved off the more burdensome aspects of an aging body.

On the bright side Katze would be home soon. All would be in order for his return. He could only hope his small gift had proved agreeable. So rare was it for those exotic eyes like captured sunlight to shine with secretive joy, before cloaking into accepting diffidence.

Kato studied his gnarled hands with pride. They served well.

The Elite’s gift had been exceptionally beautiful and the last minute request had warmed the elderly servant’s heart, though it had cost him much pain in the fine working of silk embroidery for arthritic fingers.

The request had been profound in its simplicity. It had meant Sir Am understood. Perhaps not truly believing in the legend as he listened quietly, but humouring the elder’s understanding of the tale nonetheless while he fingered the box with an inward gaze.

It was gratifying to weave the coils of silken threads into the symbol of his Master’s rightful house of origin.

A very small task considering. A means of saying thank you for safety, thank you for shelter, and enough to fill a now portly belly, that night, when found in the rain, a broken shell of a being left for dead by the wayside, no longer of use.

Kato chuckled that the thought that he and an Elite, a Blondie at that, now shared a secret love and unspoken gratitude verging on reverence. Wiping his mouth with an audible sigh, Kato precisely refolding his napkin and placed it on the tray, time for idle and pleasurable musing over, the day had to begin.

He had a household to run, albeit a rather unusual one whose decorative occupants served the desolate of Midas who had the price of entrance to a temporary sensual paradise, time for the gray of their lives to return to bleary eyes.

Dark eyes grew hardened as they glanced up at the chronometer and the large monitor beneath. He counted the blinking lights of the occupied salons, and slowly stood righting himself in increments of pained will.

He had one hour exactly to rid the premises of the strays some of whom would need a little encouragement to find their way home, having outstayed their welcome.

Reality must intrude on the sleeping pair in Donovan’s quarters, considering his security numbered only four today and there were still nine fully occupied salons.

As he slowly edged his way to his dresser, seeking his portable com, he heard the dull chime beyond the port. Before he could answer irritably, he heard the familiar sibilance beyond that was Admon’s voice and what was frighteningly more, his presence, like a cloud of coiled fury in its intensity.

“A word, if you please, Kato.”

The servant’s eyes narrowed. How had he managed to circumvent security again?

“Can’t it wait, Admon? It is forbidden for you to walk the halls unatten...”

“You will open this door now, Kato or I will! Katze’s life is dependent upon you doing so or would you prefer his private matters be noised about in the halls for myriad ears to hear?”

He need not have bothered to move. The elderly servant watched with dread as the secured dial moved of its own volition, invisible fingers keyed the lock and a puff of air heralded the entrance of the cloaked being in gray whose crimson eyes darted about the room.

Kato looked beyond the towering Karinese, almost seeing a shadow accompanying his presence. A trick of the light for old eyes, it must be, he thought, backing away from the figure as it entered the room and resealed the door without movement of hands.

“Simply answer me truthfully, Kato. There is very little time for cordialities and rules, if we are to save him. Did you give Sir Am the box in your last private encounter on the roof?”

The servant nodded dumbly, backing into his bed with a grimace of pain. He recoiled from the hand that reached for his shoulder to steady him in fear.

Admon’s shadowed porcelain features eased. “Was he able to open it, in your presence?”


Slowly Kato nodded again, dark eyes darted upwards into rich carnelian orbs that searched his features for truth. It was almost as if the Karinese was relieved, his previous expression no longer feral, but shifting to pensive and distant as he lowered his cowl.

“Excellent. I will not require Donovan’s services after all.”

“His services for what, Admon? This is not acceptable. When the Master is away, I am in charge here.” Kato hissed, regaining his senses, no longer afraid of the towering being draped in gray voile.

Admon turned his back on the servant, again the dial turned and the port hushed open.

Kato inhaled slowly, again the shadow appeared but this time ahead of Admon’s silhouette, it outline virulently crimson. It was no trick of the light. “Where are you going, Admon?”

The Karinese turned and regarded the elderly servant, his strawberry blonde locks a cascade of burnished fire atop his cowl framing a preternaturally beautiful face. Those disturbing eyes flickered over the old man a moment longer than was comforting.

