Post by Dresden Ravenskraft on Jun 25, 2017 19:43:58 GMT -5
Berlin, 11:15 P.M.
There were certain areas of Berlin that visitors were supposed to avoid at night. Prenzlauer Berg was one of them. While part of the district seemed as upscale and clean as the surrounding city, that was only a quaint façade presented to outsiders. Its north east side, consisting of a maze of disintegrating brick streets and sallow row apartments streaked with graffiti looked more like a neighborhood in Brooklyn than Berlin.
The city board had closed off part of the most dilapidated sections with an imposing chain-link fence, and the tattered ordinances posted to the gate fluttered like the pale limbs of wraiths in the breeze. A halo of feeble light shone from a lone street lamp, glowing in the light mist that hovered cloyingly just above the ground. Otherwise, the row houses stood utterly still, the sockets of their windows staring at deserted streets.
The silence was broken by the sound of frantic footsteps and ragged breathing. A young man darted into the street, his Armani jacket stained with grease and sweat, the smooth soles of his dress shoes searching for purchase on the rain-slickened brick. He was followed by the scream of screeching tires as three motorcycles whipped around the corner. White light shot into the alley from behind him and he seemed to gasp as he was caught in the glare.
“Shit,” he panted as he turned into a narrow alleyway, clutching at the shadows around him in a desperate attempt to lose himself in the darkness. His shin struck something hard—a coil of steel cable—and his palms slammed into the concrete before he picked himself up and continued to run. When the alley came to an abrupt end at the fence, he stopped, realizing he was cornered.
He began to breathe deeply and pulled out the cross necklace beneath his collar, drawing in the Reishi around him as he had been instructed. Having just begun his training, it would take him some time to form his Heilig Bogen. He hoped that he could stall them long enough to conjure the weapon, and cursed himself for abandoning the use of his switchblade.
The roar of the engines cut off behind him, purring silkily as the riders dismounted and removed their helmets. Their silhouettes darted like sharks in the pool of the headlights, and he clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the pieces of glass and gravel that had been buried into his skin.
“Hallo Ezie,” the leader, Rainer, called out as they moved towards him, “Is this anyway to greet an old friend?” He spread his hands as he sauntered towards him, cocking his head to one side as he grinned. “We just want to talk,” Ezie’s dull blue eyes narrowed, and his pulse beat visibly beneath the tattoo in his neck.
“I thought I told you that I don’t want anything to do with you lot,” Ezie growled, “Leave me alone.”
“Tschk. I don’t think we can do that Ezie, I’ve got five months detention to make up for after you turned on us. Do you know how it feels to be stabbed in the fucking back?” Rainer unzipped his jacket and threw it behind him, exposing a T-shirt stretched tightly over bulging muscles. The three bikers wore very similar uniforms: Combat boots, dark canvas, chains, and gauges. Ezie watched the other two men twirl knives easily around their fingers, and his eyes darted from side to side nervously.
“This isn’t Brandenburg,” he said, nearly laughing with incredulity. Rainer cracked his neck with disinterest.
“So? Do you think the Polizei are going to show up or something?” He wrapped a red cloth around his right hand, tightening it with his teeth. “This will only take a minute.” Ezie backed up against the fence, considering his options as Rainer pulled back his fist, his knuckles emblazoned with a symbol of the Swastika.
The sound of flesh thwacking into flesh echoed in the alleyway. Ezie reeled back from the blow to his jaw, but remained standing as the next solid hit came, followed, by another. Straining desperately, he reached out to the nearly-tangible Reishi at his fingertips, and finally succeeded in pulling the particles of spiritual energy together in a thin, glowing blue bow. But at that moment Rainer drove his fist into his solar plexus, and Ezie collapsed against the fence.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit your nose,” Rainer flashed a menacing smile. He was about to swing towards Ezie when he stopped, and a frown crossed his face. The hum of the motorcycle engines had been cut off. They all paused, and in the distance a hollow clang could be heard, as though someone had dropped a wrench.
