(This is a section of our e-mail story that was originally called "Sideplot for Kylinn". It stars our Toby, otter pooka and Dame Lorraine Etain ap Liam, Scathach sidhe. The various e-mails have been edited together into a fairly coherent story, though not changed from the present tense used in the original emails. The story itself takes place in two main sections. Enjoy.)
It was an evening not quite like any other evening. Lorraine and Toby had met at a fae concert. Neither had known the other was going to be there. Toby was a bit surprised to find Lorraine attending - and warmly approving - the rabble-rousing lyrics of the eshu bard, but there she was, singing protest songs along with the rest of them. Guess she wasn't too bad for a sidhe after all.
Not that anyone who was Andrea's friend could be too bad, really, But... sidhe are different. Toby knew that even the nicest sidhe couldn't really be trusted to do right by the commoners, not really.
Lorraine had offered to drive Toby home; a more direct and cheaper trip than going back by way of mass transit. Toby had accepted, and they'd been chatting about not much in particular as they went.
Lorraine's phone rang, loudly.
Lorraine looks apologetically at Toby, then flips it up, answering. Lorraine cuts her greeting off suddenly, a grim look instantly appearing on her face. She listens intently for a few more moments, then answers with a curt "I'm on it" and hangs up.
It's a good thing Toby's buckled up, because otherwise there might have been problems the moment Lorraine throws the BMW into a mean fishtail at full power and over the blaring horns of protesting drivers whips their car around, the engine roaring to full power.
Toby braces himself against the sudden acceleration, the sharp turns, the... whee! this is fun!
"We've got trouble, Toby," Lorraine explains seriously as the needle on the speedometer races past ninety and the BMW tears through quiet suburban streets. "A fae needs help, and I'm the closest we got."
"Hey! What am I, chopped liver?" Toby asks, aggrieved.
"Can you fight?" Lorraine asks. The question is not rhetorical. It's clear Lorraine is asking if Toby is able - and ready - to fight.
Toby shrugs and squirms a bit.
"You need someone to _fight?" There are other types of problems that someone could have, after all.
"Well, I'm the world's greatest expert with a sword. Edgy-thing. You know. Yeah, the best."
From somewhere he produces a small switchblade and holds it up demonstratively.
Lorraine nods, decisively. "Gotcha."
Lorraine is thinking hard as she whips the BMW into the last few sets of turns. Finally, as the car roars into the parking lot of a college campus sorority row, Lorraine rapidly thumbnails the situation...
"Countess Anne," referring to the unseelie sidhe noble and champion of the Commoner cause "is in deep trouble. We don't know what kind, only that she called Andrea directly asking for emergency help before getting cut off."
Toby's eyes widen. Countess Anne is something of a legend among the local unseelie. And non-local, for that matter.
"She *didn't* use her emergency beeper or call the Guard. Which means Countess Anne doesn't trust her official channels. If I had to guess," Lorraine says, taking in a deep breath, "I'd say that she's probably been betrayed. She *does* trust the Chancellor completely. So my guess is somebody tried to silence her. Someone from *within* the Courts. And may try to finish the job."
Toby pounds the dashboard. "Can't this tub go any faster?!"
Just a few minutes later, the BMW rolls onto a college campus' sorority row. Lorraine pulls to a stop, takes the keys out of the ignition, sets the parking brake, and quickly checks the chimerical firearm tucked into her shoulder holster. Then she pounds a fist on the dashboard, popping open the secret compartment into which her shotguns - chimerical and real - are hidden.
Pulling out a toy burp gun with devastating chimerical firepower for herself, she turns to look at Toby.
"I know you can sneak, Toby."
It's a mark of how seriously Toby is taking this that he simply nods "yes", not bothering to mime innocence.
"Countess Anne's room is on the third floor, up in the tower," pointing to a turret in the Victorian-style rambling house/mansion.
Toby nods again. "Fourth floor, underground."
"I'm going to try to get there from the inside. But chances are really good I'm going to run into trouble. Can you climb the trellis and get into her room from the outside?"
Toby eyes the outside of the building scornfully. "Wonderful security. Impossible!"
"Okay, then." Lorraine smiles briefly. "You get in, find out what kind of help she needs, and get her out to the car if you can. If I go from the inside and you go from the outside, at least one of us should make it..."
As a final thought, Lorraine pulls the chimerical automatic nerf-pistol from her shoulder holster and hands it to Toby.
"I know Roxy's taught you how to use this. You may need it."
He accepts it carefully. In its mortal seeming, it's a smallish, compact toy gun that shoots little yellow light foam "bullets". Completely harmless, although it has pretty good accuracy and range for a toy. It'll put its foam bit on target to a range of ten or fifteen feet under most circumstances, and has a reasonable chance of hitting what it wants within thirty.