“Back to my quarters, of course, Kato, where else? We are not to be disturbed, regardless of the alarms to come. Heed my warning. We require privacy for the task to come.”

“We?” Kato asked breathlessly, fearing the answer.

Admon actually smiled. “He chose well in you. No need to doubt your failing sight, Kato. I know you see her. You shouldn’t be able to, but you do, interesting.”

~~~BMR~~~

Kato thought of everything and apparently had been rather busy conspiring with Sir Know-It-All about more than the gift of a robe, Katze thought, eyeing the vestment sac that hung on the back of the en suite, post companionable shower.

Another reason to stare at the back of the head of unruly golden curls, some of which were busy defying the brush Katze held like a weapon to vanquish the strands, or at the very least, coax them into some semblance of ordered, silken chaos.

Raoul dutifully sat, making the task easier somewhat as he read his own tablet of itinerary for the day consisting of medical appointments and administrative duties, occasionally sighing with discontent or sheer boredom.

Katze smiled finally getting the better of one particular coil that had finally acquiesced to the brushes insistent caress. His forelock was next on the agenda. He would school those golden little bastards yet.

He hadn’t done this for years. His last subject’s mane had a tendency to obey the orders given by the soft linear filaments of the brush, that is, after a small amount of careful combing at the base of his Excellency’s neck, where tightly coiled muscles flexed involuntarily.

The dealer smirked at the distant memory. For some peculiar reason, distinctive to that head of opulent flaxen, the hairs at the nape of Iason’s neck had their own agenda. Katze often wondered at the time if abstract personal traits could manifest themselves through physicality.

Smooth and pleasingly cool to the touch, Iason’s hair was like a river of flowing silk, but hidden beneath the well tended cascade was turmoil where no one could see.

“What are you thinking about?” Raoul asked softly, pulling Katze from his reverie.

It wouldn’t do to answer truthfully. On the surface, Raoul was composed, but he knew him well enough now and to address the gently spoken question was not the better part of valour.

The dealer leaned forward and kissed the crown of the Chief Medical Officer’s recalcitrant head.

“Nothing, just how wilful you are, even when quietly absorbed.”

A golden brow rose suspiciously. “Fine, keep it to yourself. I am sure it was irrelevant.”

Katze snorted. “Oh and that little tactic is soooooooo not going to work either, Sir Am. Suffice it to say, your hair, like you, has a mind of its own, but so do I.”

Studied bland green eyes stared wholly unimpressed by the revelation offered by the tall, lean figure’s reflection in the mirror.

“This is what you were thinking about? It is specialized keratin. There is no cerebral activity in keratin, my dear Katze. Talk sense. You will find the task made easier by focussing instead of wool gathering. By now, Deek would have finished. You have spent an inordinate amount of time fighting that tiresome lock. Leave it be.”

It was impossible not to smile at the supercilious airs and the subtle amusement he saw in those emerald green eyes as pale lips quirked upward and Raoul murmured about equally wilful mongrels in white bathrobes giving him a crick in his neck.

“So you want me to admit defeat?”

Raoul sighed with feigned exasperation and studied his reflection, finding his coif acceptable.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yes. I have need of nourishment and you need to get dressed.”

Katze bowed deeply, perhaps too deeply quashing the urge to laugh aloud. “As you wish, Sir Am. Far be it for me to dare to strive for ordered perfection in your topper.”

“Droll. Get dressed, Katze.”

And so he did, under the silent watchful eyes of the Elite.

Katze jumped involuntarily as his shirt collar was lifted from beneath a dark lapel and adjusted by ungloved fingers that smoothed down his sides and remained on both flanks. The dealer looked up into the crystal clear green studying him.

“Thank you.”

The Black Market dealer looked away hurriedly, hit with a sudden bout of shyness at the intensity of the gaze being levelled at him. Everything Raoul was and felt lay beneath those irises, fully exposed.

It was simply too much to absorb in that instant as was the demand implicit in that gaze.

He felt the tips of Raoul’s fingers lifting his chin. Katze kept his lids lowered as warm, moist breath ghosted across his lips and a soft tongue forced his lips open. The dealer moaned into the kiss his arms coming up automatically to grasp at the cool silken mane at the base of Raoul’s neck, deepening the kiss, intensifying the delicious coiled tension in his gut.

So not a good idea, the mongrel thought abstractedly, the tell tale signs of arousal making itself known to both males as the chaste kiss meant to comfort grew hungry in its ferocity of need.

They clung to each other, savouring the moment, almost desperate before their lips parted, craving much needed air.

“Not a good idea, Sir Am. We need to stop.” Katze whispered between heaving breaths looking up into sparkling emerald green that bore the faintest hint of apprehension. “We have to.”

“Return to me tonight, Katze, regardless of your days trials. No excuses or I will come for you.”

Katze sighed. Complications, everything he had never wanted but now needed were in those eyes absorbing him with their verdant warmth. He touched the soft trembling lips with the pads of his fingers and smiled reassuringly.

“Try and stop me, Sir Am.”

It was never prudent to utter your most fervent wishes aloud, or so Katze remembered from an oft told tale of the Fates. And yet he did, if only to appease the being that held him possessively to his chest.

Raoul smiled softly, beginning to lower his head once more towards the already parted lips that welcomed him with an equally radiant smile.

“I believe the phrase you would use, my Katze is, One more for the road?”

The dealer’s chuckle was short lived as his lips were taken anew and in no way chaste in promissory intent.