“Hey, don’t touch those!” one of Rainer’s companions shouted as he sprinted back towards the bikes. He was followed by the other man, and as Rainer shifted his attention to watch them, Ezie made his move. Straightening up, he quickly aimed for the center of the taller man’s chest and released a Heilig Pfiel. The unseen arrow of energy missed its target, slamming into Rainer’s shoulder as opposed to the heart. Still, the point-blank spiritual impact knocked him from his feet, and Ezie was on top of him in an instant. His fists flew in a furious barrage that was directed at Rainer’s face, and he only stopped when the man stopped moving.
Panting, Ezie stood and stepped away from his unconscious victim. He wiped the sweat from the corner of his mouth and found that his hand was smeared with blood. Whether it was his or Rainer’s was impossible to say. As the adrenaline wore off Ezie’s hands began to shake, his body demanding a fix even though he had given up heroin when he had left the gang to become a Quincy.
He only considered his good fortune for a moment. While he wondered why the motorcycles had been shut off, he wasn’t about to stick around to find out how. The other two gangsters would be returning shortly, and it would be best if he made himself scarce before then. That was when he realized that there was no sound from the other end of the alley.
“Who’s there?” Ezie called out, not too loudly. But silence enclosed him, and there was no reply.
He decided he would rather not hear one.
Ezie turned and promptly scaled the fence, cursing under his breath at the noise. He dropped to the ground on the other side and paused. Still there was no sound, so he crouched low to the ground and began to make his way along the fence, hoping that neither his pursuers nor whatever was keeping his pursuers busy would start pursuing him.
Skirting along the length of a condemned building, Ezie had almost reached the main street when a shadow darted out from the doorway to his right. He felt his heart skip in his chest and froze, but saw that it was only a stray cat darting in front of him. He let out his breath… and felt something move behind him.
The Quincy whirled around, but before he could process what was happening, someone had grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. A man he had never seen before slammed him up against the door jam. The wood cracked under the momentum, and Ezie felt a wave of nausea as the back of his skull met concrete.
“Please excuse my brusqueness,” his attacker began, “But I believe we are being followed.”
“Who the hell… are you?” Ezie asked.
“A Quincy, like yourself,” the man said in a low voice as he loosened his grip on his jacket. “And I’ll consider our accounts even if you provide me with a favor.”
“You took out those other two back there?” Ezie’s head was still spinning, and it was a bit difficult for him to grasp the man’s more formal register of speech. While his German was flawless, the accent was clearly not from Berlin. Or rather, the man spoke like an old-timer.
“I did,” came the tacit reply, “Although I wasn’t irreverent enough to use a Heilig Bogen against an unarmed combatant. Isn’t excessive violence against normal humans prohibited by the Order’s creed?”
Ezie pushed the man away and staggered back, his face draining of color. “How do you know about that?”
“I already told you, I’m a Quincy like yourself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The man shrugged. “Fair enough.” He held out his hand and a small tongue of blue flame materialized in the darkness, hovering above his open palm. The ghostly hue cast disturbing shadows across the rotted floorboards, and for the first time Ezie could see his features more clearly, although his attention was mostly diverted to the man’s unequal color of eyes. “I don’t mean to cause you any harm,” the man continued, although the statement was not entirely convincing under the current circumstances. “And if you introduce me to your superior, I’ll be sure to forget what I saw you doing to–”
Dark spots appeared in front of Ezie’s vision. The man’s words became lost as the floor suddenly churned violently beneath his feet. Then, he collapsed.
Dresden was shocked as the Quincy lost consciousness, but moved quickly to catch him before he could hit the ground. He lowered Ezie gently to the floor, and as he did so he felt warm blood at the back of the young man’s skull. Thinking quickly, he realized the injury had most likely occurred when he had pulled Ezie into the building. Dresden rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned with frustration. He doubted that he could convince the Order that it had been unintentional, and cursed himself for his carelessness.