In its chimerical seeming, it is lethal in the extreme. Made by Eisenreich armorers for use as the standard side-arm of the Eisenreich's elite guards, it has the same rate of fire, magazine capacity - and lethality - of a 9 mm Glock. A fae shot in the head or the heart by this weapon will have her fae existence terminated on the spot. This is a weapon meant for killing.
In the last days before Winter, there are far worse things than the Banality of killing a fellow changeling's fae seeming...
Toby holds it uncertainly for a moment, then tucks it gingerly into his pants pocket.
"Questions?"
"What's the meaning of 42?" Toby spouts automatically. But he shakes his head, and moves toward the bushes. On the way there he skips lightly, hops twice, spins around... and my goodness but that shadow he ducked into hides him well.
Veiled from casual observation, he grabs hold of the trellis and swings himself lightly up.
"Luck," Lorraine whispers, and then she races towards the front door, holding her weapon ready before her. In mortal seeming, what she's holding is a two-handed toy "burp" gun, shooting ping-pong balls. In chimerical guise, it's as deadly to fae as a Benelli M4. It'll blow a hole the size of a dinner plate through virtually any chimerical armor short of the skin of a Eisenreich clockwork Mech.
The implications of a commoner-heavy organization like the Eisenreich having such ready access to such lethal chimerical firepower are profound. With arms like these in the hands of the commoners and their allies, the second Accordance War is very likely to go rather differently than the First...
As Lorraine heads for the front of the building, Toby scrambles up the trellis like a monkey. A slightly over-confident monkey, perhaps, for half-way up, a chunk of trellis snaps off in his hand. Clinging with his other hand, he swings slightly but manages to catch himself in time.
And freezes, lest a stray sound betray him.
In another moment, though, that's something he won't have to worry about anymore...
As Toby resumes his climb, from behind him he can hear the sounds of a *very* raucous party beginning on the Quad. The booming sound system makes it nearly impossible for Toby to hear himself think. Another crazy Friday night on campus, as the roar of the heavy metal live band shatters the night's quiet...
"LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
YEEEAAAAHHHH -- "
"ONE - SOMEONE'S GOT TO GIVE
TWO - SOMEONE'S GOT TO TAKE
THREE - SOMETHING'S GOT TO GO
FOUR - SOMETHING'S GOT TO BREAK - "
One of the windows is open just a crack.
Reaching the window and peeking in, drowned out by the thunder of the music, Toby sees Countess Anne...as she fights for her chimerical life.
A large, well-built gentleman in a varsity jacket swings at the countess -- mortals would only see the cheap plastic fake-jewelry ring on his hand, and a seemingly coked-up jock pretending to fence with an invisible sword. Toby sees the reality: a mortal, heavily enchanted, thrusting a chimerical rapier with deadly intent towards Countess Anne.
The room is already a disaster area -- furniture overturned, drapes hauled down, personal items shattered and walls wrecked. Countess Anne lurches around the bedroom - obviously already wounded in her fae seeming - throwing anything she can get her hands on at her assailant --chairs, items, anything.
The struggle is brutal. The countess is fast, even in her wounded state, and the attacker clearly has no idea how to properly use a sword, swinging it wildly like a rank amateur. But he is also far bigger and more muscular, and the room is not that large. This struggle can only have one ending.
She might be yelling for help. But no one will hear over the storm of the band. This is probably not a coincidence.
Lorraine tucks the chimerical shotgun under her trench coat. It instantly disappears within the folds, invisible to any but the most determined viewer. With luck, there would be a minimum of fuss...
She races up the sorority house steps and grabs the doorknob...
"LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
YEEEAAAAHHHH -- "
Kint Shatter-Jaw gave his leather-clad mates a feral, jagged-tooth grin as the music roared to life, clearly audible even inside the lobby of the sorority house they now occupied, the dainty feminine decor clashing with the dirty, torn, brutal garb of the hulking redcap enforcers who put their boots up on the tables.
It was a weird job. Some punk plaything of some hoighty-toity sidhe prissy-pants, whom Kint could break in half with just one hand, had promised them, in the name of his Lady, a pile of gold for a very simple job - just stay in the lobby and make sure nobody went upstairs while he did his thing.
That was it.
Kint was pretty sharp for a redcap, and it seemed a bit weird to pay so much for so little mayhem. Then again, given the litle prick had never told them *who* his patron was - and Kint wasn't asking - it made a kind of sense. When the Glamour ran out, the little enchanted boy wouldn't remember a thing about the fae, let alone what chimerical crimes he committed. And you can't be blackmailed or betrayed by an assassin who didn't even remember the crime...
Near perfect deniability. Kint had respect for a sidhe bitch who knew how to play the game...
"I'll bet she was a really good f**k," one of Kint's comrades crudely joked, guessing at what the payment for the Glamour-addled assassin was. The redcaps all howled.
Then the door flew open and a sidhe knight burst in.