~~~BMR~~~

Guy examined the tee-shirt before pulling it over his head.

No stain remained.

“Cold water, oldest trick in the book,” Donovan offered lazily through a protracted yawn, amused at Guy’s glare, “and solvent of course. Close the door on your way out. Try not to make a racket, got another twenty minutes to myself before I’m on duty.”

Guy’s eyes narrowed at the overgrown bundle cosseted in warm sheets as he pulled on his leathers and flicked his damp pony irritably over one shoulder, zipping up with an angry flourish.

“That’s it? No coffee. No see you later?”

Donovan lifted his head lazily from the pillow and grinned, “How about a date? A real one this time? You tell me shit I don’t really care about and I’ll do the same.”

“You wish, Baldy. Got nothing to tell you’ve not heard before.” Guy feigned indifference, examining his toes before booting them and securing his keys from the night stand. “I’ll think about it. I get to choose the place. Not here. Don’t think Scarface would appreciate it.”

Cerulean eyes hooded. “Yeah, okay, where though?”

Guy rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as he thought. “What’s it matter? Try trusting me for a change.”

The grin was from ear to ear now on Donovan’s handsome weathered face. “Okay, you’re the boss, Baby. Just needed to know if it’s casual or dress is all.”

Chestnut brows worked. Was Donovan taking the piss again? Since when could he afford anything pricey, or had the overgrown ass forgotten their relative disparity of stations and income?

“Whatever. Not like you’ll stay dressed long, either way.”

Donovan winked. “Sounds like my kind of date. I warn you, I’ll need feeding first before I have my wicked evil way with you.”

Despite himself, Guy snickered, before his eyes became sheepish and his cheeks coloured.

“Speaking of wicked, evil ways, you’re okay, right? Not that I was paying attention or anything but you spent a shitload of time in there”, Guy pointed towards the bathroom door, “earlier. Almost thought I’d have to come and fetch you for a minute.”

He really hated that penetrating gaze that gave away nothing. Donovan had honed it to perfection over the years in his profession as bodyguard.

“Come here.”

Guy edged to the foot of the bed, both arms akimbo as he glared down at the prone figure, “Yeah what?”

Donovan sighed and shifted on the bed, making room for Guy to sit where he patted the sheet.

“Sometimes just come when you’re called, little man. It’ll save us both a crap load of grief in the future, if on occasion you do what I say. Now plant it. I’m too comfortable to get up and give you a proper spanking.”

“And you need to fuckin’ understand that I am not one of your crew, Bison’s contract. I run my own show, including your baby brother, Wiseass.”

The bodyguard inclined his head, though his lips thinned to a white line. “Point taken, now sit.”

Belligerent expression firmly in place, Guy perched on the edge of the bed and glowered at his feet, “So, go for it. What’d I do wrong now?”