First, it had taken him two days before he had found Ezie. Then, he had tracked him all over the city without discovering the Order’s headquarters. Next, he had been interrupted by the group of Neo-Nazis just as he had been about to establish a dialogue with a member of the Order. Now, he had accidentally cracked open a kid’s skull, and for all intents and purposes appeared to be the guilty party. All factors considered, things were not going well at all.
Still, his first priority was to call an ambulance.
But, not wishing to move Ezie in his current state, and having never been one to use a cell phone, Dresden realized that he would have to leave the injured man behind in order to find a payphone. Before he did that, he decided, he would stop the bleeding. Considering the fact that Ezie had been standing and talking shortly after the accidental impact, he hoped that the concussion was not too serious. Anything that caused a loss of consciousness could be grave, however, and Dresden treated it as such as he knelt at the young man’s side and, carefully, turned him over onto his side in order to inspect the wound. Most of the blood had come from a shallow surface abrasion, and the skull had not been exposed. Gingerly pressing his fingers around the area of the injury, Dresden sighed with relief. The bone did not seem to be compromised either, although a full X-ray would be needed to determine if there were any undetectable fissures.
Dresden knew his methods were crude and outdated. In a past life he had been a surgeon, but that was over eighty years ago now. Tearing strips of cloth from Ezie’s dress shirt, he did his best to bandage the wound. Fortunately Ezie’s ash-blonde hair was cropped short and even across his skull, allowing Dresden to tighten the bandages, but not too tight. He had just finished when a sudden vibration nearly caused him to jump. Dresden whirled around to see who was there, but then realized the vibration was coming from the pocket of Ezie’s jacket. Dresden hesitated a moment before he pulled out the cell phone and accepted the call, holding the device close to his ear. He did not answer, however, waiting for the person on the other end to speak first.
“Ezie?” a female voice asked, “Ezie are you there?”
“Ja,” Dresden responded, trying to mimic the other Quincy’s higher pitch.
“Where are you?” When there was no answer, she heard her gasp, “Oh my God Ezie, don’t tell me that you… are you shooting heroin again?” Again Dresden did not respond, trying to speak as little as possible in order to not give himself away. “Where are you? Please tell me.”
“Prenzlauer Berg,”
She drew in her breath sharply. “Stay where you are, I’ll come to you. Or I’ll send someone or…” she paused, “Meet at the water tower. Can you make it to the water tower?”
“Yes,” was the delayed reply.
“Good, don’t talk to anyone okay? We’ll be right there.” Apparently frantic to rush to their current location, she hung up, leaving Dresden to consider his options. Against his better judgment he decided to move the injured Quincy. He lifted his body onto his back, careful to keep his head from lolling backwards by propping it against his shoulder. Dresden then set off for the water tower in the center of the district. Before reaching the designated location, however, he dropped his charge off at a police station that he happened across along the way. It wasn’t a hospital, but it would suffice as the next best solution. Dresden did not, however, stick around to file a witness’s report of the accident. Instead, he continued on to the water tower alone.
The Wasserterm, Berlin’s oldest water tower, rose prominently in a gap between the surrounding row houses. Its pale, yellowed stone work had obviously seen better days, and it stood at the center of an overgrown park. Graffiti covered the adjacent stone walls and even the base of the water tower itself. The defacement was a bit sad considering the building’s age: Single paned, arced windows set into elegant brick molding suggested the typical late 19th century concern for architecture, even though it was only a public water works building. Such care seemed excessive to Dresden now.
He found a small, red brick building close to the water tower, overgrown with dead vines. The door was painted with vulgar, spray-painted imagery, but it opened easily enough when Dresden pressed hard against the lock. Once inside the musty, single room, he concealed his Reiatsu as he waited for Ezie’s contact to arrive.
“I’ll come to you,” and, “or I’ll sand someone”: those two phrases had given Dresden a hint as to the phone-caller’s identity. They suggested she was part of an organization concerned for the collective good of its members. And from what Dresden had determined, the only organization to which Ezie currently belonged was the Order.