Kint and four of his mates rose as one to face the sidhe. The fifth had been in the bathroom and emerged *behind* Lorraine. No words are exchanged but the redcap standing right behind Lorraine's blind spot swings his chimerical axe down hard right at Lorraine.
Unfortunately for him, Scathach knights don't *have* blind spots...
"ONE - SOMEONE'S GOT TO GIVE
TWO - SOMEONE'S GOT TO TAKE
THREE - SOMETHING'S GOT TO GO
FOUR - SOMETHING'S GOT TO BREAK - "
When Lorraine had burst into the room and confronted the redcaps, she felt a moment's hesitation as she tried to figure out a way through her dilemma. As urgent as the need was, she couldn't simply gun down fae who hadn't attacked her first.
Redcap thugs who attacked from behind without provocation, however, were a whole different matter. In that sense, life got much simpler when the redcap thug attacked her first. Getting ambushed was almost a relief.
Lorraine's would be ambusher's eyes go wide as Lorraine twists with impossible speed away from the surely fatal axe-stroke -- then grunts hard as one of her boots slams home under his chin.
Already Kint's other thugs are moving, charging, roaring, chimerical weapons drawn. A second chimerical axe is thrown. Lorraine twists through mid-air like a Wuxia warrior or a fighter from The_Matrix and the tumbling axe passes harmlessly through the space she had occupied just a moment before. A fist. A boot heel. Lorraine is like a tornado of punches and kicks that rock her redcap assailants back on their heels. Normally, five huge redcaps against one slight sidhe Lady would be no contest. It's still no contest. Five to one odds aren't enough when you face a Scathach Knight...
One manages to grab Lorraine's ankle between two massive paws, claws biting deep. He howls in triumph, jerking to bring the foot up to his amputating jaws -- and then folds over, bent almost in half by the blast of the chimerical shotgun that instantly obliterates his fae seeming. The now fully-mortal thug hits the floor senseless as Lorraine tumbles past him, her shotgun at the ready, hoping the redcaps see the futility of fighting against her firepower...
But the death of one of their mates as the exact opposite effect, as blood lust and revenge completely override any survival instincts Kint and his mates have. Like berserk warriors they charge, Kint's roar amazingly even audible over the rock concert's sound, as he picks up the sorority coffee table and flings it before him like a flying shield....
"SKIN AGAINST SKIN
BLOOD AND BONE
YOU'RE ALL BY YOURSELF
BUT YOU'RE NOT ALONE
YOU WANTED IN
NOW YOU'RE HERE
DRIVEN BY HATE AND CONSUMED BY FEAR --"
As Toby views the enchanted human through the countess's window, he lets out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. He has no immediate decision to make about killing another fae. It's just a mortal. As long as the pooka can get a clean shot, this should be easy. ...Relatively easy.
For if the bullets will kill a changeling, they'll disenchant a mortal just as easily. And once disenchanted, the mortal should fall unconscious from the shock of his forcible separation from the Dreaming and be no further threat. They can kill him or bind him or take him hostage as they wish.
Clinging to the trellis with one hand, Toby pulls at the window with the other. Fortunately, this is an old house, and the charmingly old-fashion crank windows are still in place. There are no screens between Toby's hand and the window's edge. But there's no time to ease the window back, detach the screen, reach for the crank, and open the window stealthily.
Gritting his teeth, Toby makes sure he's gripping tightly with one hand and both legs, braces himself, and tears at the window with all his strength.
The metal frame screams as it's torn away, blending into the overpowering noise of the sound system below. The frame hangs sideways, dangling from a top corner, as Toby punches out the screen. Taking but a moment to pull the gun from his pocket, he throws himself up and over the frame into the room.
"ONE - SOMEONE'S GOT TO GIVE
TWO - SOMEONE'S GOT TO TAKE
THREE - SOMETHING'S GOT TO GO
FOUR - SOMETHING'S GOT TO BREAK - "
But not the countess, not today.
Toby rolls as he hits the floor and comes to his knees. The setup is almost perfect. The countess is on his side; the human just in front. As the mortal turns automatically to face the unknown threat, Toby fires twice up at the man's chest. Even if the human knew enough to attempt to dodge the harmless-seeming nerf balls, the angle Toby is firing from - up *under* the man's guard - would make it rather difficult to do so. Especially if he wants to keep an eye on the countess at the same time...
*Pfft!*
*Pfft!*
Eat hot flaming, er, nerfball!
Bullseye. The would-be assassin hits the floor, senseless, before he even has time to register fully his own violent severance from the Dream, his rapier harmlessly falling to the carpet.
Countess Anne stands, a heavy steel fragment from a shattered display case in her hand, ready to throw at her attacker. Her face is still a mixture of shock, panic, fury and desperation, but now she appears to have been surprised into a moment's frozen indecision, perhaps trying to decide whether the newcomer is friend or foe...
Toby hastily points his gun at the floor and bows, still from a kneeling position.