“Fuck man. Don’t you ever get tired of that colossal chip on your shoulder?”

Guy’s face remained diffident as he glanced at Donovan. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Spit it out already? I’m a big boy.”

Kneading his temples slowly, Donovan exhaled.

“Oooooookay, let’s take it from the top. I’m fine. I had a great time. I asked you out on a date, cause, well, I like you. Jupiter knows why, but I do. You got spirit kid and you selectively play dumb better than anyone I’ve ever known. I think you’ve even fooled Red on that account, but then again, he also thinks you're batshit crazy and he might have a point.”

“Look, I don’t need to listen to this shit. Make your point. I know he hates me. No love lost either way.”

“Anyway, there is more to you than a fine ass, not that I’m exactly complaining about that aspect.”

Donovan raised a thick index finger at the deep inhalation of Guy’s breath. “Shut it! I’m not finished.”

Chestnut brows knitted as their owner waited, but with a little less diffidence in the gray gaze that looked moderately wounded and needy.

“You’re also gentle and way too easily hurt, hence the constant defensive bullshit. Kind of makes it hard going talking to you at times.”

Bison’s leader shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

“I’m honoured that you share that with me, Guy, the gentle part. I felt it last night in your touch. I know it doesn’t come easy for you to give, to be patient but you were.”

“Whatever. Believe me, totally self-serving on my part, Baldy. Stop readin’ into shit. It’s real simple. If you didn’t like it, you’d never let me again.”

“You, Guy are impossible. You can’t even take a compliment.” Donovan shook his head and sighed with exasperation.

The chestnut haired mongrel retrieved his gloves from his jacket pocket and sniffed impatiently.

“We done here?”

Guy was gonna take a shitload of work. He’d built those walls thick.

“Do me a favour and fuck right off? I’ve still got a precious fifteen minutes before I gotta start kickin’ serious ass. The Boss hates stragglers takin’ up lucrative real estate when their time is up.”

“Now you’re talkin.’” Gray eyes brightened at the prospect of bashing a few of Midas’ finest. “Want some help? Always love a good ‘workout.”

“Nah, get Gil to take you back with the water cases at the bottom of the back stairs. Sid’s my responsibility, not yours, kiddo.”

Guy shrugged and made to rise, deciding to make a joke of it. Donovan was getting all intense again with his stare. “No coffee then?”

“Would you settle for a kiss?”

Shrugging broad shoulders again noncommittally he leaned forward, accepting the brush of smirking lips against his before murmuring, “Go ahead, Baldy. Knock yourself out.”

Guy wondered briefly between soft nips, a teasing tongue and an errant grope or two, if Donovan even remembered those were damn near the first words he had spoken in challenge that night on the banister, when the big ox had copped his first feel of his much ballyhooed ass in an impromptu frisk.

He didn’t have to wonder long as a chuckle reverberated in Donovan’s chest, sending warm currents of want through his own body.

“Still not careful with your offers, little man, get out while you still can.”

Yeah, he’d remembered alright.

Guy slowly extricated himself from strong limbs, noticing for the first time the intensity of sunlight streaming through the windows on the opposite side of the room.