Unless, of course, his luck ran out and someone from Narcotics Anonymous showed up…
2486 words
There were certain areas of Berlin that visitors were supposed to avoid at night. Prenzlauer Berg was one of them. While part of the district seemed as upscale and clean as the surrounding city, that was only a quaint façade presented to outsiders. Its north east side, consisting of a maze of disintegrating brick streets and sallow row apartments streaked with graffiti looked more like a neighborhood in Brooklyn than Berlin.
The city board had closed off part of the most dilapidated sections with an imposing chain-link fence, and the tattered ordinances posted to the gate fluttered like the pale limbs of wraiths in the breeze. A halo of feeble light shone from a lone street lamp, glowing in the light mist that hovered cloyingly just above the ground. Otherwise, the row houses stood utterly still, the sockets of their windows staring at deserted streets.
The silence was broken by the sound of frantic footsteps and ragged breathing. A young man darted into the street, his Armani jacket stained with grease and sweat, the smooth soles of his dress shoes searching for purchase on the rain-slickened brick. He was followed by the scream of screeching tires as three motorcycles whipped around the corner. White light shot into the alley from behind him and he seemed to gasp as he was caught in the glare.
“Shit,” he panted as he turned into a narrow alleyway, clutching at the shadows around him in a desperate attempt to lose himself in the darkness. His shin struck something hard—a coil of steel cable—and his palms slammed into the concrete before he picked himself up and continued to run. When the alley came to an abrupt end at the fence, he stopped, realizing he was cornered.
He began to breathe deeply and pulled out the cross necklace beneath his collar, drawing in the Reishi around him as he had been instructed. Having just begun his training, it would take him some time to form his Heilig Bogen. He hoped that he could stall them long enough to conjure the weapon, and cursed himself for abandoning the use of his switchblade.
The roar of the engines cut off behind him, purring silkily as the riders dismounted and removed their helmets. Their silhouettes darted like sharks in the pool of the headlights, and he clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the pieces of glass and gravel that had been buried into his skin.
“Hallo Ezie,” the leader, Rainer, called out as they moved towards him, “Is this anyway to greet an old friend?” He spread his hands as he sauntered towards him, cocking his head to one side as he grinned. “We just want to talk,” Ezie’s dull blue eyes narrowed, and his pulse beat visibly beneath the tattoo in his neck.
“I thought I told you that I don’t want anything to do with you lot,” Ezie growled, “Leave me alone.”
“Tschk. I don’t think we can do that Ezie, I’ve got five months detention to make up for after you turned on us. Do you know how it feels to be stabbed in the fucking back?” Rainer unzipped his jacket and threw it behind him, exposing a T-shirt stretched tightly over bulging muscles. The three bikers wore very similar uniforms: Combat boots, dark canvas, chains, and gauges. Ezie watched the other two men twirl knives easily around their fingers, and his eyes darted from side to side nervously.
“This isn’t Brandenburg,” he said, nearly laughing with incredulity. Rainer cracked his neck with disinterest.
“So? Do you think the Polizei are going to show up or something?” He wrapped a red cloth around his right hand, tightening it with his teeth. “This will only take a minute.” Ezie backed up against the fence, considering his options as Rainer pulled back his fist, his knuckles emblazoned with a symbol of the Swastika.
The sound of flesh thwacking into flesh echoed in the alleyway. Ezie reeled back from the blow to his jaw, but remained standing as the next solid hit came, followed, by another. Straining desperately, he reached out to the nearly-tangible Reishi at his fingertips, and finally succeeded in pulling the particles of spiritual energy together in a thin, glowing blue bow. But at that moment Rainer drove his fist into his solar plexus, and Ezie collapsed against the fence.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit your nose,” Rainer flashed a menacing smile. He was about to swing towards Ezie when he stopped, and a frown crossed his face. The hum of the motorcycle engines had been cut off. They all paused, and in the distance a hollow clang could be heard, as though someone had dropped a wrench.