"Milady?" he asks. "Since we're such old friends I don't have to remind you that I'm called Toby but only by my nearest and dearest though also by Dame Lorraine since she's so insistent on it and she's probably doing just fine against whoever's downstairs," casting an anxious look at the door, Toby gets to his feet, "since otherwise she'd be up here yelling for help - my, isn't that sweet music outside? - so there's no need to hurry or anything, and - can you use that?" He points to the rapier. "And how are you at climbing? or is there a back way out of here?"
"Unless," he cocks his head "that is, if you'd like to talk with Lorraine and her current dance partners? But that might be construed as terribly rude without a proper introduction an' all so of course no proper lady would ever consider something like that."
"Er..." he halts suddenly, flushing in embarrassment. "Sorry; are you hurt bad? Only if you're not, it might be better to wait for kiss-and-make-it-better because there might be the teeniest bit of a hurry to get out of here. Just a smidgeon."
"I've...been...better..."
And with that the countess drops the heavy item she was holding and her legs buckle out from beneath her.
Toby rushes over to catch her and cushion her fall.
She gives him a flash of a grateful smile. Then grimaces with pain. She sits down, extremely heavily, her breathing labored, clutching her belly.
"Luck!" Toby curses. He stuffs the gun in his pocket, tears off his jacket, and rips off his shirt. "Lemme see."
Even in her grievously wounded state, she's still a sidhe lady with a taste for handsome men; and there is a momentary sparkle in her eyes as she sizes up Toby's shirtless chest. She obviously likes what she sees. But the moment passes, and the pain returns, and she squints as she gasps as some part inside her gives way.
Her voile is slashed on her left; it's obvious she's taken at least one stab wound through the belly. She's going to need the services of a chimerical healer, and the faster the better.
Alas, that's not one of Toby's skills. He hesitates, then holds his shirt by the sleeves and twirls it into a roll. Hastily he ties it over the worst apparent wound, knotting the sleeves tightly to hold the very inexpert bandage in place.
She winces, but does not resist.
"Stairs...trellis...only two ways out..."
"No fire escape? Peachy."
From below, even over the thunder of the music, the crashes of major property damage and the distinct high-pitched sound of screams of fear drift up the stairs.
"Stairs are the best," Toby decides. He pauses to grab the rapier and turns urgently to the countess.
" 'I believe you; she's alive. But we've gotta go - NOW!' "
She nods. "Lead," she manages to grunt, through her pain, beginning to pull herself up in the direction Toby suggests.
"Wait," Toby snatches up his jacket and flings it on. Then he grabs the rapier, leans out the window, and tosses it down and to the side.
Hastily he returns to the countess and offers her his arm. He looks out the window at the trellis, and back at the wounded countess, considering.
This is gonna be tough.
"Okay, what I'm gonna do is go out first and abandon you. You need to kind lean sideways here, like that, so that you can get out once I fly away. Can you do that?" He stares into her eyes.
She nods. Clearly she's used to the Pooka way...
Toby nods back. Her pooka-fu is strong.
Once she follows him out, the trellis is wide enough for him to climb down right next her, supporting her with one arm and climbing with the other.
It's a long, laborious, difficult and careful climb down, but they reach the bottom safely. At the very end, exhausted beyond endurance, weakened by wounds beyond her strength, the countess simply drops the last few feet to lie, limply, on the grass.
It has taken her every last ounce of strength to get this far. None remains.
"Countess? Countess!" Toby shakes the sidhe tentatively. Maybe she'll wake up.
Maybe she won't.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He looks around, calculating. He could attempt to pick her up and stagger over to the car with her... but he's not strong enough to do it easily, and they'd be both visible and vulnerable while doing so.
On the other paw....
Nobody has yet noticed Toby and the collapsed Countess Anne; not over the thunder of the music, and certainly not over the screaming of the sorority girls running pell-mell in fear from the shattered lobby of their house, the front utterly destroyed by the furniture tossed out of it...
And the heavy metal anthem roars on.
"THEY GOT NO CHAINS UPON YOU
SAVE THE CHAINS YOU HAVE INSIDE
THE WINTER IS COMING
AND THERE'LL BE NO PLACE TO HIDE
YOU CAN ROLL AND SHOW YOUR BELLY
YOU CAN GO QUIET WITHOUT A FIGHT
OR YOU CAN TAKE THE HIGH-BORN
BASTARDS WITH YOU
AS YOU FALL INTO THE NIGHT --"
Toby grabs the countess under the arms and drags her sideways, further under cover of the bushes growing by the side of the building. Locating the rapier he dropped, he tucks it close by her side. Normals won't be able to notice it, and if the countess is found by unfriendly fae, supplying an extra weapon to them is likely to be the least of anyone's worries.
Then he sits down in the dirt and takes a deep breath.
He pats the ground in front, to the sides, and behind the countess. "I'm Nobody, who are you?" he sing-songs in a desperate whisper. "Are you Nobody too? How dreary to be Somebody! How public, like a frog... Must better to be Nobody, living hidden in a fog."