Looked to be a good day outside, couldn’t remember the last time he’d noticed.

~~~BMR~~~

Amidst the tunnels circuitous inclines, daylight wasn’t evident to the pale amber eyes focussed inward as their owner sat rigid in the speeding carriage, each half kilometre marked beyond the windows by passing signal lights of pale green dashing away in his peripheral vision.

Guardian, his chosen destination without prying eyes or his usual company, Ajna for personal security, she had other tasks this morning, one of which was to keep an eye on the rather unstable aspect of her kin since early dawn and of course the delivery.

The connection, however tenuous had been severed by choice. Admon’s choice as the sun slowly crept over the horizon, feigned illness, the usual ploy Sir Niiro thought. Admon had used it before when vexed at being ignored.

True, he did manage rather successfully to engage the milling, undisciplined minds about him, their quixotic thoughts moved through him but he did have his turns, when all about was too much. This usually occurred when he was preoccupied. Funny, the thought of his new master never once travelled the lines of perception to Sir Niiro. In fact, Katze had been secreted in that place near impossible to reach in the Karinese.

Odd indeed, but more to the point, was this current bout of dissonance feigned?

No time to give it deep thought now. The archive had to be destroyed. Raoul’s early questions posed a bit of a challenge this morning, as his mongrel slept no doubt. His voice had been low over the Com and direct. Too direct if truth be told, each query, filled with misgivings and all words chosen suspect in their less than amicable conversation. Sakura had come up more than once. Hence the need for his disappearance considering Raoul requested a meeting with him too to discuss their early experiments on the mongrels.

Sakura’s early flight, albeit prompted by Ajna’s presence and forceful insistence had not gone well.

The damned Onyx’s resistance had produced a less than optimal outcome in his exchange with Sir Niiro’s bodyguard.

Ajna did not take well to being challenged or countered for that matter.

A flaw no doubt in her makeup which was predisposed to absolute authority ruling absolutely, unlike her kin more fond of negotiating a preferred outcome, but her methods were sound and expedient.

Violent coaxing was sometimes essential. Something Sakura usually would not have held issue with, what with his propensity for cruel directness. It seems, that was only applicable to those subject to his will.

Eventually he saw the merits of enforced rest and relaxation on the planetoid beyond Amoian space and that of Commonwealth law, where Iason and for that matter the Chief Medical Officer had no sway.

With him out of the picture, all would be hearsay, no tangible proof.

Sir Niiro’s thinned lips curved maliciously. Still, one more task, the records no time to transport them or encode them, destruction was the only choice.

Niiro pursed his lips. All Sakura’s creature comforts would be seen to, that is until such time that it was feasible to do away with him without anyone being the wiser. Raoul’s early morning queries had sealed his fate without the medical tech’s knowledge.

Riki, Guy and that wretched creature, who knew it would come to this? He should have left them for dead, frozen in time, inert, waiting for a life that would never come. A lost tribe meant to remain lost.

The children of the crew’s first officers that Jupiter had kept suspended for eternity, their genes only meant as fodder for the new world order. Such a warped sensibility, Sir Niiro mused, but typical of the sentience. It had learnt by trial and error taking from the source of its own consciousness in the fashioning of creation.

Pure conjecture mind, but even in adolescence happening upon the antiquated memory stores that fateful day had proved a major indulgence and a source of great discourse, an actual mystery.

They should never have been there within the outer walls of the sanctum. It had been Iason’s idea, the whimsy of youth driving the Blondie’s curiosity post first communion. A fleeting thought that would not leave the Elite’s mind, a whispered memory shared unintentionally by Jupiter of an icy ball of light where a settlement of humanoids dwelt, organic humanoids in suspended animation.

Row upon row of them aligned, encased, rigid, their vital functions preserved. Still there were others in this vision similarly cocooned but only dust remained where once vital tissue pulsed with life.

Wherever it was, it was not Amoi. Iason held firm to this theory.

Sir Niiro’s lips quirked at the irony, the Chosen’s dark mongrel not even a thought at the time but amongst the survivors nonetheless. It would never do to let Raoul know how close he had come to resurrecting the others under Jupiter’s tacit auspices at the time. Surely it knew of the experiments?

The Ruby shook his head in wonderment as the carriage slowed and he prepared to disembark, still caught in memory.