“Hey, don’t touch those!” one of Rainer’s companions shouted as he sprinted back towards the bikes. He was followed by the other man, and as Rainer shifted his attention to watch them, Ezie made his move. Straightening up, he quickly aimed for the center of the taller man’s chest and released a Heilig Pfiel. The unseen arrow of energy missed its target, slamming into Rainer’s shoulder as opposed to the heart. Still, the point-blank spiritual impact knocked him from his feet, and Ezie was on top of him in an instant. His fists flew in a furious barrage that was directed at Rainer’s face, and he only stopped when the man stopped moving.
Panting, Ezie stood and stepped away from his unconscious victim. He wiped the sweat from the corner of his mouth and found that his hand was smeared with blood. Whether it was his or Rainer’s was impossible to say. As the adrenaline wore off Ezie’s hands began to shake, his body demanding a fix even though he had given up heroin when he had left the gang to become a Quincy.
He only considered his good fortune for a moment. While he wondered why the motorcycles had been shut off, he wasn’t about to stick around to find out how. The other two gangsters would be returning shortly, and it would be best if he made himself scarce before then. That was when he realized that there was no sound from the other end of the alley.
“Who’s there?” Ezie called out, not too loudly. But silence enclosed him, and there was no reply.
He decided he would rather not hear one.
Ezie turned and promptly scaled the fence, cursing under his breath at the noise. He dropped to the ground on the other side and paused. Still there was no sound, so he crouched low to the ground and began to make his way along the fence, hoping that neither his pursuers nor whatever was keeping his pursuers busy would start pursuing him.
Skirting along the length of a condemned building, Ezie had almost reached the main street when a shadow darted out from the doorway to his right. He felt his heart skip in his chest and froze, but saw that it was only a stray cat darting in front of him. He let out his breath… and felt something move behind him.
The Quincy whirled around, but before he could process what was happening, someone had grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. A man he had never seen before slammed him up against the door jam. The wood cracked under the momentum, and Ezie felt a wave of nausea as the back of his skull met concrete.
“Please excuse my brusqueness,” his attacker began, “But I believe we are being followed.”
“Who the hell… are you?” Ezie asked.
“A Quincy, like yourself,” the man said in a low voice as he loosened his grip on his jacket. “And I’ll consider our accounts even if you provide me with a favor.”
“You took out those other two back there?” Ezie’s head was still spinning, and it was a bit difficult for him to grasp the man’s more formal register of speech. While his German was flawless, the accent was clearly not from Berlin. Or rather, the man spoke like an old-timer.
“I did,” came the tacit reply, “Although I wasn’t irreverent enough to use a Heilig Bogen against an unarmed combatant. Isn’t excessive violence against normal humans prohibited by the Order’s creed?”
Ezie pushed the man away and staggered back, his face draining of color. “How do you know about that?”
“I already told you, I’m a Quincy like yourself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The man shrugged. “Fair enough.” He held out his hand and a small tongue of blue flame materialized in the darkness, hovering above his open palm. The ghostly hue cast disturbing shadows across the rotted floorboards, and for the first time Ezie could see his features more clearly, although his attention was mostly diverted to the man’s unequal color of eyes. “I don’t mean to cause you any harm,” the man continued, although the statement was not entirely convincing under the current circumstances. “And if you introduce me to your superior, I’ll be sure to forget what I saw you doing to–”
Dark spots appeared in front of Ezie’s vision. The man’s words became lost as the floor suddenly churned violently beneath his feet. Then, he collapsed.
Dresden was shocked as the Quincy lost consciousness, but moved quickly to catch him before he could hit the ground. He lowered Ezie gently to the floor, and as he did so he felt warm blood at the back of the young man’s skull. Thinking quickly, he realized the injury had most likely occurred when he had pulled Ezie into the building. Dresden rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned with frustration. He doubted that he could convince the Order that it had been unintentional, and cursed himself for his carelessness.
