Inside the dream a young man stirred, kissed the love sweet lips of his soulmate once again and bid her farewell, rising from the bed. As she faded from view he collected himself and awoke. The limbs quickening into activity beneath warm covers were not as supple as the version of but a moment before, and some scars of note and age marked them. Crusted with sleep, blue eyes flickered slowly open and a manicured hand rubbed at them wearily. Mouth agape drawing arms wide, a yawn swept through him, eliciting action.
The trim, but still forty something, waker sat up and steadied himself against the side of the bed. One still bleary eye glanced at the red digital display glaring at him from the night table. 5:30 am.
"Shit," he mumbled half heartedly. Briefly he gave thought to returning to the warmth of the sheets, but decided to carry on and get an early start. It was still at least an hour to sunrise, but at least he could enjoy more of the afternoon at home, maybe with a cold beer, if he got his work done.
Obviously none of the others in the house had been in their showers for some time, as the water was scalding. With yet another curse he fumbled for the cold tap and proceeded to chill himself instead. Mumbling axioms about the Fates and Murphy's law he managed to complete his bathroom activities without further personal discomfort. In dressed and perfumed splendour he navigated along the soft carpeted landing, avoiding scattered children's toys, and made his way down the wide staircase to the kitchen.
Reaching for a plate, he noted with satisfaction that the oven clock read only just past six. There'd be practically no traffic in his direction, at least compared to the usual. Perhaps he should start making a habit of this? Momentarily a reflection that could not be his own clean shaven, austere and groomed face reflected in the obsidian like surface of the oven door.
"Good morning, Andrew." Cipped, precise, practically English in its undertones, the voice also had influences from a number of other cultures. France, Jamaica and Ireland were present in the intonation, along with several less identifiable partial accents. A dream memory stirred in the man even as his back stiffened in surprise.
Without turning, he quietly asked, "Joe?"
At the mellow chuckle that followed he relaxed a little and faced the piece of his past that leant against a cabinet with arms casually crossed. Standing at an unimposing 5'10", the surprise visitor was two inches shorter than his host, but nonetheless carried a well built frame that promised resolute strength. Eyes of a slightly grayer shade than Andrew's twinkled in a face that looked younger than it had over twenty five years ago. Possibly this was due to the lack of grime, the trimmed beard and the far less dilapitated attire. Possibly not.
"You're looking well," Andrew tentatively began, taking in information that his younger self was never able to gather when last they met. Pale aura, strange colours, shielded mind, power cloaked, but with the edges glimmering just enough for show.
Joe smiled again, the smile that saved two lives just started, all that time ago. "I go by 'Handel' now," he said, nodding his head in a humour filled mock bow. "You and Briar seem to be seeing quite a bit of each other still, I notice." He grinned mischeviously this time as Andrew blushed in response.
"I.. It's not quite like that," stuttered the mage, but gave up when he saw the knowing look in his old benefactor's eyes. Telepathic abilities blocked or not, he could still read body language. Sighing at his easily provoked responses he switched the subject. "What are you doing here now? Do you want something?"
The seemingly ever present grin, in one form or another, faded. With its absence the manner of the vampire's regard altered to something almost hellish in intensity. Andrew was suddenly aware of his own mortality in a way he never was with his Tremere lover. This one was older than he'd thought, and far more dangerous than either of the couple had conceived. Despite the quickly approaching dawn and his own special abilities, he was in fear for his life. Still, he owed the man.. creature his and his love's life anyway, if this was to be payback then so be it.
Like a switch had been struck, the sense of dread vanished as a quick smile flashed again. "Yes Andrew. I am going to be involved in some business that may cause.. a ruckus in certain areas. I'd be most gratified if you'd keep an eye out for certain information and act to lessen the likelihood of others of your particular occupation intervening in my affairs."
With a nod of acceptance he pulled out a chair and began to listen.
It was almost two hours later when the first of the other Chantry members came down to find him seated at the table, dawn's light blazing around him. Still as he was, it looked as if a golden aura flickered around him as the light wind moved tree branches outside.
"Andy? You okay," asked Sarah from the doorway. "Shouldn't you be at the Foundation by now?"
His mind on other matters, he never even heard her.
The Land of Rum and Sugarcane
Father Hugo, named after a grandfather he'd never had a chance to meet, was glad to see a parishoner praying this early. Sometimes he felt too alone with God while setting up for the morning mass, if that wasn't a sacreligious thought. No, wanting for simple human company, even just if it was the presence of another, wasn't going to upset the Almighty. Unlike Father Donovan, who was no doubt still slumbering now, Hugo tended to believe in a rather more kindly creator, who took things in the manner they were intended. Nodding his balding head in respect to the crucifix, he continued his duties.
"Excuse me Father."
Hugo turned to see that the man had come forward from his pew and was standing at the edge of the altar carpet. Wide and glistening, his eyes seemed to drink in the priest's appearance. A hand with a large silver ring on the middle finger rose to the petitioner's mouth as it opened in something resembling humourous shock. The face was unknown to him, yet still struck a chord.
"Yes, may I help you? Mass is in three quarters of an hour. Confession is given afterward, if you wish it." Even as the words left him he realised that neither were what the man was after. Times and dates were clearly visible on the front notice board, and this fellow, despite his present slack jawed expression, seemed quite capable of reading them.
"Pardon me, but your resemblance to your grandfather is uncanny. Quite uncanny." He paused, looking both whimsical and embarassed, and collected himself. "Ah, my purpose. I wished to enquire as to the well being of your grandmother and family. My family and yours were quite close at one time. Through Captain Matelot? My name is Handel."
Hugo was amazed at the mention of a name that was as much a part of his family as that of his namesake. Both the elder Hugo and the Captain had been on so many hair raising adventures that the family hadn't needed for myths and legends of the more standard sort. Up until that fateful day when neither returned from one of their many runs in the Caribbean, they had been seen as blessed by God. Or the Devil. Memory reminded Hugo of the tales of his grandfather's seeming lack of age and formidable strength. There had always been a darker side implicit, one his God fearing mother had been certain to point out. But here stood a man, not a myth, and in a church to boot.
Puting aside such foolish thoughts, the Father sat on the front pew and talked a while with the weary yet peculiarly happy stranger. Candles flickering in their sconces were the only witnesses to the conversation. Soon though, he had to return to his work.
"You should get some sleep," he commented. "You look like you've been up all night."
"Longer than that," laughed Handel. "Father, it appears this night may never end." Rising, he buffed the rich mahogany seat with a coat sleeve where water had fallen upon it. "It was good to meet you, and I hope to do so again. I needed a rest break. Now I have other people to see. Good morning to you."
In a swirl of his opened grey trenchcoat he headed down the aisle to the front doors, hand waving in farewell.
"And God go with you," replied Father Hugo. Almost, he thought he saw the grey figure stumble upon the last step, but it was hard to tell with the lingering darkness still outside.
"That would certainly be nice," whispered Handel as he swept away before the deadly encroachment of the solar terminator. "That would be very nice indeed."