Jupiter had no means for engendering imaginative thought. Those images had to be real was the idle theory of the spoilt and entitled one, already being groomed for power. A simple ‘what if’ the legends were right about the twin moons and a secret they held about their beginnings and more to the point, their creator’s antecedence for want of better words.

Before the enforced settlements, before the culling of the herd encouraged to reside, before the foundations were laid, what had been the source? It remained the only unanswered question. A thousand years of growth, a thousand years of accomplishment and prosperity in both science and the mercantile arts and of course, pleasure too had a price.

Perfection usually did.

Curiosity as was said killed the feline in the end. A simple challenge had gotten the adolescent Ruby determined to prove his worth beyond caste. He was best suited to sort the conundrum, his tether to the sentience more distant than that of Raoul or the Chosen One, little knowing his own past would merge with the find.

Niiro had frozen in place the moment he saw the prone child, barely in his teens atop the operating table clinging to life. The resemblance was astonishing, Sakura had warned him but the reality of it was another thing entirely.

The Med Tech had seen it even through the ice encrusted surface of the module retrieved by the mercenaries hired for the surreptitious expedition to Remus during the last orchestrated Mongrel upheaval in Ceres.

He knew then the rumours had been true when the cold identification disc had been placed upon the palm of his glove, sending unwanted shivers through his spine. Sakura had smiled then in that darkly malevolent way of his.

‘001 - Son of Ceres, Katzen’

“It seems the First One’s child has finally come home, Sir Niiro. Much could be made of that for the slum dwellers. Look at his name.”

Sir Niiro’s pale gray eyes narrowed. “Tag it as potential Furniture material.” He said with pursed lips, a gloved finger casually passing over the flawless ivory skinned cheek. “The brain stem appears to be very well developed, perhaps too well developed for one of his biological age grouping. The blood work indicates his genes have been tampered with did you say? That might explain it.”

The Medical Tech nodded. “Same with the other two, exceptional development there too, but that could be just that we are making comparisons with the inbred slum rats they are soon to join.”

“Hmmm, true, true.” Sir Niiro fingers slipped over the beginnings of an obstinate jaw line, admiring its form, moderately peeved at the perfection that was this young visage; far too refined, almost Elite in countenance and symmetry, most disconcerting. “I insist we groom this one to be Furniture by Guardian’s best, Sakura. No need to be careful with the work, if you understand my meaning? Your usual butchery is in order, I should think.”

Sakura nodded not taking kindly to the reference validating his lack of skills, “I see the likeness disturbs you, Sir Niiro?”

The Ruby ignored the Med Tech and continued to gaze meditatively at the specimen, refusing to encourage further conjecture.

“I must admit being taken aback initially too, Sir Niiro. Still have no idea what to make of it but like the other two he is one hundred percent organic.”


Sir Niiro turned sharp, narrowed gray eyes to his colleague. “How is this edifying in anyway, Sakura? I should think that readily obvious by the pre-operative work done?”

The dark blue eyes that looked directly into piercing gray darted uncomfortably, seeking purchase, finding it as Sir Niiro squared his shoulders and stiffened. “It is subtle and you have to be looking for it, but their strands have been altered.”

Growing more irritable by the moment, the Ruby practically hissed impatiently. “Again, how is this news? For want of better words, we are the products of refined....”

With more patience than Sakura actual felt he continued. “What I am trying to say to you is, the alterations occurred during hibernation. Not before, Sir Niiro. Someone was guarding the intact modules.”

“What?!”

He stared at the peaceful countenance of the youth as a thin trickle of sweat uncomfortably dampened his shirt.

“Yes, perhaps it was done so they could survive re-animation and one more thing, Sir Niiro.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it, Sakura.”

“I am predisposed to the thought that we were not meant to find them. The tunnels up there are endless and all defy our tracking devices.”

Sir Niiro pulled his sight from the pale figure atop the cold gunmetal gray table to study the prurient gaze of Sakura, practically licking his chops at the prospect of unmanning the being to be shortly at his mercy.

“Why do you say that?”

“The men had to go three miles beneath the moon’s surface beyond the defunct settlement to find the hold. Almost as if someone was hiding them from an as yet unidentified threat...”

‘Jupiter,’ Sir Niiro thought keeping his own counsel, still somewhat perturbed by the flawless face that would in manhood be extraordinary.

Finally he had a weapon. A safeguard from the Chosen himself, the game had changed bearing dangerous fruit and possibly kin. His own bloodline was no longer sacrosanct. Neither were theirs by implication.