First, it had taken him two days before he had found Ezie. Then, he had tracked him all over the city without discovering the Order’s headquarters. Next, he had been interrupted by the group of Neo-Nazis just as he had been about to establish a dialogue with a member of the Order. Now, he had accidentally cracked open a kid’s skull, and for all intents and purposes appeared to be the guilty party. All factors considered, things were not going well at all.
Still, his first priority was to call an ambulance.
But, not wishing to move Ezie in his current state, and having never been one to use a cell phone, Dresden realized that he would have to leave the injured man behind in order to find a payphone. Before he did that, he decided, he would stop the bleeding. Considering the fact that Ezie had been standing and talking shortly after the accidental impact, he hoped that the concussion was not too serious. Anything that caused a loss of consciousness could be grave, however, and Dresden treated it as such as he knelt at the young man’s side and, carefully, turned him over onto his side in order to inspect the wound. Most of the blood had come from a shallow surface abrasion, and the skull had not been exposed. Gingerly pressing his fingers around the area of the injury, Dresden sighed with relief. The bone did not seem to be compromised either, although a full X-ray would be needed to determine if there were any undetectable fissures.
Dresden knew his methods were crude and outdated. In a past life he had been a surgeon, but that was over eighty years ago now. Tearing strips of cloth from Ezie’s dress shirt, he did his best to bandage the wound. Fortunately Ezie’s ash-blonde hair was cropped short and even across his skull, allowing Dresden to tighten the bandages, but not too tight. He had just finished when a sudden vibration nearly caused him to jump. Dresden whirled around to see who was there, but then realized the vibration was coming from the pocket of Ezie’s jacket. Dresden hesitated a moment before he pulled out the cell phone and accepted the call, holding the device close to his ear. He did not answer, however, waiting for the person on the other end to speak first.
“Ezie?” a female voice asked, “Ezie are you there?”
“Ja,” Dresden responded, trying to mimic the other Quincy’s higher pitch.
“Where are you?” When there was no answer, she heard her gasp, “Oh my God Ezie, don’t tell me that you… are you shooting heroin again?” Again Dresden did not respond, trying to speak as little as possible in order to not give himself away. “Where are you? Please tell me.”
“Prenzlauer Berg,”
She drew in her breath sharply. “Stay where you are, I’ll come to you. Or I’ll send someone or…” she paused, “Meet at the water tower. Can you make it to the water tower?”
“Yes,” was the delayed reply.
“Good, don’t talk to anyone okay? We’ll be right there.” Apparently frantic to rush to their current location, she hung up, leaving Dresden to consider his options. Against his better judgment he decided to move the injured Quincy. He lifted his body onto his back, careful to keep his head from lolling backwards by propping it against his shoulder. Dresden then set off for the water tower in the center of the district. Before reaching the designated location, however, he dropped his charge off at a police station that he happened across along the way. It wasn’t a hospital, but it would suffice as the next best solution. Dresden did not, however, stick around to file a witness’s report of the accident. Instead, he continued on to the water tower alone.
The Wasserterm, Berlin’s oldest water tower, rose prominently in a gap between the surrounding row houses. Its pale, yellowed stone work had obviously seen better days, and it stood at the center of an overgrown park. Graffiti covered the adjacent stone walls and even the base of the water tower itself. The defacement was a bit sad considering the building’s age: Single paned, arced windows set into elegant brick molding suggested the typical late 19th century concern for architecture, even though it was only a public water works building. Such care seemed excessive to Dresden now.
He found a small, red brick building close to the water tower, overgrown with dead vines. The door was painted with vulgar, spray-painted imagery, but it opened easily enough when Dresden pressed hard against the lock. Once inside the musty, single room, he concealed his Reiatsu as he waited for Ezie’s contact to arrive.
“I’ll come to you,” and, “or I’ll sand someone”: those two phrases had given Dresden a hint as to the phone-caller’s identity. They suggested she was part of an organization concerned for the collective good of its members. And from what Dresden had determined, the only organization to which Ezie currently belonged was the Order.
Unless, of course, his luck ran out and someone from Narcotics Anonymous showed up…
2486 words