He sprinkles a pinch of dirt over the countess and takes another deep breath.
"Nobody here but us chickens," he declaims softly; ever so softly, but with great sincerity.
There, the lady is hidden.
Moving further from the countess, Toby re-casts his earlier shielding on himself. He scootches about three times on his butt and snaps his fingers silently. "Nothing to see here. Move along, move along," he chants under his breath. "Nothing to see, move along."
"LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
YYEEEAAAAHHHHH ---"
Crawling out from under the bushes, Toby casts a quick look over all the chaos. It should make good cover for him as well.
Lorraine isn't back at the car yet... and she has the keys. And even if he could get it started and take off with the countess, that would leave Lorraine without transportation. In the midst of an unknown number of foes.
Okay, then.
Toby sneaks over to the main entrance of the house, pulls out his gun, and slips inside.
Getting in is easy. There isn't a door any more, because a china cabinet got tossed into it. There's no front window anymore either, because the shredded sofa that is now smashed on the front lawn went through it.
Indeed, inside the lobby is an utter and complete wreck. Everything that could possibly have been thrown or smashed has been thrown or smashed, including the walls, where severed electrical wires within the walls arc and sparkle and the shredded bits of wallpaper begin to smoulder, where shattered water pipes gush, the chandelier has been torn free of the ceiling ... and, most prominently, there are five unconscious figures in leather on the floor. The shredded, fading tatters of their fae seemings clearly suggest that once, they were Changelings. No longer.
Five! Toby mentally ups his "how kick-ass is Lorraine?" estimate.
The last surviving redcap has barricaded himself in the landing of the stairwell leading upwards. Lorraine faces him, her back to the back door, and to Toby. The aura of Dragon's Ire burns over both of them; both are clearly grievously wounded, chimerically, and, in Lorraine's case, physically as well. Her fae seeming is also running black with Banality, her aura tarnished like silver in a swamp, from all the fae lives she's taken up to this point.
He is holding a large, cold-iron tipped billy club; she, having at some point ditched the shotgun, is holding a wicked chimerical knife she liberated from one of the other redcaps. They face each other, exhausted, wary, waiting for the other to make the first move. Neither notice Toby coming in.
Toby swallows, remembering legends of the Scathach and their legendary battle madness. The five dead redcaps - and the fear stark on the face of the sixth and last surviving one - certainly give precedence to that claim...
What to do? What to do? Toby scans the room quickly, thinking.
The obvious thing is to head back outside, up the trellis, down the stairs, and surprise the redcap from behind... but that would take time that Lorraine might not have.
Likewise, the notion of simply giving Lorraine his gun is handicapped by the chances that she might not perceive that it's a *friend* sneaking up on her, and that she might have trouble shooting straight due to her wounds. Not to mention that the redcap would see that Lorraine now has a gun and would take appropriate action.
No, it looks like there are only two choices here: 1. run the hell back outside and pooka-handle the countess to the car and take off (since it seems that none of the attackers will be able to stop them) or, 2. attempt to shoot the redcap himself.
Solution one has the disadvantage that the redcap might win sooner than looks probable and would then confront Toby and the countess while the former is burdened with the unconscious latter. *And* that it would mean leaving Lorraine behind to be killed. Which is her job, but still.
Solution two has the problem of getting close enough to get a good shot without alerting either combatant to Toby's presence; a minor quibble compared to the others.
Toby doesn't take long considering his options: one quick look around the room, a briefly furrowed brow, and one bitten lip later, and he's slipping into the room, moving carefully wide around the fallen bodies. (Just in case.)
He cuts toward the staircase on an angle designed *not* to bring him within two swords-length of Lorraine; not, in fact, toward the foot of the stairs at all (he's not some insane warrior, to charge uphill at the enemy), but toward the side. The beveled posts and railings of the staircase obscure but do not completely hide the redcap from view.
Toby clambers carefully onto an overturned end table to kneel there and give himself a better angle for his shots. He raises his gun, takes a deep breath, steadies his aim, and fires.
*Pfft!*
*Pfft!*
The missiles fly true.
There is only the briefest of looks of surprise on the remaining redcap's face before his fae seeming tears apart and disappears into the Mists forever.
Lorraine whirls to face in the general direction of where the shots came from, her weapon brandished.
"Show yourself!" she demands, "Friend or foe, show yourself!"
Carefully placing the gun on the table in front of him, Toby raises his hands and lets his shielding cantrip fall.
"I realize you're having a lot of fun in here, and I'm really sorry to be a gatecrasher and all, but maybe if you want to play a new game we could start the car and see how close we can come to running the lady down where she's taking a nap. She would've come with me, but she's got a hangnail so she wanted to rest until it grew out again."
Lorraine stares blankly at Toby for a moment.
And then she slumps to the ground.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"Fuck!"