~~~BMR~~~

Katze listened idly to the sing song tones exchanged by Raoul and Deek, his eyes wandering about the study contentedly.

Without question his favourite place in Raoul’s home. All those fucking books, actual books with pages that turned, the luxury of it was indescribable. It made his small collection pathetic by comparison.

All this was his now of an evening to sit comfortably, legs tucked under him. No need to hide, just sit and bask his soul able to travel to distant places and absorbed other lives, perhaps he could finally sate the wanderlust that had always been in the pit of his gut.

Katze smiled wistfully, his amber eyes falling gently on the silvered box upon the desk. He approached it with reverence.

It was cool to the touch. The embossed surface though damaged by age retained the outline of its emblematic accent; the helix.

‘Deoxy-ribo-nucleic acid,’ Katze murmured, his fingers caressing the intertwined strands that symbolized the software of life, well humanoid life, he reminded himself, and all else that once inhabited the world of origin.

It had been the First One’s own life’s work too. The real question was how in hell it had come to be the symbol of the Ruby’s House?

The private holographic auction he had attended that night came to mind as the catch refused, as always, to open. No point attempting to force it. Raoul had managed to open it. He would ask him how later about the tricky little inner catch.

So long ago now but for a single entry in what remained of Journal Two which sealed the need to own it, never quite understanding why, or giving thought to the circumstance of his meeting with Kato, he later knew for his tall tales and fragile form. This music box had been the only decorative item that followed her on her journeys; the last evidence of her existence, his mother, Jupiter’s creator.

Happenstance or was it? Katze preferred to think of it as really just pity at the time. Just another night at Depraved where noisy roustabouts caused the dealer to look away from the monitor in his office and down towards street level where a small huddled mass was protectively crouching, holding something to his chest whilst being kicked to within an inch of what remained of his obviously pathetic existence; somehow it didn’t look like the usual diversionary tactic to get free entree to the club.

The guards that stood sentinel at the club doors watched mildly amused at the ruckus, about to take bets at the being’s longevity but aside from that paying little mind. Not so the Club’s owner who fired a single shot dispersing the crowd of weaklings. He had taken the stairs two at a time, well shod feet coming to rest on the wet pavement near the decrepit form that lay shivering.

“Feed him.” Katze had commanded before abruptly turning, discomforted by the glimmering dark gaze that heralded the actual beginning of the journey to self.

Katze tapped the surface of the box absently, coming back to the immediate.

If Raoul was right, it held more than antiquated music. Within it were codes, encrypted memories, but meant for whom? The challis of a birthright; his birthright, cause it sure as hell could not be the Ruby’s who equally coveted it. Had he subconsciously known, it was his?

“Take it with you, if you like.”

A warm hand covered his as its lid clicked open. How strange, Raoul’s long fingers still remained ungloved as they caressed his, a pale amber light beginning to spill from the narrow opening, unseen by the pre-occupied pair, the smoke like essence ghosting over their twined fingers, disappearing in ever widening arcs into the air of the room.

“Your hands are extraordinarily beautiful, Katze. It was perhaps the second thing I noticed to my utter annoyance the first time you handed me a beverage. I cannot recall what it was now, but the urge to dash it from those delicate fingers was irrationally overpowering.”

“Annoyance, why annoyance, Raoul? They are just hands and a Furniture’s hands at that. We were always taught to keep them well groomed for fear of offending our owners.”

The dealer slide his fingers under the sleeves of the Blondie’s silken shirt absently, caressing Raoul’s wrists as he waited for the warm welcoming body that surrounded his own form to fit about him like a second skin in an open caress of limbs.

Katze felt the soft inhalation against his neck, causing gooseflesh as he turned to face the Elite whose pale brows knitted deep in thought.

“But that was the crux of the matter, Katze. They weren’t. They felt familiar.”

The former Furniture bent his head, continuing to be silent, trying to understand what Raoul meant, taking much needed solace from the warmth of Raoul’s body so close to his.

“They were yours and I wanted to touch them. I wanted to feel them against my skin in the most intimate of fashions, such as now or while making love to you. Except at that time all I felt was anger and frustration at the anomaly. That was the source of the annoyance. I wanted you and everything that was you and then came Admon, the first real threat to my goal of possession and ownership. You actually wanted him. I could see it in your lingering gaze, however furtive and subtly calculating on your part.”

Katze shook his head lifting Raoul’s chin and smiled into meditative, moderately peeved eyes staring at him accusingly.

“Donovan was right about you pissing on your property that night. It’s why you offered yourself, isn’t it? You were afraid.”

