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Posted by Slate on Apr 2, 2009 7:49:23 GMT -6
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Jul 27, 2018 20:35:44 GMT -6
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((ooc: "Illuvia de Gris" == "Gray Rain"))
Images were like black water; seething and roiling. Moonlight was sharp steel, reflecting on the black-flecked rocks, the blade his hand. Black like blood. She had been bleeding when he was done. But so was he. Oh yes, so was he. But that did not bring her husband back. Black like blood washed away by the water; a mouth open, flooded, but eyes that didn't care. Black eyes, with soulless silvers of moonlight staring sightlessly. She hadn't been strong enough to pull his body up out of the river, but she had been strong enough to close his eyes. To hold his head out of the water with her breast and wrap her good arm around him and to remember that those eyes were a warm chocolate brown, whatever lies that moon and water might tell, and they always would be in her mind. In her memory. In her heart.
Slate's consciousness twisted in the shrapnel spread of sharp memories, forcing cohesion back into his own thoughts by sheer will power. The images went on; her wedding day, that fight by the well when she was seventeen and he was nineteen, the smell of fire. Slate forced himself to ignore them; to focus deeper, at a much more basic level. The place in which she herself resided; whole and undamaged, in body if not in mind. He was a psychic, yes. But he knew of nothing that he could do for her mind. Slate gathered that physical template, centered it; triggered the shift. Immediately, he dropped his hands away from their finger-light touch on her face. The memories that were never his were lost with the contact, leaving only a roiling, seething feeling in his chest. Like black water, flecked bone white in the moonlight.
Alba Herrera-Cortez moved her arm in its sling. Just a little at first, and slowly. Then, with a half-disbelieving smile, she pulled the sling up and over her head, and stretched the arm out fully. "That's really something," she said to him, honey brown eyes sparkling. "Your gift."
"Thank you," he nodded back, straightening himself up again in his chair. The humidity kept dragging him down; forcing perspiration onto his brow and the back of his neck, making his short-sleeved dress shirt stick lightly to his shin whenever he moved. The clouds outside were gray. The promised rain would be a relief. He had arrived in Colombia two days ago; had taken a very bumpy ride over the mountains, past small towns and large, and into the farmland and forest that warred for space in the lowlands.
Alba was twenty-three years old. She had been a wife for three hundred and ten days, and a widow for nineteen. Her husband's family ran a farm; what kind, she would not say. She had been a teacher at the local school. They could see the charred remains of it through the window of the house; the impromptu infirmary, now. His mind felt raw from hours of healing, from pulling himself through memories he could not remember. Sebastian would arrive soon. The blue-eyed teenager would be grateful for his mentor's help.
The young woman moved her arm again, with a wondering smile. Slate could not keep the questioning look out of his eyes when he saw that smile. He could no longer remember what he had seen while he was in her mind, but he was fully aware of what had happened to her. How could she smile? She caught him looking, and gave an even wider grin. White teeth flashed, like rocks in moonlight.
"Don't worry about me. The men who did this? We'll find them." The sky through the windows darkened yet further; honey brown eyes were very nearly black. Baby blue eyes accepted the answer unblinkingly, but inside, black water churned. "Forgive me if this sounds rude, Senor Swartz, but why are you helping us?" It was a loaded question.
Slate's answer was no less complex, yet so simple. He ran a hand through his perennially tousled hair. "I have to start somewhere."
Above them, the clouds continued to gather. Soon the storm would begin; rain washing the dust from the air. Indeed, he had to start somewhere. With healing bodies, even if he could do nothing for minds yet; with rebuilding a school. With destruction and manipulation and carefully calculated death. With life, benevolently granted. The Kabal's young leader was a healer, after all.
Outside, the first gray drop hit the ground.
It had begun.
This post will serve as a library for Colombia takeover-related threads. PM me if I've missed one! Original plan summary, timeline, and missions are here.
April 09: the take-over
The Errant Employee (Roland, Giant's Bane, Slate--rescuing Roland)
Welcome to the Jungle (Iron Mouth--nightmares of failure) > El Dorado International Airport (Iron Mouth, Circe [playing an NPC]--IM gets smuggles into the country by his "mother")
Healer without Borders (Slate, Sebastian--healing the village, one body and mind at a time)
Those Who Died (Tarin, Lee, Sebastian, WereCat--helping to lay murder victims to rest)
Scouting Mission (Iron Mouth, Giant's Bane, Roland--scouting out a paramilitant AUC base)
Double the Trouble (Circe, Roland--capturing a Drug Lord and his cronies)
Base Smash! (Giant's Bane, Tris, Circe, Slade--politely declining the US' military aid. Caveman style.)
A Minor Setback (When Slate screws up, both he and Tarin are taken captive, and it's Battle Lee to the rescue)
Morales (Slate--in which General Morales meets an American brat)
Rebuilding (Lee, etc--in which the actual school rebuilding begins to occur.)
Caged (Lenna--Lenna and her drug lord boss, Cortez, have a 'talk')
Like a Dog, Day One > Like a Dog, Day Two (Lenna, Lee, Tarin--at the construction site)
Our Hands > LET'S FIGHT A BOSS! (Lenna, Slate -- Lenna cordially invites Slate to a meeting with Cortez)
Post-Takeover
Children are our future (Sept 09: Iron Mouth -- A return to Colombia to convince former teen soldiers to get back in school)
Pax (Nov 09: Slate -- A check in with General Morales and the school, on his way to Romania)
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Nov 11, 2009 4:28:50 GMT -6
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