Grabbing the gun and sticking it back in his pocket, Toby runs over to Lorraine.
"Lorraine? Lorraine!" Desperately, he shakes her. Why does he have this effect on the sidhe ladies?
"Wonderful! Just absolutely wonderful, thank you very much!" he screams to the heavens, voice lost under the pounding music. "This makes everything so perfect!"
"Okay." He straightens up. "Right, then."
Making sure his gun is secure in his pocket, Toby drags Lorraine over to the door. Where the door used to be. Kneeling by her, he fishes through her pockets until he finds the car keys.
Circling the room quickly, he pulls Lorraine's shotgun out from under the wreckage and places it near her.
Then he leaves.
Outside, the party is in full swing, the music raucous. No one is likely to notice a boy, only slightly young for an undergrad, driving a car close up by one of the sorority houses.
With a crunch of gravel, the car pulls up to the front of the house and stops.
Toby turns the engine off, opens the back door, pockets the keys again, glances around, and saunters casually back inside. A minute or two later, he comes back out carrying Lorraine, dumps her in the back seat, and slams the door.
"Couldn't handle your drink, sis?" He laughs drunkenly, just in case of any watchers. "Dad's gonna give it to you for sure when we get home!"
He heads for the bushes. "I gotta take care of some business first."
Once screened by the bushes, he ducks down and scrambles along until he finds the countess. Carefully he slips the rapier into his belt, then kneels and slides his arms under the lady. Grunting, he lifts her up. He sways for a moment, catching his new balance, then heads back for the car.
All he has to do now is get the countess to the car, run in and retrieve the shotgun if there's time, and get the car to Rei Memorandi.
Easy, right?
Please?
Toby carefully deposits the countess in the car, looks around warily, and nips inside the sorority house to retrieve the shotgun. Taking but a moment to make sure it's not loaded and drop it in the trunk, he jumps into the driver's seat and - carefully, carefully - drives off.
To his vast relief, Toby makes it back to Rei Memorandi without further incident. Whereupon, of course, all hustle and bustle breaks loose as the two wounded sidhe are rushed to Mass. General.
A very long night later, and eventually a boggan nurse finds a dozing Toby. He nudges Toby awake.
Toby promptly nudges back.
"Hey," he whispers, as so not to wake the others waiting also. "The Lady would like to speak with you."
"Ohhh." Toby runs his hands through his hair, tugs at his clothes. "Which one?"
The boggan looks started for a second, and then sheepishly remembers.
"The countess," he whispers back.
Toby gestures grandly. "Lead on, MacDuff."
Toby is led to one of the many private hospital rooms in the grand complex. The sentry before the countess's door knocks; at an affirmative answer the door is opened. The sentry motions for Toby to enter.
The countess is typing away at a laptop - one, to fae eyes, quite a bit gaudier and fancier than your average, as might be expected for a device nockers got their hands on. She stops as Toby comes in.
Toby bows gracefully.
The countess smiles at him, and Toby ducks his head shyly.
"You saved my life," she begins, "and while I do not bind myself to the strict absurdities of our Seelie cousins, I still believe in giving just due. Not because some silly code demands I do it. But because I want to."
Toby nods in understanding.
"Tell me, Toby," she asks. "What could I do for you? What do you want? I can't promise I can give it. But I can try."
He bites his lip, hesitating, his romantic side warring with his more practical nature.
"My lady. I, ah..."
Romance wins. He moves closer, kneels.
"Might I have a kiss?"
The countess smiles more warmly, a little surprised; clearly touched.
"Is that all, Master Toby? Is that really all?"
He wavers, irresolute. And nods.
"Then come closer," she answers, as she carefully lifts herself out of her hospital bed, careful not to yank out her IV lines.
"My lady!" Hastily he rises to assist her.
In most settings, the countess takes pains to conceal her true looks. To shine out would make her stand out, a situation most at odds with her modus operandi. But she has no need to do so here. And as she swings her legs out over the bed, Toby perhaps for the first time truly sees her glory.
Caught in the sidhe glamour, Toby swallows.
Even in her hospital-issue gown, even here, recovering from her wounds, obviously not at her best, her beauty, sidhe beauty, is utterly undeniable. No mortal supermodel in the world's most expensive finery; no nude model at her most seductive; not even most of the Awakened were ever so beautiful. Not even Toby's heroine, Roxanne.
And stares at her with wide eyes. At other times he might deal with sidhe more casually (though never, of course, completely casually). In other circumstances, he might even attempt to befriend the countess - who is, when all is said and done, a girl only a few years older than Toby himself. But now the power of the sidhe holds him entranced.
Something perhaps many sidhe do not properly appreciate is that so often their beauty is marred by other emotions. The High Queen is beautiful, yes. But the longings of the heart are tempered by the fear of her authority or the hunger for favors. In other cases the strain of battle, or the bite of greed, or the stink of duplicity tarnish the silver power of a sidhe's wonder.