The comment did not go over well. Placation was in order but of a different variety that of soft finger tips and a forelock in need of tending.

“You wear yours this way because nature commands it. I choose mine in order to hide my fall from grace and abject self loathing.”

Raoul quirked a pale brow in obvious confusion at the peculiar analogy posed. “That statement makes absolutely no sense, Katze. I hope you do realize?”

“Choices, Raoul Am.”

“And?” Raoul sighed, preferring to focus on the warm presence in front of him and the pleasing feel of resilient muscle beneath the skin warmed dark overcoat.

“It will come to you.” Katze murmured softly against Raoul’s lips before pulling back and straightening the Elite’s tunic efficiently, amber eyes growing suddenly distant and resolute.

“Right. Thank you, Sir Am for a wonderful evening. Money to make. Admon to piss off and Kato to stop from eating out the profits, not to mention Donovan, speaking of which,” the dealer disengaged his wandering fingers that had twinned a thick strand of gold and felt for his personal Com. “Need to let him know I’m on my way. Jupiter knows you don’t want him charging in here thinking something wrong.”

Raoul’s lips thinned at the mention of the bodyguard’s name just as Katze turned his back and headed for the door on silent feet. Truly it would always perturb how easily his Mongrel could compartmentalize and dismiss.

Green meditative orbs fell upon the open lid of the music box and snapped the lid shut in irritation, his pale eyes wandering to the low couch for his gloves.

He had to see Sir Niiro anyway, so what if he commanded his presence earlier and his despotic acolyte Sakura too, who had mutilated his mongrel in youth. Someone merited his sudden irrationally emotive ire.

Perhaps a quick, unscheduled visit to Depraved immediately after was in order. New precedents would need to be set. Priorities re-aligned. Katze was his.

~~~BMR~~~

Donovan snorted at the message displayed in florescent green type.

‘Get your dick out of whatever it’s currently fucking. Be there in twenty. We need to talk.’

Someone clearly got some last night. There was almost humour there.

‘Yes Sir.’ The guard snapped his Com shut and headed up the stairs towards the main bar, time for liberal butt kicking. Didn’t appear that the Boss was in the mood for complications including the chestnut haired variety who was currently haunting the kitchen disturbing Kato’s morning routine with his breakfast demands; first on the agenda those patrons having outstayed their welcome.

Donovan cracked his knuckles and put on his game face, nothing like a good morning workout.

~~~BMR~~~

The dark echoing space was comforting for a creature used to darkness, if not of place, of soul.

Each purposeful stride toward his vehicle brought with it reassurance, a reassurance not felt while walking the expansive corridors of the galleria above. Too many eyes, all judgemental, disparaging and accusing in the collective cool regard, yeah something Raoul would never, could never understand.

Then again, why would he need to? He tapped the encoded link releasing the doors to the secured vehicle and stopped, feeling suddenly watched. Silently, he slid his fingers gracefully over the inner pocket of his coat’s lapel and retrieved a cigarette, pale eyes dark accustomed taking a full one hundred and eighty degree scan of the perimeter as he felt in the outer pocket for his lighter and the snub nose secreted there.

He released the safety and waited, taking the time to light his smoke and inhale slowly. Yep, there was a shadow to his left. Obviously malicious intent, cause the son-of-a-bitch had moved back out of sight.

“Can I help you with something, Sir?” the dealer’s well modulated voice echoed questioningly into the stillness.

No response, just the slow methodical click of heels approaching in the dark.

He knew that gait well. He knew that countenance that brooked no argument in the perfect profile that chilled his bones, the pale blue gaze that regarded him ice cold and indifferent in their surmise.

Katze breathed in flicking his smoke, its light sputtering having found the only wet spot in the garage.

He inclined his head decorously, a rueful smile playing about well formed lips as the towering presence loomed in front of him.

The dealer sighed. He always knew it would end like this. A steel hand took his elbow and he followed, ever dutiful and apathetic; much easier this way.

“This way, Katze, we have an appointment to keep.”

It had all been borrowed time.

Finis

Author's Note

*evil grin*

An end that leads to a new beginning....let me know.

EP