But here, there is no such thing. There is simply the wonder of an innocent kiss, a purity which enhances rather than stultifies. And it is such that the countess, very gently, takes Toby's head in her hands and gives him one single gentle kiss.
There is power in something so simple. There is a reason why the first kiss is a thing that burns itself into the memory and soul of a man forever. There is a reason why the poets and the storytellers speak of the power of a kiss they way they do. There is a reason why they say the sidhe are creatures of dream and story.
That single kiss includes them all.
And when she releases him, Toby takes a half-step backwards, trembling.
The countess simply smiles, waiting for Toby's response.
"I... I..."
Toby drops to one knee and bows his head.
His hand fumbles at his side for a moment. He left the rapier in the car, but that doesn't really matter. It wasn't his anyway.
He finally manages to yank his switchblade out of his pocket. And offers it to her.
"A moment." The countess raises her hand. She moves back over to the bed and sits back in it, waving away Toby's help.
"I must ask you to think carefully about this. I do not," she says, gently, "doubt your courage or your sincerity. Your friends speak very highly of you and your character."
"You've talked with them about me?" Toby's voice squeaks. He hadn't known that any of the Rei Memorandi ladies even knew the countess personally.
She smiles. "I have. They've had naught but good to say of you."
Toby blinks. Is she sure she's thinking of the right pooka?
"This past evening, you proved those things beyond shadow of a doubt. Concordia will need fae of such mettle in the dark days ahead. I will always be willing - honored - to accept the pledge of a fae of such character as yourself. But I would ask only that you consider and count the full cost, and the full implications, before you do so."
The pooka blinks. This is not a response he anticipated. Immediate rejection, perhaps. Acceptance, maybe. But neither; just a note of caution?
He bites his lip. "Maybe if ... it probably wouldn't help at all if I, like, knew more about you and everything, and what kinda stuff you mean. Since I already know everything there is to know about fae politics and people and who's doing what and all that, since just everyone consults me on everything and makes sure to keep me informed and gives me lots of information and never does anything without my knowing, I should know it already, but I think I might have tucked it into a bookmark without thinking."
She thinks for a moment.
"I'm not sure," she answers eventually, "what there is to tell. What there is I *could* tell, beyond what you surely already know - what all fae of the East Kingdom know. That I serve Queen Mab as a Counselor; that I serve the commoner cause; that I seek to find ways the former can help the latter, especially those so often forgotten," and an edge of steel slips into her voice, "by those both high-born and Seelie."
That last said like a rotten pit spit out of a mouth.
"Preach it, sister!" Toby shuts up again immediately, abashed at his outburst.
She looks at him seriously. "I have many allies; I keep many secrets; and I have made many enemies. Some of whom want me dead. Some who surely just tried. Who would have succeeded, if not for you and Dame Lorraine."
He dips his head in acknowledgment.
"Beyond that... you already know what I fight for - what I have always fought for - and my loyalty to the forgotten commoners: those who are neither high born, nor Seelie."
She smiles a little sadly. "I have many enemies, Master Toby. You might find you might live a safer - and longer - life apart from one such as me."
"Oh, yeah, and my life's been so easy up to now that I don't know anything about danger or taking care of myself or anything? Um, my lady."
Her reply makes no apology. And reminds Toby that, for all Toby may have been through, the countess has, in fact, ruled, commanded, fought, and bled for her Kingdom for almost as long as Toby has been alive...
"They killed the High Queen. They got to the High King. They nearly killed the Crown Princess and they *did* kill the entire rest of her retinue. Save for the bravery of your friends Lorraine and Jessie, they would have killed the princess too."
"I respect the hardships you've faced. But my enemies could - have - struck down the High Crowns of Concordia itself. Can you honestly say you've ever gone one-to-one with enemies like that?"
"You might not," she goes on seriously, "face enemies like those alone. But face them, you would. There is a tremendous difference between merely being friends to the nobility they target - as you are with Andrea and Roxanne and the rest of their house - and being directly sworn to their service, or mine. The latter brings you squarely into our war. And if they dared to strike down even their own lawful kings, be absolutely certain they would kill you - or worse - without a second thought."
"Accept this for a truth; the enemies you would face wrap themselves in shadows and strike from behind. Join me, and you become a target in their war. And you would be safer on a battlefield than that; at least, on a field of honor, you know where - and *who* - your enemies are."
Toby shrugs ungraciously and looks at the floor. She has a point. Still...
"Are all your retainers warriors?" he protests. "Are all of anyone's? Don't you have any use for people of ... other skills? I don't suppose, I mean, that you could use a gofer or anything?"
Countess Anne raises an eyebrow. She smiles slowly. "Actually... as a matter of a fact, I could. I need messengers I can trust - ones I know are not in the pay or thrall of sidhe opposed to the commoner cause or the manipulators of the Courts, both Winter and Summer. Ones who know how to slip in and out of places unnoticed, unwatched. Ones who could blend into commoner freeholds yet whose presence in Noble grounds would not be totally surprising."
"You would," she says, thoughtfully, "meet all of the above rather nicely. Especially the very last point, as your association with Dame Andrea gives you a reason for the sidhe to expect you around the quarters of the nobility without raising questions."
He bows. "I would... I... I... I would be honored."
She leans forward, grimacing as her wound pulls. "Understand this, Master Toby: there is no more critical mission one can do for me than to serve as my surrogate - for that is what my couriers do for me. I deal in information, Toby. Messengers are the most important seconds I have, and the most targeted."
"Consider if that is what you truly want, Toby. You do not need to swear service to me to be my friend."
Toby speaks in a small voice. "But what if I want to?"
He scuffs a foot on the ground and looks up at her again with his heart in his eyes.
He *wants* to belong to her.
Wants it with the wanting of a commoner changeling whose deepest instincts tell him that serving the nobility is *good* and *right* and *proper*.
Wants it with the discomfort of an unseelie boy who - no matter how nice they are to him - doesn't really feel like he fits in with all the seelie women he's been living with. On their sufferance.
Wants it with the deep need to associate himself with others (and to please them and gain their approval) that is so common among pooka.
Wants it with his own individual need have a place that he can truly call his own, and a master he can serve with all his heart.
All thoughts of resentment against the sidhe as a kith, or this particular one as a representative thereof, are swept away under his longing to serve this woman whose stated ideals seem to so closely match his own. She's a heroine to the commoner fae. She's unseelie. She's brave. She's wonderful.
This is why the sidhe rule the fae.
The countess holds Toby's glance for a long moment.
And then, slowly, she nods.
There are no oaths; the unseelie need no oaths to define expectations, compel loyalty, guarantee duty. Let the seelie rule-smith and lawyer. The unseelie understand true trust does not require oaths. Loyalty will be rewarded and betrayal punished, and no letter of the law could ever subtract or add to that.
"I accept you into my service, Master Toby," she says, solemnly. And that is that.
Toby breathes in sharply, joyfully. He kneels and kisses the countess's hand.
The countess leans back against her pillows. "You know," she begins, "Dame Andrea always was good at seeing the talents in everyone and finding them the best place to be. I've always been apt to trust her judgement; and in time, I would have taken the suggestion she made to me some time ago to take you into my service."
Toby's jaw drops open. They planned this?!
Anne smiles. "Andrea said you could be helpful to me. Even she, however, probably never foresaw you saving my life. But your courage, your cleverness, and your loyalty - those things she saw in you long ago; and those things she recommended to me. And I would have believed those just from her word even if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes now."
Toby shifts uncomfortably. Surely that's not him she's describing.
"I understand that Roxanne Miao has been teaching you a thing or two," the countess smiles. "A bit of fencing, a bit of shooting, some escape-artist tricks, a little magician's palming and misdirection, a dozen other things. All things, as it would happen, that are awfully useful for a courier to know how to do. You will find few better tutors of the secret agent's art than Roxanne Miao. Learn all you can from her."
He nods fervently. Even before he met Roxanne, he was a rabid fan of the great magician. Since he's known her, his devotion has only increased.
"All of it will help you help me," Anne says. "It will help you be my eyes and ears, my feet and hands, where I cannot be. Which is why Roxanne's been sharing it all with you. To get you ready for the day you would be offered the choice to become one of my own."
"Your friends care deeply about you, Master Toby," Countess Anne concludes. "They have worked harder to help you find a place in the Winter Courts than most Unseelie Nobles ever do for their own. I am humbled that they would trust me with you. Perhaps we all had not expected things to come to this so soon; but even I recognize the hand of D'an when it makes itself appear."
"You may be my agent, now; but never forget those who care about you, Toby. For there are passions that mere duty should never erase."
Toby shakes his head. "Yes; I won't do that. They never did anything for me. And I don't care about them at all."
He leans slightly toward Countess Anne. "They're really too untrusting and ungenerous for their own good, you know. They need to have no one around who's a bit more practical."
The countess' smile turns a bit sad.
"For most of your friends - for the Garou, the Mages, even Roxanne - the world is still a very straightforward place, with innocents to protect and Wyrm-brood to kill. They exempt themselves from politics, by in large."
"And Andrea... Andrea *is* too good of heart for this game," the countess agrees, sadly. "Which is precisely why the commoners love her so, and even many of the fighting sidhe. Andrea may be skilled, talented and brilliant, but she is still, at heart, a Seelie Pooka who actually *believes* --and more importantly, lives -- all that was once noble about the Summer Courts. Armies would fight and die for her. But Andrea's good heart leaves her vulnerable to the enemies no army can protect her against. The enemies which lurk in the shadows and wear the faces of those she must rule with."
"Routing the enemies in the shadows...that's *our* job."
- END -